Rubbish Tip
At the rubbish tip they place their words
Just on the edge of
Surreal and absurd
A gold leafed edge
A lettered page
At teh rubbish tip
They stage
Their acts in
'THREE PARTS SCENE ONE'
Then you arrive
By stage door three
With a broken heart
All at sea
With the rythmn
Of the words
They left you to say
Can't see the wood for the trees today
At the rubbish dump
The hungry sit
Wide eyed
Death in their mouths
Waiting to eat
The bread of the words
The crumbs from a table
Of rotten verse
Yet still they come the blind and the dumb
Sit up and write
Recite it all night
Without a pause
Or space for 'applause'
READ THE PAPER!
It makes more sense to believe in
The tablod lies
Than live in a world of man made pretense
Take your tongue from your cheek
The fibre glass from your eye
BETTER NOT TO SAY A THING
DON'T TIP THE WORDS FROM YOUR MOUTH
TO THE PAGE...VOMIT BREACHED
just stay silent
Let the rain fall one more time
It's a sign of the times sell fast stories
Falling of dirty ink presses
distresses on paper
OUR DAILY BREAD SPOON FED!
ANGUS HAM STRINGS
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Fading ink
Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Letters and Words.
I´m feeling so alone without the letters!
Without the words.
The paper which i write impose to myself limitations.
I don't like border lines.
Shorts spaces twisted my hands. Distracts me from such needed affection.
Always the paper, the space and words! My love!
forget my cliché!
My fragility or my weak to deal with.Can be?
Words fail me again? lacks to me again?
What can i do if they don't meet each other?
Re-invent the past?
You suffer. I know.
And how many times that happens
More still hurts me too.
Please, baby, turn over the page.
poem by Mirna Morgan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words on paper
Words on paper
~
Just words on paper
Where a story is told
An emotion revealed
Or a love laid to rest
Where a dream begins
An ambition is spoken
Perhaps a whim of fancy
Takes charge of the pen
To write what is written
Letters forming words
Shapley and beautiful
Expressions of a soul
Or a mind at play
There across the page
Words on paper
Written to have their say
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Like That You Stay
i like that you stay,
for a moment inside my room.
i will ask you, those little things
that you can do for me, so you will stay for a while
so i may have a smell of you
so i may see you even for a few seconds
so i may have life.
i ask you to pull the calendar page. It is not
october anymore. Time flies.
you display me the face of november. a sad one.
a face of uncompromising stance. Not not you. Not your love.
you may refuse my feelings, like the way you resist
some sweeter spaces between us. i like you.
i like you to stay even for a moment.
you flatten a crumpled piece of paper and you ask:
there is still something important on this page.
i look at it. some words, not supposedly written
some words, not to be read by anybody.
you read it. how can you understand?
when i always conceal the meaning
of my pain. i am only for me. I understand the rules
of this game.
i like you to stay really. i like you.
but then, i open the door and then you leave.
you have never understood, the silent beats
of my dying heart.
i like it this way. i touch myself still wanting to touch you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
These Words Are Meant For You
So there is no confusion let clarity clarify here
these words on this page are meant for you;
you.
Strung along these lines are precious intents
longing longings from down deep where souls converse,
floodings of sentiments traversing time and distance all
forming a straight line to you.
Gratitude is the staff that allows me to walk and write-
bread given me by you
sustains;
for clarity's sake
understand
these words are meant for you;
you.
Time and distance, acquaintance
and daily externals and such
mean less than these
soul exchanges proffered.
These words are meant for you;
yes you.
In the interstices words allow
in the hurried moments
where emotions and ideas fly
there is only I you and the written page
and that is enough
These words are meant for you-J
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetry as bread - In the spirit of Rumi 28
Poetry is like bread – daily bread,
like ‘Irish’ soda bread, best eaten on its day:
In the bakery of the heart and mind,
the baker’s woken early before dawn,
refreshed and clear of purpose, full of the day’s promise;
brings air to flour, moulds and shapes;
as the sun rises, so the bread.
Here it is, warm from the heart,
smell it – this is the smell of goodness, isn’t it?
Touch it, both crisp and soft by turns;
taste its goodness, beauty, truth, its very being;
this is not yesterday’s bread, with which you toy
while waiting between courses, your head’s straying mind
in a thousand other places; this is here and now;
coming warm from the heart; eat it with your heart;
this is the heart’s nourishment; tomorrow it may serve
tomorrow’s mind; today, it is your daily bread,
your nourishment – this poem, warm from heart to heart.
And when you've eaten it - the bread has disappeared -
only your satisfaction remains, beyond all sense;
as these words, already staling on the page,
exposed to all the wanderings of the mind;
only the love that they were made with, still remains;
this, is your daily bread.
[from a metaphor in Rumi's writings]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Blank Page Blues
I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece
and the telephone rings,
or someone shouts your dinner is getting cold.
You feel like screaming,
but you take it on the chin.
You lay down your pen,
answer the phone or have your dinner,
and when you come back,
the blank page confronts you.
Still you cannot write anything on it.
You stare at it for hours,
until finally you get tired
and journey off to bed.
Hoping and hoping tomorrow
a little peace, it will bring
and your words on that blank page
will really begin to sing.
10 May 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poem Speaking 4 U
how is poem..?
not Thing is thear...
ALL ARE WORDS
SOME WORDS NICE
SOME WORDS SPICE
SOME WORDS NOTHING
SOME WORDS LOVELY
SOME WORDS BEAUTYFUL
SOME WORDS HUNGRY
SOME WORDS ANGRY
THATS ALL...
WRITE IT
LOVE IT...
THIS IS FOR OTHERS
U ARE READ YOURS...
THATS ALL
TAKE A LITTLE SMILE
LIFE IS THIS..
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Vellum
I write my name down on paper
paper that has a unrealistic desire
to be vellum
I read what I have written
for a sense of authenticity
more authentic than my image
reflected in a mirror stained with mildew
and toothpaste
The words on this paper
anyone can read
bums, whores, addicts,
homosexuals
intellectuals
and the broken old men
whose hope died
in the past
I write
but I don't speak
what I write
details what I see
The things I see
O, the things I see
could invoke suicidal tendencies
in a child who still believes
in Christmas carols
and hunting Moby Dick
whom rules the seas
How tragic it is
to let fleeting imagination
slowly die among the magic spelling
of the words we once spoke
on Christmas Eve
And now I sit
with the adulterated gift
of alcohol
and nicotine
writing down words on paper
whom wish to be vellum
but realistically
could never be
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Three a.m. Burst
I was woken in the early hours of this morning
by an overwhelming mental burst.
My mind bombarded me with random words
and compelled me to write poetic verse.
Words were branded upon my thoughts,
like initials on the hide of a steer.
But then strings of words in a jumbled mess
in different colours began to appear.
Like calculated numbers, words fell into place
adding their value to the score.
Another sentence brought another verse,
which begged for even more.
By breakfast time the burst was over,
the words had been laid to rest.
Several pieces of paper had been filled,
and my mind had been freed from stress.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rubbish Sad Salary Somber N
rubbish sad salary somber n'
exquisite
influenced by everything.
rubbish sad salary somber n'
intricate a
Rubiks Cube, Waldo was found
in an outhouse by the summit of an epoch
the 1920s washed out into depressive oblivion. Simon included
this in his autobiography, written in the 3rd person.
rubbish sad salary somber n'
infinite.
rubbish sad salary
rubbish sad salary
a sombering quintet.
Edge Of A Broken Heart
And there I stood, just like a soldier
I was tough, until I saw her
I said hello, but she just turned away
Hey romeo, whatcha doin with my girl,
Who are you using now, well I turn and walk away (turn and walk away)
Im gonna please her, now you can believe it
Ill be there to catch her when she falls
Oooo, here I am (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im a man (on the edge of a broken heart)
Here we stand (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can cause you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the outside, looking inside
Youre with him, whos on the wrong side now
Do you still think of me
Ive tried to call, but no one answers
Two silhouettes, a private dancer
Lights go dim, as the music starts to fade, away (turn and walk away)
Im the one who needs you, now you can believe it
Ill be there to catch you when you fall
Ooo you better believe Im the man (on the edge of a broken heart)
Here I am (on the edge of a broken heart)
And we stand (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can cause you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Solo
Ooohh
And when I hold out my hands Ill be reaching for you
I give it all that Ive got, thats all I can do
When youre waiting for love
Ill be waiting for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
Only for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
Oh baby for you (on the edge of a broken heart)
So run if you can, you know
Im a man on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (on the edge of a broken heart)
Im on the edge (of a broken, broken, broken broken, broken, broken, broken)
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
However Absurd
Ears twitch, like a dog, breaking eggs in a dish.
Do not mock me when I say this is not a lie.
Its funny thing, half serious, with our hands on our ears.
Living dreams with mouths ajar, wide awake, we go to sleep.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
Something special between us, when we mmade love the game was over.
I couldnt say the words, words wouldnt get ny feelings through,
So I keep talking to you...
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
Custom made dinosaurs, too late now, for a change.
Everything is under the sun, but nothing is for keeps...
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
However absurd, however absurd... it may seem.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waiting For Love
She looks to the sun
Help her to carry on
Breakin down all the years
Wondering how she got here
She drifts trought the sky
Counting the reasons why
How my life turned so fast
Remembering all of the past
B-Section
All the changes, and all the mistakes
Foolishly laughing at things that
Words that she says
Verse 2
She looks to the stars
Breaking, time to follow the heart
Her world is falling apart
B-Section
And the turning of every new page
A book on a shelf that is there to remain
Breaking the walls as she's tearing them down
As she is starting to drown
Chorus
She's waiting for love
She's waiting, waiting for love
Waiting, waiting for love
She's waiting, waiting so long
Verse 3
She prays to the Gods
Telling how she needs someone
Help me find where I am today
Life is looking very grey
B-Section
All the changes, all the mistakes
Foolishly laughing at things that
Everything that she says
Chorus
Bridge
I'm waiting for a new day to rise
Conversations to make sense to me and my mind
I need someone to lift me right off my feet
And I want it, and I need it, and I'll leave it all behind
And all the changes I've made
And I remember the words, that you'll never say
Chorus
She looks to the sun
song performed by by Pink
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
With The Mind
Never in times of change
Have there been solids of words
And their clauses built on paper.
Never in heavenly stars are planets
Housed to keep away intelligent beings.
Change expels us with the lotion,
A stage of writing achieves clarity,
Words build like skyscrapers to enlighten,
Words justify words to the penny.
Let the closets and rain jackets
Smother the body with joys of the heart.
Change has intoxicated the mind with
The soul.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For My Sister on Her 16th Birthday
I can no longer tell people that I have a little sister,
Now I must say that I have a younger sister,
Because you’re old enough to no longer be a ‘little sister’,
Though to be honest, that’s what you’ll always be to me.
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write,
Because there are no words of wisdom that I can give you
That you probably don’t already know,
The only advice I could impart is just to stay crazy.
I know that soon I’ll be going away and things may not be the same,
But I’ll always remember you like you are from this past year.
My sister- the strong, independent girl who takes no rubbish off anyone,
Listens to Elaine Page and the Sex Pistols, quotes Monty Python as if it were verse
And uses her eyebrows as dangerous weapons.
What I just want you to know, no matter how old or young you are,
Just how much your brother loves you dearly,
Even though you’re no longer old enough to be my little sister anymore.
poem by Charlie F. Kane (2007)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!