A note in my diary
Writing this piece of peace
From my heart to you
Reading your words
From your mind for me
Feel so numb and I can’t hear
Anything you say makes me sad
And I am going to buy a fish
A fish to feed you all because...
Some words are incomplete
Few words are baseless
I’m going to take a shower
And get back to work…
Writing a short note and will send
Few diaries of snaps and poems
Pick one of them and wet the page
Let me read your mind and your words…
poem by Nithin Jacob
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
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Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Silence Between
the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Small Time
small time, you call it small time
writing
is small time, there is no money
in writing, like a
politician, look at him, he does not
write, someone writes for him
and he gets the prize
the money
the pot
the jackpot
and look at you
you keep on writing
and writing
and writing
oh la la
poems, fit for a woman
her limited mind
her gullibility
her passion for words and words and words
her imagination
and look at you
poor man, poor, poor, poor
what you give
to this world, what are you giving to this world
it is not even a flower
just a poem for her, and you claim that you are winning her heart?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Words
Words are my weapon
words are my shield
Guns and knifes just ruin lives
so words I keep concealed
Words are all I have here
they help me struggle on
Words are here forever,
when all I have is gone
In my thoughts or in my poems
Words will help ease my brain
I write down what is on my mind
Expressing love or feeling pain
Not that many I can trust
But words I can depend
Words wont turn there back on you
Words are my only friend
poem by Nic Hillen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like a seed
It’s impossible to force
A good piece of writing
It can only come from inspiration
It should flow from the mind
To the fingers and then
Through the keyboard
To the screen
A good piece of writing
Will come of it’s own volition
Without urging, yet with compulsion.
A certain musical phrase you’ve read
A lyrical play of words
That sticks in your mind
Can be the impetus for the lifting
Of the flood gates of inspiration
And once opened, has a compulsive
Addiction, that can be indulged freely
And yet will not be denied
Write down every sentence
or fragment thereof, any phrase
That catches your fancy
and feels good on the tongue
A good piece of writing
Has a sensual quality
That one can almost taste
As it’s written, and can be shared
Wantonly with readers
who choose to indulge
A good piece of writing
is a seed that is planted
In one’s mind, and from which
The words effortlessly grow
It can never be forced
or be pushed to the fore
It will grow from that seed
And will blossom before your eyes
It can grow freely, unfettered
From the most minute idea
But good writing, like a seed
Can never be forced to grow
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is An Adventure In Writing Words
Life is an adventure in writing words
It is going out alone and finding them
Beyond where the ordinary mind and life is
It is seeking them in difficult and strange places
And discovering the most complex and beautiful of them-
Life is an adventure in writing words
Sometimes simple
Sometimes with the words themselves forgotten
As thoughts pursued through them-
The adventure goes on
My mind goes on
My life goes on
Words go on
On and on and on and on
Until we stop.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's For Me
Poetry for me, is just like breathing
I inhale Life and exhale poems
It's for me - I do the writing
No matter, if ever, comments come.
As chosen words come out soothing
Release the pained and burdened heart
I find relief in simply writing
Touching others with what I impart.
But always the joy is within me
The reading by others may truly bless
I'm grateful they read my poetry
But the writing is my true happiness!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magic Of Words
I admit to never having read much poetry before,
But now that I’ve started, I’m eager to read more.
I’ve discovered many poems, ones old and new;
There are all sorts: happy ones and sad ones to.
Some poems paint a picture, and are descriptive in their style.
While some are humorous, and are designed to make you smile.
There are also narrative style poems, such as the ‘Goblin Market’ story,
By Christina Rossetti, there are close to five hundred lines, in all their glory.
Alliteration always sounds extremely catchy and really rather nice –
When an initial consonant is sounded, in quick succession, at least twice.
Assonance also often comes in quite handy too,
Especially when the rhyme isn’t quite exactly true.
The addition of onomatopoeia can be a real whiz,
Adding sounds like Crash! Bang! Pop! And Fizz!
I love poems which have a regular rhythm, and which rhyme,
And I try my best to incorporate these factors into poems of mine.
In rhythm and rhyme, myself, I like to try and immerse,
As I have to admit that I’m not a particular fan of free verse.
With poetry, I’m really beginning to get a little bit obsessed.
I change words around, trying to see how they sound the best.
I like to keep my writing quite simple, not complex;
I hate it when words and ideas complicate the text.
I love it when words paint a picture in my inner mind;
When a masterpiece is created, as snapshots are combined.
My mind finds it difficult to process ideas which are too abstract;
I just like simple descriptions and a smattering of interesting facts.
Unless I understand the first few lines, I can get very easily bored,
And from then on, reading the rest of it can become quite a chore.
I’m not keen on poems which, I consider, are way too short,
As they probably haven’t really required that much thought,
And, likewise, I’m not keen on poems which, for me, are too long,
As reading them, can feel like running a twenty six mile marathon.
If I see a word in a poem which I have not previously seen,
I will look it up in a dictionary, to see exactly what it means.
I always enjoy learning the meaning of the odd new word,
But I hate it when there are many, of which, I’ve never heard.
I also like to look words up in a thesaurus to learn,
If I can swap them for an alternative word or term.
Reading and writing poetry can be a real education in themselves.
You pick up books which may have previously been left on the shelf.
If you’re sat concentrating on reading or writing,
Temporary release from problems, is quite inviting.
It can have a very calming affect upon your soul,
When life’s worries and woes have taken their toll.
I don’t know if I’m just going through a phase, or if my obsession will last;
Over the last few months or so, I really have been having an absolute blast!
I’ve felt proud of some of my works - I didn’t think I could do such things,
And I’ve really revelled in the happiness, into my life, which poetry brings.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet's Work Is Never Done
What's keepng me
From writing better poetry
(Beyond not finding a word
That rhymes with orange)
I don't see myself as a poet
No one has granted me a license
I have however somehow
Learned how to wheedle words
Out of my head
Onto a blank page
I'll admit I have had to
Kick them around a bit
After they have landed
Some had to be kicked out
I was sad to see them go
It was like having to fire
Your cousin who just
Wasn't carring his weight
My additional problem is
That whenever I pick up a page
Of even my revised poetry
The words are still moving
Some are embarrased
Asking to be replaced
By better more appropriate ones
Some adamately think that
They should remain
Just as they are
Some are trying to jump
From here
To there
For clarity
So what's holding me back
From better words and arrangements
What's preventing a coup
What's keeping them
From breaking through the lines
And taking over
They know how much work
It was to put them there
They know I am reluctant
To call them back
Without having stronger replacemenets
That's all that's holding me back
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get the Hint?
If you read my words,
You wouldn't have to ask
What it is I meant.
If, indeed, you say you understand...
What you confess to me makes little sense.
If one comprehends,
A flow that is out of the box.
Where does the conflict begin to start?
If you say you understand,
With your head and heart!
If you read my words,
You wouldn't have to ask
What it is I meant.
Unless you are seeking more from me?
Like if I brush my teeth,
With regular toothpaste...
Or if it is scented with mint!
Since nothing else you have said thus far,
Does not entice me to ask you...
To move in with me and share paying my rent.
It you are reading my words,
You should know by now...
Being alone to me is not lonely!
And my peace of mind has been heaven sent.
Get the hint?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The message of poetry
How can I think of serious things,
when the air is alive,
with the flutter of wings,
How can I focus on writing a sonnet
When the lady beside me,
is knitting a bonnet.
How can I think of what comes next
when I am trying my hardest
to put it to text.
How can I feel the words in my mind,
when I am looking for one
that I canot find.
How can I concentrate, grave and subued
Then it's best I try,
and get in the right mood.
So come on you folks,
dont be solemn and glum,
join with me, share your words and jokes.
Lets make a start,
let them come from the heart.
God's in his Heaven,
summer is on it's way,
make haste with the pen,
and don't delay.
Write a short verse,
with these words in mind,
then the rest will come easy, your sure to find.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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Naughty Words!
Often words are but tiny turds of humor and of wit,
Flotsam in a poets mind…“Oh my, what junk, what shit! ”
Alas, it’s true at times words can form a perfect line,
“How wonderful, how clever” the words are so sublime
When all is said 'n done, its truth that’s clear 'n real,
By writing what we see 'n hear...especially what we feel
Write on poets!
There be no rules that we must heed or follow
Drink in the gifts of words sweet chums...
But don’t forget to swallow!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?
I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only In My Mind
thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind
words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow
words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems
several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew
but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation
no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record
dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder
words released born free
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Writers Block
The worst thing any writer can experience
is the most dreaded writers block.
Sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper
waiting and waiting for the words to come.
It is the curse of all writers
whether they are good or bad.
The frustration of trying to unblock their mind.
We try it with reading others words or soothing music
hoping to stimulate the little grey cells into working.
However it is never as easy as it sounds
as a writers block can sometimes last for years,
I know that from experience as
I have been down that road before.
Then the inexplicable happens and you pick up a pen
and that blank page is not blank anymore,
it is filled with words galore.
The torture is over and a new start begins.
You give a big sigh of relief as your writing begins again,
but being always weary in case that block comes back again.
14 January 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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