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Don’t Dress Up For the Occasion

Don’t dress up for the occasion
It’s only you and me
And a lyric without explanation
With words coming steadily

Writing thoughts on a sheet
Riming it all into place
Naming the text what it need
- Oh, there are so many ways

I could go on and ask you
What should I fix up more?
Then you could tell me what to do
To make me feel more assure

Expressions warped in text
Playfully the words are fixed
I can't explain what comes next
It’s complicated and mixed

Something perhaps about Prague
I traveled there longtime ago
Or maybe of a stray street dog
I came through the years to know

Together sometimes we walked the street
And blabbered full of nonsense
He and me and little ‘twiddle tweet’
Became all friends by accidents…

poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In our daily lives as programmers, we process text strings a lot. So I tried to work hard on text processing, namely the string class and regular expressions. Regular expressions are built into the language and are very tuned up for use.

quote by Yukihiro Matsumoto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Text

I text you
The words i mime
There is really no reason or rhyme
To persist after all this time
But can't resist as my love still stands
Clings to hope with two bleeding hands
And when i ask 'am i still in your heart'
You depress with your silence
And depart.
I text her
And sometimes for days
She leaves me in deepest malaise
Then answers when my last nerve end frays.
And the light that i saw in her eye
Gently flickers and threatens to die
As my memory, tired and vexed
Sees me through
'Til she sends the next text.
I text you
Think maybe you care
That some day or year we will share
our one love extraordinaire
But time eats away at our life
Cutting with razor sharp knife
And our old dream of husband and wife
Faces the gallows next
Yet absurdly i send you a text.

poem by Kevin East
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All Mixed Up

Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
And no I cant find no reason
To explain the way that I feel
I remember things being clearer
At one t ime things were more real
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
Im not lookin for sympathy
Im just frightened by this apathy
Like footsteps way in back of me
On a narrow street of stone
And if time will answer all questions
Then perhaps a film will be shown
Everyone could mail-order tickets
Yeah, you could sell a lot of shirts
For the last picture show
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed u p about you

song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote A Poem Across The Universe

I wrote a poem across the Universe
It was read among the stars-
Cosmic messages were sent endlessly reinterpreting it-
It appeared in Galactic anthologies
And whole Civilizations taught it in their schools-
Worlds were born with it and worlds lamented their dying with it-
It became the Text of the Text of the Text of the Text of the Text
Of cosmic intergalactic meaningfulness-

I wrote a poem across the Universe-
It was read for billions of years
And then somehow
No attention was paid to it anymore-
And it vanished for as long as forever can be understood to be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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
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I´m as a Drifting Cloud

Like my heart is in the gutter of the street going
I´m as a drifting cloud so high and faraway
Every dream of my inside yearning is always knowing
What it is that comes and gives more to say?

Feelings never seem to stand by at any given door
It looks like they are going to somewhere
With their drifting thoughts that always are for more
And never can be at the same levels here
For the days are always passing on by to there

Each of you who know the truth of my true inside
With the wanderings that came about to give
Where the lights of city lights glimmer and glide
To flicker in the shadows of a glow that can’t live

Feelings never seem to stand by at any given door
It looks like they are going to somewhere
With their drifting thoughts that always are for more
And never can be at the same levels here
For the days are always passing on by to there

Somewhere you are in the distances of day
Like a morning coming up that cannot stay
In my thought that are so restless in their play

Like my heart is in the gutter of the street going
I´m as a drifting cloud so high and faraway

*(Remember this is a lyric... The other part of my writing output is lyric writing and it’s as large as my poetry writing. However my largest output is writing music... Please Google 'Peter S. Quinn' If you’d like to see more. Thanks for your time. Peter)

poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The President had every reason to believe that the text presented to him was sound... These 16 words should never have been included in the text written for the president.

quote by George Tenet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman with a Tattoo.

A woman with a tattoo
over the top of her breasts

above her red dress got
on the uptown bus and

sat down. Henry tried not
to look, he couldn't make

out the words that mingled
with the coloured flowers

tattooed there, looked away,
followed for a short while

the goings on in the passing
street, then turned again

and gazed surreptiously as
if he'd not intended to stare

or find once seen, but still
the words were lost in the

flowers' hold. The woman
thumbed her cell phone,

messaging a text, while he,
giving a sidelong gaze, tried

to solve the puzzle of the
words and meaning that

she wanted to convey by
placing the tattoo there,

but no matter how hard
he looked or turned his head,

no sense was made, just
a puzzled aging brain instead.

She crossed her legs, a little
more thigh was shown, her

suntanned flesh too much
for eyes of Henry's age, he

turned away, carrying the images
seen to sup upon another day.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank

white sheet. a paper. like you.
iwant to write something
just to fill this white sheet a little bit
some words. i can utter them.
but i like writing them
just to make this white sheet looking
full. like

'i love you'.

the rest need not be written.
i know you know and you know that i know.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The First Light Of Day

I now create poems at daybreak
Each one has a sunshiny theme,
Capturing thoughts as soon as I wake
My text resembles a dream.
I consider friends over the ocean
As I write my poetry in motion.

Birdsong is sweet at the dawning
As I welcome the first light of day
And words overflow without warning
~ I think I have found a new way ~
Writing verse with care and devotion
The story of Poetry In Motion.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Street Only Knew Your Name

Your street, rich street or poor
You should always be sure of your street
There's a place in your heart,
When you know from the start
And you can't be complete without a street
Keep movin' on, just like a train
Sometimes you gotta look back to the street again
Would you prefer all those castles in spain
Or a view of the street from your window pane
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name, precious name
There was walter and joy, kate and roy
All hung around the corner lamplight
Get together sing some songs
Like boppin' the blues - you make me feel alright
That was long before fortune and fame
No such thing as a star when you've played that game
Everyone knew who everyone was
There was no preference in the street no, no
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name
And you walked around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
And you walk around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
Blue suede shoes, it was the blue suede shoes
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never preach a sermon without a text from the Bible, a text containing the theme which you can elaborate. The text is the best proof in support of your argument. A sermon without a text is an argument without a proof.

quote by Isaac Mayer Wise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Was There Myself

I wish I could find the right words to say,
Why your mind and my time...
Are not going to be close friends.

I wish I could say this to you,
Without you becoming upset.
I am a lot older in many ways.
And in those ways you do not respect.

My tolerance you accept,
As an approval of your nonsense.
I am just more patient.
And have more than you will ever know.

My willingness to listen,
To your petty conversations...
Is a hope you will comprehend,
Just how small you make that world you live in.

My suggestions that you live and let live,
With a letting go...
Comes from experience.
Not because I believe there is so much I know.

Your mind is limited and fixed in stubbornness.
Then to me you complain,
About your attempts to convince...
With an acknowledgement foreign to common sense.

And to learn one has to listen.
But your issues and insecurities,
Are excuses you use as a defense.
I was there myself!
That is why you are so obvious.

I wish I could find the right words to say,
Why your mind and my time...
Are not going to be close friends.

I wish I could say this to you,
Without you becoming upset.
I am a lot older in many ways.
And in those ways you do not respect.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cafe Prague.

Cream coloured coffee
And hot buttered toast
August sunshine
A packet of cigarettes
Talks on love and life
Friends and strangers all together

Days of summer
Seated on outside chairs
Tears and laughter
Mixed in the air
Of the perfect day just us and them

Cafe pavements
The world at view
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Used coffee cups
And ashtrays too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague

Trendy young girls
And the wannabe author
Auster, Adams and Mr. Salinger
Days of dreaming
The perfect film
In view for all to see

Hello, hello
So good to see you
Was it twelve?
Or maybe it was two
I’ll sit and wait
And think of you

Cafe pavements
For me and you
Pairs, Rome and cafe Prague
Dirty spoons and knives
And glasses too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Teacups and Earl grey
And ice cream sundaes
Black and white life
In full technicolour
Light my cigarette
And I’ll listen all day

Sunshine days
Storm clouds - away
The table over there
Just a smiling man
For today - all alone
Waiting his time

Cafe pavements
The world today
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Beautiful Ladies
And business gents
Paris, Rome and Cafe Prague

Student cameras
And picture painting
Hollywood lifestyle
In the common street
Brando, Dean and Al Pacino
Next to you and me

See you later
Maybe tomorrow
Give me a ring
And we’ll make a date
I’ll sit and think
And wait for you

Cafe pavements
For meetings and lunch
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Perfect tables
And used up chairs
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague

poem by Patrick Sant
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Walking By

I walked by and the sun disappeared
shadow-fixed
by massive ego
emanating from some where indistinct.

I walked by and Hope lay dying in the street
murdered by Random Chance.

I walked by a wheel barrel
over-flowing,
full of tears

I walked on and Desperation Came
Went
and Gone

I walked by and Vacant Eyes Bled

I need to stop
walking by.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I Am Happy This Chanukah

I am happy this Chanukah
After all the years of praying and waiting
My children have children of their own
I thank God for this-

I am quite old now
But I don’t yet feel it that much-
Perhaps I did not make it in my work as I hoped
But in so much of my life the only word is ‘Gratitude’.

Thank God I am still here in Israel in Jerusalem
After all these years
Sitting in a park off Palmach Street
The sun on the page
Writing in calm
These small words down.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Tangible

How do I explain something tangible
Like the breeze against my skin
Just there
Tossing strands of hair
Here and there
How do I explain something so grand
It has no words
Do I stand in the Parthenon
Asking your patron for the right words
When I cant find them
Just so you know
Do I tell you that despite our human nature
Sometimes the gift of thought
Transcends when the stars align
And the future
Big or small
Is in your smile
But how do I tell you
How do I tell you
Without epic confusion
Without fear
You in my life
Is something I never expected
Friends or more
The decision was always yours
How do I put into words
Something most never find
Something very few know
Something cherished
In any aspect it's granted
How do I explain
Floating on a cloud
When you're around
Simplicity
Was never this complex in words
But this pull
Feels like satin
Feels like steel
And out of every girl
Only you challenge me
To see what' s just head
Only you make me feel
Like something tangible
Only you make me feel
Real

poem by Alejandro Torres
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Rocketown

Words & music: michael w. smith and wayne kirkpatrick
A friday night affair
Out in the city heat
Always a party there
Along the sordid street
And it was guaranteed
The place to be was rocketown
The drinks were two for one
Inside the crowded bars
The girls would make their run
Out on the boulevard
It was the idol place
We lived the ways of rocketown
Hang around by the street light
In the heart of the night life
There came a certain man
A stranger to the crowd
We didnt understand
What he was all about
He walked a different pace
So out of place in rocketown
They made a fool of him
They teased him when hed speak
But when they knocked him down
Hed turn the other cheek
He told me I could find
A life outside of rocketown
Hang around by the street light
In the heart of the night life
Chorus:
What was his mission
Where was he going
Why was his heart light
Always glowing
All I was missing
He stood there holding
What was his secret
Could I know it
Some didnt like him near
Some laughed and turned away
But me, I longed to hear
All that he had to say
He had a peace of mind
I couldnt find in rocketown
And when I reached down inside me
I could feel the emptiness
Chorus
He said its in the heart
This change that comes to be
Now he had done his part
The choice was up to me
As we were standing there
He said a prayer for rocketown
As we were standing there
He said a prayer for rocketown
As we were standing there
He said a prayer for rocketown
He walked off silently
And prayed for me
And rocketown...
Chorus

song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Text

One Sunday eve a grave old man,
Who had not been at church, did say,
'Eliza, tell me, if you can,
What text our Doctor took to-day?'

She hung her head, she blushed for shame,
One single word she did not know,
Nor verse nor chapter she could name,
Her silent blushes told him so.

Again said he, 'My little maid,
What in the sermon did you hear?
Come tell me that, for that may aid
Me to find out the text, my dear.'

A tear stole down each blushing cheek,
She wished she better had attended;
She sobbing said, when she could speak,
She heard not till 'twas almost ended.

'Ah! little heedless one, why what
Could you be thinking on? 'tis clear
Some foolish fancies must have got
Possession of your head, my dear.

'What thoughts were they, Eliza, tell,
Nor seek from me the truth to smother.'-
'O I remember very well,
I whispered something to my brother.

'I said, 'Be friends with me, dear Will;'
We quarrelled, sir, at the church door,-
Though he cried, 'Hush, don't speak, be still,'
Yet I repeated these words o'er

'Seven or eight times, I have no doubt.
But here comes William, and if he
The good things he has heard about
Forgets too, sir, the fault's in me.'

'No, sir,' said William, 'though perplext
And much disturbed by my sister,
I in this matter of the text,
I thank my memory, can assist her.

'I have, and pride myself on having,
A more retentive head than she.'-
Then gracefully his right hand waving,
He with no little vanity

Recited gospel, chapter, verse-
I should be loth to spoil in metre
All the good words he did rehearse,
As spoken by our Lord to Peter.

But surely never words from heaven
Of peace and love more full descended;
That we should seventy times seven
Forgive our brother that offended.

In every point of view he placed it,
As he the Doctor's self had been,
With emphasis and action graced it:
But from his self-conceit 'twas seen

Who had brought home the words, and who had
A little on the meaning thought;
Eliza now the old man knew had
Learned that which William never caught.

Without impeaching William's merit,
His head but served him for the letter;
Hers missed the words, but kept the spirit;
Her memory to her heart was debtor.

poem by Charles Lamb
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