Front Page
On the front page of the newspaper
the beautiful woman wipes her tear
The copy beneath details a decade ago loss.
In Texas a bonfire that killed twelve is a big deal.
I wonder if our understanding of our connectedness will ever grow
To the point where any twelve deaths
Will merit a front page anniversary?
poem by Bill Grace
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City Under A Thousand Lies
Tragedy is the front page story
A city drowned under a thousand lies
And everyday we waste stalling
Is another day we loose a thousand lives
No one really seems to care
Everyone seems to want to leave them there
The city is going down in despair
And no one really seems to care
As long as it doesn’t happen to you
It’s just another front page story
Can’t really explain just how wrong that is to me
The agenda is stuck in the dirt across the sea
When the disaster is in our own backyard we aren’t ready
Quicker to act
On a battle attack
Across the world
Than thousands dying
Right here at home
Way too late to save anything
Obviously it’s too far gone
Tragedy is the front page story
Sell every fucking copy you can
The city is drowning under a thousand lies
And everyday we waste stalling
Claims another thousand lives
Caught on camera the deepest misery
Anarchy and despair everywhere
And yet even though it’s the front page story
No one really seems to care
poem by Jake Warren
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O, What is Lost?
Yet again, the stock market crumbles and falls,
Ruining the economy for us all.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Gas prices rise as embargoes are insinuated.
War seems imminent. Tension is elevated.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Epidemics, viral infections are on the verge of spreading.
It's a shame our scientists don't know anything.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Front page: Can you believe it? Could it be true?
Snooki is pregnant. When is she due?
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Identity Of Moment
At twelve of night philosopher thinks with a cup of tea
At twelve of night exuded in dream
At twelve of night cloud of blue sky burns
At twelve of night strip by strip waves fall to ground
At twelve of night full moon flashes of light
At twelve of night horn of car strikes on door
At twelve of night couple enters into dwell of love
At twelve of night loud cry of progenitors comes
At twelve of night machinegun of devilish roars
At twelve of night whistles of train strikes
At twelve of night the red sun of monument raises.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Soldiering
My superior force excels in every way and stage,
Open the newspaper with the soldiers’ front-page.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Award
I define the award of Wednesday
A priceless clinch of the week.
A perfection believes in the response
Of the next day - the very enjoyment.
I love it when curiosity has graveness
When point full chatter is in braveness.
The curtain has enveloped the stage
And driven a metamorphosis on the front-page.
A price is glimmered in front of the week-ends,
On a beautiful theatrical scale, one transcends.
An award is an exceptional day
And I have established it, I say.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I think back to some of the things Harry said and some of the things I said trying to be funny. If I said them now, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country.
Tyranny Normality
The media is the seduction of human desire
(Set their money, set their money, on fire)
If you try to sell me the truth then I know youre a liar
A liar
Its the tyranny of normality
Its the tyranny of normality
Our culture has become complacent and has no desire
(Take back, take back our empire)
And the ethical slaughter of truth needs to be retired
retired
Its the tyranny of normality
Its the tyranny of normality
Its the death of outrage
I want to turn a new page
I mourn the death of our age
The obituarys on the front page
Its the death of outrage
I want to turn a new page
I mourn the death of our age
The obituarys on the front page
Its the death of outrage
I mourn the death of our age
The obituarys on the front page
Its the tyranny of normality
Its the tyranny of normality
Its the tyranny of normality
song performed by by Papa Roach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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The sports page records people's accomplishments, the front page usually records nothing, but man's failures.
quote by Barbara Walters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We reduced the size of our front page code by about 50%, and by using absolute positioning, we are able to display important parts of the page before other parts may have fully loaded yet.
quote by Mike Davidson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Rose
Rose
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each bruise
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you cheated
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you forced me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each pointless arguement
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each crime
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you try to end me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
How many more can I live through?
poem by Lexie Night
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Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Read The Book
Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Four Down And Twelve Across
I dont know what to think of it
Sometimes I hate it
Sometimes I love it
Girl, this relationship were in
To say the least its puzzlin
Like a crossword puzzle
Fill in the blanks
Chorus:
Whats four down and twelve across
Two letter synonym for lost Thats me
And a three letter word
That rhymes with through
Oh I get it, thats you
Never believed in horoscopes
But to the left of the ad
For a new dishwashin soap
Dear Abbys got some good advice
For a troubled couple lost in paradise
In the Living section
Page two
Whats four down and twelve across
Two letter synonym for lost
Thats me
And a three letter word
That rhymes with through
Oh, I get it
Thats you, thats me, thats us
Sometimes love aint enough
We try and try
For the life of me, why did we give up
Chorus
Thats me
Oh, thats us
Whats four down and twelve across Thats us
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The last copy of the Chicago Daily News I picked up had three crime stories on its front page. But by comparison to the gaudy days, this is small-time stuff. Chicago is as full of crooks as a saw with teeth, but the era when they ruled the city is gone forever.
quote by John Gunther
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forty years ago, we were on the tail of the Front Page era. There was a different point of view. Reporters and editors were more forgiving of public people. They didn't think they had to stick someone in jail to make a career.
quote by Mike Royko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The whole problem with news on television comes down to this: all the words uttered in an hour of news coverage could be printed on page of a newspaper. And the world cannot be understood in one page.
quote by Neil Postman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life In Newspaper
Some life stop their life on newspaper.
some life loss their life on newspaper.
loss their life like a photograph.
Loss their life in a column of newspaper.
Loss their life in the lightening photo of star.
Speech of false leader.
Profile of high profile cader.
Photo of dustbin child.
Fulfil the newspaper.
Now life,
Now love,
Addvertisement of peace,
or humanity.
Everything u found here.
Now life loss his life in newspaper.
poem by Imtiaz Emon
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No Poem In Here
this is a blank space reserved for an obituary of a dead poem
prose claims a space though in another glossy page.
plese turn to the next page
those non-poets like me please transfer to another room
this place is for dead poems for those who killed living poems this page this space is reserved for all of them.
we non-poets are moving out to another empty page
about to be added, if you can wait, mr. poet...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just Flipped The Page
Just counting days,
And constructing ways,
Staying out on look,
Reading our dairy book,
It's good I can memorize,
So, sure I'm t realize,
So and so much more.
I've flipped to the sophomore,
Now am yearling,
Since I started calling you darling.
Flip! Flip! Flipping the page,
To read an affair, a year of age,
We just begun yesteryear,
A period seeming so near.
Instead it creat my story
For this very first anniversary.
Just flipped the page,
One year old of age,
Is our relationship,
That 'll sire our kinship.
Just flipped the page.
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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