En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Like a Freight Train Coming

I am a poet, writer and psalmist,
Thanks to the events of a wedding reception.
Those three titles have been added to my list,
And now I write like my life is almost done.

I receive inspiration from just about anything,
From memories of old and new.
Thoughts of friends and family to me do spring
To mind, and my hand has a lot of work to do.

However, there are times when I am empty,
I can't think of anything to write.
I try so hard, it almost frustrates me
When my poem mill is void, therefore adding to my plight.

But then, there I'll be, not even trying to write,
When all of a sudden, like a frieght train coming,
Like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes. So, right
Then and there, I grab my book, and words from me start humming.

A mile a minute, word after word appears,
My pen can barely keep up
With my heart as it bears
The words like wine filling my cup.

poem by Greg Oosterhouse
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Again I Write...

This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.

poem by Sara Jo Andrews
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Search Of Inspiration

searching the world for inspiration
searching books, music and nature too
a lot of effort gone into it, a lot of concentration
inspiration i think is hard to find

in the songs of birds, in the whistle of the wind
i search for inspiration, even a tiny little bit
when a baby laughed or when a woman grinned
i searched folr inspiration, guess it's harder to find

in the words of shelly, keats and shakespeare too
inspiration i searched and searched, no use
in 'gone with the wind'and 'the sound of music'
movies i searched for a bit of inspiration
'
without inspiration, what do i write
i wanna fill the pages with the poem that's right
i need to write a poem, i need inspiration
i wanna write a poem. wait a minute! ! , i just did! ! !

note: i never write poems for the sake of writing.......it comes from the heart......in reality...i dont need to search for inspiration much.....it comes when it needs to... :)

Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali

poem by Sneha Murali
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A Poet To Be

A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.

I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.

I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.

I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.

But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.

I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.

I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.

I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.

A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.

I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.

I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.

It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.

A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.

But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.

How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.

As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.

poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Know That Well That I Do Not Edit My Poems

there is no aim for fame
there is only this gut, this push, this inspiration
to write a poem
every morning,
even at noontime when there is so much to do
a poem is an icebreaker
it is cold to my tongue like a refresher
or even at nighttime
when everyone is fast asleep dreaming
when i am sleepless over a word
that strikes in my mind
like a bowling pin
i write put on words like a hat
and hold it there
like a staff for now i am an old man
with no one to talk to
no where to go
no one to sleep with as i think about the memories of my youth
summers and
rainy days
barefoot on the river
socks in my hands
crazy on a covenant
as death begins to whisper
the last word
for the last poem.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inspiration..

Inspiration comes and goes.
I write it down or I’ll forget while searching for a pen.
Inspiration comes and goes.
I get is from dreams or experiences.
Inspiration comes and goes.
But tell me, what inspires you.

I’m inspired by beauty, love and lust.
Giving me words and thought I dare to trust.
It’s inspiration that separates me from the rest.
‘Cause when inspiration comes words fall into place.
And things are beginning to make sense.

Sometimes I’m inspired by sorrow.
When I’m waiting in my bed for tomorrow.
And words start to become sentences.
I will start to write just to understand.
And to make me feel better so I can go to bed again.

Sometimes I write because of a pain that runs so deep.
I write cryptic lyrics about the secrets I keep.
I express them in other words so no one will understand.
But they feel not knowing what I’m trying to tell.
It’s a just way to clear my conscience.

Sometimes I write how the world could be.
Or I write about the girl of my fantasy.
Then I’m inspired by a fragment of my imagination.
And now I told a few ways where I get my inspiration.
So now tell me what inspires you.

poem by Rick Adriolo
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Why Do I Write

I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go

I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain

At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down

I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it

I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Literature Formulae

I am waiting for inspiration,
but it seems never to get in,
It is a matter of correlation,
Where the thoughts are in..

As the blood is beaten by the heart,
The blood is in for my mind,
inspiration coming from the heart,
and to the mind within..

Reaching the conclusion,
To my hilarious illusion,
Through the observation,
And practicing solutions..

Everything is science,
Even the words you write,
The way you write,
And how you write,

The observation is in your eye-sight,
But you can’t see,
Not because you’re blind,
But you don’t wanna believe..

The formulae of mathematics,
Are numbers and signs,
But the formulae of literature,
Are words and lines..

poem by Mustafa Ghuneim
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Writer's Drought

You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.

The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.

Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.

Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Faculty

Sometimes it seems so hard to work out the words,
and then again it seems not hard at all. Just write,
is as simple as that. There are times i can't seem to
work the words, other times the words come up
bubbling in my head with character and meaning.
At times i feel challenged by other writers, and i
begging to doubt my ability to work the words,
i simple read another writer and then i know i have
nothing to be worry about. I understand then that my
contest is with myself and not with other writers.
We all think about the same things, because once
in our life’s we all go through the same situations.
We all have the brain to create anything in our heads.
There’s nothing that i can't do if i focus and if i
don't focus; “you see” this word- focus is meaningful
in some ways, we need the focus, but in poetry we
need more the fantasy in our thoughts, the meaning
to our words, focusing can be important, but if your
head is not in the mood, there’s not going to be any
words bubbling up, even though you don’t need it so
much, because you can create a poem out of anything.
There’s one thing about writing, and reading poetry,
understanding the meaning behind the words.
Every word or phrase has a meaning behind, this is
where readers need to understand; for example-if i'm
drinking away my sorrows, it can mean, crying my
heart out, it can mean, i need to forget, it can mean,
a big hangover, it can mean, sleeping out in the porch,
it can mean, forgetting all you did last night; how many
things out of a phrase. Right know I would just like
to be in my cabin and sit right in front of the fire-place
with a bottle of wine and enjoy my pastoral life while
i write, amazing things.

poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words

I write there, and then you write they’re
I write who, and then you write whom
I misspell my words, too me you then curse
Then you call me a stupid loon.
You call me names, from which I refrain
Then I am off to a different room.

I forget punctuation's, It gives you frustrations
I don't use a contraction, you give me verbal action
Then I misspell a word, you call me absurd
I give you my silence it’s my only reaction.
You call me a name, my innocence I proclaim
My humility is seems, is your only satisfaction.

I sit at my typewriter, I still am a fighter
As I close my eyes, words still materialize
Words are my friends, rhyming is my sin
Maybe someday that, you will realize.
I finish another poem, to the world I show them
I write another verse, it becomes my universe.

You are my inspiration, my poems your creation
You correct what I write, it gives you such delight
You enjoy to respell, at words which you excel
You tell me they are wrong, I know you are right.
But you still are my friend, I hope it will never end
I am the poet, your a wordsmith and you show it.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Writer's Block

I am lost without inspiration;
I cannot think my thoughts are empty.
A sudden expectation
of words I cannot see.

I try that I must but I cannot write;
the ink in my hand, an outspoken sanity.
No inspiration, not of the night;
I am lost to insanity.

poem by Adam M. Snow
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Home Alone Happy Without Working Computer

Home alone happy without working computer
I take my pen in hand
And slowly write these words –

Let the world click and paste and post
I am out of it for now-

I have before me an evening of any book I like
Of any page I want to write
-
Peace of Mind is one place of attention at a time-

Here weighing each word as I write
I am at home with my inner self-
I hear my own thoughts
I correct them at my own pace.

So many words and so many pages
Have been written in my life-
Now in this one
I am wholly at home
Peaceful, quiet happy
Each word a small blessing
As I write it-

This is the only poem I know
The only page I see
The only place of attention
I give myself and my soul to
At this moment.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Your Brain Will Rot

Write a poem every day
don’t let anything get in your way

No inspiration? So what the hey?
Just sit down and write a poem every day

Write about nothing
if that’s all you’ve got

Keep your mind active
If you don’t it’ll rot

They don’t have to be good
They can even be lame

But keep up the writing
Keep your hand in the game

Listen to what I have to say
Write something…anything my dears

Each and every day
in any way and without fears

for if you don't, your brain will rot
and leak out through your ears

poem by David Whalen
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I Need to Write

I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,

First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;

Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,

All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.

Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,

No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;

Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,

Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.

I know what sort of holiday would people like,

And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;

Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,

And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.

It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,

It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;

It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,

Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.

So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,

Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;

Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,

Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.

Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,

You might even end up, turning it into a song;

Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,

And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.

poem by Margaret Haig
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Just A Poet

I am just a poet
Poems are my life
Words are the soul
The pen is my might.
Versus are the cup
From which that I drink
And knowledge is the bread
From which my mind is fed.
I live if just to write
The words that I cant speak,
For locked away in my mind
Are the versus to be rhymed.
I am but a simple writer
With a pen and pad in hand
Gazing at the sky and trees
To write what man should read.
I have walked many trodden paths
And down many mournful road,
Now I write about their tears and fears
For now they have became my soul.
I cant cure a mans health
Nor can I stop a war
As I am not much as I see myself
A poor man who loves the Lord.
And when I walk my last mile
And then I'll write my last smile
And on my pad it will show it
That I was but, a simple poet.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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a sequel on charles bukowski's 'SO YOU WANT TO BE A WRITER?

he has his message clearly said: a writer is chosen
he does not have to move heaven and earth
to make a poem or write an essay
or finish a novel, for he is the

privileged soul
the chosen one
the prophet
the messiah
the secret prince
the hidden king
the divine incarnate
whatever
whoever

and words simply come to him like
a light from the sun
embracing him with so much inspiration
that he merely sits there by the throne of his porch
and simply listens to the dictated poem.

he says it is a burst inside your heart
an explosion inside your head
and you simply have to listen with your heart
and mind and soul
and there everything comes so easily
day by day and on and on and on
ad infinitum ad aeternum

there is no sweat
or hard work, there is no striving at all
to become the chosen one
for the inspiration

it comes even if uninvited
it perches on your chest like a bird and sings
it stays there until you die or it dies with you
there is no madness
or murderous intent or this lostness
they are not necessary

to be a writer one does not have to
stay for hours and write a piece and stare at the
screen of the computer and tire your eyes
with so much pressure

Is that so Charles? Did you not once believe
that Elvis Presley is nothing?
Did you not look for a job, or even try to find your lost self
for twenty years or so or even more?

There must be this irony.
And if that be so, I think i must believe you.

He does not bother at all, how can he be a poet?
Not you Charles, someone else.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Write Erase Write Erase

this is what happens to this poem
when you have nothing to write
tonight....write, erase, write, erase

you are waiting
for an inspiration that does not come

you keep on waiting and then something comes
you write it, you think about it, you read it and you find nothing
worth the letter you assign to it
then you erase it and you are honest enough to admit that there is nothing
beautiful
not even a purpose, and then you write the word again, you ponder, there is
nothing worth its existence
there is nothing to grow in that word chosen
you erase it again, you write it and then there is this space of thinking,

what is it? you ask. what is it really?
it is this denial.
this negation of
what you are
that keeps you writing.

you stand by the window. Look out
the road. You see a dog, and it is howling again
to the moon
and to the wrong tree
it is barking.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The History Of You And Me

Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Yaahh! The history of you and me....

Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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A Journey Of A Poet

A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.

Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions

A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind

With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry

Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words

A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.

A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection

A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Not Much Of A Poem

THE PROBLEMS AND PAINS OF LIFE

The problems and pains of life
Destroy Poetry
One loses heart
And can barely write a single word
What is the point of more words
When they do not solve the real problems?

Another poem
About the inability to write Poetry
Is written.

NOT MUCH OF A POEM

A poem that is written
To help convince its writer
That he can do something

Is probably
Not much of a Poem.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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