Once they're lost
Old books piled
every dusty room
notebooks scattered
on every stack.
Some full others not
just gathering poems
on pages most bad
a few worth typing.
Can't find half finished sonnet
start throwing
filled notebooks in boxes
as they fill
put in garage
a couple years before rereading.
Only then will half-finished poem
let itself be found,
muse playing games.
poem by David Howerton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Are My Poems Finished/ And I Finished With Them?
ARE MY POEMS FINISHED/ AND I FINISHED WITH THEM?
Are my poems finished
And I finished with them?
Each day has a beauty of its own
Light, wind, trees, colors, flowers.
All I see
The cracks in the grey pavement before me.
The cool cool wind at my back
The prayer ahead.
Even this poem is not properly finished
And I a fool racing and rushing
Through another
Again and again and again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Will Live as Long as The Sun
In the basement
back by the sliding door
there is a cabinet full of notebooks
don't waste time on a funeral
say a prayer if it helps you
and read my notebooks if you wish to honor me
you are all in there, believe me
when I am in the ground
don't stand and sob at my stone
read my words aloud
read them because I didn't have the courage to
don't speak of my sad fate
you will have me forever
I am in those books
I will live as long as the sun
If you so choose
poem by Stephen Martin II
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Little Trip Down Memory Lane
I found a box filled with notebooks
each filled with my writings of yesterdays.
Writings that I had forgotten about
across the span of time.
They are of no great importance,
but within their contents,
I wonder if I will find some missing gems
something, I may have written down
and forgot about many years ago.
I’m going to have to go through each one.
It will be like returning to the past
without the baggage it held.
A little trip down memory lane
when dreams were active then.
I shall take my time and linger
trying to remember what I was doing
when I wrote whatever is there.
11 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Teachers Are Afraid Of The Pupils
Theres too many people
Planning your downfall
When your spirits on trial
These nights can be frightening
Sleep transports sadness
To some other mid-brain
And somebody here
Will not be here next year
So you stand by the board
Full of fear and intention
And, if you think that theyre listening
Well, youve got to be joking
Oh, you understand change
And you think its essential
But when your profession
Is humiliation
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
Mucus on your collar
A nail up through the staff chair
A blade in your soap
And you cry into your pillow
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Say the wrong word to our children ...
Well have you, oh yes, well have you
Lay a hand on our children
And its never too late to have you
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
To be finished would be a relief
Im very glad the spring has come
The sun shines out so bright
All the birds that are on the trees
Are singing for delight
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've written a couple screenplays and half-finished plays.
quote by Christopher Meloni
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem's Ne'er Finished
A Poem’s never finished
tis just entirely begun
If you’ve gone back and looked
To see just what it is that you’ve done
Ne’er a piece has been written
that couldn’t use a wee fix
A more profound phrase
To throw in the mix
Sometime it’s the inflection
Oft times it’s the prose
That could use some correction
A tiny tweak of it’s nose
Perchance an error, a bit of imperfect elocution
A slight awkward feel, now felt in the flow
Where before one saw only, eloquent execution
Needed changes, upon reflection, begin to show
Ne’er a piece is writ to perfection
When put the first time to submission
Tis only on rereading and a wee bit of reflection
That the betterments pop into one’s vision
Aye, it’s true, to like some, over the others
To think tis a fine job you’ve done
But let me suggest, my poetic sisters and brothers
That a poem’s ne’er finished…tis just entirely begun
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Conversations Of The Heart
the first poem that you really find it hard to write
is to write an image which must tell her
that you love her truly from the bottom of your heart, and then
the most beautiful poem comes from her when she admits that she
also loves you with all her heart and soul and mind,
and then the saddest poem
was not written.
it was when everything ended.
the years passed.
and you do not even know
where she is.
it is always the saddest poem,
when you do not know where to find love again.
you say, not anymore, but
it can be a lie, for how can one live without it?
All corners of the world are looking for it.
They seem not to find it,
and all these corners will only stop writing
and talking and speaking
when love is found
when their hearts are
filled,
when their mouths
cannot utter a word,
because of so much abundance,
bliss, joy, happiness,
all these shall make us mute for another hundred years.
(do we ever reach there?)
honestly in making love, (and be in so much trouble loving,)
words do not have use,
love, you embrace me with so much intensity
all my nerves sing, neurons spark with flints,
i explode, finished.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Way You Do Me
Girl the way you do me...
Yeah
Ohhh...
Girl the way you do me
Girl my heads on fire
Since our very first kiss
Dreamed of us together
Never dreamed of this
Took me up to your room
To show me who you are
My cup is running over
(maybe its your... bra? )
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill tell you how Im feelin
Theres no way to begin
Like winnin half a million
And then kissing through
Girl I know youre moody
You blow hot and cold
Thats the way I like it
Youre what I want (what I want)
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill paris blues and gap you
Cant wait to unwrap you
You know I am feelin you,
Are you feeling me?
If you didnt phone me
I see the sky turning black
I wish my mom would loan me
A couple of prozac
But I wont let it get to me
I know you just forgot
Cause, girl youre always with me
Even (even) when (when) youre not
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
song performed by by 2gether
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm ceded—I've stopped being Theirs
508
I'm ceded—I've stopped being Theirs—
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
I've finished threading—too—
Baptized, before, without the choice,
But this time, consciously, of Grace—
Unto supremest name—
Called to my Full—The Crescent dropped—
Existence's whole Arc, filled up,
With one small Diadem.
My second Rank—too small the first—
Crowned—Crowing—on my Father's breast—
A half unconscious Queen—
But this time—Adequate—Erect,
With Will to choose, or to reject,
And I choose, just a Crown—
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Load
Two Bag
Load of
Books -
My son
Carries
To school
I wonder
If all the
Learning
They are
Giving…
Will
Educate him
Enough
To bear
The load
Of troubles
That life
Gives us…
(seeing my son go to school every day with his 2 bags - one bag full of textbooks and the other bag full of notebooks)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daylight Dreamer
Here's the half-finished painting of a girl that I started last December
Here's the first three pages of my novel bout I don't really remember
Here's my Martin guitar that I never quite learned how to play
That's the daylight dreamer wishful thinker's way
I had a Harley bike but I traded it off to a feller
For the Astroglass boat that's still sittin down in my cellar
I bought a tape recorder and found I had nothin' to say
That's the daylight dreamer wishful thinker's way
I got an exercise machine man I'd be glad to let you try it
This well it's a Leika Camera maybe you'd like to buy it
I can get you a real good deal
I just need enough money to buy myself some modeling clay
Yeah that's the daylight dreamer wishful thinker's way
On the day that I die they'll be talking about the dearly departed
And they'll say he never ever finished nothin' that he started
But I started this song man I'm gonna finish it today
Yeah that's the daylight dreamer
(How was it...daylight...oh wish...wishful...think...what were it...
I forgot I forgot the words
Listen... anyway... why don't we just take a break and finish it later you know
Cause I could sure use a sandwich
I wanna get myself a BLT or something
And listen... right near the restaurant there's a great old bookstore.
Right near the restaurant
They got all these great old books... great old comic books...they got Batman)
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half Blooded Brothers
You my blood half or full were brothers, regardless of what you do to each other, you my brother half or full, .
We keep each other good, you my brother half or full. We take care of each other, because we brothers half or full.
Imma stop trippin, it'll take a while, because im use to bullshittin and prickin, but you my brother half or full.
Stick together we will stay alive, all the bullshit I said, I've been a asshole, shit who hasn't, but you my brother half or full and I guess that's what family does.
Arguments and verbal brutality towards one another is what we do, because we will always be brothers half or full. Blood half or full, it doesn't matter, because we are brothers till the end of time, your my brother half or full.
poem by Arthur V. Miller III
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Story Of A Search For A Poem
A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -
And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-
So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-
So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’
And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-
So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-
He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-
He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-
He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I do not, as a rule, do encores. When I have finished playing, I have indeed finished playing. I have nothing left; there has been no reserve.
quote by Bill Dixon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Too, Like An Unfinished Poem
an unfinished poem sounds like
an incomplete sentence
sometimes just a predicate without a subject
like love unrequited
a verb without a noun
an adjective so misplaced that
it calls for an adverb
it is more like a mouth
that opens but says only some syllables
though you as the reader
understands what the poet
wants to stress and mean and accentuate
for some parts of the poem are meant
not to be finished sometimes
in fact, they are meant to be concealed
and well covered like a bikini
to your.........or the prohibited love
you still keep in your........
or the memories that hurt you and are meant
to be unsaid.......you still want her not to
know..........
i, too, like an unfinished poem
like the sketch of your secret love many, many years ago,
once when you were young
the face is unfinished, you have not drawn the eyes
of that love so profuse that no canvass could ever contain
you still like this love unfinished, who knows
the ripe time comes and both of you
will finish
the unfinished love poem soon......
or some poems cannot ever be finished
because the words to complete them still
do not exist
or they are simply missing,
too lost like you,
they are not there yet to a feeling so new
so fragile and so indescribable.....
so rare........
and i, really, like it that way the poem
unfinishes itself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
Poetry Reading
To be a boxer, or not to be there
at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare
it's time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,
the rest are relatives. O Muse.
The women here would love to rant and rave,
but that's for boxing. Here they must behave.
Dante's Infemo is ringside nowadays.
Likewise his Paradise. O Muse.
Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet,
one sentenced to hard shelleying for life,
for lack of muscles forced to show the world
the sonnet that may make the high-school reading lists
with luck. O Muse,
O bobtailed angel, Pegasus.
In the first row, a sweet old man's soft snore:
he dreams his wife's alive again. What's more,
she's making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame, but carefully-don't burn his cake!
we start to read. O Muse.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The first duty of a lecturer to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks, and keep on the mantlepiece forever.
quote by Virginia Woolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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