Scribbles On A Page
Scribbles on a page…
scribbles on a page…
back of a yellow notebook
torn pages out
let me go home
God!
let me go home
Scribbles on a page…
scribbles on a page…
my little black writing pad
bent cover-spine
let me go home
God!
let me go home
(i think i need a break)
(i think i need to sleep)
poem by Michael Romero
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Algebra II Tests And Sunny Skies
He sits.
A calculator is set off to the side
As he furiously scribbles on the page in front of him,
Trying to finish.
There’s nothing but the buzz of fluorescent lights
In this classroom after school.
Paper shuffles and a breeze startles the blinds,
His concentration dissolving as they smack into the wall.
And he sits up again,
Concentrates,
Chewing a stick of gum quietly,
He focuses.
Thinks of his prison of parabolas,
He erases, then scribbles some more,
Finishing his test,
Wishing for naught more than the freedom of a soccer field.
poem by Melissa Nikolova
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What Is These All About?
at 9: 18 p.m.
the head gets the pain
another relief
swallowed
finally you go back
to where you
started
page one
when you said
you do not miss her
page two and three
empty
pages more pages
until you reach
that page where you cried
dried tears at the middle
of the blotted letters
you quickly run your fingers
close the notebook
you stand by the window
at par with the moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Coffee Stain
The coffee stain imprinted on the page
of notebook paper I'm writing on right now
reminds me of your eyes—
dark, brown spirals cycling around
the pale blue lines that separate
my thoughts; the spacious white
that causes me to recall the downy
purity of the god[ess] I'd
forgotten somewhere. Though
it's just a fragment of a circle,
the roundness dissipating as it lifts,
the image remains, and the imperfections
that sink down beside the words I jot into the
sheets go far deeper than
these scribbles, discoloring the emptiness
further than I know how to admit. And I—
remembering your shape, the way you see, looking
through it— am happy, am awake—
by a jolt of reminiscent caffeine and an embrace that
kindles all tomorrow's pages— and I
am content to ponder of what is
or was or what could've been, letting it all soak as
I start to question what will be.
Que sera, sera.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Book Of Days
Your life is as a book
Written on the pages are the weeks
For you would give anything to take just one look
Into the next chapter, the next page
Each page is a new thought, a new dream
Sometimes it takes so long to pass that page
And sometimes nothing is as it seams
For you know you can not go ahead or back
You know you are where you are
You know you can't change that
As you read page to page, so near to fear
You write the chapters as you go, with each turn
Each turn, each move changes what's to come
And you know each moment could be the last
With this in mind you go so mumb
So numb to the touch, to the thought
You turn page after page
until you reach the 'end'
And only then, you are freed from the title
The title that has kept your thoughts bound, and tight
You turn the pages one by one
You take the pain, take the joy
Until you are done
And your story becomes another on the shelf of eternity
(1/24/2008)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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You And I In This Little Nook...
your life is never an
empty page, every-days are
scribbles
figures and landscapes of
hills and buffaloes and
waters making
the usual turns on the hillsides
there are blue clouds
caressing treetops,
birds never rest, and the air
keeps on blowing beyond
the edges of
your margins
i am putting sounds, music,
strings, colors,
i am letting the ears of your
books hear,
i am speaking in some chapters,
want you to
to be be bold and firm
like me
hard cover, book bound.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Just The Way It Is....
this morning i bring a book
under a tree
and i begin to read
every page
the sun comes up
the sun comes down
I've done my duty to keep the peace of this world
to try to understand what complications
mankind has made
i am simplifying what i can do to make this world
a place for us
page by page
word to word
cover to cover
tonight i will go back to my room
sleep on my bed
it will be cold and dark
just the way it is.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Keep writing. Try to do a little bit every day, even if the result looks like crap. Getting from page four to page five is more important than spending three weeks getting page four perfect.
quote by Alan Dean Foster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh Notebook
She bought me a fresh notebook
To write my deepest thoughts
Deliver up my soul
Daily to her
A hard serrated border
Thick along the spine
Designed to pay tribute in words
An opening address
A nod a wink
Initialled in my best
Invisible ink
I turn a new leaf over
Another page, far from
A new beginning
Or a new address
A naked page where I confess
My deepest wish
To sleep with you
On sheets of winter snow
One day I'll write
A sonnet for your eyes
Smiling like the cold sunlight
And close the notebook shut
Liberating me
From sharp parallel lines
And you will feed
Your hungered soul
On pages of my life
poem by Frank Bana
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Captain
this is my ideas for captain
a girl in a flower dress
whos face is a real mess
she scribbles my words
she scribbles the real words
i'd rather these were not my words
i'd rather
that these were not my words
you say what
you are the captain what
Cos' I know how to live a lie
I know that you know I try
I know how to live a lie
I know you don't even try
I know how to live a lie
I know I don't even try
I know how to live a lie
you don't live a lie
and you don't try
and you live a lie
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jeannies Diary
How does our world spin
Without me and her nest
Could there really be
Such happiness
Oh, shes got a dark side too
Even murderous
But I love that
Just like here
I dont have a change at writing the book
I just wanna be a page
In jeannies diary
One single page
In jeannies diary
Yes I am intense
Maybe quite obsessed
Everything she does is curious
Oh, shes going to let me in
I just know its so
Then again, who do I kid
I dont have a prayer at writing the book
I just wanna be a page
In jeannies diary
One single page
In jeannies diary
She could have anything she wants
So why not me
She could have anything she dreams
Oh, to be one single page
One single page
One single page in jeannies dairy
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to a Blank Page
Ode to a blank page
It’s blue seemingly thin lines flying across the page
Each producing a small space to place your thoughts on
Next lies the taunting red margin
Baring how sparsely you’ve done
You can strike the page with a single blow
Leaving a mark that did no good
Ode to a blank page
Why do you stare?
Taunting and shrieking in my ear
Emptiness fills the page
The blanks intimidate even the strong
How strong it is
To give a cut even to the toughest skin
Ode to a blank page
You know I’m jealous
How I despise all your characteristics
poem by Rachele ...duhh
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The Secret Leaves of My Notebook
Page after page, I wrote your name in my journal,
With flowers and bees drawn in rhythm of blue;
“I love you” I said in calligraphy of black and red,
But no page was ever torn to hand them to you.
Then I sketched your hair down to your shoulder,
And I adore your eyes staring at me so life like;
The curl of your lips that I couldn’t wait to kiss
Got your gentle smile that made me like a thief;
A thief full of wonder when he will ever get caught
By glints of those eyes just for once to lay upon his,
As he pretends to sip his coke just to steal them out
From the silence of your selfishness, he cries! Cries!
So, he jeweled your ears with rather less expensive,
Enough that he drew something as simple as gold,
For he was just a poor boy who cannot afford to give,
Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, pearl s were too bold.
He said, “I love you, ” hangs his heart on your neck,
With same name, same page, same sky, same trick,
And nothing changed and no leaf was ever ripped
In his notebook, you’re his love, his forever secret.
******************
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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For Your Attention....
have a little time
to this page
it used to be a blank page
an emptiness, a void, a stare
it is calling for attention
its silence like roots call for more depths
it is not the normal page
that you open and leave
with your wet fingers
and dry tongue
listen with your eyes
let your ears see
this is this poem that perhaps
may not make you sleep....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Young
In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page
Where theres life theres gotta be hope
And where theres a will theres a way
One mans in is anothers out
I gotta get out today
Where theres life theres gotta be hope
And where theres a will theres a way
Amid divisions youre so low
You know I gotta get out today
In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page
And where theres a will theres a way
song performed by by Stone Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They may call it a home page, but it's more like the gnome in somebody's front yard than the home itself.
quote by Tim Berners-Lee
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Back Home
Yeah yeah yeah
Well Im going back this summer to ohio
Im gonna seek out all my friends Ive always known
Im goin back to that farm that I remember
Well Im goin to spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Im gonna get up every morning before the roosters
Ill run downstairs fix my breakfast all alone
Ill milk those cows feed the chickens and the horses
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home (back home)
Ill eat everything that ma puts on the table
When I get back you wont believe how Ive grown
Ill hit the sack early everynight thinkin bout tomorrow whoa oh
Well Im gonna spend this summer back home
Back home, back home, back home
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Thats what Im gonna do thats where Im gonna be, thats this summer
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Gonna get up, gonna get up, gonna get up every morning
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Hey woo feels okay back home
Back home (back home)
Back home (back home, back home, back home)
Ill spend my summer (back home)
Back home
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Pages of Life
Yesterday's page has benn written
it is over.
Tomorrow's page has to be written,
it is still has to come.
But,
Today's page can be written,
only by you.
It is only yours'
so, live the best today by correcting your past pages
and making ways for your future roads.
Life is yours' and live it to the fullest.
Today,
never think about past,
erase them from your mind,
think about future,
by writing your today.
poem by Yashika Goyal
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