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Running running running and running
my mind is always running.
Yet I stand almost still.
Tap tap tap
my foot won't stop tapping against the floor.
What was my last thought?
Where am I?
Figment and The Writer
A young writer looked down
With a frown and a sigh than
Suddenly with a push and a pull
The words leaped up as the main character
The meanest trick I ever knew
Was the one you nor I would ever do.
I saw a Grugnax try to do it,
And there was nothing funny to it.
With lifted feet, hands still,
I am ready to go downhill.
Swifter and then more swift,
Till my heart with a mighty lift
Makes me laugh and then cry,
A soul met another soul..
There is a vibe, in mind & body whole..
A bright smile after decades...
I begin to come out of the darker shades..,,
Today is frozen
in blue and white
we live to stall
upon a blank page
This picture, now
a photograph
In black and white
The art of writing cannot be done without first mastering the art of reading.
The art of writing cannot be done without first mastering the art of reading.
To have readers, one must have been and always be a reader.
To have readers, one must have been and always be a reader.
You want to know my secret power? I am an author.I can make the world laugh, or I can make the world cry.I can bring the world to the edge of its seat, then throw it to its knees.
Weauthors are like aMagicians. You see only what we put on the page in frontof you, absorbed in that single
As my Pen runs out of Ink, I'm forced to stare, to stop and think.
This Pen that flitters, jumps and dances; over page it skitters, prances
This Pen that colors, draws, and spells: This Pen, which over wording swells.
When I was little I wanted to work with wordsI wanted my voice to be heard Amidst the noise of all the others in the worldI wanted to construct skyscrapers built of verbs, Towering miles above the earthBut unlike babylon, my goal was never heaven
Dear Author,
Your book brings me joy
and this isn't just a ploy.
It is by far the best
and I am utterly impressed.
I would like to thank you
for making these characters.
Fresh,a slip of tonguean adolescent impulse.Later he will learn notto say what he means,when he dims to mellow.
He pretended he believed her
She did the same
Reciprocating impulses
push away, then suddenly contract.
When two worlds collide
new stars are birthed.
In the ashes of a post explosion
The earth quakes in thunder claps
a hapless dressing for a proud sun
melting clouds enough for rain.
One is born, another dies
a constant neverland of never come again.
There are no great hills in Kenilworth
where grassy girls give fruitful birth
born from men of stately girth
I have been to Kenilworth
I have been to far worse
and back again upon a shore
Last night I saw you in a neon dream
all lit up in a throw back scene
the streets were wet in reflective haze
where the truth is shadowed
by the fire's blaze.
We talked of prized cheese
as if cheese was our master
in the great disaster of us,
Then mind spent, W(H)INE spent
on dreams only a fool would leave behind
we passed our own tests on our own
It was as much a hinder as a clatter
a soft splatter of broken love
delicious melted caramel
on creamy lips of summer fog.
I do not forget her of hers
a fine progression of my past;
We were only jokingWhen we sat beneath the weeping willowThe soft hairs of your armsElectrocuting my sensesOur conversation went onIn silence
In the piercing heatof the unfolding daywe set sails for Avalon.
Guided by winds wetested our fate, provingit was fragile in thedesperate side-by-sideof our changing lives.
Some came to satisfy their queer attractionto be close to something deadthat draws such loud attention
Her eyes are the color green you can't describe without a viewThey soul speak of December leaning towards August's blue.The girl, the choice, the time, oh it must be forty years.
I crawled deep inside myself
sand crabbing my way to a deep security
there were no stars to gaze
Last I saw you we were in the north woods guitars in hand searching for that place in the music where harmony resides traveling down the highway of notes and chords from opposite directions
Her ways that wet the windin cloud drips close to clandestineraindrops hidden in the grays of ghostswhere broken-hearted loversplayed hollow games of what ifor, worse what if NOT?
They quarter-toned their deliveranceagenda based and ill conceivedin a quiet corner there was always eyeslooking at me smilingthe quiet ones were wise.
They are confined in canyons of chaoswriting crayon graffiti in the dark corners of restless mindshither too, and hither from, come hither to a have not,a has been, a has to have, a half a man,always incomplete
We are like cans of soupcollecting dust in a discarded martonce, when the day was sharpour pencils pushed the poembeyond a feeble flight of emotioninto the grand promise of new suns
Tidal changes of this floating heartwhen to stop, when to start?My pulse expands my waking mind.
She was lightheartedlike a feather in soft windsI was playing throw and catchwith girls still growing breasts.
Mathaya,
I, your author, write
To encourage you for the
Coming days ahead.
My main character
Is you; you’ll learn hard lessons.
You’ll come through each one.
Are you down
For some
Of those haters hating
Down for
Making thousands of haters
That are just disguised as fans
Who won't admit they like your shi*
They're to busy
Wanting to be you
Since I was a little girl,
I dreamed of being a ballerina.
And now look at me:
Caught up in this twisted dance for fools.
I wished for nothing more than to have stage,
Today I saw you’re the books your favorite author wrote. I still have all those books you gave me sitting in a pile under a small blue table that you helped me build one day when my parents weren’t home.
5 years ago, when I first told people that I was a singer-songwriter, the first phrase they could think of to say was: Oh, so you write poetry.
it was like clay:
a keyboard.
molded everything she wanted to say.
when she was bored
had a desire to record
needed a sword
or a place to explore
poems were that medium.
Everyone needs a helping handFor the heart and soul.
I talk, listen, and most of all,I care about you.
Don't be afraid, you can tell me,And I promise I won't tell.
Wisdom in each droplet
like a sea of broken roads
with each forgotten memory
to lighten the weight of loads
.
For every breath forsaken
and every tear forgiven
A cloud so unreliableto provide such decent shadethough many stop to watch themthey're perfect, they're God made..They're made of wispy waterso white up in the skycollections of lovely ice
The air currents swirled
like water in the ocean,
swift and calming.
.
The air reminded me of fall,
though life blossomed like spring,
new and refreshing.
.
A garden green,
I choose to be meIn a world where others disguise who they truly areLiving a facade to hide any imperfections or scarsPressured to live their life just like everyone else
I have many universes in my hands
They go beyond the limitations of this concrete world
My hands instead hold countless worlds crafted by graphite and sweat
I’m seated in a comfy chair,
he’s running his fingers through my hair,
I’m thinking aloud as I write,
The page screams out
A faintly blinking blank screen in front
Of the pale face of the writer.
She stares with list
Disappointment at her failure to subsist on the great words of those
Cry your final tears now,don't hold it in
For tomorrow holds another chance to live again
Keep your head held high in confidence and pride
Just let go, relax, enjoy the ride
Things will pan out in the end
My hair, long and brown
My face, straight and concentrated
My body, short and ordinary
None of it matters
I can get through
Whatever life throws at me
My strength
My desire
My dedication
I'm Flawless
Not because my skin is clear or my body is perfect
Cause I'm Far from both ..
But because I love.. I love hard ..
I'm flawless cause my loyalty runs deep
What is beauty?
Everyone has different opinions about beauty.
But what is beauty?
Beauty can be big,
Beauty can be little.
Beauty can be light,
Beauty can be dark.
#Hi.
I'm trying to act like I'm invisible because I know that you can see that I'm not #perfect.
But I know that if you could see the real me that is not my blotchy skin or curvy frame, you would be #shocked.
I'm not the best of sons,
and it's hard to miss my family when everyday they're part of war.
I live with scars that just won't seem to end,
but you know what?
They're my medals and best friend.
i write and i write but how can i describe the feelings that i have yet to experience with words i can't even begin to know the meaning of?
I can rhyme words without a rhythmbut as soon as I try, I lose the feeling.So I’ve learned to let them flow,let ‘em rolloff my tongue - or in this case my pen -
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it, I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
I anxiously await the day
My novel is confirmed to play
To invade your minds
With my tantalizing words
For my characters to wound
To uplift, to hurt.
For the hours I've spent
In silence to toil
I dream of having a voice
traveling the world to see the ways of people in other countries live
to write about what I come across and the observations I have made
i am the firstborn cub
to my mother and father
born to complete what they lost
in their own life cycles
as a reincarnation sent to
redeem
the regrets nagging behind their sleeping eyelids.
Writing
Just to make a world
Writing
Even if it doesn't work
Writing
I want to make it my life
Writing
No matter what the price
But what will happen if this is my job?
I can’ t paint with a brush that well,
But I know how to paint with a pen and an ink well.
My words form pictures that pictures themselves couldn’t describe.
Your photograph may be worth 1000 words.
As child I was always asked
"when you grow up, what do you want to be?"
and without a doubt I just knew I wanted to teach
english to be exact
reading stories excited me
I’m the girl who is always lost in her thoughts
The girl who created entire civilizations in her head
To write.
To build people word by word,
On a piece of paper,
Scribbled sentences that form from the mind,
To erase pain.
To call upon instances in which you have lived life.
To give others a chance.
Rooms filled to the brim
A child per five sits grim
Sitting patiently, waiting for the day
The lights will finally dim
The books you read provide no gray
No inspiration, only gym
they say talk is cheap,
but a hardback novel sells
at fourteen ninety-five,
so words are worth something.
my bookshelves are weighed down with these words,
A writer dines not on food,
but on paper.
A writer drinks not wine,
but ink.
Everyone can become
a writer
should they have a taste.
Words will tumble
from their lips
and form
What will be when I am gone?
I think this question, thinking I’ll go on
But for all I know, I could die tomorrow
Then, would my loved ones grieve in sorrow?
If you've ever woken up inside a dream, you already know why I write.
If you've ever screamed "feel-words" at the clouds which lie low, you already know why I write
Oh James
I've read your biography
Our lives have similarities
I am you-you are Me
Religion played a role in our lives
Namely Christianity
At some point we were involved
I was introduced to poetry 7th grade.
I started to understand the concept: releasing.
I write because it is an outlet for my frustration.
I am bound in new white pages,
I am read throughout the ages.
I am old and I am new,
I am false and I am true.
I am past, present, and future,
I am modern and old culture.
I am the hero and the villain,
So this guy had a problem.
More specifically,
he had a problem with me
and was asking questions about my mentality,
trying to make me realize
that it's no use being a writer
How doth the little moth
Fly high up in the sky?
Flitting gently from light to light
It seems to find pleasure and delight.
How does he fly with so llittle care?
Clumsy and such, but STILL doesn't care
I don't want white washed walls
or plastered smiles
or taking tips
or broken dishes crashing my falls
I want to be sleep deprived
my editor calling me time and time again
asking where the next chapter is
