When I'm writing something, I try not to get analytical about it as I'm doing it, as I'm writing it.
quote by Quentin Tarantino
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Related quotes
Truth and the Devil
The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,
The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,
The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,
The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,
The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,
T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,
The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,
The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,
The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,
The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Albatross Draggers
Sad are the grabbers dragging,
An albatross displayed.
As a familiar routine...
Meant to be seen daily on the scene.
Yet flavored in dismay,
With a bitterness each day.
Typical and analytical are they,
To be living to be gimmicked.
And be living in such limits.
And...
Typical and analytical are they,
To be living to be gimmicked.
And be living in such limits.
Sad are the grabbers dragging,
An albatross displayed.
As a familiar routine...
Meant to be seen daily on the scene.
Yet flavored in dismay,
With a bitterness each day.
And...
Typical and analytical are they,
To be living to be gimmicked.
And be living in such limits.
Those albatross draggers,
Hoping sadness they will pass.
And...
Typical and analytical are they,
To be living to be gimmicked.
And be living in such limits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When I wasn't breathing
When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Whos Been Writing On The Wall Again
Someone keeps on telling me how much he loves me so
Writes it on the wall outside so I will always know
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori, I love you , lori, I love you
Evry evening I come home , its waiting there for me
Three little words, one little voice , someone I cant see
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hes write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when I meet him ,Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hed write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when meet him , Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again (fade)
song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
[...] Read more
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Writing On The Wall
Words and music by rick nielsen
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
In the midwest and in the east.
Canada, southwest, around the world,
L.a., tokyo, sounds so sweet,
Come on honey, get on your feet.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
The words were oh, so...
The words were oh, so clear.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
Saw it at the airport, it was on t.v.
Read it in a magazine, runnin down the street.
Makes no sense, but I hope its gonna last,
The next big thing, I really gotta laugh.
Worked and slaved and played like hell,
Everybodys goin crazy, youre the last to know.
Cant explain it, still a joke to me,
Maybe Im naive, cause its so plain to see.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Played like hell, whoa!
Played like hell, whoa!
song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Come Alive In Writing
I come alive in writing
Even if the writing means nothing to anyone else-
I come alive in writing
Even if I am totally deluding myself as to its value-
I come alive in writing
Even if at times while writing there is an underlying hopelessness and despair -
I come alive in writing
As if writing is what God has given me to do-
I come alive in writing
As if through it I can truly give to and help others-
I come alive in writing
As if life has meaning through it-
I come alive in writing
Even when I sense the writing is not good or great
As I would wish it to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Thank You
I express my thanks to all,
Who offer their comments...
That are analytical,
With indepth perceptions.
As writers we all are 'connected' to what we create.
At times we assess with critique we feel is best,
To uncover 'identities' we believe, infact...
Are the writers' personalities.
And most times 'conceive'...
What we read leads us,
To the core of a writers' mentality.
I express my thanks to all,
Who offer their comments...
That are analytical,
With indepth perceptions.
And many times humorous,
That ushers the writer,
To incorporate and open...
Other selected directions.
I thank you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Burry the corpse.
Be analytical and not reactive
If you want to be tension free.
To be analytical is burry the past.
To be reactive is nurse the corpse.
24.09.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Less Analytical
You can make up your mind,
That you will...
Find the time to be,
More exclusive...
In reducing your excuses.
You can make up your mind,
That you will...
Find the time to be,
More correct...
And,
Less analytical.
Remove yourself from being in the middle,
Of drain.
Remove yourself from being second fiddle,
For anything you dislike...
By,
Deciding what is right.
And you can free yourself from even being,
Very critical.
You can free yourself from seeking things,
More political.
And you will live a life,
With a meaning that is right...
For you.
If this is what you choose.
You can make up your mind,
That you will...
Find the time to be,
More exclusive...
In reducing your excuses.
You can make up your mind,
That you will...
Find the time to be,
More correct...
And less analytical.
You can free yourself from even being,
Very critical.
You can free yourself from seeking things,
More political.
You can live a life,
With a meaning that is right...
For you!
With a doing that you choose.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Writing The Words
I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.
I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.
I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.
I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.
I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.
So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And I'm writing
The purpose of writing poem
Is not known and I'm writing.
Excuse me, I'm writing
And writing
And writing is natural
As natural as wind
As natural as light
And I'm writing
Writing and pervading
Everywhere.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Hand Of God
Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb
Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb
It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to
So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Hand over my heart, gun to my head
I swear to God I'm through with this
I am the worst liar I know
It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to
So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
(Been gone more days this year than I have been home)
(Been gone more days this year than I have been home)
song performed by Fall Out Boy
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And So I'm Writing...
I'm hard-pressed for time,
yet I do have the heart
And so I'm writing
Know not what to pen down,
have a paper to write on
And so I'm writing
May be I'll write about 'you and me'
Or may be of 'us and them'
Feel like playing with words
And so I'm writing
May be that starving beggar's hungry looks
Or that homeless Child's beckoning eyes
Are making me scribble these lines to you
And so I'm writing
May be you'll find my words vague
Or you might decipher a meaning
Intend to leave you in the oblivion
And so I'm writing
Whatever might be the impression I create
Wish to see its reflection on your soul
And leave an imprint on your mind
And so I'm writing
May be you and I've become immune
To the pathos of mankind
Or may be there's still
A dropp of humanity flowing deep within us
Wish to arouse 'The Human Being' in you
And so I'm writing...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Writing Is Like A Diet
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it...
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it.
Those who do may not sleep,
At night.
Or discover they have lost an appetite.
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
Those who ask how writing is done...
Usually have no idea,
Of what they must overcome.
Some believe writing is nothing but fun.
But those committed...
Know writing is more like a spouse,
That can be quiet as a mouse.
Then at other times a shouting occurs...
Heard from the inside,
With a wish to come out!
Writing is like a diet.
And accepting it becomes a way of life.
It is not easy to write.
Even if one likes it!
Writing is like a challenge.
An obstacle to face.
And when confronted,
To make use of it...
A discipline applied,
Is what it takes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Modern poetry
What do you witness in modern poetry?
Does it represent sentiments of any country?
Do fond actual spirit missing and has evaporated?
It seems mind is bogged down and perforated,
No reflection of nature, snow clad mountains in poems?
Not concrete views on subjects and lack proper themes,
Short size of lines and left to readers for views
Read out as Para or commentary in news
No curse or regret in words for any message
Be silent spectator and clear smooth way for passage
Our poetic soul has died long back,
We write artificially as if standing on jack,
We have completely lost faith in system around,
We are back to the square one nothing new is found
limitation in expression of ideas and are not found suitable or sound
People do not appreciate as it has lost the ground,
Has the level of writing gone up or we leg behind?
Does the nature has lost its charm and nothing new find
Forests are depleted and wild animals has lost cover
what is left in nature is simply to imagine over?
Ozone layer is depleting and glaciers are sliding
Air is completely polluted and we are minding
Rivers are added with affluent discharge,
there is health hazard and risk is looming large
What to write in modern poems?
Where is inspiration with good theme?
Who has the time to spare for nature?
We are concerned with only future
How come old themes are rich with heritage?
Why do they not fall under class vintage/
They still inspire us in our daily routine
Lot many ways to be explored and put in
How our ancestors could write great epics?
There were tragic events including comics
Every part so interwoven with delicate presentation
Still we prefer it to be put in our quotation
Love epics are down with limited object
Suicides and downing in river is the only subject
News papers are full of robbery and murders
Little we offer as solace and only murmur
[...] Read more
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Longing To Express Feelings
Three of us at work have the same
Astrogenetic sign, conceived in the
same time period, all three have to
be stuffed full of medication in order
to make it in a routine world of duty
without time for dreams and visions
One publishes without marketing so
his books don't sell, then Madame
Pompadour can only work when
held in a soundproof cell, the third,
me, can only sit still when heavily
dosed to stop flow of adrenaline
To stop the surge of feelings within,
all three bound to live in world made
for Capricorns- focused, determined
Virgos- calm and analytical, lovely
Librans weighing pros and cons
Scorpios organised and strong
While we three, genetically marked
by the electromagnetic radiation of
the Gemini-Cancer configuration -
longing to express feelings - must
translate scientific lines - starved,
caged, ear-phoned and drugged
To do our cold work - we should
not be cooped up with the music
in our soul wasted on research of
scientific terms instead of writing
mesmerising lines - I visualise a
wonderful new world in which
We shall be free to officially weave
dreams and feelings to enrich the
lives of the realistic signs and help
Pisceans and Aquarians to refine
their visions; use the enthusiasm
of Aries, Leo and Sagittarius
To accomplish wonderful ideals -
towing languid Taurus along to a
wonderful new world of comfort
in inner peace…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Passion Plot - Arthur Abacus' Affiancing
Passion Plot - Arthur Abacus' Affiancing Application Against Ann's Approval
Passion Plot
Aspiring author aims at gold award
accordingly advancing work of art
always rhyming, rhythmic, in accord,
A I O U and Y are drawn apart
from that which follows D, and from the start
inscription shows how mighty is nib's sword.
This way of writing is simplistic - word
word follows automatically drawn,
idyllic musing is it or absurd?
no hours are lost, all printing rags untorn,
prompt spurring, on hot air as tiny bird,
this work so artificial's promptly born.
It could draw out two thousand stanzas or
twenty million with diversity,
standards upholding day and night to pour
amusing thoughts of country, town, city,
crisply painting many a mount, rill, tor,
adroit aphorisms with alacrity.
Alas what worth would such quack actions show
apart from quickly boring, much kowtow,
if constant word-play adding to quick flow
no wisdom, no profundity knows now -
graffiti stylistic in sporadic glow
through basic instincts' which skill disavow.
Instincts, advancing rapid thought,
aim at showing how facility
uniting consonants is swifly caught
up in a fountain where ability
canvas fills approaching imprint sought,
avoiding mundanity, banality.
Multi-modal intuitions work
harmoniously to form additional scan,
nothing making this bright insight shirk
task as luminous sparkling mensans can
simply scrawl ad infinitum, hardly irk
Wrinkling Mind who fair Bloom fain would span
twilight draping passion in joy's van.
Alas, as passion is not always found
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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