Citatepedia^®.com

I think with every writer there are two people there.

quote by Hugh Leonard
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Paperback Writer

(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Writer's Dream

A writer wrote of the hearts of men, and he followed their tracks afar;
For his was a spirit that forced his pen to write of the things that are.
His heart grew tired of the truths he told, for his life was hard and grim;
His land seemed barren, its people cold—yet the world was dear to him;—
So he sailed away from the Streets of Strife, he travelled by land and sea,
In search of a people who lived a life as life in the world should be.
And he reached a spot where the scene was fair, with forest and field and wood,
And all things came with the seasons there, and each of its kind was good;
There were mountain-rivers and peaks of snow, there were lights of green and gold,
And echoing caves in the cliffs below, where a world-wide ocean rolled.
The lives of men from the wear of Change and the strife of the world were free—
For Steam was barred by the mountain-range and the rocks of the Open Sea.

And the last that were born of a noble race—when the page of the South was fair—
The last of the conquered dwelt in peace with the last of the victors there.
He saw their hearts with the author’s eyes who had written their ancient lore,
And he saw their lives as he’d dreamed of such—ah! many a year before.
And ‘I’ll write a book of these simple folk ere I to the world return,
‘And the cold who read shall be kind for these—and the wise who read shall learn.

‘Never again in a song of mine shall a jarring note be heard:
‘Never again shall a page or line be marred by a bitter word;
‘But love and laughter and kindly hours will the book I’ll write recall,
‘With chastening tears for the loss of one, and sighs for their sorrows all.
‘Old eyes will light with a kindly smile, and the young eyes dance with glee—
‘And the heart of the cynic will rest awhile for my simple folk and me.’

The lines ran on as he dipped his pen—ran true to his heart and ear—
Like the brighter pages of memory when every line is clear.
The pictures came and the pictures passed, like days of love and light—
He saw his chapters from first to last, and he thought it grand to write.
And the writer kissed his girlish wife, and he kissed her twice for pride:
‘’Tis a book of love, though a book of life! and a book you’ll read!’ he cried.

He was blind at first to each senseless slight (for shabby and poor he came)
From local ‘Fashion’ and mortgaged pride that scarce could sign its name.
What dreamer would dream of such paltry pride in a scene so fresh and fair?
But the local spirit intensified—with its pitiful shams—was there;
There were cliques wherever two houses stood (no rest for a family ghost!)
They hated each other as women could—but they hated the stranger most.

The writer wrote by day and night and he cried in the face of Fate—
‘I’ll cleave to my dream of life in spite of the cynical ghosts that wait.
‘’Tis the shyness born of their simple lives,’ he said to the paltry pride—
(The homely tongues of the simple wives ne’er erred on the generous side)—
‘They’ll prove me true and they’ll prove me kind ere the year of grace be passed,’
But the ignorant whisper of ‘axe to grind!’ went home to his heart at last.

The writer sat by his drift-wood fire three nights of the South-east gale,
His pen lay idle on pages vain, for his book was a fairy tale.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

All Different, But Still The Same

Some people have short hair, some have long.
Some people have thick hair; some people’s hair is all gone.

Some people have black hair, some have gray.
Some people have brown hair, some blonde, some red.
Some people’s hair a color unsaid.

Some people are short, some people are tall.
Some people will love you; some won’t like you at all.

Some people like hot weather, some like cold.
Some people are timid, some people are bold.
Some people have dark skin, some people have light.
Some people have black skin, some people have white.

Some people eat meat; some won’t touch it at all.
Some people have a good memory, some can’t recall.
Some people accept Christ, some never will.
Some people are stingy, some people give.

Some people like school, some people don’t.
Some people will excel, some people won’t.
Some people smoke cigarettes, some never will.
Some people are honest, some people steal.

Some people have book knowledge;
But don’t know the Holy Book.
Some people burn food, some people can cook.

Some people are old, some people are young.
Some people do smart things, some people do dumb.

Some people just have a diploma
Some people have degrees.
Some people do things slow, some with a breeze.
Some people are complainers, some easy to please.

Some people hate shopping, some stay in the mall.
Some people hate God, but God loves us all.

We are all different, but still the same.

When I get cut, I bleed red;
You get cut, red blood you’ll shed.

Some people are plump, some people are thin.
But we are all the same, we’re all human being.

Copyright © 2010-Phyllis Strong

poem by Phyllis Strong
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Some People

Some people seem to have it all
Some people always have to crawl
Some people pay to be abused
Some people end up destitute
Some people search their souls for truth
Some people try to be of use
Some people pray before they kill
Some people kill just for the thrill
Some people follow one mans vision, some others die on television
Some people build their homes on sand, some people live in garbage cans
Some people think that live is dear, some people hope the end is near
Some people fight for right to life, some people hate to stay alive
Some people dream of life on mars, some people end their life in cars
Some people throw their lives away, some others go on holidays
Some people live and love in vain, some people dont and go insane
Some people always need to win, some other people love to sin
Some people breaking all their vows, some people slashing sacred cows
Some people like to worship stars, some people think the worlds a farce
Some people try to make ends meet, some others end up kissing feet
Some people find their holy grail, some other people go to hell
Some people never catch their breath, some people drink themselves to death
Some people seem to have it all, some people always have to crawl
Some people pay to be abused, some people end up destitute
Some people search their souls for truth
Some people try to be of use
Some people
!
Gold/ocean/1994

song performed by Alphaville
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ordinary People

In a dusty town a clock struck high noon, two men stood face to face.
One wore black and one wore white, but of fear there wasnt a trace.
Two hundred years later two hot rods drag through the very same place,
And a half a million people
Moved in to pick up the pace, a factory full of people.
Makin parts to go to outer space, a train load of people.
They were aimin for another place, out of town people.
Theres a man in the window with a big cigar, says everythings for sale.
The house and the boat and the railroad car, the owners gotta go to jail.
He acquired these things from a life of crime, now hes selling them to raise his bail.
He was rippin off the people.
Sellin guns to the underground, tryin to help the people.
Lose their ass for a piece of ground, rippin off the people.
Skimmin the top when there was no one around, tryin to help the people.
He was dealing antiques in a hardware store but he sure had a lot to hide.
He had a backroom full of the guns of war and a ton of ammunition besides.
Well, he walked with a cane, kept a bolt on the door with five pit bulls inside,
Just a warning to the people
Who might try to break in at night, protection from the people.
Selling safety in the darkest night, tryin to help the people.
Get the drugs to the street all right, ordinary people.
Well, its hard to say where a man goes wrong, might be here and it might be there.
What starts out weak might get too strong, if you cant tell foul from fair.
But its hard to judge from an angry throng of hands stretched into the air,
The vigilante people.
Takin law into their own hands, conscientious people.
Crackin down on the druglords land, government people.
Confiscatin all the dealers land, patch-of-ground people.
Down at the factory, theyre puttin new windows in.
The vandals made a mess of things, and the homeless just walked right in.
Well, they worked here once, and they live here now, but they might work here again,
Theyre ordinary people.
And theyre livin in a nightmare, hard workin people.
And they dont know how they go there, ordinary people.
And they think that you dont care, hard workin people.
Down on the assembly line, they keep puttin the same thing out.
But the people today, they just aint buyin, nobody can figure it out.
Well, they try like hell to build a quality end, theyre workin hard without a doubt,
Theyre ordinary people.
And the dollars what its all about, hard workin people.
But the customers are walkin out, lee iacocca people.
Yeah, they look but they just dont buy, hard workin people.
Two out of work models and a fashion slave try to dance away the michelob night.
The bartender poured himself another drink, while two drunks sat watchin the fight.
The champ went down, then he got up again, and then he went out like a light,
He was fightin for the people.
But his timing wasnt right, for las vegas people
Who came to see a las vegas fight, high rollin people.
Takin limos though the neon night, fightin for the people.
And then a new rolls royce and a company car they went flyin down the street.

[...] Read more

song performed by Neil Young
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

That Little Hole

Some people keep their love in a safe, then forget the combination
Some people think life's a masquerade ball, keeping up with the latest fashion
Some people sell dreams like rag magazines, on the busy fast food city street corners
Some people give, some people take, Some people share, some people fake
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Me, I’m happy to be breathing
with both feet on the ground

Some people hide from the world and it’s charms, others flee from its tragedy
Some people wish for a place to call home while they kill off every living thing they see
Some people await the rapture and fate, others are simply looking for the cure
Some people lead some people follow, some people spit, some people swallow
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Me, I’m happy to be breathing

Some people search for Utopia and peace, but never seem to laugh
Some people forgot what it’s like to be young, having grown up much to fast
Some people preach salvation and hope to anyone willing to pay
Some people judge to quick, some never judge at all, some people climb, some are simply happy to fall
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Me, I’m happy to be breathing
with both feet on the ground

Some people feel the mirror holds the key, to their tomorrows and prosperity
Some people are sealed off from the world by their hearts, their leaders, or their personality
Some people are like cannibals, they devour what they need and move on
Some people are criminals trying to make ends meet, steeling from others trying to make ends meet
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Me, I’m happy to be breathing
with both feet on the ground

Some people feel its much more real, to chase rainbows on canvass painted skies
Some people think their shit don’t stink, some have the trust of a saint and tell lies
Some people’s minds react like a nuclear bomb, some people are one with the galaxy
Some people die as they lived, others live as they die, some never give up hope, others don’t even try
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeve, others forget what it means to be free
Some people speak of friendships and love, but don’t know what it means to be a friend
Some people search for enlightenment in the stars, in tea leaves, other find it floating in a glass
Some people smile, some people cry, some people live, some people try
And they all believe their mouths to be religion, I ask you who puts their faith in that little hole

Some people are afraid to take risks, or to be anything they wish until they die
Some people love the sound of their voice, some talk more than they listen
Some people don’t suffer fools only to find the jokes on them

[...] Read more

poem by Colin Coplin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lady Writer

Lady writer on the tv
Talk about the virgin mary
Reminded me of you
Expectation left to come up to yeah
Lady writer on the tv
She had another quality
The way you used to look
And I know you never read a book
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place
Lady writer on the tv
She had all the brains and the beauty
The pictures does not fit
Youd talk to me when you felt like it
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Yes and your rich old man,
You know hed a call her a dead ringer
You got the same command
Plus your mother was a jazz singer
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Lady writer on the tv
She knew all about a history
You couldnt hardly write your name
I think I want it just the same as the ...
Lady writer on the tv
Talking about the virgin mary
You know Im talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the tv
Talking about the virgin mary
Yeah you know Im talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the tv

song performed by Dire Straits
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Writer- a must?

Out of what does a writer write?
Out of hatred or perversion;
Out of denial or deprivation.

Why does a writer write?
To vent his anger or hatred.
To cry out from pain or lust.

How does a writer write?
By borrowing or distorting.
By modeling or duping.

For what does a writer write?
For an applause and a place.
It alone suits him, an idler.

What is the use of a writer?
For him to flaunt his skill.
For readers to idle away

Does the society need a writer?
Does a woman need cosmetics?
Writer is a part of civilization
16.05.2007.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Exodus (Laswell Mix)

[Bob Marley]
Exodus: Movement of Jah people! Oh-oh-oh, yea-eah!
.......
Men and people will fight ya down (Tell me why!)
When ya see Jah light. (Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!)
Let me tell you if you're not wrong; (Then, why?)
Everything is all right.
So we gonna walk - all right! - through de roads of creation:
We the generation (Tell me why!)
(Trod through great tribulation) trod through great tribulation.
Exodus, all right! Movement of Jah people!
Oh, yeah! O-oo, yeah! All right!
Exodus: Movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
Yeah-yeah-yeah, well!
Uh! Open your eyes and look within:
Are you satisfied (with the life you're living)? Uh!
We know where we're going, uh!
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon,
We're going to our Father land.
2, 3, 4: Exodus: movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
(Movement of Jah people!) Send us another brother Moses!
(Movement of Jah people!) From across the Red Sea!
(Movement of Jah people!) Send us another brother Moses!
(Movement of Jah people!) From across the Red Sea!
Movement of Jah people!
---
/Instrumental break/
---
Exodus, all right! Oo-oo-ooh! Oo-ooh!
Movement of Jah people! Oh, yeah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! Now, now, now, now!
Exodus!
Exodus! Oh, yea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-eah!
Exodus!
Exodus! All right!
Exodus! Uh-uh-uh-uh!
Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! Move!
Open your eyes and look within:
Are you satisfied with the life you're living?
We know where we're going;
We know where we're from.
We're leaving Babylon, y'all!
We're going to our Father's land.
Exodus, all right! Movement of Jah people!
Exodus: movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!
Movement of Jah people!

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

People At The Bustop

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
May sing a tune or fingerpop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to music through earplugs blocked,
And unheard to hear by those who are near.

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
With ipods bop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to their rap or rockin' hip hop.

Oh those people at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
With ipods bop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Listening to their rap or rockin' hip hop.

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Don't have time to talk a lot.
('people at the bustop? ')
And when it rains or snow on them drops,
People at the bustop,
Don't appear to anger with moods to cop.

People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
People at the bustop.
('people at the bustop? ')
Peeping on the people who are nodding to a beat.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Power To The People

Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Say you want a revolution
We better get on right away
Well you get on your feet
And out on the street
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
A million workers working for nothing
You better give em what they really own
We got to put you down
When we come into town
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
I gotta ask you comrades and brothers
How do you treat you own woman back home
She got to be herself
So she can free herself
Singing power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Now, now, now, now
Oh well, power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Yeah, power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people
Power to the people, right on

song performed by Lennon John
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Power To The People

Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
Say we want a revolution,
Wed better get it on right away.
Well, get yer on your feet
And into the street, singing:
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
A million workers workin for nothin,
You better give em what they really own.
We got to put you down
When we come into town, singing:
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
I gotta ask you comrades and brothers,
How do you treat your own woman back home?
Shes got to be herself,
So she can give us help, singing:
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
Now, now, now, now!
Oh well, power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
Oh yeah, power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, power to the people!
Power to the people!
Oh well, power to the people!
Power to the people, right on!

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Writer's Ink

I am the writer's ink,
So just write with me without any fear;
I will move more than expected,
I will write more than expected,
I am the writer's ink.
Use me slowly or even faster,
I will talk more than expected;
I do have the message to teach everyone.
Of the beauty of communication,
I am used by everyone;
I am the writer's ink,
I do make people sad or glad;
My ink makes rulers sad,
My ink makes personalities sad,
My ink makes the common man sad,
The way i am used matters.
I am the writer's ink,
I am not expensive;
Buy me and use me always.
How can a country like Ghana be poor? !
Ghana has gold, oil, cocoa and timber;
There are also diamond, bauxite and other minerals;
How then can Ghana be poor? !
The writer's ink should tell us more.
Mismanagement is the food in the country,
Ghana has really more than it needs;
This country shouldn't be poor.
What the leaders say on air is not,
What we see on the ground;
I am the talkative ready to talk.
I am the writer's ink,
I will always speak the truth!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lieing Through Their Teeth

Giving up a smile or two,
Does not end a feud...
One begins.
Nor is a joker without a seriousness,
Worth a fist to lift.

Giving up a smile or two,
May work best for children...
Teasing each other after school.
But to think it's okay to lie just to do,
Seems so foolish to hear those who do it.

Some people can't seem to live a life,
Without a lieing through their teeth.
Some people.
Some people.
Some people do what they do,
To disturb another's peace.
Some people.
Some people.
And the same people doing it,
Love the doing it of this.

Giving up a smile or two,
Does not end a feud...
One begins.
Nor is a joker without a seriousness,
Worth a fist to lift.
And the same people doing it,
Love the doing it of this.

Some people can't seem to live a life,
Without a lieing through their teeth.
Some people.
Some people.
Some people do what they do,
To disturb another's peace.
Some people.
Some people.
And the same people doing it,
Love the doing it of this.

Some people do what they do,
To disturb another's peace.
Some people.
Some people.
And the same people doing it,
Love the doing it of this.

Giving up a smile or two,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Writer's Dream

A writer's dream
You keep trying
Never denying to one day achieve
Despite what most believe

A writer's dream
You never give up
Regardless of what others may say
But wait patiently until that day

A writer's dream
Although it's been a while
It made you smile
To see your dream coming through

No matter how long it seemed to you
A writer's dream
You always believed in yourself
That's why your time has come

To be a successful writer
With the privilege of making much income
A writer's dream
You're happy to finally get this far

The world knows just who you are
Now this new sudden fame
Makes you feel like a star

poem by Donielle Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

An African writer

I am an african writer
with the melodious lyric
flowing rivers of endless music
with words filled banks
of rhythmic juice

I am an african writer
the flower with the sweetest nectar
colourful juices of flowing oceans
oceans of endless streams

I am an african writer
dwelling by the shrine
in earnest worship to the gods of poetry
invoking my elders before me
warlord of the verbal war

I am an african writer
born with a pot of words
Caressed with the river of the niger
And burnt with the power of endless chatter

I am an african writer
With dead digits and ancient inks
Torn sheets with flee bugs
bestow to a journey of endless music
And beautiful heritage

I am an african writer!
Forged with letters and blood of lines
Strange eyes to a stories side
And rewarded with the gift of true sight!

poem by Venessa Ambrose
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Love A Mortal Who Writes

This be a farce dictation.
But then,
Love a being who writes

Because a writer
Is a liar.

I will lie about how the
Night flames with the warm waters
But you will never believe me
For I am a liar
With a pen and a paper.

Love a writer
For a writer is a soldier
Regardless of state:
A drunken soldier.
An arrogant soldier.
A morose soldier.
A burning soldier.
Whichever.

Love him
For he is a liar.

He is a prolix garden
Of petty things.
He makes the moon an empire,
And the Sun, an asylum.

He will lie about certain things
With sheer beauty
That none of you
Can contain.

Why love a liar, you might ask?
Listen to a painter as he lies
And he will guise himself with
A shallow palette of colors.
Listen to a businessman lie,
And he will be easily defeated
In a warfare of witticism.
Listen to a doctor lie
But then again, science cannot
Feign states or even a love.

And you can think of any other
Occupation that holds a lie,
And I will tell you

[...] Read more

poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Writer and The Soldier

The Writer and The Soldier
By
Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk

The writer writes a sad lament for the love that he lost long
ago,
The soldier mourns the loss of a fellow slain long ago.
The writer has lead and ink on his hands,
The soldier has blood on his.
The writer can wash away the pigments and with them his
memory’s go, but the soldier can only wash the blood on his
skin; he can not wash the blood on his heart nor
The memory’s in his mind,
Burned into his mind with canon fire and the cries of
His falling comrades.
Oh,
When the two meet, they give to each other much needed gifts;
The writer gives the soldier understanding and a few happy
tales to think of when tears try to strike him down,
And the soldier gives the writer a new sad lament to write, and
a new meaning to the word friendship.

Written August 14,2008

poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Too Many People

(tennant/lowe)
-------------------
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people at once
The husband or the hedonist
The businessman or the communist
The artist or the showbiz creep
The lover or the nervous geek
The question of identity is one thats always haunted me
Whoever I decide to be depends on who is with me
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people at once
The tactless twit putting his foot in it
Or the sensitive soul whos a role model
The urban jet setter - never at home
Or the country recluse - just leave me alone
Extrovert or introvert
Love is kind, and love hurts
Rebellion or conformity
What is my identity?
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people at once
The intellectual and bon-viveur
Or the naive simpleton, so immature
A devoted son and family man
Or the wicked uncle who doesnt give a damn
How often these have tempted me
The question of identity depends on what Im meant to be
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people at once
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people
I sometimes think that Im too many people
Too many people, too many people at once

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!