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To create something you must be something.

quote by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Added by Lucian Velea
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He was every person's Creator

For every bird gruesomely killed; he had the power to
create infinite more fledglings,

For every river dried miserably to a trickle; he had
the power to create infinite oceans,

For every tree brutally chopped to the ground; he had
the power to create infinite forests,

For every eye inadvertently blinded; he had the power
to create infinite with sight,

For every satanic night taking a complete stranglehold
on light; he had the power to create infinite
brilliant days,

For every tongue which was disdainfully dumb; he had
the power to create infinite mouths which could speak
and shout,

For every iota of currency furtively stolen; he had
the power to create infinite banks looming high and
handsome till the heavens,

For every couple who was childless and rendered
cruelly unable to procreate; he had the power to
create infinite more households bustling with a
battalion of toddlers,

For every brain that was wholesomely exhausted; he
had the power to create infinite intelligent minds,

For every child disastrously orphaned on the streets;
he had the power to create infinite families complete
in all respects,
For every blade of grass mercilessly trampled; he had
the power to create infinite meadows of lush green
crop,

For every skeleton lying disdainfully buried under the
coffin; he had the power to create infinite bodies;
dancing about in robust health and thunderous fervor,

For every scalp that was balder than the egg; he had
the power to create infinite strands of shimmering
hair,

For every life lost unwittingly during the tumultuous
earthquake; he had the power to create infinite more
souls as Kings,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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My burning desire to create

MY BURNING DESIRE TO CREATE

So intense and so powerful
Like a furious burning fire
My desire to create is so powerful
So painful and so throbbing
Like a hungry child crying for food
My desire to create is so hopeful
So rigid and so consistent
Like a passionate entrepreneur
My passion to create is so unshakeable

Every hour that passes by I want to create
Every moment I spend I long to create
I have a living urge and desire to create
A living passion to express myself
A burning desire to live my true life

Sometimes I hide myself in the midst of business
At times I deliberately cloud my space with my busy life
Sometimes I try to hide away from my passion to create
Sometimes I try to narrow down the size of my passion
But regardless of all my efforts my desire always finds me
I am so transparent inside, my passion to create
Has invaded all my privacy inside
So strong and so powerful
Like a helpless child looking for love and security
My desire to create is so seeking and so burning.

poem by Tsholofelo Mooketsi
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Dancing on Starlight

The magnificent watchers
In the sky
Pure white
Like angels
Heavenly angels watching

As we gaze
As we wonder at the awesomeness
The vastness

We create
We create dreams
Love
Hope
Dreams of love
Love of hope
Hope that dreams come true

The benevolent orb
So bright
So serene
Guarding the watchers
The watchers that protect us
Our guardians

As we gaze
As we wonder at our guardians
Our protectors

We create
We create dreams
Love
Hope
Dreams of love
Love of hope
Hope that the dreams come true

If only we could dance
Dance upon the starlight
Dance among our keepers
This would surely be bliss

As we create
We create our dreams
Of love
And hope
Dreaming of love
Loving hope
Hoping that dreams come true

[...] Read more

poem by Tristan Maverick
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If you create an act, you create a habit. If you create a habit, you create a character. If you create a character, you create a destiny.

quote by Andre Maurois
Added by Lucian Velea
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In April

I sit on my pillow
My cat on my head
I hear your voice, boy
And cant forget
Your kisses were cold and
Full of loneliness
Hold deep sadness
With my hands
I wont be here - I wont be there
I will write another story
And my tears
Will create
Will create a lake of sorrows
Chorus:
But in april it sounds like love
When you call
You call my name
You call my name
But in april it sounds like love
When you call
You call my name
You call my name
You call my name
The door is open now
I have to go
The moon shines brighter
Than it did before
The clock strikes twelve
Theres no time
Time to sleep
Well go upstairs
Straight to the sky
Im not here - Im not there
Took a ball point pen to write you
And my tears
They create
They create a lake of sorrows
Im not here - Im not there
Took a ball point pen to write you
And my tears
They create
They create a lake of sorrows
Chorus
The door is open now
I have to go
The moon shines brighter
Than it did before
Was not here - was not there

song performed by Wonderwall
Added by Lucian Velea
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A try to create

We always try to create something new
We make big thrust on energy to renew
It is strange that you may come across with few
The successful person may always make some changes and review

Generally we don’t follow unusual path
we brush in the morning and take
Morning tea is served on the side of bed
we will not term it good or bad

The person should have some good habits
He must offer prayers in the morning little bit
Offer hello to everybody with good morning
Day will definitely pass with bright shining

Existence is at stake and we simply undermine
We pay no attention and don’t try to refine
Nothing can work smoothly if we don’t attempt
The action has to be there very firm and prompt

It is good quality to rise early before sunshine,
it will be equally good if resort to brisk walking in the meantime
Subsequent Inhaling of fresh air with deep breathing
Meditation, if possible, with eyes closing

Set your task before you start
Dress up well to look even smart
Bear little smile on beautiful face
You stand to win half way race

Courteous call with mild approach
For that you need no special coach
Sweet words with eloquent speech
Goal which you desire is likely to reach

Precisely putting words and thoughts across
Avoid unpleasant words and never cross
Limit to self in restricted area
Firmly establish with strong plea

Honest dealing with simple way
Determined approach with authentic say
Makes you to earn nice position
Well behaved manner may serve good composition

Lions don’t need path finder
They roam and find without glider
We must build and create of our own
The success may follow with journey to go on

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Faceless

Hate me with everything
Im better off without your animosity
Ill even sleep better at night...at night
I wont believe in you
Reminded me of everything you put me through
Now everything feels alright...alright
I feel so betrayed...mistaken
I create another day
Youll be gone tomorrow
Lie to me.. youre faceless
Youve made me out to be
Responsible for your self-inflicted misery
And never felt like this before...before
Dont be surprised to see
That I have nothing left for you to bleed
When you come crawling back for more...for more
I feel so betrayed...mistaken
I create another day
Youll be gone tomorrow
Lie to me...youre faceless
I create another day
Youll be gone tomorrow
Lie to me...youre faceless
I create another day
Youll be gone tomorrow
Lie to me...youre faceless
I create another day
Youll be gone tomorrow
Lie to me...youre faceless

song performed by Godsmack
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The Birth Of Man

A Legend of the Talmud.

I.

When angels visit earth, the messengers
Of God's decree, they come as lightning, wind:
Before the throne, they all are living fire.
There stand four rows of angels-to the right
The hosts of Michael, Gabriel's to the left,
Before, the troop of Ariel, and behind,
The ranks of Raphael; all, with one accord,
Chanting the glory of the Everlasting.
Upon the high and holy throne there rests,
Invisible, the Majesty of God.
About his brows the crown of mystery
Whereon the sacred letters are engraved
Of the unutterable Name. He grasps
A sceptre of keen fire; the universe
Is compassed in His glance; at His right hand
Life stands, and at His left hand standeth Death.

II.

Lo, the divine idea of making man
Had spread abroad among the heavenly hosts;
And all at once before the immortal throne
Pressed troops of angels and of seraphim,
With minds opposed, and contradicting cries:
'Fulfill, great Father, thine exalted thought!
Create and give unto the earth her king!'
'Cease, cease, Almighty God! create no more!'
And suddenly upon the heavenly sphere
Deep silence fell; before the immortal throne
The angel Mercy knelt, and thus he spoke:
'Fulfill, great Father, thine exalted thought!
Create the likeness of thyself on earth.
In this new creature I will breathe the spirit
Of a divine compassion; he shall be
Thy fairest image in the universe.'
But to his words the angel Peace replied,
With heavy sobs: 'My spirit was outspread,
Oh God, on thy creation, and all things
Were sweetly bound in gracious harmony.
But man, this strange new being, everywhere
Shall bring confusion, trouble, discord, war.'
'Avenger of injustice and of crime,'
Exclaimed the angel Justice, 'he shall be
Subject to me, and peace shall bloom again.
Create, oh Lord, create!' 'Father of truth,'

[...] Read more

poem by Emma Lazarus
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People create stories create people; or rather stories create people create stories.

quote by Chinua Achebe
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Running Out Of Days

Theres too much work and Im spent
Theres too much pressure and I admit
I got no time to move ahead
Have you heard one thing that Ive said
And all these little things in life they all create this haze
Theres too many things to get done, and Im running out of days
And I cant last here for so long
I feel this current its so strong
It gets me further down the line
It gets me closer to the line
And all these little things in life they all create this haze
Theres too many things to get done, and Im running out of days
All these little things in life they all create this haze
Theres too many things to get done, and Im running out of days
Will all these little things in life they all create this haze
And now Im running out of time I cant see through this haze
My friend tell me why it has to be this way
Theres too many things to get done, and Im running out of days

song performed by 3 Doors Down
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Summer '79

Our last day of summer, 1979.
Gotta live it up one time before it's over.
We will make history tonight.
Out at the drive-in
all of our closest friends will be sneaking in.
You'll be spending your whole night
trying everything you can to get that girl to notice you.
"We are the Champions" playing loud on the radio station.
Everyone sing with these anthems of our generation.
Cruising down Pacific Coast Highway,
put the top down, crawl into the backseat.
Let's create anthems of our own tonight.
Down at the roller rink
all the cool kids crowding around the air-hockey table.
"Hey, my best friend likes you!"
I hear you shout at me as you go skating by.
"We are the Champions" playing loud on the radio station.
Everyone sing with these anthems of our generation.
Cruising down Pacific Coast Highway,
put the top down, crawl into the backseat.
Let's create anthems of our own tonight.
Sneak out of your window darling.
Let's live like outlaws honey.
We'll never look back.
Climb out on this rooftop.
And stare at the city lights below us.
This world belongs to us tonight.
The kids will keep raging on and they ain't ever gonna stop.
"We are the Champions" playing loud on the radio station.
Everyone sing with these anthems of our generation.
Cruising down Pacific Coast Highway,
put the top down, crawl into the backseat.
Let's create anthems of our own tonight.
"We are the Champions" playing loud on the radio station.
Everyone sing with these anthems of our generation.
Cruising down Pacific Coast Highway,
pu the top down, crawl into the backseat.
Let's create anthems of our own tonight.

song performed by Ataris
Added by Lucian Velea
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Explosion

Such a notion could create a catastrophic explosion. be very careful with the next word you speak. I'm already full of so much emotion. the outcome could be bleak. If that's what you seek, by all means please. I got the cure for your disease. Another victim of society. The fallen one. The forgotten son. Bye, bye your already done. Welcome to your worst nightmare. Your mine, its time. An apocalyptic sense of self satisfaction. For with complete control. I take hold of your very soul. I eat it so slow. torture is the all i know. Go ahead ask for mercy, see if you get it. Do i look like the forgiving type. Guess I'm not a sucker you stupid slimy mother f*cker. Keeping digging the hole i will put you in. Buried alive, wonder how long you can survive. think I'm crazy, well just maybe i am. be careful for such notions could create a catastrophic explosion. You asked, and now i shall answer. Erase every ounce of devotion. Let my eyes go black. hate can't even begin to describe it. I'll twist your back. A slight suffocation with a plastic bag. death is the outcome. the how is my tool. its at my discression. do i want a soul searching confession? do i want to teach you lesson? or make it quick? you just don't get it. don't mess with those who are psychotic. So you better just watch it. that kind of notion could create a catastrophic explosion. Go ahead make your retreat. lets see if you have quick feet. should i give chase? should i embrace your fear. make you really disappear. it so god damn scary when i'm near. i am as you say. don't you think? I remember those words that slipped off you tongue. think i'll just sit back and take it. well that kind of notion could create a catastrophic explosion. oh the fires intensity. bringing down your whole sense of reality. whose the victim. Whose the prey. How does it feel, tell me how does it feel?

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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All Things Beautiful

Imagine all things beautiful,
Exquisite and sublime.
Quite delicate and lovable,
To stand the test of time,
Just as if the whole Creation
Was blessed from first to last.
Just to grant us great elation,
So not to be downcast...

Imagine all things wonderful,
Designed as God knew best.
Intrinsically incredible,
Impeccably addressed.
With sweet miracles unfolding,
Like shooting stars above...
With our God, the Cosmos holding,
Beholding it with love...

That is how the great designers
Upon this Earth must feel,
When they pause to form their finest,
To showcase and reveal...
Exhibiting each masterpiece,
Each brilliant in its way,
That we partake in what can please
With every passing day...

Upon this Earth, where angels roam,
Unseen by mortal man,
God's Spirit visits every home
To do the best He can,
With inspirations old and new,
To share with young and old,
What's beautiful and meant for you,
As if it were pure gold...

Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.

Thanks to James Russell, bid tv Sky UK...

The poem was based on the bid tv presenter
telling us the legend of a Russian who wanted
to create the beauty of a flower in a rock...
He spend years making his sculptured artwork.
The legend says that it was so beautiful that
those who gazed upon it immediately wept...

The expression used to define the Inspirations
product range sold on bid tv was the desire to
create all things beautiful. So this poem was

[...] Read more

poem by Denis Martindale
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Conscious Intent Of The Mind

We all create with our mind
and so it is we find
so much diversity that challenges our days.
We create the freedom and the uneasiness
of movement in our own maze.
Some come in with humble beginnings
and never create any beauty.
Some come in with silver spoons
and believe it is not their duty
to contribute the seeds of kindness
and therefore their creations
become lost in a maze of blindness.

Some come in with a world of pain
and see right through it, don't let it remain.
For they've found the secret for happiness.
They revel in the sun and in the rain.
The secret is to never think of the future
and focus on the now.
And then the pain can be dealt with
as we uncreate it somehow.

So as humans we must learn to create
the thing that makes us content.
We must work at it every day
and make it our conscious intent.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Paradise Lost: Book 07

Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song. Up led by thee
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering: with like safety guided down
Return me to my native element:
Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound
Within the visible diurnal sphere;
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole,
More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues;
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,
And solitude; yet not alone, while thou
Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn
Purples the east: still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned
Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend
Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.
Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,
The affable Arch-Angel, had forewarned
Adam, by dire example, to beware
Apostasy, by what befel in Heaven
To those apostates; lest the like befall
In Paradise to Adam or his race,
Charged not to touch the interdicted tree,
If they transgress, and slight that sole command,
So easily obeyed amid the choice
Of all tastes else to please their appetite,
Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Dusty's Trail

Dusty's Trail is about…
Hiking up to Laban Rata at 11,000 feet,
Climbing up to Low's Peak at 4,095.2 meters,
Of majestic Mount Kinabalu.

Mount Kinabalu here we come,
Here we hike and we climb,
To explore and conquer
The beauty of the Mount Kinabalu.

Mount Kinabalu located in Sabah,
Land Below the Wind,
Mount Kinabalu, a World Heritage Site,
An oasis of calm and tranquility.

To discover true meaning of life,
Of a world in motion;
To create global awareness of Duchenne,
Let the trail Mount Kinabalu begins the journey.

Challenging climb yet achievable,
To help the Duchenne victims
In fulfilling their dreams,
Becoming healthy children.

This expedition will
build confidence and give hope
Among the Duchenne victims
Among victim's families.

Dusty's Trail is about…
Finding a cure one day,
Finding drugs to ease their sufferings,
Painful relieves among victims.

Let Mount Kinabalu expedition
To create Dusty trail,
To create unity and strength,
To create friendship among climbers from different countries.

Coalition Duchenne's spirit continues
To search funds for Research & Development of new drug,
To provide supports and ultimately find a cure,
For the victims and family members.

May this expedition
Bring hope, inspiration and aspiration.
May the victims continue
to live life to the fullest.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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If You Bake It

If you bake it...
So hard it is to then look for escapes.
To create.

If you bake it...
It is easier to face it than to fake.
What you have baked.

People know a flavor,
And the origin of scent...
If you bake it,
To create.

And if you bake it...
So hard it is to then look for escapes.
To create.

People know a flavor,
And the origin of scent...
If you bake it,
To create.

If you bake it...
It is easier to face it than to fake.
What you have baked.

If you bake it...
It doesn't make a difference if you're naked.
You can't even fake it,
If you're naked.

And if you baked it...
It doesn't make a difference if you're naked.
You can't even fake it,
If you're naked.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shared Absence

There are those with abilities to maneuver,
Into positions quick...
Without a hint of suspicion,
That their subtle comments made...
Have been selected to degrade.

They're on a mission to undo someone unknown,
But...
They pick and choose,
Those they hope have similar views...
With shared absence of any truth.

Whispered in the ears,
Is something sure to please.
With a leaving out of what was done,
To get someone to seethe.

Fragmented doses meant to mention,
To create descensions that begin.
And...
With intent,
These comments tempt a listening.

Whispered in the ears,
Is something sure to please.
With a leaving out of what was done,
To get someone to seethe.

There are those with abilities to maneuver,
Into positions quick...
Without a hint of suspicion,
That their subtle comments made...
Have been selected to degrade.

Fragmented doses meant to mention,
To create descensions that begin.
And...
With intent,
These comments tempt a listening.

Whispered in the ears,
Is something sure to please.
With a leaving out of what was done,
To get someone to seethe.

Fragmented doses meant to mention,
To create descensions that begin.
With a leaving out of what was done,
To get someone to seethe.
And...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers

And on such grounds it is that those who held
The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire
Alone the cosmic sum is formed, are seen
Mightily from true reason to have lapsed.
Of whom, chief leader to do battle, comes
That Heraclitus, famous for dark speech
Among the silly, not the serious Greeks
Who search for truth. For dolts are ever prone
That to bewonder and adore which hides
Beneath distorted words, holding that true
Which sweetly tickles in their stupid ears,
Or which is rouged in finely finished phrase.
For how, I ask, can things so varied be,
If formed of fire, single and pure? No whit
'Twould help for fire to be condensed or thinned,
If all the parts of fire did still preserve
But fire's own nature, seen before in gross.
The heat were keener with the parts compressed,
Milder, again when severed or dispersed-
And more than this thou canst conceive of naught
That from such causes could become; much less
Might earth's variety of things be born
From any fires soever, dense or rare.
This too: if they suppose a void in things,
Then fires can be condensed and still left rare;
But since they see such opposites of thought
Rising against them, and are loath to leave
An unmixed void in things, they fear the steep
And lose the road of truth. Nor do they see,
That, if from things we take away the void,
All things are then condensed, and out of all
One body made, which has no power to dart
Swiftly from out itself not anything-
As throws the fire its light and warmth around,
Giving thee proof its parts are not compact.
But if perhaps they think, in other wise,
Fires through their combinations can be quenched
And change their substance, very well: behold,
If fire shall spare to do so in no part,
Then heat will perish utterly and all,
And out of nothing would the world be formed.
For change in anything from out its bounds
Means instant death of that which was before;
And thus a somewhat must persist unharmed
Amid the world, lest all return to naught,
And, born from naught, abundance thrive anew.
Now since indeed there are those surest bodies
Which keep their nature evermore the same,
Upon whose going out and coming in
And changed order things their nature change,

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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Book II - Part 04 - Absence Of Secondary Qualities

Now come, this wisdom by my sweet toil sought
Look thou perceive, lest haply thou shouldst guess
That the white objects shining to thine eyes
Are gendered of white atoms, or the black
Of a black seed; or yet believe that aught
That's steeped in any hue should take its dye
From bits of matter tinct with hue the same.
For matter's bodies own no hue the least-
Or like to objects or, again, unlike.
But, if percase it seem to thee that mind
Itself can dart no influence of its own
Into these bodies, wide thou wand'rest off.
For since the blind-born, who have ne'er surveyed
The light of sun, yet recognise by touch
Things that from birth had ne'er a hue for them,
'Tis thine to know that bodies can be brought
No less unto the ken of our minds too,
Though yet those bodies with no dye be smeared.
Again, ourselves whatever in the dark
We touch, the same we do not find to be
Tinctured with any colour.
Now that here
I win the argument, I next will teach

Now, every colour changes, none except,
And every...
Which the primordials ought nowise to do.
Since an immutable somewhat must remain,
Lest all things utterly be brought to naught.
For change of anything from out its bounds
Means instant death of that which was before.
Wherefore be mindful not to stain with colour
The seeds of things, lest things return for thee
All utterly to naught.
But now, if seeds
Receive no property of colour, and yet
Be still endowed with variable forms
From which all kinds of colours they beget
And vary (by reason that ever it matters much
With, what seeds, and in what positions joined,
And what the motions that they give and get),
Forthwith most easily thou mayst devise
Why what was black of hue an hour ago
Can of a sudden like the marble gleam,-
As ocean, when the high winds have upheaved
Its level plains, is changed to hoary waves
Of marble whiteness: for, thou mayst declare,
That, when the thing we often see as black
Is in its matter then commixed anew,
Some atoms rearranged, and some withdrawn,

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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