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I have been commissioned to write an autobiography and I would be grateful to any of your readers who could tell me what I was doing between 1960 and 1974.

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Why Do I Write

I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go

I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain

At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down

I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it

I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn

[...] Read more

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1974

The sun is shining hard at my feet
And the city is an animal ready to eat
It's raining like a nose bleed, cigarettes and sweets
And I feel it coming on
Bloody as the day I was born
It's 1974
Just like the day I was born
It's 1974
She isn't crazy
She's just not impressed
She stabs me with her eyes
Dirty knives hidden in her dress
And it's raining like bombs in my room when I'm alone
And I swear I think I knew you before
Just like the day I was born
It's 1974
Just like the day I was born
It's 1974
Just like the day I was born
It's 1974
Just like the day I was born
It's 1974
Do you want it, do you want it, do you want it, come on
Do you want it, do you want it, come on just bring it on
Nothing gonna stop it now
But nothing
Do you want it, come on
Do you want it, do you want it, come on just bring it on
It's 1974
It's 1974
It's 1974
It's 1974

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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)

I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.

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Write Me

Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.

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Social Netowrking Of Robots

end of world war
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end of world thursday prophet
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end of ww11

[...] Read more

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Write Me A Letter

Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
I said, the ways of the night are evil
Without that lord of day
But Ill never, never get so far away
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Write me
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Well theres nothin I can see
Thatd ever make me
Want to be without her
Shes good, she good to me
Said theres no way to explain
The kind of feelin that you get out in the
She good, she good to me
She good, she good to me
I love her
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
Well Ive been so many places
Hidin from the wind and the rain
But you could write me a letter
For to save me from goin insane
Write me
Excite me
Write me
Write me
Write me

[...] Read more

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Grateful

I carry you up in my arms
Hear you sing yourself to sleep
The sky opens up over your room
You sail into your moonlight dreams
Theres so much more than we can see
Theres so much more than we can see
All we are and all we need is
All we are and all we need is
All we are is all we need to be
Grateful, oh grateful
Grateful, oh grateful
I play this guitar, sing these songs
It changes me, instantly
Love is too simple a word
For here comes the sun in the morning
Suddenly happiness
Comes rolling out from inside me
All we are and all we need is
All we are and all we need is
All we are is all we need to be
Grateful, oh grateful
Grateful, oh grateful
I carry you up in my arms
Hear you sing yourself to sleep
The sky opens up over your room
You sail into your moonlight dreams
Theres so much more than we can see
Theres so much more than we can see
All we are and all we need is
All we are and all we need is
All we are is all we need to be
Grateful, oh grateful
Grateful, oh grateful
(all we are and all we need is)
(all we are and all we need is...)

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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet

Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...

and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;

or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…

write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...

write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…

write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;

write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;

write as if you are the only being on earth

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Paul Eluard

The Human Face

I. Soon

Of all the springtimes of the world
This one is the ugliest
Of all of my ways of being
To be trusting is the best

Grass pushes up snow
Like the stone of a tomb
But I sleep within the storm
And awaken eyes bright

Slowness, brief time ends
Where all streets must pass
Through my innermost recesses
So that I would meet someone

I don’t listen to monsters
I know them and all that they say
I see only beautiful faces
Good faces, sure of themselves
Certain soon to ruin their masters

II. The women’s role

As they sing, the maids dash forward
To tidy up the killing fields
Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees

Their hands -- reaching for the fresh air --
Are blue like never before
What a glorious day!

Look at their hands, the dead
Look at their liquid eyes

This is the toilet of transience
The final toilet of life
Stones sink and disappear
In the vast, primal waters
The final toilet of time

Hardly a memory remains
the dried-up well of virtue
In the long, oppressive absences
One surrenders to tender flesh
Under the spell of weakness

III. As deep as the silence

[...] Read more

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True Confession

1
Today, recovering from influenza,
I begin, having nothing worse to do,
This autobiography that ends a
Half of my life I'm glad I'm through.
O Love, what a bloody hullaballoo
I look back at, shaken and sober,
When that intemperate life I view
From this temperate October.
To nineteen hundred and forty-seven
I pay the deepest of respects,
For during this year I was given
Some insight into the other sex.
I was a victim, till forty-six,
Of the rosy bed with bitches in it;
But now, in spite of all pretexts,
I never sleep a single minute.

O fellow sailor on the tossing sea,
O fleeting virgin in the night,
O privates, general in lechery,
Shun, shun the bedroom like a blight:
Evade, O amorous acolyte,
That pillow where your heart can bury -
For if the thing was stood upright
It would become a cemetery.

I start with this apostrophe
To all apostles of true love:
With your devotion visit me,
Give me the glory of the dove
That dies of dereliction. Give
True love to me, true love to me,
And in two shakes I will prove
It's false to you and false to me.

Bright spawner, on your sandbank dwell
Coldblooded as a plumber's pipe -
The procreatory ocean swell
Warming, till they're over ripe,
The cockles of your cold heart, will
Teach us true love can instil
Temperature into any type.

Does not the oyster in its bed
Open a yearning yoni when
The full moon passes overhead
Feeling for pearls? O nothing, then,
Too low a form of life is, when
Love, abandoning the cloister,

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Trash Bag

1 bag cement mold
10 inch leather titleist golf bag
2006 kia rio side air bags
1900 s tapestry bag
1,000 face value silver bag buyers
100ft x 200ft plastic bag
16 flow-through infuser bags order e-mail
2001 accura air bags
1966 chevy pickup air bags
1st responder bag subdued
40 catchers equipment bag
10 dolars chanell bags for sale
$20,000 beanie bag
2 004 ben hogan golf bag
100 cotton childrens sleeping bags
2 mil designer bags
12 ounce bean bag
20 pound bag rabbit food
35 bag dirt james teen wendy
10 inch screen laptop bags
20 gallon garbage bags
30 gallon trash bags odor
17 leather laptop bag clearance
42 rolling duffle bag
2 section 17 roller cooler bag
40 long sportsequipment bag
2005 ford taurus air bag
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2 x3 zip lock bags
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$1 tea bag holder
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1 bag cement mixers
1920s clutch bag
1.5 oz bag reg chips
1 bag popcorn serving size
2000 saturn sl air bag light
11 gallon garbage bags
306 leather tour sissy bag

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Paul Eluard

Liberty

On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands of snow
I write your name

On the pages I have read
On all the white pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name

On the images of gold
On the weapons of the warriors
On the crown of the king
I write your name

On the jungle and the desert
On the nest and on the brier
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name

On all my scarves of blue
On the moist sunlit swamps
On the living lake of moonlight
I write your name

On the fields, on the horizon
On the birds’ wings
And on the mill of shadows
I write your name

On each whiff of daybreak
On the sea, on the boats
On the demented mountaintop
I write your name

On the froth of the cloud
On the sweat of the storm
On the dense rain and the flat
I write your name

On the flickering figures
On the bells of colors
On the natural truth
I write your name

On the high paths
On the deployed routes
On the crowd-thronged square
I write your name

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Byron

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.


Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

[...] Read more

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Write It Down In Blue

Everyone knows it, see talks goin' 'round
It ain't no secret 'cause it's all over town
Some people are talkin' that we know so well
Everyone's heard it but the one you can't tell
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
What you are feeling, you just can't explain
Oh you got your reasons, now you just can't change
And there's no way to hide it 'cause baby I can see
So if you can't say it then do this for me
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Yeah, that's the thing to do
If you can't say it's over
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Blue, blue, blue
Write it down in blue, oh
Blue, blue, blue
Write it down in blue
Write it down in blue
Everyone knows it, see talks goin' 'round
It ain't no secret it's all over town
Some people are talkin' that we know so well
Everyone's heard it but the one you can't tell
Write it down in blue
Sorry I don't love you
If you can't face the truth
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue
Yeah, that's the thing to do
If you can't say it's over
And you can't say we're through
Write it down in blue, oh yeah
Write it down, write it down
Write it down in blue
Write it down, write it down
Write it down in blue

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Why I Write?

I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face

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Hunting or Fishing?

Hunting or fishing – which is better?
That is what I am thinking about!
In business many hunt for customers;
Some men prefer casting net to catch fish!
Even for poets the position is the same
In poetry websites to catch readers!
Some lay wise traps to catch readers!
I use fishing rod with a needle and bait
To catch readers who can understand!

Whether the rank is high or low it is
Immaterial but the true comment is!
Hunting readers to comment and rank
Or fishing readers to comment and rank
Are not really going to enhance one’s status;
For, voluntary comments are indeed valuable!
Poets are jealous to appreciate others’ merit
But some poets raise the status of others!
So, letters to such poets increase sans end!
This is the status of poetry websites now!
So, it is left to you to hunt or fish or lay trap
As you wish to catch readers for rank, etc.!

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Grateful

[Wyclef Jean]
This is as real as it gets y'all
And it don't get no realer than this
This is as real as it gets y'all, huh
[Wyclef Jean]
Maybe my mother, coulda been my father
Perhaps it was my sister, probably my brother
Maybe the church, coulda been the street
Perhaps it was the guitar, or Jerry Wonder beats
Maybe the money when I didn't have a dime
Maybe a way out before committing crimes
Coulda been Lauryn, perhaps it was Pras
Probably the mirror looking dead in my eyes
Coulda been reggae, or the love of hip-hop
Maybe my fans at the show saying don't stop
Probably the struggle of all refugees
Maybe the sign how the diamonds bling-bling, ching-ching
Ring ring, there's a call from my wifey, whoo
Perhaps I gotta make it home but music keep calling me
And maybe it's all I know, whatever it is I'm grateful for being
[Wyclef Jean]
A man with a guitar, a dude from the streets
A cat with a song, a ReFugee MC
Wyclef Jean, a Fugee for life
A preacher's son, first one on the run
I'm grateful that I haven't been shot
Stopped by the cops and they didn't find a glock
W-Y-C-L-E-F, I'm grateful
[Wyclef Jean]
Coulda been a crack fiend with no place to go
Lord, oh mighty God, have mercy on my soul
Coulda been Pablo, king of Yayo
Or a pimp with a limp screaming we don't love them hoes
Oh no, God knows, perhaps I was chosen
A source of inspiration for the next generation
And maybe it's all I know, whatever it is I'm grateful for being
[Wyclef Jean]
A man with a guitar, a dude from the streets
A cat with a song, a ReFugee MC
Wyclef Jean, a Fugee for life
A preacher's son, first one on the run
I'm grateful that I haven't been shot (shot)
Stopped by the cops and they didn't find a glock (glock)
W-Y-C-L-E-F, I'm grateful
[Wyclef Jean]
Everybody sing along now
You can make it like I made it
Don't let anyone tell you different
When doors close another door will open
Many have called but my people are chosen

[...] Read more

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Grateful

[Wyclef Jean]
This is as real as it gets y'all
And it don't get no realer than this
This is as real as it gets y'all, huh
[Wyclef Jean]
Maybe my mother, coulda been my father
Perhaps it was my sister, probably my brother
Maybe the church, coulda been the street
Perhaps it was the guitar, or Jerry Wonder beats
Maybe the money when I didn't have a dime
Maybe a way out before committing crimes
Coulda been Lauryn, perhaps it was Pras
Probably the mirror looking dead in my eyes
Coulda been reggae, or the love of hip-hop
Maybe my fans at the show saying don't stop
Probably the struggle of all refugees
Maybe the sign how the diamonds bling-bling, ching-ching
Ring ring, there's a call from my wifey, whoo
Perhaps I gotta make it home but music keep calling me
And maybe it's all I know, whatever it is I'm grateful for being
[Wyclef Jean]
A man with a guitar, a dude from the streets
A cat with a song, a ReFugee MC
Wyclef Jean, a Fugee for life
A preacher's son, first one on the run
I'm grateful that I haven't been shot
Stopped by the cops and they didn't find a glock
W-Y-C-L-E-F, I'm grateful
[Wyclef Jean]
Coulda been a crack fiend with no place to go
Lord, oh mighty God, have mercy on my soul
Coulda been Pablo, king of Yayo
Or a pimp with a limp screaming we don't love them hoes
Oh no, God knows, perhaps I was chosen
A source of inspiration for the next generation
And maybe it's all I know, whatever it is I'm grateful for being
[Wyclef Jean]
A man with a guitar, a dude from the streets
A cat with a song, a ReFugee MC
Wyclef Jean, a Fugee for life
A preacher's son, first one on the run
I'm grateful that I haven't been shot (shot)
Stopped by the cops and they didn't find a glock (glock)
W-Y-C-L-E-F, I'm grateful
[Wyclef Jean]
Everybody sing along now
You can make it like I made it
Don't let anyone tell you different
When doors close another door will open
Many have called but my people are chosen

[...] Read more

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Whatever It Is

Whatever It is that I am thanking...
And however It knows what It does.
I am grateful to have It know my existence!
Grateful that It enters my heart and my soul,
Grateful that It knows!

Whatever It is that forgets and forgives...
And removes stumbling blocks from my life as I live.
Whatever It is before language came to be,
In my mind I carry It...
And in 'It' It carries me!

Whatever It is that I am thanking...
And however It knows what It does.
I am grateful to have It know my existence!
Grateful that It enters my heart and my soul,
Grateful that It knows!

Grateful It knows whatever It is...
So grateful It knows It within me grows!

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You Never know

Look out heart…
"I am grateful"…is not love…
Doing something for someone…
And getting…(I'm grateful) …
Is a watch out word…
You heard…"I can't love you"…
I'm just grateful, to you…
Oops…
Just grateful…?
Just grateful…!
You know…how I…feel about you…
And you…say…just grateful
Damn! …
I expected much more…
From such a special touch…
Which wasI know now… a…
I am grateful…kind of touch…
How was I to know…?
My heart is on the floor…
Door…wide open…
Eye…running wet…
And yet…
I mis-judged-what-…
That look and touch was
I guess I am grateful…as well…

Whisperkwane@gmail.com

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