Writer’s Quote: Walt Whitman

Writer’s Quote: Walt Whitman

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Another Wednesday is upon us, and for this week’s edition of writer’s Quote/ Poem Wednesday, I’ll be sharing a very famous poem, one which I know a lot of you would be familiar with. 3 tips- it’s an elegy for a past American president, it was featured in a movie and the author is a male.

Time’s up, high five if you guessed it right. This week’s poem is “O captain, my captain by Walt Whitman”. It was an elegy (a mourning poem) written by Walt Whitman after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and its also been featured in the movie- dead poets society.

O captain, my captain by Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

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Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

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Oh the days I’ve felt the same way as Charles Bukowski described in his quote, and sometimes, climbing out of bed is the easy part. Knowing a deadline is looming close with zero inspiration to write has a way of dampening even a good day. But then, how many times have we said we couldn’t and we did.

Charles Bukowski was a poet and writer. He wrote short stories, columns for magazines and poetry. According to Wikipedia, he wrote thousands of poetry during his lifetime, many of which were still being published after he passed away on March 9, 1994. He is one of those writers who “say things as they are”. From reading his works, you get this raw honesty and the picture that, this is one man who does not sugar coat his words.

The above quote is in honor of those days when we feel like the ground should hole up, swallow our horrible drafts and replace them with masterpieces; its for the mornings of deadlines when we race to defeat the clock; its for Moments in time when we thought we couldn’t and we did triumphantly.

Below is one of the first poems of Charles Bukowski I came across:

The flesh covers the bone
And they put a mind
In there and
Sometimes a soul,
And the women break
Vases against walls
And the men drink too
Much
And nobody finds the
One
But they keep
Looking
Crawling in and out
Of beds.
Flesh covers
The bone and the
Flesh searches
For more than
Flesh.

There’s no chance
At all;
We are all trapped
By a singular
Fate.

Nobody ever finds
The one.

The city dumps fill
The junkyards fill
The madhouses fill
The hospitals fill
The graveyards fill

Nothing else
Fills.
-Alone With Everybody (C. Bukowski)

This post is in response to Writer’s Quote Wednesday hosted by SilverThreading where we share “writer’s quotes” which inspire us. If you’d love to participate and share your quote, just click on the highlighted link above.

Writer’s Quote: Langston Hughes

Writer’s Quote: Langston Hughes

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February 1st marks the beginning of a month, we the singles like to overlook because of a certain event happening on the 14th. But, it is also the day poet and social activist Langston Hughes was born. If you are looking for a poem with sass, rhyme, humor and meaning all bound together, then Langston’s poem is the go to. He is one of those authors whose poems I could binge on. Langston Hughes wrote about slavery and racism at a time when it was prevalent in the society and speaking up against them was risky, yet he dared. Just like the quote above, he used his gift of writing to urge the world towards change.

On May 22, 1967, Hughes died in New York City from complications after abdominal surgery related to prostrate cancer, at the age of 65 (acc to Wikipedia). Below, is another piece of his.

“The night is beautiful,
So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,
So the eyes of my people

Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.”

             -“My People” in The Crisis (October 1923)

The above post is in response to writer’s quote Wednesday hosted by Silver Threading

Writer’s Quote: Erin Hanson

Writer’s Quote: Erin Hanson

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And then, there are writers like Erin Hanson. She is a twenty year old Australian (according to google) with hands that weave magic in form of poetic words. I initially came across her works on Pinterest and noticed her initials were E.H . I automatically assumed they meant “Ernest Hemmingway” due to the wisdom and flawlessness of her words. I was quite impressed by Hemmingway, for walking in the skin of a girl and writing from the female point of view for a lot of the poems. Turns out, it was actually written by a female named Erin.

Erin Hanson is one of the few modern poets I enjoy, a second is lang Leav. Every single one of her poems, leaves a message with me. When I hit that dry spell of writing, her words are an inspiration. I find myself thinking, it’d be nice to be as good as her; plus another bonus, she rhymes. If you’ve written poetry before, you’d know it’s not an easy feat to make complete sense, all the time, and still rhyme. Erin Hanson makes it work and I admire her for that.
She has also released a book titled: “The Poetic Underground” which is available on Amazon. Without further adieu, after talking the talk, here’s a poem of hers to walk the talk.

You can write for hours on hours,
Of all the things you wish you could be,
But the truth of the matter is simple,
People are not poetry,
And I know that you wish you weren’t awkward,
That sweet words could roll right off your tongue,
But your time here’s too short just to worry,
How each single sentence is strung,
It’s okay to be rough round the edges,
To be bruised up and broken and scarred,
But it’s not okay to let people tell you,
That it’s a reason to change who you are,
Your hair doesn’t always seat nicely,
The way a poem sits so neatly on line,
And sometimes you might feel like a word,
That nobody has learnt to define,
You might not be a star that lights darkness,
Or a bird that can teach us to soar,
But it’s okay, because you’re too complex,
To be crammed into one metaphor,
It’s okay not to know what you’re doing,
Since your feelings don’t have to all rhyme,
Though a poem once complete is eternal,
You have the freedom to change over time,
You’re much more than can ever be written,
There is no title to say, “This is me”,
You can’t be trapped in the lines of a notebook,
Because people are not poetry.

This post is In response to Writers Quote Wednesday, hosted by Silver Threading.

Quote: Henry Wadsworth

Quote: Henry Wadsworth

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I just realized that I spelt the name wrongly in the image, oops, it should be Henry Wadsworth Longfellow not “Wordsworth”. Alright, so this quote says it all in simple terms without any metaphor or grandeur. It says it simply- as long as the heart is beating, then words can be written. Being alive should be enough motivation for us to write. I am one to testify that at times giving up does seem a whole lot easier and sometimes I do give up.  But just as Henry said, nothing is too late. It is never too late to pick up the pen and finish what has been started, whether it is a uncompleted essay, or a novel or even a poem.

Thank you Henry for leaving us this beautiful words of inspiration. And that’s it, my entry for this week’s Writer’s quote Wednesday. If you would love to participate or read more inspiring quotes, then head over to Silver threading where she is hosting this event.

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Till next time….. Keep being inspired 🙂

Why I write?

Why I write?

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I don’t have the answers,
Not yet anyway;
The questions building up inside me,
Torturing me till date;
Maybe if I say it out loud,
The voices would refrain;
But the truth Is dear voices,
Even I don’t know what to say;
Though I might be a writer,
I don’t know why I write everyday.

Maybe it’s to make a difference,
make a change, leave my name.
Stamp my mark in the sand of time,
leave my footprint in peoples heart;
Lessen the burden my heart weighs,
pour out frustrations my head can’t take;
Maybe a little less, maybe more-
Maybe it’s none of the things above.

Until I do find the answers,
to the questions that you pose-
Dear voices, bear with me,
As I write the time away…

Why Poets Write…

Why Poets Write…

Because,
They all seem to listen,
But they never hear;
They listen with ears perked up,
To the words that’s pleasing to them;
And the words we need them to hear,
Are brushed by their ears as noises;
And the heart we pour out each time
Is gone with the wind- distant voices;

And that’s why poets write
Instead of doing the talking;
Because people- they seem to listen
But really, they never hear.