I consider a story merely as a frame on which to stretch my materials.
Honest good humor is the oil and wine of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship equal to that where the jokes are rather small and laughter abundant.
Writing becomes treasured hobby
Writing ‘the’ book, will anyone read?
Writing each hour, quitting day job
Writing chapters with epic speed
Waiting for magic, keyboard sleeps
Waiting for inspiration’s nudge
Waiting for publisher to call
Waiting for something bold, oh fudge!
Overlooking advice from friends
Overlooking cover’s design
Overlooking shrinking cash flow
Overlooking final deadline
Spending phantom cash, much too fast
Spending less and less time writing
Spending more and more time dreaming
Spending months on nothing exciting
Pushing aside all of these thoughts
Focusing on fresh start at hand
Crafting poetry, something new
Writing ‘the’ book, no longer planned
Advice to a new writer: There are no rules in this profession. In your writing, go where the pain is; where the pleasure is; go where the excitement is.
To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself.
Real friendship, like real poetry, is extremely rare–and precious as a pearl.
Poetry is a form of mathematics, a highly rigorous relationship with words.
Tahar Ben Jelloun is a Moroccan-born novelist and poet. Living in Paris, his published works are written in French. His writings have been honored with numerous awards, and he was nominated for a Noble Prize in Literature
Morning rain has marooned me at home
A brisk walk delayed, but never alone
Drinking coffee, another cup please
Addicted to caffeine with such ease
The early morning darkness
Stands ready in its stillness
The window is cracked open, just a bit
Hearing marvelous sounds, makes a hit
Pausing to listen and begin to write
Sounds of pleasure, being so right
Falling droplets of rain earn a trip down
Splashes on the deck, a relaxing sound
Song birds croon from atop tall trees
Sounding splendid, joyous, and free
Wet roads, close by, signal more
Amplifying car tires, ready to roar
An approaching plane flies overhead
Traveling on to Rickenbacker instead
A pair of geese flies through the sky
Their unique greeting says good-bye
My pen scratches delicately away
Listening to ink-filled words today
Simply enjoying an outlook from outside
Bringing life’s gentle sounds to me inside
Half-empty coffee cup
Hoping to find something
Peering down, never up
Searching darkened nothing
“Seinfeld” gathers awards
Endless shows with nothing
Jerry’s name on billboards
He’s caught on to something
Writing with empty words
Dreams filling with something
Missing all the keywords
Amounting to nothing
Scanning digital files
Words lost, dreading nothing
Writer facing trials
Mining life for something
Photo on dusty perch
Triggers newfound something
Memories begin search
Looking beyond nothing
Nothing pursues something
Something subdues nothing
The American sitcom “Seinfeld” entertained viewers for nine years with the creative humor of comedian Jerry Seinfeld. With a setting in New York City, the cast featured regulars Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Jason Alexander, and Michael Richards. The success of the show has often been referenced to a “show about nothing.”
Here is a short clip from the show, featuring Jerry Seinfeld with guest star Brad Garrett. The scene is titled “You barely know your car.”
For the creation of a masterwork of literature two powers must concur, the power of the man and the power of the moment, and the man is not enough without the moment.
Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things.
Life begins much like an empty book
Pages waiting as a tranquil brook
How will daily life compose each page?
Breathtaking words at every age
Words starting with childlike, joyful prose
Sentences fill with love, head to toes
Paragraphs arrive, smiling each day
First page finishes, much like crochet
Chapters now gather, picking up speed
Transmission accepts each tender reed
Pages adding up, never afraid
Days, weeks, months, years gather . . . no charade
Life reaches the twilight of its time
Not pausing, not even for halftime
Who will ever read this manuscript?
There’s time to add a final postscript
With empty pages, life’s book began
Words maturing, always in God’s plan
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Discovering words with something to say
Penning poems and stories every day
Draining cups of coffee, right on cue
Feeling emptiness, like singing the blues
Holding on to thoughts, waiting to give birth
Sailing onward, words waiting to unearth
Painting with dazzling textures, shapes, and hues
Viewing sketches, filling these eyes with clues
Searching for future poems, like twinkling stars
Linking verses while traveling to Mars
Crafting words, really not science you see
Navigating this writer’s mind, feeling free
Seeking prose, lost deep in this writer’s soul
Uncovering a few, making each day full
Looking for stories, over each rainbow
Finding inspiring words, eager to flow
Drinking more coffee, than one should consume
Creating endless text, now ready to bloom
Grasping this pen, creating one more tune
Drafting a masterpiece, ready by Noon
Writing encounters monumental quests
Hoping these words will always pass all tests
Honoring these writing moments, so sweet
Dreaming of fashioning each splendid treat
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Sitting alone at my trusty writing table once again
Wondering where the creative images have been
Touching the early morning peace and stillness
Writing with inspiring words, filled with richness
Crafting poetry, a pleasing journey to thrill
Seeking new ideas for a blank sheet to fill
Smiling as my loyal pen walks with haste
Hoping these words provide a rich taste
Dreaming of writing a poem that’s a big hit
Understanding that many will be left adrift
Pausing to think of outstanding poetry awards
Knowing that finishing may be my only reward
Finding more ambition from the morning light
Feeling my mind beginning to take long flight
Adding to a poem line by thoughtful line
Relishing the energy my words will find
Nearing the end of my writing journey, years from now
Looking back at my poetry, and taking a last, final bow
Realizing that long after I have left and been gone
Appreciating others reading my words, like a song
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Big Sky Buckeye 