Serial killers are everywhere! Well, perhaps not in our neighborhood, but on our television screens, at the movie theatres, and in rows and rows of books at our local Borders or Barnes and Noble Booksellers.
Related quotes
Once there came a man
Once there came a man
Who said,
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was terrific clamour among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tombstones!
rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not as ours the books of old - Things that steam can stamp and fold; Not as ours the books of yore - Rows of type, and nothing more.
quote by Austin Dobson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
End Of The Game
There are times
when we stand on a stage
and there below the glare
of the footlights below
blinding our eyes
are rows and rows
of empty seats
where no one came to see
our farewell performance
to mark the end of the game.
15 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Barnes & Noble Days
Working at Barnes and Noble
was interesting indeed,
I had managed to succeed
in doing many book readings.
I had my books short listed by Kim,
she was sweet and let my books in.
In Barnes and Noble for the very first time,
so I could read my books that really do rhyme.
In reading my book “Sarah’s Special Birthday”
children got to sit in the chair by a tray.
singing “Happy Birthday” with their very own name.
Tray had on it a cake that did very much light,
it lit up from UniCandle unicorn right on site.
Blowing out the “fake cake” the kids were amazed,
How could the cake light up
was the question they had raised.
Many older kids knew the trick,
They rubbed the white lever they did click.
Now, kids loved Melodie and UniCandle unicorn too,
I would sign their books with their names and Sue.
Now I will go by Suzae instead,
at the end of my show when I have read,
my books for when you go to bed.
They are dream books about
Adventures to be told,
hopefully I will get them
in major bookstores
before I am really old.
Written on Feb.21,2011 by Christina Sunrise
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
While we are being fascinated by the tales of famous serial killers and how they were brought to justice, the real serial killer goes about his business with hardly a thought to being caught.
Barnes And Noble Days
Working at Barnes and Noble
was interesting indeed,
I had managed to succeed
in doing many book readings.
I had my books short listed by Kim,
she was sweet and let my books in.
In Barnes and Noble for the first time,
so I could read my books that really do rhyme.
In reading my book "Sarah's Special Birthday"
children got to sit in the chair by a tray.
singing "Happy Birthday" with their very own name.
Tray had on it a cake that did very much light,
it lit up from UniCandle unicorn right on site.
Blowing out the "fake cake" the kids were amazed,
How could the cake light up
was the question they had raised.
Many older kids knew the trick,
They rubbed the white lever they did click.
Now, kids loved Melodie and UniCandle unicorn too,
I would sign their books with their names and Sue.
Now I will go by Suzae instead,
at the end of my show when I have read,
my books for when you go to bed.
They are dream books about
Adventures to be told,
hopefully I will get them
in major bookstores
before I am really old.
Written by Suzae Chevalier
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Minnesota 2009
Alarm goes off it’s 3: 30 am.
I have to get ready for Kinkos again.
I leave in car with my closet friend Ev.
off to Minnesota for we are in Wisconsin,
traveling on highway to Cities with the word Twin.
He drops me off at Kinko’s which used to be open all night,
this was in the year 2009.
I’m busy drawing cartoons for my children books that glow,
I color in the illustrations with colored pencils layed out in a row.
I become friends with Kinkos employee,
she helps me make color copies for free.
I hurry and design to books with butterflies,
books are about Melodie and Sarah who become princess that fly.
Now that same year I have a show,
it is at bookstore named Barnes & Noble.
Kinko’s friend gives me her wicker chair,
I have buy costumes and make dolls with a flair.
I even have friends mail up birthday crown,
I give out “Sarah’s Special Birthday” flyers all over town.
It was a good turnout for the birthday show,
children wore blue costumes with wings a glow.
A lady buys a costume and 2 books are sold.
Butterfly books are finished once I get home.
Photos of Barnes & Noble where not shot by luck,
they were expertly shot by my friend Chuck.
Barnes & Noble photos on website to this day,
to show memories of transpired that day.
Reading was on Harry Potter, JKR Rowling birthday.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 28,2011
www.puppetpoems.com www.purplepoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.suzaechevalier.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Guide to the Other Gallery
This is the hall of broken limbs
Where splintered marble athletes lie
Beside the arms of cherubim.
Nothing is ever thrown away.
These butterflies are set in rows.
So small and gray inside their case
They look alike now. I suppose
Death makes most creatures commonplace.
These portraits here of the unknown
Are hung three high, frame piled on frame.
Each potent soul who craved renown,
Immortalized without a name.
Here are the shelves of unread books,
Millions of pages turning brown.
Visitors wander through the stacks,
But no one ever takes one down.
I wish I were a better guide.
There's so much more that you should see.
Rows of bottles with nothing inside.
Displays of locks which have no key.
You'd like to go? I wish you could.
This room has such a peaceful view.
Look at that case of antique wood
Without a label. It's for you.
poem by Dana Gioia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At the Movie: Virginia, 1956
This is how it was:
they had their own churches, their own schools,
schoolbuses, football teams, bands and majorettes,
separate restaurants, in all the public places
their own bathrooms, at the doctor's
their own waiting room, in the Tribune
a column for their news, in the village
a neighborhood called Sugar Hill,
uneven rows of unresponsive houses
that took the maids back in each afternoon—
in our homes used the designated door,
on Trailways sat in the back, and at the movie
paid at a separate entrance, stayed upstairs.
Saturdays, a double feature drew the local kids
as the town bulged, families surfacing
for groceries, medicine and wine,
the black barber, white clerks in the stores—crowds
lined the sidewalks, swirled through the courthouse yard,
around the stone soldier and the flag,
and still I never saw them on the street.
It seemed a chivalric code
laced the milk: you'd try not to look
and they would try to be invisible.
Once, on my way to the creek,
I went without permission to the tenants'
log cabin near the barns, and when Aunt Susie
opened the door, a cave yawned, and beyond her square,
leonine, freckled face, in the hushed interior,
Joe White lumbered up from the table, six unfolding
feet of him, dark as a gun-barrel, his head bent
to clear the chinked rafters, and I caught
the terrifying smell of sweat and grease,
smell of the woodstove, nightjar, straw mattress—
This was rural Piedmont, upper south;
we lived on a farm but not in poverty.
When finally we got our own TV, the evening news
with its hooded figures of the Ku Klux Klan
seemed like another movie—King Solomon's Mines,
the serial of Atlantis in the sea.
By then I was thirteen,
and no longer went to movies to see movies.
The downstairs forged its attentions forward,
toward the lit horizon, but leaning a little
to one side or the other, arranging the pairs
that would own the county, stores and farms, everything
but easy passage out of there—
and through my wing-tipped glasses the balcony
took on a sullen glamor: whenever the film
sputtered on the reel, when the music died
and the lights came on, I swiveled my face
up to where they whooped and swore,
to the smoky blue haze and that tribe
of black and brown, licorice, coffee,
taffy, red oak, sweet tea—
wanting to look, not knowing how to see,
I thought it was a special privilege
to enter the side door, climb the stairs
and scan the even rows below—trained bears
in a pit, herded by the stringent rule,
while they were free, lounging above us,
their laughter pelting down on us like trash.
poem by Ellen Bryant Voigt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poem about Poetry - His Poetry Collection
i found a poetry book on one of the tables in my office
i opened to read it from one poem to another
i discovered that the man never knew poetry
and wondered why he had to publish it
the words did not dance in my mind,
they all stood glued to the page
my heart did not go ga ga and my eyes
did not wish to jump from one line to the other
there were at least 10,000 words which lied
like rows and rows of quiet, never visited graves
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I showed my mom the movie then I told her the movie got bought and that it was gonna be shown in theatres and be on video. Everyone was really psyched about it. Everyone in my little town of hounds started to call me movie star.
quote by Jason Mewes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
We Walk In The Moonlight
We walk in the moonlight
to buy cake meal and cinnamon
past rows and rows of houses of which the lights wink
with the veldt stripped open into the distance
and you tell my about your childhood days,
about a house on a farm now demolished,
about an inheritance that was not yours
and the old yard may be up for sale.
Stars shine like torches against the sky,
your eyes gleam secretively
with the beauty of a innocent child,
our feelings are suddenly intense and intimate.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unemployment Shame
Rows and rows of boxes
All of them the same
With rooms and rooms of people
Each without a name
Hearts that beat, though breaking
And smiles that mask the pain
Of fading hopes of sunshine
Through windows drenched with rain.
Once lovers, now not speaking
Except to lay the blame
For broken dreams and the poverty
Of unemployment shame.
Empty cupboards and drunken sleep
Are all part of the game
But hungry babies wake them still
On mornings all the same.
poem by Jane Solanrobertson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The City
the city was once
a forest of trees
when the pioneers
arrive with their axes
and each tree fell
and the river swollen
mothers had to have
more children
and fathers had to
plow more fields
and plant the rows and
rows of corn
as monkeys on top
of the remaining trees
tease
the grasshoppers
find enough sleep
and the ants keep
on building their
empire on mounds
and mounds of
dry land
that was how
a city was formed
my father said
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Local television and local TV news isn't telling the voters about local candidates.
quote by Reed Hundt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
We assume people we know can't be serial killers.
Honesty
Thousands of thousands people
Among the thousands of rows
Waiting for the entry to the show
Of blitz, glamour and corruption.
The first rows are for the VIPs
The middle ones are for the sycophants
As I am neither of them
So my row is the last one.
Front line is for the hypocrites
Middle ones are for the touts
As I am neither of them
So my line is at the end.
I am feeling lonely
And my row is empty
Could you please for few minutes stand with me?
So that I can show you the real delight
Of life in the path of honesty..
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I walk next to the tomato beds
I walk next to the tomato beds
in our garden and here and there
are a few fig trees
which are covered with green swelling fruit
right against the main branches.
At the back in the corner and between the tomatoes
are rows of prickly pears
and look as if they have lost their thorns
but if you look carefully
the rows of thorns are still there.
You that I see as the flower
among my flowers
who are tender and soft hearted,
are now piercing the most
as the going away cuts through me
and staying apart, stays a terrible thing
but seeing each other again,
remains a wonderful
and yet every day
I see the fruit of you selfless love.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Killers Eyes
I see so little hope in you,
So much despair,
As I look in your eyes I wonder,
What thoughts linger there.
Life means nothing to you,
At least thats what they say,
But it doesnt mean that you have the right to take life away.
How were we to know what was going on inside your mind.
You never let it show what was going on behind
Those killers eyes
Killers eyes
Youve seen your picture in the paper.
Youre little sisters pinned it on the wall.
She thinks youre in some kind of movie.
Imagine her surprise when she saw you on the news.
Reporters came around and asked for interviews.
So little compassion, so icy cool.
They say you were a poor boy, you know that life can be cruel.
Hate builds up from childhood, your world was a slum
But you havent got the right to blow it to kingdom come
How could we know what it was like inside a killers mind
It never really showed, you kept the secret deep inside
Those killers eyes
Killers eyes
You say the world is full of bullshit,
So you kill just as you see fit.
They say that youre a fanatic with a mission.
We all go through hell in some kind of way,
Can you tell me what its like to be there every day?
When you were young you had a vision
Whyd you go and do a thing like that?
And now we see you on the television.
Imagine our surprise when we saw you on the news,
And reporters came around and asked for interviews.
I see so little hope in you,
So much despair,
As I look in your eyes I wonder,
What thoughts linger there.
Life means nothing to you,
At least thats what they say,
But it doesnt mean that you have the right to take life away.
When you were just a child
Youd hide away when other children cried
But how were we to know
These tears that flowed were from a killers eyes
I see so little hope in you,
So much despair,
As I look in your eyes I wonder,
What thoughts linger there.
Life means nothing to you,
At least thats what they say,
But it doesnt mean that you have the right to take life away.
Those killers eyes
See the whites of their eyes
Those killers eyes
See the whites of their eyes
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!