Writers are frequently asked why they wrote their first book. A more interesting answer might come from asking them why they wrote their second one.

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Book Of Love

Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Who wrote the book of love
Well, Ive got to know the answer
Is it someone from above
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Baby, baby, baby
I love you, yes I do
And it says so in this book of love
That Im the one thats true
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Chapter one says you love her
You love her with all your heart
Chapter two says youll never
You never, never... never gonna part
Chapter tree, remember
The meaning of romance
In chapter four you break up
Oh, wont you give me just one more chance
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
I wonder who
Who wrote the book of love

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No More

I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more

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His Booklover

and so it came to pass
that his book lover
that he loves so much
skipped the book that he wrote
in years,

feeling dejected
he wrote another one
intended for the one
who is willing
to have him.

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Book Of Love

Written by lindsey buckingham and richard dashut.
Walked out, goodbye
I swore I never would cry
Tore a page of my heart
She wants me to be her friend
Im lonely again
Tore a page of my heart
Oh, tell me who wrote the book of love
Was it somebody from above
(ha, ha, ha)
Surely he must know all the rules
(ha, ha, ha)
Knowledge not meant for mortal fools
Must have been someone from above
Tell me, who wrote the book of love
In silence the lonely make all their mistakes
Tore a page of my heart
Someone in heaven above
Shop me how to love
Tore a page of my heart
Oh, tell me who wrote the book of love
Was it somebody from above
(ha, ha, ha)
Surely he must know all the rules
(ha, ha, ha)
Knowledge not meant for mortal fools
Must have been someone from above
Tell me, who wrote the book of love
Oh, tell me who wrote the book of love
Was it somebody from above
(ha, ha, ha)
Surely he must know all the rules
(ha, ha, ha)
Knowledge not meant for mortal fools
Must have been someone from above
Tell me, who wrote the book of love

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It is not half cooked

Having heard and read, I wrote.
Having seen and felt, I wrote.
I wrote of love and romance
From experience and perception.
As I wrote I was soothed.
Don’t scorn my writings as half cooked.
10.10.2007

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Number Three

Theres only two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
A rich man once told me
Hey lifes a funny thing
A poor man once told me
That he cant afford to speak
Now Im in the middle like a bird without a beak cause
Theres just two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Dont know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my musics shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made
So I went to the president
And I asked old whats-his-name
Has he ever gotten writers block
Or something like the same
He just started talking
Like he was on tv
If theres just two songs in ya, boy
Whaddaya want from me?
So I bought myself some denim pants
And a silver guitar
But I politely told the ladies
Youll still have to call me sir
Because I have to keep my self-respect
Ill never be a star
Since theres just two songs in me
And this is number three

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What's funny about Jesus' Son is that I never even wrote that book, I just wrote it down. I would tell these stories and people would say, You should write these things down.

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I was about 13, in some ways, when I wrote the first book. Approximately 18 when I wrote the second.

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At Home With My Writing

how often do i have to read
other people's work hoping that i may soon hone mine
and get
the admiration of other writers?

that is a long time ago and i guess
i have changed

whether admired or not we are all writers in our own ways

it is just a matter of self-expression
a way of telling those who will be left here that once we were here and we have written a lot, a legacy in words, that we are the ideas of our own time,

and time perhaps is glad about it
how we wrote and what we wrote for and whom

it's perfectly nice living life at your own pace
saying the words you want to say and leaving everything for the rest to see and judge

so to say, i am finally at home with my own words and style.

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All She Wrote

Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time
Tell me why was I such a chore
Broken glass lies empty
Cut my voice so I can't say
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Lying here in your bed
The one that you liked to do it in
Pieces of long brown hair
Are all over it and still in my brain
I can't explain
What it's like not knowing if I'll ever cross your mind
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Sleep through the day
Fight with the night
Seven a.m. and the tv is white
Covered in snow
I never knew that hell could get so cold
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Today was that day
It was that time
And that was all that she wrote for me
You fell away
I don't know why
And that was all that she wrote for me
Something's wrong with your mind
It won't think of me anymore
Was it all a waste of time

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Write in Sand and Stone

Today, my friend yelled at me.
I wrote in sand my friend yelled at me.
Today, my friend punched me.
I wrote in sand my friend punched me.
Today, my friend cursed me.
I wrote in sand my friend cursed me.
Today, my friend abandoned me.
I wrote in sand my friend abandoned me.
Today, my friend insulted me.
I wrote in sand my friend insulted me.

Today, my friend asked me for forgiveness.
I wrote in stone my friend asked for forgiveness.
Today, my friend saved my life.
I wrote in stone my friend saved my life.
Today, my friend made me smile.
I wrote in stone my friend made me smile.
Today, my friend told me she cares for me.
I wrote in stone my friend cares for me.
Today, my friend was grateful for me.
I wrote in stone my friend was grateful for me.

I wrote in sand the bad things my friend did to me.
I wrote in stone the nice things did to me.

Winds will erase the bad things written in sand.
Nothing can erase the nice things written in stone.
Forgive and Forget

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Legends, Elegies, Pleasures And Norma Jean

The man who wrote Legends of the Fall
Wrote; 'Don't fall in love as if fallin' off a dock at night'
But when you are struck by the thunderbolt
How do you not fall?

The man who wrote the Duino Elegies
Wrote; 'Beauty is only the start of bearable terror'
But to be stuck without beauty
Is unbearable

The woman formerly know as Norma Jean
Wrote; 'I know from life one cannot love another'
I know what she meant, but to love you
How can I not?

The man who wrote The Pleasures of Hope
Wrote; 'How hard it is to find the one just suited to our mind! '
But it is just a little too easy to find one
Who is ill suited

From Legends, Elegies, Pleasures and Norma Jean
What they wrote is unforgettable
And that is what you are muse, though near or far
In every way

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A Linda Song

Music: Barry Manilow
Lyrics: Enoch Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never wrote a song for Linda
He wrote as though he lived alone
He wrote of dreams that end
And of sad brave men
Inventing worlds he'd never known
But he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
Loved him back to life
When his luck ran low
But he never wrote a Linda song
He nearly broke his heart at writing
Linda kept him from despair
Standin' by his side
through the hungry days
But he hardly seemed to see her there
And he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
The one real thing in his crazy world
And he never wrote a Linda song.
When the bills piled up
He couldn't pay
He couldn't dream no more
So he hitched a ride and he rode away
And he left a note for Linda by the door
By the door
When times got rough he'd phone her
Once or twice she took the call
Then she changed her number and she turned her head
And Linda never looked back at all
He'll never write a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
All he knows is no one understands
And he never wrote a Linda song
No he never wrote a Linda song

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John Shea

Lost poem

It was on this page, then gone
Like feathers blowing in the wind.

Where is the prose I wrote?
Not a letter is in sight.
I am looking with all my might.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

Today I wrote a new poem,
Was it lost in cyberspace?
I hope not for I might not know it,
Even staring at me in the face.

Give me a break, my memories are at stake.
Oh where is the prose I wrote?

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They Call It Gentle and Smile

The Sun wrote a poem
That is morning
The Moon wrote a poem
That is evening
I wrote a poem
That is love
You wrote a poem on your lips
They fondly call it gentle and smile

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I wrote The Same Sea not as a political allegory about Israelis and Palestinians. I wrote it about something much more gutsy and immediate. I wrote it as a piece of chamber music.

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My sense of a poem - my notion of how you revise - is: you get yourself into a state where what you are intensely conscious of is not why you wrote it or how you wrote it, but what you wrote.

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Dear Michael

She wrote dear michael
Youll probably never get this letter
Michael, I wrote you a hundred times before
Knowing how I feel
Ill write a hundred more
Dear michael, every time your records on
(michael michael)
Michael, I close my eyes and sing along
Dreaming youre singing to me.
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
And then she wrote:
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Michael, I love you
I held the tears back long as I can
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Im sealing my feelings in this envelope
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
cause I wanna be more than just your number one fan
Im gonna answer your letter
(michael michael)
Ill start beginning with the abcs of loving you
(I love ya)
(she wrote)
(michael michael)
(I love ya)
Your letter really touched my heart
(she wrote)
Ive been dreaming of meeting the picture
That you send along, signed with all your love
(michael michael)
(I wrote ya)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back, ouuh, I promess you that
(wont you write me back? , please write me back)
Girl, I think I love you
(michael michael)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter, tell her I love her
(she wrote)
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
(she wrote)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter tell her I love her
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
Yeah,
(I wrote you)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back
I promess you that...

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I wrote that letter, and the one to Nixon. And I wrote more letters, and I thought it might be a magazine article. At that time I sent it to Esquire and Playboy, but anyway, I kept writing, and all of sudden I had enough and thought, well maybe it is a book.

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Freedom of writing dying

I wrote about one and was taken to court.
I wrote about a sect and was taken to task.
I wrote about a religion and was beaten.
What else to write to serve the purpose
Other than the glory of love and war
And flattering the people in the helm?
03.02.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam ChettiarReport problemRelated quotes
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