Damon Runyon Did You Know?
Damon was born October 4,1880
I was born 4,18th 1966
Damon died at age 66 years of age
I was born in year 1966.
He died in year 1946,
I almost died at age 46.
He wrote a play 'Guys and Dolls'
I write poems about a 'Guy'
and I have a 'Doll' as a main character.
He writes about Sarah Brown
I write about Sarah Star.
His family is from New Jersey
My family is from New Jersey.
Did you know we have a lot in common,
I could go on.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Maybe I Was Damon In A Past Life
Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the 'Guy'
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.
He even wrote a character named Sarah Brown
I have a character Sarah who lives by a clown.
Little Miss Marker was a play he wrote-
I wrote a poem Little Miss Melodie who sings a note.
His grandfather was from New Jersey just like me
I see a lot of similarities-
Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Damon Runyon In A Past Life?
Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the 'Guy'
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.
He even wrote a character named Sarah Brown
I have a character Sarah who lives by a clown.
Little Miss Marker was a play he wrote-
I wrote a poem Little Miss Melodie who sings a note.
His grandfather was from New Jersey just like me
I see a lot of similarities-
Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012
www.suzae.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maybe I Was Damon In A Past Life
Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the "Guy"
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writer Damon Runyon
Shirley Temple launched her career,
with Littlest Miss Marker,
making her Best Star of the Year.
Damon Runyon wrote this story,
It was a drama, not very gory.
Damon wrote “Guys and Dolls”
which is a Broadway musical,
Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen named after him
named Runyon’s Way to this day.
He named his mobster friend Otto, Regret,
A horse player who used to bet.
now Regret is in Shirley Temple’s hit.
Later, Otto ended up getting killed,
Damon did damage control,
Damon wrote “Otto would have been effective as
a bodyguard as a child aged two year old.
Damon died at 66, he had throat
cancer the year was 1946.
History’s first telethon of the nation,
washosted Milton Berle for
Damon Runyon Cancer Research Foundation.
Damon sounds like an interesting and a sensational writer,
I will read more of his writings to become brighter.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on September 24,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppetpoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writer Damon Runyon
Shirley Temple launched her career,
with Littlest Miss Marker,
making her Best Star of the Year.
Damon Runyon wrote this story,
It was a drama, not very gory.
Damon wrote 'Guys and Dolls'
which is a Broadway musical,
Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen named after him
named Runyon's Way to this day.
He named his mobster friend Otto, Regret,
A horse player who used to bet.
now Regret is in Shirley Temple's hit.
Later, Otto ended up getting killed,
Damon did damage control,
Damon wrote 'Otto would have been effective as
a bodyguard as a child aged two year old.
Damon died at 66, he had throat
cancer the year was 1946.
History's first telethon of the nation,
washosted Milton Berle for
Damon Runyon Cancer Research Foundation.
Damon sounds like an interesting and a sensational writer,
I will read more of his writings to become brighter.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on September 24,2011
www.suzae.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.suzaria.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born in 1966
Born in 1966
Born in the year 1966,
It was a hippy society
with hippies and chicks.
Now if I add my birth
numbers up minus the one,
I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s done.
Anyways, it comes to the number 44,
They say it stands for Atlantis
in it’s ancient forklore.
Now I was around during Atlantis time,
I had to die for committing no crime.
I probably wrote a “peeve” poem
making a political statement that rhymed.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I myself was born in Sacramento, California in 1966.
quote by Sarah Zettel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Born with Pride
Born with pride
When she was born,
She never cried
Born with dreams
Pretty eyes open wide
Born without tears
No lies to seek or hide
Born without fears,
On her beautiful little mind
Born to live
to love to give
To suffer to loose
Everything
Born with pride
Died in vain
Agony and pain
Hurt and shame
The lady had died
Her baby was born
With no pride
And with nothing
On his side
poem by Mitwaly Osman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dad & Mom
Dad born in South Dakota state
Mom born in New Jersey
they both married each other at a later date.
Being raised in Minnesota the land of the thousand lakes
it was fun playing out in the fields which was great!
Dad was a truck driver whose jacket was covered in oil
mom was an RN nurse mentioned Grandfather
came from blood of royal.
Birthday I do remember to this day
is when I received a doll Crissy
who I would loved to act out and play.
It was my 6th birthday which was fun
it was a fun time when I was young.
Dad took me to the store
recieved 2 Crissy dolls like never before.
I still have one doll till this day
she still wears the same orange dress that hasn't changed.
I will give it to a special girl for her birthday.
Dad and Mom still live in Minnesota with a new pet
it is a cat I haven't seen yet.
I will go visit them this year
to make sure Dad and Mom are fine
who I love so dear.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 2,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
Dad & Mom
Dad born in South Dakota state
Mom born in New Jersey
they both married each other at a later date.
Being raised in Minnesota the land of the thousand lakes
it was fun playing out in the fields which was great!
Dad was a truck driver whose jacket was covered in oil
mom was an RN nurse mentioned Grandfather
came from blood of royal.
Birthday I do remember to this day
is when I received a doll Crissy
who I would loved to act out and play.
It was my 6th birthday which was fun
it was a fun time when I was young.
Dad took me to the store
recieved 2 Crissy dolls like never before.
I still have one doll till this day
she still wears the same orange dress that hasn't changed.
I will give it to a special girl for her birthday.
Dad and Mom still live in Minnesota with a new pet
it is a cat I haven't seen yet.
I will go visit them this year
to make sure Dad and Mom are fine
who I love so dear.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 2,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet - 'Tis Christmas-time Again
'Tis Christmas-time again this year for me;
I wish it brings me joy and much more cheer;
0 Jesus Lord, please bless my family;
The ones I love, both far and near and dear.
This year has had its joys and woes, bygone;
Some days of despair, heart cannot describe;
And some had died while others had been born;
To lucky few, I do still now prescribe!
But anyway, the year had been better,
Than all the previous ones that had passed by;
Lesser to man and more to God, debtor;
I am, but God's my Friend and Guide so nigh.
Perhaps, the New-Year brings more surprises,
Including the skyrocketing prices!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born From Above
There are many men upon this earth, who never heard of a spiritual birth,
Like Nicodemus, a curious one, a Pharisee, who questioned God’s Son.
Christ replied to Nicodemus in love, that man must be born from above,
Born of God, through Jesus Christ, who came to grant all men New Life.
Not born a second time, physically, but, in Christ, Born Again spiritually,
Born of God’s Spirit, so we can see, with our heart, The Truth of eternity.
With a focus that is now upon God, as you continue on this earthly sod,
With a Hope we didn’t have before, through Jesus Christ our Risen Lord.
Nicodemus, although a religious man, was not fit for God’s Eternal Plan.
For apart from the Savior’s Love, he would not see The Kingdom above.
Alone, man’s religious affiliation, has no bearing on the Lord’s Salvation,
But, simply your belief in God’s Son, who died on a cross for everyone.
To be born again of God’s Spirit, just accept God’s Truth as you hear it,
Just accept Christ, who died for sins, and New Life for you then begins.
All your flesh will remain the same, although you’ve become Born Again,
It’s your heart which God changes, as your inner thoughts He rearranges.
Just like a child is born into life, through faith we’re born in Jesus Christ,
When born anew into God’s family, to become His child through eternity.
Born from above, to live for Him, Jesus Christ, who died for all our sins,
Saving us at the cross of Calvary, Christ provides us a new life eternally.
(Copyright ©09/2007)
John Masefield Was Much More Than A Poet Laureate
John Masefield was much more than a poet laureate he was indeed a verse maker supreme
His longer poems are surely masterpieces and will live for centuries or so it would seem
From his prolific pen the rhymes kept flowing he kept on penning till the day he died
No doubt about it born to be a wordsmith and greatness of him cannot be denied
John Masefield wrote the poetry of the masses and in his lifetime was famed Worldwide
His 'Reynard The Fox' the greatest hunting poem ever of the hunting people of the English countryside
His other famed longer poems 'The Daffodil Fields' and 'The Everlasting Mercy' and 'Dauber' the boy artsist who died at sea
As well as others are true masterpieces to rhyme to him seemed to come easily
His descriptive powers to say the least amazing it must be true that poets are born not made
For sixty years he was a major poet a literary icon of the wordsmith trade
John Masefield he was Ledbury's greatest poet one might say a manufacturer of rhyme
For many years he was Britain's Poet Laureate until he too lost out to father time
He truly was the poet of the people and poets of his stature as always are rare
He died an old man in his eighty ninth year with England's best he surely does compare.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not Just Sometimes But Always
There is a long forgotten voice
I know it's not your voice, cause it's always strained
I wake up hearing unfamiliar voices
Convinced they're trying to explain
That if my words were clearer
Then maybe I would know what I'm trying to say
Just as those long forgotten voices
Disappear back into rain
If I was born the same day that you died
Should that make me try
I was born the same day that you died
Should that make me feel more alive
Not just sometimes but always
I know what I know
I know what I know
I know what I know
I tune the radio to drown out these voices I don't know
I'm suddenly an empty house, that almost fills up with home
There are days and nights, when I don't need to close my eyes
And they feel as real to me like analogy in disguise
If I was born the same day that you died
Should that make me try
I was born the same day that you died
Should that make me feel more alive
Not just sometimes but always
I know what I know
I know what I know
I know what I know
Not just sometimes but always
I know what I know
I know what I know
I know what I know
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Born in 1966
Born in the year 1966,
It was a hippy society
with hippies and chicks.
Now if I add my birth
numbers up minus the one,
I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s done.
Anyways, it comes to the number 44,
They say it stands for Atlantis
in it’s ancient forklore.
Now I was around during Atlantis time,
I had to die for committing no crime.
I probably wrote a “peeve” poem
making a political statement that rhymed.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For Bill - My Brother
Who was aged five when I was born
My brother
Who hid my toys and broke my dolls
My brother
Who avoided his sister at school all day
My brother
Who tolerated my teenage years
My brother
Who as an adult became a friend
My brother
Who mellowed with each passing year
My brother
Who supported my desire to immigrate
My brother
Who was there when others weren't
My brother
Who buried our parents while I was gone
My brother
Who cherished every visit I made
My brother
Who had his ticket to visit me here
My brother
Who unexpectedly died this year
My brother
poem by Evelyn Macdonald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I was born in Northampton, in Burlington County, West Jersey, in the year 1720.
quote by John Woolman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I don't
Many people write
For their true emotions to unravel
Out of depression, angst, spite
But I can’t
I don’t write poems when I’m sad
They write from their experiences
When he left me
When they died
Bringing tears, causing cries
But I can’t
I don’t write when I’m sad
The tears dutifully stain my cheek
And roll on and on
Through and through
Down
Down
Down
But I can’t
And I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And all the anger and sadness
Thrust inside of me
Just bursting to get out
Screaming
Pleading
Begging to get out
But they can’t
Because I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And I don’t know what to do
How to express my pain
And woe, and the feeling
It drains me, and it shows
But there’s nothing I can do
Because I don’t ever write poetry when I’m sad
I was not born because you died
I was not born because you died
And I'm not the dawn
because you wanted to be the twilight
And I'm not a stone statue
You keep circling about
The way the mist spins around a treetop
Because a treetop is the map without a city
You are looking for
Each bough leads back to its root
In watered shadows foretold
Because a treetop is a barren autumn lightning
Burning the skylinks of earth hooks pinned on leaves
Except that the treetop it wants to stay and grow
Don't think I've got leaves because you pruned me
Or that the green is the colour of an ever life
I was not born because you died
And I'm not the light because you chose your dark
And I'm not the hope because you leave things hopeless
I'm neither your failure nor your success
And you cannot teach me because you know it all
Because you know better than that
Because there's no knowledge except for the heart
Eager to love and not play on oppositions
Spitting everybody's ‘but' flaws difference rising
I was not born because you died
I don't owe you anything
And my life I owe to Love
That will embrace us both
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!