Related quotes: ...Got my stalker back, YEP,...

my Stalker Has Returned

...Got my stalker back, YEP, its true...
...Under a new and fancy pen name...-
...He thinks that hes ' cute and clever'
...And that he'll get no blame;

...He knows pretty much 'our set up'-
...Speaks of the wall of veneer...-
...That would be the dividing wall...-..
...Between the eye and here;

...Mentioned The Spider! ! !
...Mentioned The Attic! ! !
...Now we are here to tell you all...-
...That Our Stalker Is Back-
...Delivering 'His Static'! ! !

...Clever handle these days...
...Goes by a Monster Metal Name-
...Believe that it is 'Something DragonHearted'
...Turning it all over to you-its now 'YOUR' game;

************************************* ****************************************
A British Song***
Written in 1941
By Elton Box
And Desmond Cox

...Sixpence

...I've got sixpence
...Jolly, jolly sixpence
...I've got sixpence to last me all of my life
... I've got Twopence to spend
...And Twopence to lend
...And Twopence to send home to my wife-poor wife;
********************************************* *********************************
From: The Attic Of My Heart (MY HOME LITERALLY)
Last in my series: Madness
Dedicated to: Mr. F. Bilbo of Quality, Christian Bowen, Michael, aka Andy aka, Ismael, Basil R. Sir William (Who put him up to the write,) , and all of the rest of you. It is out of our hands as of this evening at 10: 30 P.M. Central time. October 26,2009
THE AUTHORITIES WILL HANDLE THIS.
To Mr.DragonHearted: YOU DO KNOW THE LAYOUT WELL(or should we say, The manic who put you up to writing that poem knows our layout well...Motely Crue and all.)
THE only ones who understood your poem...
Were the people involved in this investigation! ! !
Cannot wait for our day in court with YOU!
And or the: 'Malicious Hate filled Manic person' who put
You up to writing that particular poem and continues
To write his own under a different name...my husbands first name.
**************************************** **************************************

Tha nk you everyone who helped with this!

poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

A Not a Poem Poem

I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!

I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!

Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!

Can I write a poem?
NO!

Will I write a poem?
NO!

Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!

poem by Maya Reid
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The Poem I Did Not Write Today

THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE TODAY

The poem I did not write today
Will never be written.
No one knows what it is
Or where it is
'How it can be? ' is another question
No one can answer.

The poem I did not write today
Never went away
It is always here with me and with you
It is the same simple poem
Written over and over again
In our everyday minds.

It is the poem of love of life
The poem of happiness
The poem of belief in God
And in the goodness in the world to come
It is the poem which believes too that poetry will help save the world.

It is the good poem
The happy poem
The poem I did not write today
Is the poem my life is writing now and always
And with you it says
‘What a miracle it is that we are here
reading and writing
and loving life as we do’.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Strive Against The Silence Of The Night

I STRIVE AGAINST THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT

I strive against the silence of the night
Against my own inner emptiness
I wait to hear some song from inside myself -
Nothing is written.

I go back to where I am
And begin again.

There is always a poem if one is patient enough.

But what poem?
And for what special meaning of this night?

I write again and again
A poem which is about writing a poem
And when I come to end it
I question again and again
Whether it is real.

This night is already deep in darkness
And yet I have almost broken its silence

One more line
One more writing about writing a poem -

Perhaps Memory will come back to me
And I will write a more real poem
Than this strained effort now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Life Art

Life Art

I want to write you a poem.

One that contains no verses

no words

how long it will be
I cannot tell.

It will be a poem that you can see through
yet it will shade you from the sun

a simple lyric
as complex as a crossword

I want it to be something
that you carry through your day

every day

I don’t know if I can write that poem

Or if indeed that poem can be written at all

So instead I am with you
Of you

And slowly together
we are writing our very own poem

Not on a page
Or in a lost notebook

But in the café
and in the street

At a table

In our bed

Every day we add another line

another image
another verse

and I know that with every word that we write
I want it to be the longest poem

That has ever been written.

poem by Andy Houlihan
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He that has lost a wife and sixpence has lost sixpence.

Scottish proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem After Poem After Poem

POEM AFTER POEM AFTER POEM
POEM AFTER POEM AFTER POEM

Poem after poem after poem
But a poem is not the way out.
Money is depleting
Soon I’ll be without.

How will I manage to live then
What will become of us all?
To write a poem is to do nothing
When the writing is on the wall.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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It Is Time To Write A Poem For My Soul

IT IS TIME TO WRITE A POEM FOR MY SOUL

It is time to write a poem for my soul-
To wake it up a bit this morning
So many errands have been done
So much walking and looking and buying and bringing
So much cleaning and eating and drinking
So many many physical things-

It is time to write a poem for my soul
And wake up a bit this morning
And come back to who I really am
When I feel I really am-

Writing a poem gives me my soul back-
And writing this I come home to who I am-

A poem is my soul
And I am writing it now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem

THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM

There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -

There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-

There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-

And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -

The page suffers many methods and modes

But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Not The Poem Then

NOT THE POEM THEN

Not the poem then
Although it can be the poem
Writing
Simply writing
This is the duty and the meaning
And the release from meaninglessness
And the ‘enabling me to go on’
The poem is only one form of it
It is the writing which matters
My life has been this
This writing
Even if it is a poor poem now
As I write these words
I live.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem About The Poem About The Poem

THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM ABOUT THE POEM

The poem about the poem about the poem
Written in dream
And forgotten in sleep
Comes back to me slowly now
As if it had been away on a long long journey
And is reluctant to come home-

I write it
But it really writes me
And when I try to make sense of what it means
It tells me its ambiguities
Are more important and interesting
Than my clarity-

The poem about the poem about the poem
Written now
May not be a poem about a poem about a poem at all
But may merely be my own playing with words
Which take the place in my life
Of really living-

A poem about a poem about a poem?
Surely this is a mysterious thing
If it exists at all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem I Am Writing Now

The poem I am writing now
does not know if it will be finished
it does not even know if it will be a poem -
it is slowly appearing line by line
and making its own meaning on the page-

Is it worth anything?
will anyone care?
I don't know -

The poem I am writing now
is just these lines
and these lines like all lines
are only small words
in a vast universe
that has long lived
and will probably longer live
without them.

Why then write these words now?

The poem I am writing now is saying,
'I am here now'.

But why should this mean anything to anyone else?

The poem I have written here
is not the poem I would have posted here
It is only the poem I am finishing now
a poem without great love or belief in itself.

The poem I am writing now
is written.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Faves And Yuks

and some say
oh that’s my favourite ever poem
my aunt my uncle my teacher read it
to me when I was twelve
and the more I read it
the more true it is and now
I’m older I can say it off by heart
as if the poem knows my heart

and some say
that poem yuk I really really hate it
the more people said to me
that’s a great poem
the more I hated it
now if I see it
in an anthology
I skip the page quickly
I really really hate it

and I wonder if
the more people read a poem
do they take a bit of its power into themselves
so it no longer has quite that surprise it had

or the more people read that poem
the more they add to it
so it has the power
to surprise more people

or do poems
like a rest from time to time
like that old toy in
your grandparents’ attic
which so surprised you

that Jack-in-a-box
with a face like
Pushkin
or Langston Hughes

poem by Michael Shepherd
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I'd Love To Write A Love Poem For You

I'd love to write a poem for you
Want to make it good
I want it to be romantic
As you might think it should
You're a vision in my head
And I can't believe you're real
You attend the U of Sexuality
And got straight A's in sex appeal
You're as metaphorical as a simile.
And poetic like a rhyme.
I'd like to write a poem for you
Got some better ways to spend my time.
Like to hug you or to kiss you
or to give you a ride
To take you out to dinner
or to please you from inside.
Id like to write a poem for you
but I'd rather not instead
I love to drive you all around
While you are giving head.
I love to please you with my fingers
I love to make you scream
I love to write you poetry
Love to see you when I dream.
I'd like to write a poem for you
a love poem, there's no doubt
I like when there is no one home
And you're free to moan and shout
I like it when you call me names
And even when you're sad
Its me you trust to make you smile
And that just makes me glad
I think you're great I think you're hot
I think you think the same
I think its not a lie to say
We'd win, if love's a game.
I'd love to be near you all the time
but that simply ain't the case,
Can't believe it's been 3 weeks
Since I saw that pretty face
I'd love to have you by my side
As I lay on this bed
I shall have to settle for,
Your image in my head
I can't wait to hold you or
to kiss you with my mouth
My life is tops when with you
And without you headed south.
I'd love to write you a love poem
but I'm afraid it seems like jokes
I know you don't like cholesterol
So for your eggs I'll cut out the yokes
When you and I embrace again
I'll hold you oh so tight,
I'll kiss your every skin cell
I'm gonna love you right
I love it when you use your mouth
Especially when I'm baked
I love to look at your body
Especially when its nake'd
I want you so so badly
I miss you so so much
I want you as my lifeline
I need you as my crutch
I'd love to write you a poem
but I'm scared I'd never stop
So I'll just keep on writing
Until my eyelids drop
And then when I arise
I'll probably write some more
And I'll just keep on writing
Until your at my door.
I'm not sure you'll get to this line,
As this poem is f***in' long
So you don't have to read it,
but I'm picturing you in a thong
It looks so very sexy
As on you all things do,
I really want you here with me
I really love you, too.

poem by Les Wordsmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With All The Reading and Writing I Do

With all the reading and writing I do
With all the work of the mind and heart
There comes a time
It can be any time
There comes a time
When the Poem must enter-

The Poem?
The deeper feeling-
The Music of the soul-
What I most need to say inside
The Writing which somehow surpasses all the other
In its inner intensity in its deepest feeling –

I write a poem now
All my heart mind soul
Go into every word and phrase.

The Poem? The Poem?
For which I write to live
And which through writing
I most live in Writing-
The Poem that this is.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Can I Write A Poem/ When I Am Filled With Inner Ugliness

HOW CAN I WRITE A POEM/ WHEN I AM FILLED WITH INNER UGLINESS

How can I write a poem
When I am filled with inner ugliness
Envy sadness disappointment hopelessness?
How can I write a poem
When discouragement so deep in me
And so relentless?

The poem itself
Its writing
Restores hope-
Truly or falsely
If only to some small degree
Writing these words
I at least now feel
Perhaps there is some small use and meaning to me
After all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This poem (says)

This poem
is friendly:
see, it’s wagging its tail,
it will follow you anywhere,
run off and come back,
a perfect companion;

this poem
loves fun:
you want to play dressing up,
it’ll laugh and rush off to the attic,
the basement, the dressing-up basket;

this poem
is serious:
you want to be silent awhile,
rest your head on its shoulder,
it will wait for you in
sympathetic stillness;

this poem
is humble:
turn it over, write
a love poem on
the other side,
it will glow with your love;

this poem
is disposable:
write a few lines, be angry
with yourself, scrumple it up,
throw it on the pavement,
someone may pick it up,
someone may tutt and place it
carefully for recycling;

this poem
is an origami:
you can make any shape you like:
a paper boat on
the waves of destiny;

a ladder to reach to where
you always wanted that fruit;
a crown; a dunce’s hat; a witch’s conic;

this poem
is elastic:
a tablecloth for a picnic,
a sheet to cover two lovers,
a ground plan for a new world;

this poem
knows where
nothing meets something,
nowhere meets everywhere,
no time meets all time,
anyone meets everyone,

this poem
has a bright eye
whether you read it or not;

this poem
likes you though it
hasn’t met you;

this poem
is impervious to scorn;
it knows who it is,
and where things begin and end.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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This poem