Born in South Africa in 1918
95 years, a long life you had seen
Maybe not the best but better than most
You won the Presidential medal of freedom and the Nobel peace prize
Sadly today, the world cries.
You will be missed by so many
and are known by all
the impact you made on this world was nothing small
so many obstacles but you found a way
your determination inspires many people
that is why the 5th of December will always be a very sad day
You were great maybe the best
now it is time for you to finally rest
You changed the world and made it better
Rest In Peace, NELSON MANDELA
Apple of my eye
Inspires bounce in my step
Smile jumping for joy
A real man is mentally and physically strong,
Has a good heart and mind,
Moves away from sin,
Accepts and appreciates who he is,
Accepts and respects everyone,
Doesn't judge anyone because he knows that he isn't the one to judge them,
Shares the Love of God with His family daily and has strong faith,
Doesn't take actions or make decisions that confront his faith and beliefs,
Has dreams and ambitions,
Always speaks the truth,
Always thinks before making a decision,
Accepts his mistakes and knows that he isn't perfect,
Is able to control his rage,
Inspires others by being a role model,
Respects women and never man-handles them,
Loves his wife and remains faithful to her forever,
A Devoted father,
Is a great father figure to his son,
Has a special bond with his daughter,
Protects his family and always does what is best for them,
Keeps a roof over their heads,
Earns a living,
Doesn't care what others think of him,
Has emotions and is able to express himself,
A real man never gives up and is optimistic about the future!!!
There are no magic memories
Fit to fix an old man's soul,
Or time befuddled bunnies
Traipsing down a rabbit hole.
There is no pot of gold, I'm told,
At the rainbow's end.
Nor an Alice fool enough to call
The Queen of Hearts her friend.
There is no quest for Camelot
Unsinged by writer's block.
Or a Pan within a labyrinth
Dispensing magic chalk.
There are no Gnomes, no spirit keys,
No dragon wars, no trees that sneeze,
No roads paved in that yellow brick,
No fairies darting low and quick
Through enchanted dandelion seas
Alongside the Everbetter Bees.
There are no mountains draped in gold,
Nor pixie dust bright as the stars.
No armored bears to fight the cold
Just to gain some battle scars.
There is no cheese upon the moon,
No mermaids deep in a lagoon,
Or pirates haunting Neverland,
Nor flying carpets o'er sea and sand.
No segacious wizards wise and fair,
No time-traveling rocking chair
Until that wild winding wind we share
Showers imagination here and there,
Up, up high and down below,
In places gently capped with snow,
Where every wiley fuss will know
All the greatest memories go.
There are no wonders left to see
Until somebody sets them free.
And that's where Carroll inspires me,
And I get so lost in young Barrie.
Where one rides a magic alligator,
Dahl flies in his glass elevator.
Where Genie's kindly grant a new wish,
Geisel shares his "one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish,"
To my Muse, this is the grandest sight,
And why I am compelled to write.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"I can believe anything provided it is incredible."
~ Oscar Wilde
This writing was found in Italian among
my father's papers, when he passed away
The True Tale of Shylock's Pound
(Did Shylock pay his pound of flesh?)
A peculiar circumcision,
into the Jew's chest
shall now be commenced,
by the Medico Legale of Venizia,,
his instruments blessed, ready.
Dual purposed, to extract
an accursed payment,
in service to the Court and
in furtherance to man's
greater scientific knowledge.
Incise a body prone before him,
but it's not a body at rest,
the cut, the trademark coroner's
inquiring and most appropriate Y,
(his pleas to Yehovah go unanswered)
shall be executed just so,
both as legal tender,
his debt to pay,
and to answer queries varied,
this living body, dismember
while coincidental, alive.
Tho we injure with pleasure,
t'is recorded fair,
t'is at the behest of a
court-ordered scientific inquiry,
ordered to measure,
from the trial's record
that having been posed
to the Duke,
and for answers,
the Court and Duke,
By the unholy virtue of his
guile and trickery,
a trifling pound
shall be ours,
for the Jew's resource,
have been most
His due, most legitimate,
more than forfeit,
is now ours to keep.
Hath a Jew hands,
senses, affections, passions?
If you prick the Jew,
doth it bleed?
How much doth a Jew's
pound of flesh weigh?
Doth it weigh more or less
when his unholy soul
his writhing body?
What color doth his heart,
or simpler yet,
does the accursed,
this dog's vessel,
even a heart contain?
What powers the Jew's cunning,
inspires his deceptions,
so he prospers despite our
many constant degradations?
Come wise councillors of
most notable lineage,
let's us put our heads together,
like the olden Egyptian sorcerers
who tried yet failed.
Have at it skilled Da Vinci, you
and your scienziato brethren,
do assay well the potions
that doth taint the Jew's blood,
so that we may,
his secrets maketh,
our own notions.
discover how the Jew
maketh precious stones
from coals, spit and hate,
for the bene proviso of the
citizens of our city-state,
Our brothers who from
Spain and Portugal hail,
have much knowledge
in these matters,
so let make haste,
cut deep and true, Doctors
the Jew physic treasures discover,
lest the Spanish Alchemistos
the secrets earn,
their inquisitories reveal
how Jews turn
dross into ducats!
Take measurements fine,
observe most accurate
his corde vocali,
the infernal instrument
projecting these shrieks, cries,
so horrible peculiar,
we need to ascertain
the wherefore of such
wails and moans.
Jew cries are lies,
yet they haunt and crucify
our most perfect, noble demeanor,
Attention pay, dear ones,
examine with great care,
the tongue that populates
his now most deformed features.
Its secrets many,
for it speaks guile
so fluently and elegante,
and in so many lingua,
a skill, our brothers Borgia
hold exceedingly valuable!
Our introspection today
in Heaven's service performed,
its value exceedth
its countermeasure in
gold and jewels
When has Justice
been served so well?
Only one quest remains
unknown and alas,
as yet unresolvable:
What maketh a Jew,
this Jew, all Jews,
over our warm and willing embrace?
performance as Shylock, rent open my chest.
and with deep apologies to Shakespeare*
Never ever date a lady poet.
With such imagination sparkling in her eyes.
Don't ever love a poetess.
With bands of roses round her head.
For she'll throw your life in turmoil.
You will never forget her.
Her with words of tempered steel.
Will state out loud just how she feels.
She will not want to marry you.
She wants not anyone.
For deep within the gift of words this widow's truly spun.
Should you win her heart.
You must keep it safe till both grow old.
Be bold if she inspires you.
Igniting true love fires.
Carried by words in bolts of lightning.
Hear her words as as thunder ringing.
Afore those eyes that read.
A fire that only true love feeds.
Compliment her on her choice.
The woman with the written voice.
In dulcet tones of silence, a writ.
She will pick up her pen.
Write twice, then only she will write again.
Take in hand a poetess.
With her cruise the universe.
Never let true love be terse.
You may find that she pens a verse.
She's not averse to love.
She only dreams of heaven.
Twas lost love that made her write.
From many years ago once lost.
The beautiful poetess.
Secrets of pain hide.
Hid behind those brightly sparking.
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
My forte is this:
Stealth and style interweaved to a perfect point,
Burglary is my solo piece.
The night is cool and crisp and listening for me,
My sight is clear and hawk-like.
This city is an orchestra and I am a musician.
Eliciting beautiful things from lesser delights.
My fingers are crafty acquirers,
And I live to hear these melodies,
The sun's crescendo inspires me,
And in the morning I am gone.
Take what you can and give nothing back,
The conductor's a formidable man.
Some people call it thievery,
But I prefer artiste.
Laughing ~ tears drop wet as the clouds that mask his memories.
A tent made for tears of laughter ~ prepares us for a visit,
a ring and a riddle.
Like a clown dresses in a fancy of colors ~ we color for his fancy.
Without fear a clown steps to stage.
His stairway of paints, a mask for his face.
He stands quite as brail ~ until he fortunes you out of laugh.
Painted face, for our amusement.
Finally attention the lights follow,
he opens in wide shoes, he stands steady with a red nose.
Riding a circus of lights.
Undressing in the darkest of rooms,
dancing his way in a glow of streaming bulbs,
a picture for tonight.
Pleasured in funny mannerisms.
Cordial to the ringmaster, he waves.
Clamoring with anticipation, the lines carry in ~
parading in for a sight.
The clown finds himself a mirror before a show,
he shudders sublime to his appeal.
His humor is clever ~ as an elder who leans in for a joke.
He inspires, teaches, all the while timely in character,
leads us into his show.
Blinded by the lights, he sits upon a tire.
Then glitters a throw ~ a wink ~ a smile ~
turns off the bulbs on his queue.
Knowing character is all the essence he needs.
But in watch, amusing as any.
A wavering laughter. Now he is free.
Well played and confident in a forum of fun.
A man at night dressed unmatched, draped in patches of cloth.
No truer a character, a gentleman in makeup.
A basket case of comedy.
Yet entrusting him to the child’s eyes ~
all in attendance.
Wide and open they hardly blink.
Justified by bowing in the lights.
And bravery ~ taking in firewater while in a funny dance.
Posture perfect, never tell ~ clothes larger then the tent ~ that shelters him.
Mindful ~ alert ~ unbuckled with a grin, he amuses.
A gesture, a laugh, center to your attention once again...
Humbled by his work ~ justified by ones pictures he pleasures before us.
A smile of a season vet ~ a titan for a photograph ,
enough for a thousand words of measure.
A father son tandem, standing beside him,
grins ear to ear, but listen ~ the bulbs culminate in a glow ~
flashing again before his calm ~ peaceful ~ tenured eyes...
I sit here dressing him clever ~ as he undresses our ways ~
a joke ~ a smile of hope ~ benches of cheer ~ colorful sketches
and a theater to close.
Without regret he shudders ~ ending another show ~
a raise of his hand ~ a wave of good bye a sigh to behold.
Simply a clown ~ but also a man,
respected for his principles in the day &
in the presence of a crowd...
Every wave length moves me in ways I can not explain. I get high off the viberations, I get drunk off the harmonys. Every note I take in and love, major to minor, music always inspires me to dream, to think beyond myself, my world of busyness, and my dark hearted mind, I dream of places, places near and far. Every song comes with a picture, a movie, and a real or two of film. Creating a soundtrack to what I paint my life to. Making pretty views look bolder and ugly views seem less disturbing. Cuz life is beautiful and music is the soundtrack to how we feel
This air has gotten far too thick to breathe.
My lungs can’t bear another deep sigh,
So I’ll hold on tight til this smokey oxygen clears
From my once loved, decaying town.
Selfishness, self interest, self deprecation.
It’s all you or it’s no one.
My atmosphere is everyone else’s lives,
Tangled up in it so much
I start to believe it’s mine.
But it’s not, and I won’t accept contentment.
It has not served me well.
It does not work out fine.
What they bring? It’s not what I need.
A fresh start on a sandy beach,
How cliché, you always were,
But this heavy air is bringing me down.
I’ve memorized every dying face in this ghost town.
Put me on the next plane with you
To that contrived peace of mind.
Your wanderlust inspires; I’ll follow you to unknown.
I’d rather not know where I was going
Or where I’d end up
Then face the faceless narcissists without you.