Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
They said it was only climate change,
It would take a hundred years
To raise the temperature one degree,
It was easy to reverse,
But the weather pattern was changing
We could see that for ourselves,
And the strangest things were happening
But it only came in spells.

Torrential rain in the dryest state,
And flooding over the plain,
Blazing heat in the winter like
We’ll never see again,
The Ozone Layer had opened up
With the use of C.F.C’s,
And the burn effect of the sun increased,
Was causing more disease.

I told Joanne she should cover up
When she sunbathed at the beach,
You can lead a horse to water
But there’s some you just can’t teach,
She cooked herself to a golden brown
And the burn began to tell,
As the melanomas began to form
In her fragile, human cells.

She had a couple cut out, but then
Some more began to form,
But still she went to the nudist beach
When the sun came up at dawn,
‘I want to look brown and healthy
Not a pastey white, like some,’
And shook her head at the zinc cream
And the protection I put on.

The level of radiation was
Increasing with U.V.,
And even the whales in Summer Bay
Got cancers in the sea,
I warned and warned but she tossed her head,
In that stubborn way she had,
I braced myself for the future, for
I knew, it would be bad.

It started off as a scaley lump
On her shoulder, then it grew,
Faster than anything I’ve seen,
An inch, in a day or two,
I told her to get to the hospital
But she said, ‘I’ll use some cream.’
We little knew what was coming through
It seemed like a nightmare scene.

She sat in the sun again next day,
I said, ‘You’re tempting the fates!
Go and have it cut out, Joanne,
Before it gets too late.’
But the clouds rolled up and the sun went in
It was sultry still, not cool,
Then the lightning flashed around our place
And struck, in our garden pool.

It ran along our verandah rail
And it lit up Joanne’s chair,
While static electricity
Was crackling in the air,
Her hair stood out like a *******
Then her skin began to glow,
And that must have been the moment when
The thing began to grow.

The scab fell off in the morning
Leaving a hole, both red and raw,
And later, when she was screaming,
How to describe the thing I saw?
She stood in front of the mirror with
Her eyes so full of dread,
For up and out of the open wound
Had popped a tiny head.

The tiny head of a pygmy thing
That glared, with razor teeth,
With evil, glittering, crimson eyes
It was just beyond belief,
And then it started to babble in
A strange high, whining tone,
The only words I could understand:
‘You’d better leave me alone!’

Joanne collapsed on the bathroom floor
She had gone out like a light,
And I went straight for the cabinet door,
I was petrified with fright,
I pulled out the cut-throat razor and
I sliced it off at the neck,
But not before it had bitten me
As I dropped it on the deck.

I’m writing this final message so
The rest of you will know,
You’re going to have to cremate us
To destroy this so-and-so,
Joanne has five, and is terrified
While I have only three,
But we’ve sliced off more than a dozen heads
So far, God pity me!

David Lewis Paget
Girard Tournesol Dec 2018
Her platinum blonde hair was a firm
     spunky Irish when she was a kid
And compelled me to wish for time travel
     as I have loved her since she's existed

She says she'll table dance if she wins
All for a package of crackers I'd have
    never kicked her out of bed for eating
Says if I'm lucky she'll pick Mardi Gras beads

I told her that from her wedding picture
     Veronica Lake had nothing on her
She said straight into my transparent heart:
     "I've had a good life"

. . .and I was lucky
> As published in The Pennsylvania Poet's Society magazine, PENNESSENCE
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Listen to me recite Joanne @ Bingo on DarkHorse7 BandCamp.
L B Oct 2018
Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone

Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier

Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets

Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend?  Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn

Friend one: 
  wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs

Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs

Friend one:
Sets up “camp”

Friend two:
holds crap

Friend one:  
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”

Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket

Friend one: 
  pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****.

Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools  
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie

Friend one:
starts to snore quietly

Friend two:
nudges her

Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”

Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill

Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere

Friend two:  
Sneezes yet again

Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship

being how she is one :)
Joanne is a best friend from teaching days.  We love movies, wine, and dinner.  Noticing our comfortable routine today, made me smile.  Told her I was writing this.  Everyone should have well-loved friend.  :)
Raj Arumugam Nov 2014
so my little girl Joanne was sick
slight fever and just looking weak
so I took her to the doctor
a kind old man with a calm voice
and he looked at Joanne and he said:
"So what's bothering you, my dear?"

and Joanne answered
at lightning speed:
*"Anne, my little sis! She's always
wanting my lollies!"
He told me that once he’d killed someone,
A long, long time in the past,
He’d held him down and he’d used a gun,
I said I was just aghast.
He said it merely to threaten me,
I don’t know if it was true,
He said if I kept on seeing her,
‘In future, that could be you!’

He shocked me so that my hands had shook,
I reached and grabbed at his coat,
I said, ‘Don’t ever dare threaten me
Or you’ll feel my hands at your throat!’
His face went white and he backed away
He wasn’t the bravest one,
But turned to say as he walked away,
‘Next time, I’ll carry a gun.’

I asked Joanne if she even knew
Just what he was really like,
She laughed, and said it was said in fun,
‘Just tell him to take a hike.’
She’d once gone out on a party date
With him, but only the once,
He seemed to think they were drawn by fate,
‘But really, he’s such a dunce.’

‘Do you think that we should tell the police,
You know, it might have been true,
How would you feel if someone died
And all on account of you?’
‘Believe me, he wouldn’t have the guts,
He’s just a weasel at heart,
Put him next to a skunk, you’ll see,
You couldn’t tell them apart.’

Joanne and I went our different ways,
It hadn’t been working out,
I found her nice but her heart was ice,
That’s not what it’s all about.
She passed me by with a man called Guy
And I wished them well to begin,
She said that Ted had gone off his head,
Had started his threatening.

It must have been only a month or more
That I heard how Guy was done,
His body lay in the city morgue
After a hit and run.
Joanne was almost beside herself
In fear, and took to her bed,
‘It’s true, I should have listened to you,
It must have been Ted,’ she said.

The Spring had faded to Summer when
I ran into her again,
Clung to the arm of the hated Ted,
I couldn’t believe it then.
But the fear was there in her startled eyes
It was all too plain to see,
He looked at me with a faint surprise
And he said, ‘Now look at me!’

I wasn’t surprised when the news came down
Along with the winter flood,
A woman ran from a house in town
Upset, and covered in blood,
A man lay stabbed in the bed in there
It seems that she’d cut his throat,
She said it was more than a saint could bear
In a hasty, scribbled note.

I don’t know what will happen to her
They say it’s up to the court,
But I’ll be there as a witness for
Joanne, and the justice sought.
She’d known it wasn’t an idle threat
When she saw what happened to Guy,
And said that he had her terrified
When he mouthed the word, ‘Goodbye!’

David Lewis Paget
Will May 2017
Trying not to overthink is an exercise in futility for me.
Imagine 3 trains going moderately fast, but each with a varying speed.
Now take those trains and double them while increasing their speeds.
Do that once more.
Imagine how chaotic that would look in reality. Now just warp the image so the trains are all on uneventful tracks that look like a roller coaster.
All of that is how overthinking works inside my brain.
My mind.
So many trains, so much worry, so many thoughts to think. There is never enough time for all of them; yet there they all go. Zooming around the receptors in the mind.
Blurry blobs of information and thought.
"Don't forget the milk. Milk. Milk. Milk. And her name was Joanne. Joanne. Yeah. Whoa that is a crazy deal! Milk Joanne. What in the world would a milk Joanne look like? **** I forgot the milk!"
A dozen trains on a dozen tracks. All flying loose like a thousand bats.
Doris Aug 2013
When I lived in Korea there was a woman named "Joanne"
Who kinda looked like a man. Her face painted like all of the colors of the wind. Her hair always damp with gel to tame her curly locks of hell.
As my boss, she made me crazy. Calling me a lier or evil when ever she could made me hate her like I never thought I would.
I bought her a plant well, I gave  her a plant that was left with me. I'm sure she threw it away when I left the country and didn't say goodbye
But why would I to someone who made me cry
So this is an ole to stupid, **** face Joanne who looks like a man without a plan who made my life hell when I had no one tell
It's hard to fight a battle when you dont speak the lanaguge
Shes lucky I didn't or who know what would have happened to the woman who told me the Korea way, where she twisted my words and made my shoulders tence the crazy ****
Drink your tequila and have a ball
Because ill never see your ugly face again, and think about how you ****** half of my friends
I think about you often, of how you could do what you did and teach little kids
I hope I never meet someone to her caliber and if I do I'll get some dirt and put it in a pie and cross my fingers she"ll roll over  and no, not die you ****, because that would put me on her ****** up level when I'd rather take a pen and write down my inner thoughts she'll never read... She was a fake a phony she smelled like a stale Korea whale.
I don't even care if this poem isn't any good I've been holding that in for so long and it made me laugh to no end. Stupid lady named Joanne.
Micheal Wolf Nov 2013
What a guy!
What a player!
On the field he was the slayer
The only son, the one to watch
The one who others tried to match
He had the looks and physique
A grades at school for all to see.

Now he pays a heavy price
Drinks Jack Daniels every night
For all his life he was pushed
To be valour dictorum in the year book

He had problems so deep inside
He didn't want footballers thighs
He wanted silk and lace with heels
Not the college football kit
If he could have what he dreamed
He'd be a cheerleader on that field

A as a boy late at night
He gave his mom a real fright
There he was in her clothes
His father beat him and killed his soul

Years went by and James was wed
So he wore his wife's clothes instead!
Till one day he bought his own
Shaved his legs and went out alone
He bumped into a group of jocks
Who beat him beacause he wore a frock

Now in the mirror he has scars
That match the hundreds still inside
For James outside to all of you
Was Jayne inside and then showed you

But now at 50 for him to late
To be reasigned and be just Jayne
Times have changed and so have views
If he wants to let him wear Jimmy Choos
So if any friends I have Called John
Wants to be simply Joanne
Let me know asap
We can celebrate with a drink.
Disgusted at a story I read about a tortured soul.
Humanity needs a good kick and not this way.
Antony Glaser May 2014
The morning brings the moths
her cupboard bare,
she attempts to prise the day
what to wear?
snatching thoughts all is  balance
nasturtiums or foxgloves,
crumbling trellis stakes
she wraps a blanket around herself
and sits in the garden , guarding motionless
Antony Glaser Jan 2014
She counted the night away
the neon street lights disappaiting,
sitting on her grandmothers crocheted bed cover
her pink knickers hid her body wide goosebumps,
the froid unheated bedsit
plied with her emotional turmoil,
vexed boyfriend and always tomorrow.
Jo Swan Sep 2018
A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
People say blood is thicker than water
Yet your thunderous voice screams at me
Does daddy cherish his daughter?
So why can’t your eyes open and see
You’ve become a Mein Kampf tyrant?
You want my obedience and silence!

A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
As it leaves a residue of disgust
Must this be our memory?
Though silent my heart feels unjust-
Must you **** all my energy;
Leave me to feel lost and astray
As mental state starts to decay

A ***** duct tape silences my mouth
Will your anger subside and be quiet?
Fear suffocates vulnerable heart;
Wrathful words ready for a riot;
Confidence crushed as it’s torn apart.
Verbal abuse moves like a torrent flood,
Affecting those who share the same blood!

(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
This is dedicated to the silent victims of emotional and verbal abuse. Words can heal or harm a person's spirit. Home is meant to be a safe haven but unfortunately not everbody can feel loved and cherished in their own home.
Jo Swan Sep 2018
The darkness of secrets had kept me in shadows
The pain of the past had caused my family to weep
For they experienced life full of unjust woes!
Yet the Heavenly Lord has awakened me from sleep.

I hear the echoes of my forefathers’ voices,
They tell me to rise like the Mighty Sun,
It is time for me to wake and rejoice
On their legacy of what they have done.

The wise wind of fate pushes me to my destiny,
My blood burns with a new determination
As I am resurrected with a new identity
For my forefathers have impacted the entire nation

For many years I thought I was ordinary
Yet the cries of my ancestors beat like a drum-
Telling me to soar like a golden dragon.
In love and hate we have all endured and succumb

I give thanks to the heavenly divine sky
As he has given me a gift of armor made of courage.
“Awake my dear daughter”, the mighty Lord cry,
“Do not let the army of fear make you feel discourage.”

So the wind of destiny has revealed its plan
That I am to inherit their legacy,
Reclaim the throne and be the Princess of Han
For this is my destiny!

(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Sometimes being born as a female, society  expects us to be delicate exquisite fragile flowers. Yet I realise deep within my soul, there is a female warrior princess waiting to unleash and conquer her fear!!!
Abby Jan 2014
If I could go back there,
to that day in first grade when I yanked my project (on bridges, yellow cover decorated in crayon) too fast from Allison's hands and her fingers blistered on the staples,
I would be standing there,
next to Miss A as she lined up the class,
ready with a band aid and a hug and I would say, "Be more careful next time, alright?" and Allison and I would get yelled at for skipping in the hallway to art class,
the moment of shock dissipating from my mind like so many accidents of the year.

If I could go back there,
to that night in April of eighth grade where I learned what true poetry was,
I would be there at ten twenty-four,
and I would wake the dead to keep myself from typing those fateful lines if I had to,
and I would save myself from skewing the feather-light foundation of our group of five
that later was heaped with bricks at odd angles
which came tumbling down.

If I could go back there,
to the last Monday before 9th grade began (whether it was Monday morning or Monday night I forget),
I would give myself a Mountain Dew and say, "He's fine, but go for her,"
and then as I ran down the b
to the day in fifth grade when I realized no one was laughing with me,
the day that I realized I was an outcast, and that "being different" wasn't good,
I would be waiting with my pink-haired baby sitter as I stepped off the school bus,
a Lilly Quench book in hand and a mug of hot chocolate (even though it was March) in the other,
and I would pull from my pocket the same necklace I was wearing,
a wire-wrapped amethyst on a crumby silvery chain
that was the first of many,
and there would be acceptance in the house that night.

If I could go back there,
to the moment I learned about eating disorders in health class from an over weight gym teacher who couldn't care less about the students,
I would bump the kid next to me from his seat (let him whine, he's a ****) and sit down,
a plate of chocolate cake and a spoon to eat it with making a mess of the plastic desk,
and maybe I would realize that I was already skinny enough.

If I could go back there,
to those nights when I learned the true power of words,
to the moment I skewed the foundations of a solid friendship of five,
I'd shout and scream and wake the dead to stop myself typing those fateful lines,
heaping bricks upon bricks to collapse my only bonds,
and I would give myself a mug of Theraflu to knock me out,
and whisper in my ear as I nodded off, "Stop being so **** impulsive."

If I could go back there,
to the last Monday before 9th grade started (whether it was the Monday morning or Monday night I never recall),
to the night where I should have closed my laptop for good when Joanne signed off but instead I reopened it at 12:17,
I would give myself a bottle of water and tell myself, "He's fine, but go anyway"
because it meant the world to Allison that I do so,
and as I ran out of the house in the opposite direction of our suicidal friend to meet up with her,
I would head toward's his house and tell him we were coming so he could be awake and his dad asleep when we showed up at the door at 2:23.

If I could go back there,
to March 19, 2012,
when I learned about life from Death himself,
when I learned that some things are worth living for and that isolationism doesn't work but it will have to work for me,
I would stand there at the foot of my bed,
freezing cold because I refused to turn on the heat,
I would hold my hand and be supportive because now I know that no one else will be,
that no one can be there for everyone always,
and I would stay with me for the months to come and relive the hellish months to come because no one should have to hold the world up alone,
knowing that they can't even maintain a grip on themselves.

If I could go back there,
I would save myself.
Wk kortas Jan 2017
The song played-- muffled, hesitant,
As if the tabletop jukebox
Seemed unsure of the tune’s suitability,
As out of place and time as ourselves,
It being Wednesday morning three A.M.
At the all-night diner on the Klondike Road
(The mills, going full-bore down the road in Montmorenci Falls
Making such a place viable, indeed necessary),
But we laughed loudly and nonchalantly
Between bites of nearly adequate cheeseburger,
Ostensibly unaware of all those inevitabilities
Which were tangible but unspoken, indeed unspeakable,
This being the last of the last summer not careworn,
Textbooks to be exchanged for neckties,
Plastic sandals swapped for sensible flats,
Other lives to take flight in other places,
A mere handful of evenings remaining
Before the clumsy process of untying
All that which had been loose ends from the beginning.

Would I go back?  In a sense, it does not matter.
There was always a laundry list of reasons
That it could not be, cannot be, will not be:
Irreparably meshed gears of relocations and reconciliations,
Gordian knots of logic and desire.
Still, in my dreams, I often run like a madman,
Chest burning as my sneakers slap the pavement in the darkness,
Back toward the diner, but it has been razed to the ground
(Likely the case, for all I know,
What with the mills silent and padlocked all these years)
And I paw madly, feverishly through the rubble
In search of some remains of those vinyl chanteuses of love songs,
Those epitaphs of our failures,
Those three-minute odes
To our compromised and conditional successes.
Yash Singh Sep 2019
My First Day at Hogwarts
On a Saturday morning,
I woke up in pain.
Perched on top of my head,
Was an owl shaking its mane.

As I focused my glance,
the owl got clearer.
There was something clutched in its beak;
a pale yellow letter.

When I opened it,
words started to bloom,
Mr Y. Vartak,
The inner bedroom.


‘You have a place
in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
Points will be taken for wrong,
and awarded for bravery.’

I showed it to my parents,
Who were not at all surprised.
They were in fact very happy,
I am a wizard I realized!

We took a plane to London,
Visit Diagon Alley.
In a hurry to buy my first wand,
robes and stationery.

It was the first of September,
so we hurried to Kings Cross.
We got to platform nine and three quarters,
after struggling through the chaos.

I had everything in my trunk,
I had nothing more to get.
My parents surprised me,
by giving me an owl as a pet.

I got a seat in the Hogwarts Express,
and put my robes,
There was a boy opposite me,
he was juggling bewitched globes.

We got off the train,
At Hogsmeade Station.
There was an amazing castle,
that was beyond my imagination.

We rowed across the lake,
sitting on boats,
It was getting colder,
so we pulled on our coats

We entered the hall,
Full of eyes.
There was a roof above us,
that represented the vast skies.

There was a dusty hat,
in the middle of a stage,
It had a rip near the brim,
so it looked older than its age.

A professor named Minerva,
Put that hat on my head.
The rip opened like a mouth,
Interesting is what it said.

The Sorting Hat as it was called,
said that he had to think some more,
After a while it yelled:
‘He’ll go in GRYFFINDOR!’

I joined the Gryffindor,
at the Start-Of-Term Feast.
We were so involved I talking,
we cared for our sleep the least.

After the feast, we departed,
for Gryffindor Common Room,
Outside the portrait hole, there was,
a shiny black broom.

I changed from my robes to my nightdress,
lay down watching the dying ember.
My eyelids were getting heavy,
I walked into a deep slumber.

This poem is written by me,
Yash Singh.
Specially written for my favourite,
Joanne Kathleen Rowling.
I wrote this poem for JK Rowling in Grade 8.
Trevon Haywood Dec 2016
This past year was a ******
Looking back, it kinda makes me wonder
How it came and went and **** near took everyone under
Its crazy out here and even though it was tough
I'ma run it back, this is 2016 Rap Up

Denver won the Super Bowl, Cam came up short
Leo got his Oscar and El Chapo got caught
They got mosquitoes with the Zika, so don't get bit
Peyton and Kobe Bryant both called it quits
I gotta admit, Fam, I get mad as ****
When I swipe my card and they say "No, You gotta use your chip"
**** Daniel, "Hamilton" was lit
Who let Kanye West get 53 million in debt?
And Rihanna went to work without taking a pause
ISIS popping and y'all worried about bathroom laws?!?
Come on, fam
How that sound?
So we out here standing up
Just so y'all can sit down?
Warriors went on a streak and then they got served
Panda was a hit and we couldn't understand the words
Huh, and Khaled kept snapping
These youngins keep mumbling
I guess y'all call that rapping
I've seen "Stranger Things", come on dude
Y'all out here shooting gorillas and punching kangaroos
Janet Jackson pregnant at 50, dog
So for you ol' broads, there might be some hope for y'all
I ain't throwing shade, it ain't that deep
**** I don't want nobody out here ******* with me in these streets
Then Birdman ran up on Charlamagne
And Lil' Wayne still not 'puttin' respect on his name'
Michael left Kelly trying to get paid
But the world stopped when Beyonce dropped Lemonade
She slayed, and over-shared
And ya'll still trying to find out about 'Becky with the good hair.'
As far as questions, I got one
"Hey Hov and B, is y'all finished or is y'all done?"
Son, I don't know if it was fake
I know KD did the running man challenge all the way to Golden State
The whole year made no sense
Dog, we live in a world without Muhammad Ali and no Prince
Then Gucci came home
And he looked so different y'all was like, "naw, that's got to be a clone"
Y'all was glued to y'all phones
And LeBron got it done for the Cavs and brought the chip back home
Snapchatting all over the place
I swear to God, if I see one more girl with a dog on her face
It was a sad year for sure
Instead of being woke though
Y'all wanted to play Pokemon Go!
And rap got weird, should we be concerned?
Young **** in a dress, Yung Joc got a perm
And everybody was in the Presidential race
Ryan Lochte, Oh he gets the Michael Phelps' face
Game and Meek beefing, Hillary and Trump
Kap took a knee, T.I., Brad Pitt got dumped
And Trump said he going to build a wall on the border
Ya'll will probably go to flip bottles water
The snow storm had the East underground
The kept shooting black men but wouldn't shoot killer clowns
They kept telling us to use our voices
Knowing **** well they ain't really give us no choices
Get an iPhone with no headphone cord
Or get a Galaxy and go and meet the Lord
See they go low, and we go high
You only got two friends. Why you trying to go Live?
I'ma miss the Obamas, I don't wanna see them go
My prayers to everyone that we lost in Orlando
The Oscars were so white they had to get Chris Rock
And the album of the year had to be Anderson.Paak
Cubs finally Won, Usain was on fire
Melania Trump hired the wrong ghostwriter
I'm petty with the manners
'Cuz I think Kim K. got robbed by Joanne the Scammer
Ooouuu
Biters keep testin' me
They making rappers, but they ain't got the recipe
Huh, Yeah that's facts
Shout to Young M.A. for bringing New York back
And I hear y'all talking about "Kanye is fine"
Well to us it look like Kanye done lost his mind
Cowboys kept ballin', them boys in the zone
Bryson Tiller came along, kept telling us "Don't"
I'm highly favored
I clap back on my haters
I be the beans, greens, potatoes, tomatoes
The mannequin challenge, oh, that's how y'all feel?
The World moving dog, we can't just stand still
Beyonce made sure y'all got in formation
One time for Phife Dawg from the Zulu Nation
Did Drake bag J.Lo? I say kinda
But y'all was all up in arms over Rob and Chyna
And that's a new level of female pimping
Biggest L of the year goes to Hillary Clinton
You ask me, man, I thought she had it made
You ask me now, ****, I think we all got played
Another sign of the times
And now the whole World laughing at us, sounding like ChewbaccaMom
2016 was a bully and a punk
On top of that, now we gotta deal with Donald Trump?
Pardon me, as I vent
Bro, we made a reality star the President
And that just makes me sick
Talking about, "We gotta give him a chance." Naw
I ain't got to give him ****
It's going to be hard to cope
Because you can't have progress, dog, if you don't have hope
More pros, less rookies
And if America's ours, how we let it get grabbed by the *****?
They say I sound mad, off the cuff
Oh, I sound mad? Y'all don't sound mad enough
So from here on out, we gotta set the tone
Y'all protect yourself and protect your own
And way too many people got called back home
2016 you can go, and I'm glad you're gone
Felt like a long bad dream
I'm wishing you love and life, Welcome to 2017.

Skillz 12/31/2016.
Feeling Real Jan 2014
You believe that after a time you can be free
Yet you take no steps to gain distance
between your self and your wants
You want most to want what else he wants
it's too obvious how carefully you tread
and cry for help inside of your head
JOANNE MATHIS Dec 2016
How unworthy is my soul of the
abundance of blessing that have
been bestowed upon it?

How wretched I have been in my
dealings and thinking when I am
unwrapping the package that engulfs
myself like parchment paper.

Instead of gently peeling away my
nuances so that the mixture of my
true meaning can be exposed, I
choose to rip open that paper
relentlessly letting the flavors
and juices escape only to be
lost forever.

I am so reckless!
Jo Swan Oct 2018
In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The darkness of the night engulfs my spirit
Like the soddy soils covering the rock’s
Brilliant colour of ruby, red passion.
The daring dreams for the future
Has caused my soulful eyes to ashen-
Blinded by the present reality-
The dreams begin to fade.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The mind has lost its mentality
And strength to wade
Through the current bleakness of life.
The midnight shadows of the street
Have caused me to lose sight.
Can the faith of the heart bring light?

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The cicadas buzz bitterly in the quiet street,
Stirring memories of mundane voices
That has caused me to cheat
Myself from making personal choices.
I cry silently in despair
For fear has swept my sense of direction.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
A distant street lamp lit up the solemn street
Providing me with a sense of protection
The heart burns with a passionate heat
Providing strength for my body to move with affection
Towards the mystery of the shadowy, silent street.

(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Sometimes in life we can feel lost with the direction of life we must go. Life can be full of insecurities. I hope this pain can reflect these uncertainties.
Grace Radford Apr 2017
You don't know your worth
And that depresses me.
He teaches you about time signatures,
But you still can't sing to a beat
You're jumpy in the smoking area
When a drink is put in your hand.
You smoke **** found in your hallway
Because you don't want to drink and get fat.
He took your shoes in a fight so you wouldnt leave,
And you clawed at his chest in front of silent pets,
Who shake and cower now when we come round.
Your flat is no home, sodden floors and unpaid rent
Christine Jun 2010
Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.

-------------------------------

Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home

---------------------------------

Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla

-------------------------------

Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.

(I am now a spidercorn!)

---------------------------------

Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog

--------------------------------

Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.

---------------------------------

Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.

--------------------------------

Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.

-------------------------------

A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?

----------------------------------

I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.

---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-**** swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.

----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.

-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.
Nicole Joanne Dec 2014
the film plays
a 1950's film
I am lost for a moment;
dancing to the blues and looking into the eyes of a lover -they're grey.
grey eyes. grey skin. grey lips. grey ballroom.
grey. grey. grey. -everything is grey.

But his eyes are a deep grey with light specks,
and the tiles on the floor are patterned with different shades,
and he is dressed with dark grey attire
-but he is the most colourful thing I have ever seen.

In a colourful world you would think things would be complementary;
but the more colourful it appears, the more black and white it is;
the carpet is red, just red, the walls are white, just white,
his eyes are brown. Just brown.
but in this film his eyes are grey -light, grainy, grey.

There's grey in his eyes,
and there's grey all around me,
but my, I seem to have gotten lost;
his eyes are the most colourful things I've ever seen in my life.

the film stops.

(Nicole Joanne) all rights reserved
Micheal Wolf Mar 2013
Next!

Hi my names Janet
I want to save the planet
I like little dogs and lots of

Next!

I am Glen meet you is good yes
I am from the Ukraine
I once made a windmill out of matchsticks
I can skin a rabbit if you like stew!

Next!

I'm Pippa I ride horses I have powerful thighs
Do you like horses, do you ride?
I could ride with you

next!

Hello I'm Lorraine back here again
Last time I met a musician
It was ok at first till he blew on my *******

Next!

I'm Joy I like uniforms and outdoors
I quite like uniforms indoors
Do you have a uniform?

Next!

My name is Joanne I read all I can
I  just finished 50 shades of Grey
It's changed my life, you look nice
Do you wear ties all the time

Next!

Hi I'm Tracey do you like films I love films
My ex used to film me, would you like to see
I have it on my phone, I'm the one in the mask!

Next!

My names John the girlies are gone
Sorry none  wanted you this time
We meet next week for another 20 quid
You might get lucky then!
Read an article on speed dating and thought......... why not have a giggle. Edited several times
Abner Ros Dec 2020
I met a woman at a bus stop once.
She sat next to me, which I, being a teenage boy in a school uniform, found peculiar
As that sort of image usually acts as a repellent for kind-looking individuals.
Though, I was glad, and promptly shuffled over.
As she sat, she began to speak to me, and her lips pursed and carefully let out each syllable with such care,
As though every sound she produced meant something special - something beyond the confines of the English language.
I recall her introduction, as she looked to me and smiled;
'Hi, I'm Joanne, and you?'
Without thinking, I shook her hand and we began chatting.
At this point, the bus was probably thirty minutes away, and we knew this conversation had an obvious expiry date.
Joanne then spoke of her husband, who had recently lost a hard-fought battle with pancreatic cancer,
And made what I initially thought to be a mundane passing comment, as she noted that I resembled him —
Though, I had no reason to inquire as I was hardly in a position to request information about a strangers deceased husband.
As she continued, she repeated a phrase which she said her husband used to often ramble:
'Another day in paradise', and smiled each time.
At the time, I never understood the four words she had said again and again, and I questioned what she had meant by it.
Even now, writing this, I struggle to comprehend what one could infer from such a vague phrase.
Though, the answer seemed much clearer as our conversation approached its inevitable end,
And Joanne once more commented on how my hair fell to the side much like her husband's.
As the bus sluggishly made its way to the stop in front of me,
Joanne stood, with the blinding sun above illuminating her and the blackest black shadow below her,
As she said farewell, echoed the phrase one last time, and walked to the
Bus stop across the road, and took a seat.
Where Shelter Jun 2023
<6:36 AM>


~for Joanne Louise Veronika~

patches of light, snatches of sleep,
cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia,
detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping

who cares!

new commitment, self imposed!

greet the early ones with sooth and java,
a combination, “all across the nation,”
ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams,
to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters
running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points,
etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration

the smoke haze bad dream departed,
sun rays warmth for the invisible innards,
waves look like the EKG of human at peace,
resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet

and I laugh at myself, preposterous!
this is my secret path to restoration,
please laugh at me, join the raucous joy
of not-taking-yourself too seriously,
meaning of a new light, fresh waters,
of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective,
a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality,
a two-word~poem of
meditative perfection:

calm sheltering
Sat Jun 10
Silver Beach, S.I.
jo spencer Jan 2013
Joanne told me they would be clapped out.
Radio Luxembourg wouldn't play them.
No Glam you see,
frayed collars, Bar room Blues.
But I'm still into Bees make Honey.
Pawned my Zenith Quad-8 for a Seiko LCD Quartz.
Memorised Ashai Pentax's Reason #44. 
Still have the hots for Marisa Berenson's knees.
No censure.
the ladies oh the ladies louder now

celebrate christmas with a almighty roul

you see christmas is the time of the year where we party right

like drinking alcohol and get ******, yeah that is quite great

you see kids see Santa and ask them what would they like

and the ladies buy the men a cordless drill

as well as the men giving a ladies a big diamond ring

yeah we will party with the song

we wish you a jetty christams we wish you a merry christmas

and a happy new year

christmas is the time of year to Party party party

and you get some eggnog and say come on ya ****** smarty

oh dudes we will lift up our glassed and sing

to the christ child the nirvanaly king

you see christmas is the happiest time

for a happy dude like me, to enjoy life too

silent night holy night all is calm all is bright

round yon ****** mother and child

once in royal davids city the party is on for young and old

as santa goes a travelling through the computer

giving presents to everyone there

and then on the first day of christmas my truelove gave to me

a dollar so i buy a homeless man his tea

if that isn’t enough, how about just leave it in his hat

so he could add it up  and buy many more dinners from all the money he raised

away in a manger no crib for a bed

the little lord buddha laid down his sweet head

he would wake up and say, i control the 3 kings of orient are

i bare gifts as i travel afar

i am dreaming of a white christmas, well stop cause in Australia it’s too **** hot

for it’s the summer weather, the bbqs are lit together

as we are a walking around singing a song living in a summer wonderland

on the beach we can build a sandcastle and bury poor old patrick in the sand

and then he will jump and SHUT UP, why don’t you give your family a ****** woman a ****** hand

then we jump in the saddle nice and quick all in there with good saint nick

Feliz Navidad i want to wish a merry Christmas

i wish you a merry christmas form the bottom of my heart, i lost when my friends treat me like a criminal

six white boomers six white boomers racing good old Patrick through the blazing sun

then Patrick sent to santa what about the toys

aren’t you giving these to all the boys and girls

or are you saying that boys are better than girls like a cool kid that you are

a pair of hoppalong boots and pistol that shoots,is a gift for Patrick and Wayne

dolls that will talk and go for a walk a grift from Joanne and Paula

now dudes as i am prepared to party on dude till the break of dawn
Antony Glaser May 2014
Joanne is wary
the seashells once listened
now no longer confide her secrets
the flickering candle has already cast
her life line
night times tides have peaked
the easiest of passages are lost
and as much as you meander
rest assured the reason
will one day untangle you
howard brace Jul 2011
Full of charm, 'The Old Kings Arms'.
appendage of my home
a smiling face, a friendly place
a venue that bids welcome.

Ales on draught, cask or keg
Irish stout or cider
a glass of wine, from the vine
all for the connoisseur drinker.

Or should you fancy dining out
for daily brunch or luncheon
served while two, upon the menu
you'll find a wide selection.

Charm is seen, composure serene
a smile by far the sweetest
since time was rang, her name Joanne
your Hostess with the most-est.**

...   ...   ...
PairedCastle Aug 2017
I tried to stay away from it since I arrived here
The headache, sleepiness, and weakness I tried to endure
I took vitamin C, and ibuprofen
But the throbbing pain in my head was making me insane
I downed instant coffee in the morning
The subtle pain spots in my head kept changing
In the hopes of making the pain diminish
Tons of water, I finished
I even blamed my swollen sinuses for everything
Thought of allergies as the culprit
"No way!", I said... "Enough!", I said.
I self talked controlling the urge to buy a cup
I know how accumulated cups can bring my wallet, a hiccup
I had to succumb... this cup of coffee is awesome.
I poem I made, I think, 5 minutes after downing a strong cup of coffee.
Jo Swan Oct 2018
In the fields of fragrant flowers,
I see Mother’s supple silhouette
shimmering with the soft sunlight.
Her hair tied with peony barrette;
Sweet smiles radiate at sight.
The sentimental scents of myrrh
Wafts from her body; my eyes gleam;
I run towards and embrace her.
Is this a dream? Is this a dream?

In the fields of fragrant flowers,
This time and space is of great blest-
I wish there was no tomorrow.
For months I have been left bereft.
I tell mother of my sorrow;
I wish to be with her and roam
Away from life’s chaos and gloom.
Return to the land of our home,
And see orchid blossoms bloom.
I ask mother if I could stay;
Thousand tears cloud her gentle eyes;
She kisses me like rainy day;
It is time to awake and part!

My heart weeps with the wintry wind.
Her spirit; many miles apart.
I am alone and left behind
To face this world’s reality.
Must this be my sad destiny?

All that is left
Is scents of fragrant flowers.

(c) 2018 Joanne Chang
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2022
Thu. Aug 11 2022
7:16 AM


~ for Julia and Joanne~
good neighbors

<>
a renewable habit apparently, again, a first poem of the day
(FPOTD), comes early, this old practice, me-bedded and mugged, with music ear installed drowning the noises of television blah,
iPad rests on left leg, left hand pointer finger ejects capsules
of letters, charmed into existence by the Barber adagio.

the Weather Channel forecasts morning-rain and my window
to trample and shuffle this deteriorating body rapid closes,
and the sun, weak, in concession speech, begs pardon, throws
off a few miscellaneous rays by way of apology, fooling no one,
except for the hopeful, itinerant poets, & the bunnies-neath-the deck.

know now you understand the poems entitlement, as is my wont,
you’ve been invited inside, sharing eyes and senses, you journey
today from a vantage no one else possesses, just you and me. Later,
we will drive to the Parrish Museum, studying modern painters,
each will inquire, a poem for me please, I nod sure, perhaps?

promise little, deliver less, is this your best? A travelogue of the
mundane, the little things, that do not stir your heart, smile tears,
and make you think wish I was there, or this, being
just too-me-boring?
The brain growls, no one making them read this perfunctoriness,
nonetheless, you apologize, pardon the no-angst trivia of daily life.

like the acid reflux bile, swallowed and returned to whence it came.
before it invades, tarnishes the peace of our surroundings and
the pleasure of your company, as I read your writings,

worth so much,
filled with so much angry pain,
I want to easy-soften the everything,
if this missive, takes you-nearer, to the calmer~closer,
this  poem, you transform it from perfunctory, to just, simply


perfect.


8:18 AM
Shelter Island
HoneyPotter Dec 2014
It was cold and starry night
At Christian’s house we stayed over that night
All of us are in a rush
For tomorrow’s the deadline for that F*ing school task

Before 12 midnight they’re starting to count
A countdown for another day of rush
03/23/2012 it was my 18th birthday
***! I almost forgot!

Here comes MJ & Ezekiel with a chocolate cake
With 3 candles seem perfectly bake
They sung me a song full of happiness
I blew the candles as they directed.


My 18th year of existence I felt so blessed
Coz out of millions I do have friends
Joanne, Dada, Bals, Jolina, tonete and Momay
As well as Vincent, Allen, Agte are there to sway.

They say a girl’s 18th birthday must be memorable
Gifts and flowers I dunno how many
Though my debut was not that fabulous
At least I have something to reminisce when I get old.
a poem i wrote three years ago :)
Lewis Bosworth Feb 2017
You are part of the beautiful whole.*
           — Joanne Storlie

The dark night of the soul meets
The coming of the dawn.

The agony of declaration a mere
Glimpse into the truth.

The spirit, so powerful and full
Of promise and beauty.

The testimony, reaching your
Heart with boundless joy.

The trust, beyond words, a gift
Abundantly given.

The strength to succeed in life
And recognize its value.

The constancy of faith, its face
An artistic canvass.

The search for humility in all
Your endeavors.

The recognition of fledgling
Relationships.

The forgiveness through, with
And in the great I Am.

The authorship of another
Loving generation.

We light here to grasp
Less of what we think

We are, and more of, in
Straight-speak, what
We truly are.

© Lewis Bosworth, 2-2017
Joanne Rowlgobbleng was born on 31st July 1965 at Yate General Hospgobbletal just outsgobblede Brgobblestol, and grew up gobblen Gloucestershgobblere gobblen England and gobblen Chepstow, Gwent, gobblen south-east Wales.  

Her father, Peter, was an agobblercraft enggobbleneer at the Rolls Royce factory gobblen Brgobblestol and her mother, Anne, was a scgobbleence techngobblecgobblean gobblen the Chemgobblestry department at Wyedean Comprehensgobbleve, where Jo herself went to school.  

The young Jo grew up surrounded by books. “gobble lgobbleved for books,’’ she has sagobbled. “gobble was your basgobblec common-or-garden bookworm, complete wgobbleth freckles and Natgobbleonal Health spectacles.”  

Jo wanted to be a wrgobbleter from an early age. She wrote her fgobblerst book at the age of sgobblex – a story about a rabbgobblet, called ‘Rabbgobblet’. At just eleven, she wrote her fgobblerst novel – about seven cursed dgobbleamonds and the people who owned them.  

Jo left home at egobbleghteen for Exeter Ungobbleversgobblety, where she read so wgobbledely outsgobblede her French and Classgobblecs syllabus that she clocked up a fgobblene of £50 for overdue books at the Ungobbleversgobblety lgobblebrary. Her knowledge of Classgobblecs would one day come gobblen handy for creatgobbleng the spells gobblen the Harry Potter sergobblees, some of whgobblech are based on Latgobblen.  

Her course gobblencluded a year gobblen Pargobbles, where she shared an apartment wgobbleth an gobbletalgobblean, a Russgobblean and a Spangobbleard. “gobble lgobbleved gobblen Pargobbles for a year as a student,” Jo tweeted after the 2015 terrorgobblest attacks there. “gobblet’s one of my favourgobblete places on earth.”  

After her degree, she moved to London and worked gobblen a sergobblees of jobs, gobblencludgobbleng one as a researcher at Amnesty gobblenternatgobbleonal.  

“There gobblen my lgobblettle offgobblece gobble read hastgobblely scrgobblebbled letters smuggled out of totalgobbletargobblean reggobblemes by men and women who were rgobbleskgobbleng gobblemprgobblesonment to gobblenform the outsgobblede world of what was happengobbleng to them. My small partgobblecgobblepatgobbleon gobblen that process was one of the most humblgobbleng and gobblenspgobblergobbleng expergobbleences of my lgobblefe.”  

Jo concegobbleved the gobbledea of Harry Potter gobblen 1990 whgobblele sgobblettgobbleng on a delayed tragobblen from Manchester to London Kgobbleng’s Cross. Over the next fgobbleve years, she began to map out all seven books of the sergobblees. She wrote mostly gobblen longhand and gradually bugobblelt up a mass of notes, many of whgobblech were scrgobblebbled on odd scraps of paper.  

Takgobbleng her notes wgobbleth her, she moved to northern Portugal to teach Englgobblesh as a foregobblegn language, marrgobbleed Jorge Arantes gobblen October 1992 and had a daughter, Jessgobbleca, gobblen 1993. When the marrgobbleage ended later that year, she returned to the UK to lgobbleve gobblen Edgobblenburgh, carrygobbleng not just Jessgobbleca but a sugobbletcase contagobblengobbleng the fgobblerst three chapters of Harry Potter and the Phgobblelosopher’s Stone.  

Gobblen Edgobblenburgh, Jo tragobblened as a teacher and began teachgobbleng gobblen the cgobblety’s schools, but she contgobblenued to wrgobblete gobblen every spare moment.  

Havgobbleng completed the full manuscrgobblept, she sent the fgobblerst three chapters to a number of lgobbleterary agents, one of whom wrote back askgobbleng to see the rest of gobblet. She says gobblet was “the best letter gobble had ever recegobbleved gobblen my lgobblefe.”  

The book was fgobblerst publgobbleshed by Bloomsbury Chgobbleldren’s Books gobblen June 1997, under the name J.K. Rowlgobbleng.  

The “K” stands for Kathleen, her paternal grandmother’s name. gobblet was added at her publgobblesher’s request, who thought a book by an obvgobbleously female author mgobbleght not appeal to the target audgobbleence of young boys.  

Her fgobblerst novel was publgobbleshed gobblen the US under a dgobblefferent tgobbletle, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, gobblen 1998.  Sgobblex further tgobbletles followed gobblen the Harry Potter sergobblees, each achgobbleevgobbleng record-breakgobbleng success.  

Gobblen 2001, the fgobblelm adaptatgobbleon of the fgobblerst book was released by Warner Bros., and was followed by sgobblex more book adaptatgobbleons, concludgobbleng wgobbleth the release of the egobbleghth fgobblelm, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, gobblen 2011.  

J.K. Rowlgobbleng has also wrgobbletten two small volumes, whgobblech appear as the tgobbletles of Harry’s school books wgobblethgobblen the novels. Fantastgobblec Beasts and Where to Fgobblend Them and Qugobbleddgobbletch Through The Ages were publgobbleshed gobblen March 2001 gobblen agobbled of Comgobblec Relgobbleef.  

Gobblen December 2008, The Tales of Beedle the Bard was publgobbleshed gobblen agobbled of her gobblenternatgobbleonal chgobbleldren’s chargobblety, Lumos.  

Gobblen 2012, J.K. Rowlgobbleng’s dgobbleggobbletal company Pottermore was launched, where fans can enjoy news, features and artgobblecles, as well as content by J.K. Rowlgobbleng.  

Gobblen the same year, J.K. Rowlgobbleng publgobbleshed her fgobblerst novel for adults, The Casual Vacancy (Lgobblettle, Brown), whgobblech has now been translated gobblento 44 languages and was adapted for TV by the BBC gobblen 2015.  

Under the pseudonym Robert Galbragobbleth, J.K. Rowlgobbleng also wrgobbletes crgobbleme novels, featurgobbleng prgobblevate detectgobbleve Cormoran Strgobbleke. The fgobblerst of these, The Cuckoo’s Callgobbleng was publgobbleshed to crgobbletgobblecal acclagobblem gobblen 2013, at fgobblerst wgobblethout gobblets author’s true gobbledentgobblety begobbleng known.  The Sgobblelkworm followed gobblen 2014, and 2015 saw the publgobblecatgobbleon of Career of Evgobblel.  All are publgobbleshed by Lgobblettle, Brown. The sergobblees gobbles begobbleng adapted for a major new televgobblesgobbleon sergobblees for BBC One, produced by Brontë Fgobblelm and Televgobblesgobbleon.  

J.K. Rowlgobbleng’s 2008 Harvard commencement speech was publgobbleshed gobblen 2015 as an gobblellustrated book, Very Good Lgobbleves: The Frgobblenge Benefgobblets of Fagobblelure and the gobblemportance of gobblemaggobblenatgobbleon (Sphere), and sold gobblen agobbled of Lumos and ungobbleversgobblety-wgobblede fgobblenancgobbleal agobbled at Harvard.  

gobblen 2016, J.K. Rowlgobbleng collaborated wgobbleth Jack Thorne and John Tgobbleffany on an orgobbleggobblenal new story for the stage. Harry Potter and the Cursed Chgobbleld Parts One and Two gobbles now runngobbleng at The Palace Theatre gobblen London’s West End. The scrgobblept book was publgobbleshed (Lgobblettle, Brown) to mark the play’s opengobbleng gobblen July 2016, and gobblenstantly topped the bestseller lgobblests.  

Also gobblen 2016, J.K. Rowlgobbleng made her screenwrgobbletgobbleng debut wgobbleth the fgobblelm Fantastgobblec Beasts and Where to Fgobblend Them, a further extensgobbleon of the Wgobblezardgobbleng World, released to crgobbletgobblecal acclagobblem gobblen November 2016.  A prequel to Harry Potter, thgobbles new adventure of Maggobblezoologgobblest Newt Scamander marked the start of a fgobbleve-fgobblelm sergobblees to be wrgobbletten by the author.  

J.K. Rowlgobbleng has been marrgobbleed to Dr Negobblel Murray sgobblence 2001. They lgobbleve gobblen Edgobblenburgh wgobbleth thegobbler son, Davgobbled (born 2003) and daughter, Mackenzgobblee (born 2005).
Jo Swan Sep 2018
Dearest Douglas,

Is it strange, we meet in a moment of chaos?
The mystic forces of fate pull us together,
In a time where our life path is full of woes
Fate calls us to fight against the stormy weather
So this encounter, is it what heaven has bestowed?

For years my heart hid behind the gates of darkness
As memories of the past burned with resentment
I felt the sinister shadows of life’s bleakness,
Where the affection of my father had been absent,
The stains of sin had taught me to become heartless.

Yet in this fleeting moment of life, our paths meet,
My heart burns passionately by your gentle grace
The ravenous linger thoughts of you taste so sweet
As I felt sense of peace when I glance at your face-
I am lost by your eyes that glow with gracious heat.

In an autumn’s day where solemn truths were revealed,
Your dad’s poor health had left you to feel dejected.
Tears of pain touched my soul so that it can be healed-
To release grudges that had been infected
By the violent past - a new hope has been sealed-
Three different people’s lives have been affected!

Though our life paths moved in opposite direction,
Forces of fate push us to an uncertain life!
In a distant sky there is a strange connection,
An alliance formed when the world is full of strife,
We enter into journey of introspection!

In this moment of personal revelation,
You haunt me in my thoughts; you haunt me in my sleep.
I think I am a fool to have such affection
Yet this fate left a lasting impact that runs deep
My heart smiles to see your caring complexion!

Time wafts like Mother Nature changing its season,
Yet in this uncertain world we reunite again.
This fate is strange but there is a divine reason
We are to meet as there is a lot we have gained
At least for me I can feel the love of the Son.

I know these tender feelings you can’t reciprocate
I look at the sky and thank him for his full bless
To have met you in my frail vulnerable state.
I feel the moonlight embrace me with full caress,
Maybe it is time for us to depart on this date.

Do not feel these feelings I have is of sorrow
As one day I will meet a General of great might.
This strange fate has allowed my soul to heal and grow.
Wherever you may be, I wish you to shine so bright!
I don’t know what destiny beholds tomorrow,
But fond thoughts of you will drift my soul with delight!

(c)2018 Joanne Chang
A moment when we meet someone special who transforms our life with the gift of love.
Zach Gomes Feb 2010
Press it to your lips, breathe in deep,
let the smoke fill the car with guitar riffs
while you tear down the street.

‘This stuff will give you a lift,’
says John from the driver’s seat.
I pass him the joint and turn the volume up.

Good hard rock pumps our blood with a wild beat
and the heat of summer night keeps us on top
of the world, the six of us, crowded

in a rusted, five-seat pickup,
pushing eighty, with the music loud, and
the backseat flirting getting rough.

We’ll pinch and tease the girls ‘til they
sink, slyly, into our arms
and enrage us with eyes begging for mischief.

So we give them mischief, and pull the car
up to a gas station.  John turns to me to ask if
I’m up to try this place.

‘It’s just right.’
We step to the asphalt in pace
with the radio’s thump, the white

glare of the floodlights hard
against the damp black night
and the shadows of trees.  I start

to review the plan, but I know it alright;
the door jingles lightly as we step inside
to rows of multicolored bags of chips.

Inside it’s cold and quiet.  John coolly strides
to the back for the drinks, and I pick
out a pack of cigs from in front of the counter.

The man is reaching, John is ready, then lightning quick,
we bolt from the store; round the
corner, find the truck; ‘Hey you *******!’

But he’s too late, we’re racing away
and flipping him off.  Our laughter
is loud, the girls are blinking in the spray

of beer popped open.  That’s just after
coming back all smiles, the victors;
flying into the truck, I sat

a girl, Joanne, next to me.  We soaked her,
freed her, ourselves, with foamy suds,
the alcohol, and young nights on the road.

There, signs and shadows rushing past,
we sing to the radio: “I hope I die before I get old!”
and drum on the dash.

Throw the bottles out the window,
who cares what happens!
Spread the glass shards, let the whole world know!

Press it to your lips, drink to the intoxicating purr of the engine.
You laugh, listening to the tinkling
as bottles shatter, one by one, on the pavement.

— The End —