Another Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo Write
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Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Did not like the color blue.
It was far too blue,
To suit his taste.
He would have preferred
To unblue blue
Post-haste.
He did not care for the color red,
Or the shade it made
Inside his head.
For it was far too red
To suit him, so
The red, he said,
Would have to go.
Every subtle hue of purple he
Disliked with such intensity
Both his eyebrows would curl tight
And he'd grit his teeth with all
His might,
Insisting, as young
Marvin would,
That the color purple
Was of no good.
And in his own clever
Point of view,
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Believed that orange filled no purpose.
And that pink was nothing but a circus.
Both dreadful colors,
With shades and hues
No eight year old
Would ever choose.
He was, of course,
So very clear
He did not want a yellow near.
That color racked inside his head
Of things his Uncle Phil had said,
That yellow comes from garden slugs,
And oozes from the ears of bugs,
That yellow is what's left behind
When a katydid sneezes on the window blind.
It is the shade of yuck, as Marvin would say,
And he planned to keep that yuck away.
But on Sunday, May the twenty-third,
Marvin was certain he had heard
A greenish sound from way outside,
Beyond the neighbors subdivide.
He took the stair steps three by three
And ran out back under the tree
And looked as high as he could see,
When he noticed first a honey bee.
It buzzled up and through the dew
That glistened off the young bamboo.
Then disappeared into the light
That made the morning seem so bright.
He closed his eyes and listened more,
Which gave him ample reason to explore
The ups, the downs, the highs, the lows,
And wherever the greenest green-thing grows.
The sound he heard within the breeze
Made its way through the sycamore trees,
And he hunted low, then hunted high
This green-green sound that whispered by.
It harbored near the kettledrum,
Which was now the haunt of old chewing gum,
And he crept upon it from the side,
Without a sound, his brown eyes wide.
There was a charribbit, then a snizz,
Followed by a brumping, breathing whizz,
And he followed that collumping sound
To the kettledrum, and looked around.
There it was,
His green-green thing.
'Twas the greenest green
He'd ever seen.
With eyes that watched him watch it back,
As clever as a yellow jack.
It had four green slimy feet
Hidden in the loaming peat,
And plops for toes that plopped to here,
Nothing an eight year old should ever fear.
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Nodded primly deep inside,
Stared down at the green-green thing
With an inkling of real pride.
"Now that's a color," he said at last,
"The very best I've ever seen!"
And from then on the only color he liked
Was the green-green-green of green.
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Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler
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“It always looks darkest just
before it gets totally black.”
-Charlie Brown
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If you like a poem, like it. If you hate it, hate it.
It's ok.
Takes like a moment to press that button.
I'm sure no rifts in time will spawn the apocalypse.
for the friends i have loved and lost...i am not afraid to say the last thing i have to say to a long time companion...for i know that they have and will hear me...that it is the right and perfect thing to say, because it is me and all of my heart...singing as i go along so that i do not break...
she raised me, as much as my mom and sister did, and i thought i was different...that i wouldn't crack and divide...but i suppose sometimes i am that girl...who falls apart into a ball of tears...because my nanny is like the nervous system for my family, she's just too interconnected, just too big to fail...to fall...
and we always want the fall of our heroines to be graceful and gorgeous...but sometimes it's just bleak and plain...sometimes you watch your mentor, grandmother, caretaker, great friend, nanny die slowly...though it kills you and you fight for her with all this nervous frightened energy, this what will i do without her...
so i let my heart sing...because it hears her, it knows her, it is as much in tune with her as anyone else it loves...i let it be happy to honor what she wants...it's the closest i can come to praying...letting my heart sing and joy and bounce...letting it loose to the terror of my own embarrassment...
i will miss this, i will miss you...you kept the light on in the last homely house...i know that this will break my heart into so many pieces i will never find them all...there will always be holes the size and shape of you...
Another age is weeping
Feirce the killing heart
No more time in grace
Let us tear the age apart
False scent of fear blinds us all
Wish I could wish Mann undone
Demons and angels rise to the call
For the souls bleeding out in the sun
When those sworn to god spew lgnorance
What hope is there for the lamb
History lays bear our indifference
Of those who use god in their damm
Righteous or evil the point is the view
Contradiction I say it is not
Cry for the children the least you can do
Some would say we deserve what you got
There lies the question
With no answer clear
Stain of Mann is consuming the sun
If death is the lesson
Dance in the fear
Dream evil when kingdom is come
Treasury Casino - 2:30 am
From my seat in the smokers section
I can see the Brisbane eye,
the river,
and the performing arts center.
Streetlights are mans answer to the cosmos
"Everything you can do,
I can make better."
Once it was said that we were made in God's image.
Now we can safely say that God was made in our image.
I am in a quiet place of the universe, the night stretches on
visible through the stately
wonderous
walls
carved of old wood and sandstone.
I am in a suede armchair, winged for pleasure.
The ceiling in this room is twice as high as an ordinary room.
Circular steel balls hang down like a path of bubbles
left by a leviathan.
My water was poured with panache.
Let me set the scene for you:
I'm in the Treasury Casino, this building was once the QLD state treasury, it never changed really.
Sitting next to window that overlooks the river, a glass of water sits to my left. The room is the size of a double garage, maybe bigger. The floor and ceilings are made of old wood, the walls are decorated with a transparent gray fabric that remindsme of smoke. An old marble fireplace sits in a wall studded with tiny lights that resemble stars or candles. Above me is a series of hanging circular light fixtures that resemble a trail of bubbles left by a leviathan.
This room was designed for, and houses opulence.
The TV plays Eminem.
Peter Garrett dances like a Parkinson's sufferer.
And looks like Disco-Nosferatu.
We have killed the night
and neon power
and infomercials
rape the romance
once held
by late night solitude.
………………………………..
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo
Crossed his arms and frowned.
The thought of eating
Black-Eyed-Peas
Did not at all seem sound.
The entire Black-Eyed-Pea idea
Seemed rather frivolous
And odd.
Why, he would never eat
A Black-Eyed Pea,
Not even in its pod.
He’d stare at them
And they’d stare right back.
Their eyes narrowed
To shades of black.
He’d see their fangs,
Their glare, their claws,
And he doubted even
Santa Clause
Would approve of finding,
As of late,
A Black-Eyed-Pea
Upon his plate.
Now,
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo,
Never did anything
He did not plan to.
And on the list he’d compiled
Of things never to try
The Black-Eyed-Pea ranked
Considerably high.
Just the name of the pea
Caused his stomach to churn,
His right eye to twitch,
And his nostrils to burn.
The hair on his arms
Would all stand on end,
Something young Marvin
Could not comprehend.
So he waited, and waited,
Then waited some more,
Just to clarify things,
And perhaps underscore
The fact that
Marvin O’Hannigan Fillimigroo
Had no intention of ever eating
This Black-Eyed-Pea stew.
Eating them was probably
Like eating pasty pumpkin eyes,
Without the benefit or joy
Of old fashioned pumpkin pies.
To hide their taste with butter sauce,
Or drown them in a stew,
Seemed impractical, illogical.
No! Black-Eyed Peas
Would never do
The taste they'd leave upon his lips
Would numb his very fingertips,
And make his ear lobes prick and twitch,
And the tip-top of his nose would itch.
But since Marvin was but
Only seven years old,
He usually had to do
As he was told
“You’re not leaving this table, ”
Said his Father, displeased,
“Until you’ve eaten every one
Of those Black-Eyed-Peas.”
But Marvin was stern,
And he had no intention
Of ever eating a recipe
Of this concocted invention.
“If it’s as good as you say, ”
He stared up at his Dad,
“Why don’t you eat it
If it isn’t that bad? ”
And his Dad crossed his arms,
Looking down at his son.
“I’ve eaten my Black-Eyed-Peas,
The whole lot. Every one.”
“The big ones, the round ones,
The flat ones, the tall ones.
The brown ones, the black ones
The fat as a ball ones.”
“I have eaten a rather
Impressive amount
Of Black-Eyed-Peas
To ever take count.”
So Marvin thought, and he thought,
And he considered a plan.
After all, Marvin was special,
He was his own man.
He looked up at his Dad,
And he let his eyes shine.
“Dad, if you’re still hungry,
You can always have mine.”
Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler
Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo 101014/4
**If you like a poem, like it. If you hate it, hate it.
Nothing wrong with that. Click something colorful and see what happens
My daughter came home sunday
And pronounced as loud as hell
I got married on vacation
And there's plenty here to tell
From now on it's a new thing
At Christmas, here's the test
Before we eat our dinner
By a rabbi, it is blessed
Her mother, not the sharpest
Thought a bit, and with a grin
Said, if we sit down with a rabbi
Would he truly , well...fit in?
My daughter said, well Mama
The man that I just wed
Is jewish so I'm changing
I felt a pounding in my head
From now on a menorah
Would be needed in the house
My wife said, no more pets here
Your brother has a mouse
My daughter said, no mama
It's a special, holy thing
Where you light up eight blessed candles
And enjoy the holiness they bring
My wife, said, Oh I knew that
I was testing, that was all
I'll put one on my shopping list
I'll go and buy one at the mall
My daughter then continued
there's other changes that will come
I just stood there, headache pounding
I was feeling deaf and dumb
The Christmas Tree will have to go
No turkey, kosher food
No crackers or old stockings
They may think of these as rude
At this point I exploded
No Christmas Tree, no way
Little girl, this is my house, my dear
Now, listen as I say
The tree will be as always
In the corner by the fire
the stocking hung with tender care
With nails and picture wire
The turkey will be 20 pounds
At least, stuffed full of bread
Kosher food, if served here
Will be only if I'm dead
Christmas is my holiday
It's in my house, where I am boss
And I say we have a turkey
And pray to Jesus on the Cross
A Kosher Kristmas in this house
May never come to pass
We can celebrate at your new home
Got it straight, my little lass
In my house I'm the ruler
So don't come in with something new
In my house we are Christian
And we celebrate a jew
We will welcome your new husband
To our home at Christmas time
But, while you're in this dwelling
The rules in force are mine
If you want a Kosher Kristmas
I think it is a good idea
If you celebrate together
But you do no do it here....
The wind speaks
in answers to
childhood prayers.
Overwhelmed by our
grown up world,
we forgot to listen
with children's ears.
I wonder why
we don't pay attention,
why it is irrelevant
something we so
desired once.
Answers come whenever
we are ready to accept them,
I read sages say.
I fell in love at the age of eight with
the dramatic circus arts and the unusual
appeal of something so weirdly pure.
Some say it was destiny, but whatever captured
my heart that day fastened its unyielding
grip, and lured me back
to my forever home. With glitter
on my eye and the feathers cascading
down my pinned and curled hair, I learned
to soar in sequin-covered spandex. I found
my wings under the big top
in the popcorn-tainted air. Over the years
I have lent my heart to many,
but it will live forever under the circus tent.
Life is made of moments
Some might be just a blip
But the whole sum of these moments
Make living life a trip
The big things rule
So some would say
But, not me, oh not me
It's the blips and all the little things
The things I want to see
I need all of the little things
To make my day seem right
I need to hear a snoring sound
When I turn out the light
Having kids is bigger stuff
Than I can list on here
It's little things that I will miss
When my loved one is not near
Like now, I miss the little things
That were part of my routine
With Titan gone and just us two
There's always more poutine
We order less when we go out
there's no one waiting at the stairs
It's nothing but, a little thing
That we miss now he's not there
A simple touch, a friendly word
An irritant at times
But, in life I miss the little things
They make life's mountain worth the climb
Missing friends, their silly jokes
You've heard a hundred times or more
These are just the little things
That I am waiting for
I miss them all, these little things
No matter , just how small
They make my life a treasure
And you know I miss them all
A word, a song, a photograph
A memory it brings
I think of all the larger stuff
But, I miss the little things....
In the midst of night
Comes the hail of rain
The fog wallows in the atmosphere
how I wish you were here...
These days are short but feel so long
Within the maze of trees, I carry on
Im proud of who I am and what I do
Ive compromised
Lived within a veil of sorrow
Gave in to what could be
Instead of what is
Whos there to say that love cant find a way
My love id give anything
To see your face
To lay beside you with grace
But for now we'll wait
For I have dreams to chase and as do you
But soon my love, our fingertips will collide
And all our worries will have subsided
I have no doubts with you
Because you have shown me what love is
