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I want to rip your clothes apart—exposing in front of me the one I desire to see
Bathed in golden hue sunset sky
Until the vanilla twilight, I die.

From dusk to dawn, spare me my endurance
Abstinence no more. But I want more.

I like it raw. It penetrates my skin from the inside.
[SPG]
 Apr 9 Rich Hues
Maylia
I wish I could open a door
that would take me back
to different times in my life.

I wonder how many
forgotten versions of myself
I would see.

To be back in a place,
appreciating it differently—
maybe seeing more clearly,
and letting go of present worries.

I think I would tell myself
“everything is okay, just breathe.”

Although I wonder
how many doors there would be,
and all of the forgotten memories
hidden away—
that even I can’t see.

I would hold on tightly
to fond memories,
and intently analyze
the ones that shaped me.

If I could open a door
that would take me back to myself,
I would take in each moment
more intentionally,
appreciating the beauty
around me.
I'm so sorry....
I'm sorry that I was not the daughter you wanted
the daughter you hoped to have
but if you want the honest truth I tried....
I tried really really hard everyday to be someone you deserved.
You told me you loved me and I knew you did somehow
I just wished you showed it a little better
there was so much doubting in everything I did.... or do.
but I promise you I wanted to be that girl you had pictured in your head, secretly knowing I'd never fit your mold.
but I don't know what to do anymore....
I cried myself to sleep last night just like the night before
but then you ask why my eyes are puffy
it's not very attractive you say.
well, I'm sorry my hair didn't look good today
or that I wasn't home yesterday.
my every move is not okay
but I'll love you anyway....
I'm sorry I'm not who you wanted me to be....
A small girl in a big world, sorry as sorry can be.
Hair too thin, stupid, grin, and bruises on her knees.
She stumbles through each crowded street,
Barefoot dreams an scuffed-up feet.

Her voice is soft, her eyes unsure,
A heart too kind, a world too blurred.
She says she’s sorry just for space,
For taking up the smallest place.

Wishing she could jut belong,
But feeling every step is wrong.
Her shadow, long, her presence, slight,
She fades into the endless night.

But in her chest, a spark still burns,
A hidden strength with time to learn.
Though she’s small, the world is wide,
She’ll find her way, she’ll turn the tide.
I'm surfing now!
I’m off to Bermuda
While you’re up the creek!
I cruise like old money;
You float like a freak.

As you steer between rocks
In that ****** canoe,
You’re a maritime nuisance
Obstructing the view.

My luxury vessel
Steers clear of the sharks;
You paddle and fulminate,
Studying Marx.

Your dugout is leaking;
I’m greasing the skids.
The dividends pay out
to bankroll my kids.

My profits accrue
While you seethe at your bosses.
You rail at the system—
I minimize losses.

I cruise into port.
Our hotel is reserved…
Your bitter resentment
Means dinner is served.

Departures are blissful;
We glide into harbors
And dine amidst hollyhocks
Under the arbors.

The banquet is served:
An idyllic location—
But you merely murmur
In disapprobation.

So scratch my maid’s Tesla
(or blow up a dealership…)
Rattle your chains
While insulting my captainship.

I’m by the pool—
You can splash in your gutter.
I’ll leave you a tip
For some bread with your butter.
NaPoWriMo PROMPT #5:
https://www.napowrimo.net/day-five-12/
It's time to come together
There's no better time than now
Elbows up  for Canada
Time to be like Gordie Howe

It's time to tell the stories
Of Canada the good
It's time to tell the stories
Like Gordon Lightfoot would

Fight like you are cornered
Drag them screaming on this trip
It's time to tell our story
Like Gord Downie and The Hip

Keep the elbows up forever
Show them the best of what you do
Dance and tell the story
Like BTO and The Guess Who

Show the world what makes us special
Sing of all our loves and likes
Tell the story of our country
Play it loud just like the pikes

It's time to write the story
Come together, be as one
Elbows up like Gordie
Be a true Canadian
 Apr 7 Rich Hues
Tryst
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head

Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!

Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand

Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!

Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street

In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!

John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime

Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind

Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town

Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Poem based on an event that occurred this day in history.
John Hetherington, a London haberdasher, is reported to be the first person to wear a top hat, this event occurring on the 15th January 1797.  The event caused a riot with women fainting at the sight, children screaming and dogs yelping.  He was forced to pay a £500 bond for breach of the peace.

First published 15th January 2015, 06:20 AEST.
Stop searching for places where you feel like you need to fit in, especially when you truly don’t belong there.

Stop seeking love from people just to fill the emptiness inside you.

You cannot expect to receive something from others if you are unable to give it yourself.

Simply put, you cannot give what you do not have.

So, learn to appreciate and love yourself first.
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                    Lady Macbeth and a Luna Moth

A luna moth is elegant in her green
Like Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth
Beautiful and yet somehow sinister
Those wing’ed eyes – they seem to look at us

Eyes

That measure you for a dagger or a cup
She clings to a lichened brick wall at night
Wings pulsing against that wall, waiting, waiting…
Suddenly wild flutterings as she flees into the dark!

Exit, pursued by a cat
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