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she was standing close
her waist an hourglass
in flirty girly pose
skinned in hue of brass!

nay it's all my hype
her girth was plumply round
skin was of dark type
teem such girls abound!

she was on my sight
sweet was her fragrance
her eyes were happily bright
mind loved her at first glance!

it's my fancy wished her be
her eyes were cloudy dark
she was smelly and *****
with none of beauty's mark!

yet long held her my gaze
this heart craved her close
eyes feasted it for days
her small black mole on nose!
 Mar 2015
martin
Cam ye o'er frae France? Cam ye down by London?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonny woman?
Were ye at the place called the Kittle Housie?
Saw ye Geordie's grace riding on a goosie?

Geordie, he's a man there is little doubt
He does all he can, who would do without?
Down there came a blade linkin' like a lordie;
He would drive a trade at the loom o' Geordie.

Though the plaid were bad, blythly did we niffer;
Gin we get a wab, it makes little differ.
We have tint our plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Halls and mailings braid—but we have our Geordie!

Jocky's gane to France and Montgomery's lady;
There they'll learn to dance: Madam, are ye ready?
They'll be back belive, belted, brisk and lordly;
Brawly may they thrive to dance a jig wi' Geordie!

Hey for Sandy Don! Hey for Cockolorum!
Hey for Bobbing John and his Highland Quorum!
Many a sword and lance swings a Highland hurdie;
How they'll skip and dance o'er the *** o' Geordie!
This song's author is unknown, but it was written around the time of the Jacobite rebellions.  I love the archaic language and sing it to myself when nobody can hear. It has been recorded a few times, notably by Steeleye Span (it's on youtube).
Now the history lesson. In 1688 James II, a Catholic, was exiled to France and his Protestant daughters took the throne, first Mary, then Anne. When Anne died without heir, the throne passed to the house of Hanover.  George I became king, even though he was German and spoke no English. But he was, crucially, Protestant.  
The son of the exiled James II made a claim to the throne but he being a Catholic, was not accepted. His son also tried, Bonny Prince Charlie. These were the Jacobite rebellions.
Come ye o'er frae France is a song in support of the Jacobite movement,  and very much mocking George I.   My rough explanation of the archaic language is as follows.

Have you just arrived from France?
Did you come via London?
Did you see young Georgie and his pretty woman?
Were you at the place they call the ***** house
Did you see George his grace, ******* a ******?

Georgie, he's a man, there's no doubt about that
He has anyone he can, and who wouldn't?
Along came a dish, swanking like a dandy
And he did a deal
To share poor Georgie's candy

Although we got a bad deal, still we blithely haggled
If we get the dregs it makes little difference
We have dyed our cloth, bonnet belt and sword,
Our homes and lands are lost, but we have our George!

The **** (James) has gone to France with Montgomery's lady
There they'll hatch a plot, and when they're good and ready
They'll be back here soon, kitted up and raring to go
And may they succeed in their set-to with Georgie!

Come on Sandy Don, come on Cockolorum   [Jacobite supporters]
Come on Bobbing John and his Highland Possie
Many a sword and lance swings a Highland warrior
How they'll skip and dance over the *** of Georgie!
 Mar 2015
chimaera
as i grow my waist line
and tiredness yawns
over all the to-do's
and the days going by
add infinites of idontgiveashit

one thing i know for sure

this lover i did not kiss
this embrace i could not reach
this charm in that unbreakable mirror

will be the only story
i'll believe to have lived

and in the stupor of the decadents
i will be smiling
i
me
as he would have seen me
if it could have been
2.3.2015
 Mar 2015
Kelly Rose
She tries to quiet
her silentless
mind
on this eerily quite
night
Alas,
she fears the silence
and yearns
for the silentlessness
of her mind

krs
2/14/2015
intrigued by the word silentless
but true nonetheless
 Mar 2015
Joel M Frye
softly carved
statue
shadowed
bas-relief on the
sheets
submerged
staring
sundered
stiff as stone
spasmed
soliloquy of
squeals and sighs
sublimation of
soul to steam
slinking
sinuously down my
sternum
seeking
.
.
.
 Mar 2015
Joel M Frye
You were never much
for the soft word
or sentimental touch.

God alone knows
how you survived
those early years,

the unwanted hands
of the man who
should have fought off
the boys who would
maul you that way
many years later.

The elders blamed
you, a three year old
child, a seductress;
sent you and your
older sister off
to pervert another
tribe in Oklahoma,

and exiled your mother
for having the sheer
audacity
to raise a stink
about your treatment.

Small wonder you married
a white man;
smaller still the wonder
that he was white trash
and proud of it.

You told me once
that for all the bluster,
he was gentle with you,
and how you needed that.
Ambivalent
about love and ***,
you taught what you knew.

When you found the knife
your daughter kept
under her mattress
to fend off her
older brother's hands,
you taught what you didn't know.

You would be horrified
that the horrifics above
would be published;
after all, every family
has blood on their sheets
that should never be
laundered in public.

The droplets of blood
on your childhood sheets,
sequestered
for half a century
poisoned you,

and ate away
the delicate fabric of love
with which you bound
old wounds.

Your faith, your Truth
allowed no special days
save the day Christ died;
so today is just another day,
excellent and fair.

You forgave us our anger
without fully understanding
why we were angry;
it's taken years
and bitter lessons
to discover
what a difficult
gift that was to deliver.

The last memory of you:
You turned to me
as I pushed your wheelchair
along the sidewalk, and said,


I never thought it would be you, here.
One of my mother's favorite aphorisms was, "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar".
 Mar 2015
martin
Said Father Ted we have no wine
Nor have we any bread
Let us have a show of hands
For sure the lord will understand
If we go down to Malley's bar
And use some stout instead

The verger said it slipped my mind
I left the prayer books all behind
Said Father Ted well never mind
We all know Auld Lang Syne

Father didn't carry cash
Nor did the verger by his side
But still they sank a pint or three
The lord he did provide

They staggered home through the snow
Not caring if they'd sinned
The verger fell into a drift
And carved some angel wings

Father Ted went home to rest
He dreamed of water turned to wine
For sure he thought, we do our best
To muddle through our earthly time
 Mar 2015
Jacob Christopher
I'll be honest
with you
friend
It's a long, dark, hard ****** road
we walk
You and I
It's gonna tear your heart out!
Spit on you
kick
you
when you're down
and
no one is ever going
to be
what you need
expect
I'm tellin you
roll with it
It
is
supposed
to hurt
It's not all
sunshine
and roses
But
at least
you'll feel something.
 Mar 2015
ryn
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•play me a
tune of sweet serenade
•sing me a song of wistful
melody•recite me the words
you would            have said•
now whisper me your sighs
tenderly•paint me the
colours of night and day•write
me the poem of your heart•send me
your love on which I lay•make me the
end to all your starts•strum me the chord
of hopeful bliss•compose me a ballad that
sets my innermost free•so play me your
tune, the one that I would always miss
•and keep singing of us in a song,
so we'd be immortalised in
eternity•
.
 Mar 2015
Audrey Lipps
foggy mornings,
we're tangled in sheets
two puffs of smoke,
three kisses on cheeks

i haven't felt this happy in weeks

she smelled like my favorite book,
with bunny eared corners and
underlined regret
her woodpine smile,
will take me a while
to
forget

she likes to scare you,
with tickles and feelings
a horror that conquers
creaking in the crack of darkness or
darkness
or
darkness

her eyes shine like Union Terminal
and her tye-dye smiles
are opaque
and clear
but my dear,
and my god,
and my God,
she is beautiful

she's the simple succulent,
no need for water
or commitment
but pleasing and
familiar
she's a polaroid picture
of the Queen City
and ****, is she witty

she's the only girl
who mocks Lana
and gets away with it

she calls you "honey,"
in her perfumed sheets
with a snowy exterior
on the busy streets

because from carmel apples
to frosted sidewalks,
she asks questions
and questions and questions
and she has a
glace that leaves cuts
on your heart and
a sway that rips your
control
apart

but monsters are people too,
and we could fall from grace together
monsters are people too,
and right now i'll endure
this
weather

i don't care about titles anymore
i don't care about length anymore

i care about guitar vibratons
and laughing on foggy mornings
and a puff of smoke and a kiss
on the cheek
and do you know why?

because
i haven't felt this happy in weeks
 Mar 2015
Jacob Christopher
From a high pass in the Adirondacks,
I once gazed upon
the first tendrils of dawn,
bursting forth from hills beyond
to snake their way through
a rolling forest.
Setting it ablaze
with a magnificent rainbow of color.
Finally settling upon a small lake,
far below.
And as I watched the sun
breathe warm life into this beautiful,
secluded landscape
I thought
"She was far more alluring,
than the wonder I behold before me,
but,
At least this is a memory,
I can keep."
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