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 Feb 2013
Polly o
They brought her in the night,
Sixteen ,with child, alone
To a refuge for her fallen state,
this holy place, her home.
She toiled and worked
from morn till night
Washing the stains away
of the holy men's  ****** fluids
Child's blood their pitiful prey

At Twelve she went to work in the big house on the hill
When her work was over,
there was more work waiting still
The Squire that tortured wildlife
and things so helpless small
***** this child at midnight,
in the wilds of Fox-ward hall
four long years she answered him,
she answered to his call
She cooked his meals,
she cleaned his house
and his twisted needs were met
And all the time she prayed for strength,
for refuge,  or for death


They took her clothes
with disdainful looks
and then they cut her hair
She sighed and blessed herself
the holy nuns would care
And the holy god on high
that she prayed to night and day
had looked on her with pity
and saw her deep dismay
And the heartfelt thanks she prayed that night
went straight to heavens door
She was free from him at last ,
suffering no more

She rose at dawn a call to prayer, to him that does sustain
the human wretches no one wants, he carries all the pain

She worked long hours with little food
Though awkward and heavy with child
The Holy nuns grew harder still
And she grew more beguiled
Their insults flew from day to night
and cut to the very bone
Her knuckles raw from scrubbing sheets
For the nuns with hearts of stone

"Atone for the sins of your ******* unborn
Your clothes have been taken
your head has been shorn
Now polish the floor
and do it again
ATONE!
ATONE!
ATONE!
for your sin"

Rich men who live in houses fine
Dine with clergy on food and wine
Tell the peasants how to live
Take what girls are forced to give
Nuns that float on a higher plane
Look down on us all wrapped in shame
******* priests that break the bread
and **** the boys when mass is said

And the God of hate that lives on high
Will pass his judgement by and by
alone with fear she waits unsure
Worthless,filthy, unwanted, *****
The nuns with venom, spit their lie
and light the candles to god on high

"Oh! blessed ****** Mary, you that know all pain"
"Help me ****** Mary, from sin I will refrain"
"Deliver my baby safely and keep him in your care"
"OH Mary help me quickly, my baby's almost there"

The birth was long and painful, no doctor at her side
They said it was her penance ,
The little baby died!

'
Call to prayer by the sound of a bell
Her baby was taken
she's lost in this hell
The bread is broken and held aloft
her mind is in turmoil
her brain gone soft
The smell of the wood
the polished floor
The endless work and the lock on the door

Her dreams are dead, her fate unknown
and still they taunt,
she must atone
she must kneel down
she must confess
she was born poor
she was born less


The day's, the night's, became as one
sleep eluded, the moon, the sun
she tried to work but couldn't stand
Too weak from grief
she felt the hand
"Your ******* dead! now get to toil"
"We stamped him deep in to the soil"
But in her heart she heard the Lie
She knew her son would never die
He's safe and loved in memory deep
He's in her heart, he's just asleep

She sits alone, her twilight years
her lucid thoughts are deep
She feels his tiny hand in hers
SLEEP.........Oh! perfect SLEEP



The state stood tall and washed it's hands
of all that had been done.
They buried Ellen down beside her darling newborn son
They slept a sleep, a perfect sleep, their story left untold
While evildoers in their church crouched down to hide their gold
For evil walks in all disguise
who dwell in god and men
They shook their hands and clapped their back
and saved her soul from sin

Religion is delusion and Hell was Ellen's life and Satan is the Church that caused the pain and all the strife!


In memory and salutation to all the women held against their will in the Magdline Launderies
 Feb 2013
Polly o
When I wake with the sleep
of the restless night on me
or the sweat of the nightmarish dreams
And the world with its brightness
is so out of place and will blind me or so it seems
You wait in the shadows
watching me struggle
composed you hover on high
My tentative steps more confident now
You snigger, you know its a lie
Black dog,
black cloud,  
black ****
Whatever your name shall be
I wonder what I've ever done
to deserve your treatment of me
I've clawed you,
I've fought you
I've cursed you
I've slept you out of my life
But back you came in the morning
You came with a sharper knife!
 Sep 2010
D Conors
No need to say a word,
it's morning in the country,
leave the chirping for the birds.

Lay your precious head,
against my caring arm,
be silent now instead,
let me keep you safe from harm.

Each day I get to hear you,
speaking merrily to me,
I treasure all you say and do,
that lends a tender mystery.

So, take your words and tuck them,
deep inside your caring heart,
your eyes say everything they can,
and that's a wonderful way to start.
D. Conors
08 September 2010
 Sep 2010
D Conors
I spy,
the morning mist, outside
the window that is not mine,
rising from the river,
sunshine tries to sneak through a sliver,
I, with thoughts only
here and now
for thee,
you
my new and gentle mystery,
who came to me on a silver stream,
made subject for my pen,
my dreams,
and this misty morning,
where I wish to be,
across from you
smiling back at me.
D. Conors
06 September 2010
 Sep 2010
D Conors
Is this not what it's all about?
Waiting in the wings,
stretching, turning, churning,
anxious and adrenal,
living for the dream,
wishing for the dream,
being
the dream,
dancing on beams,
beneath the streams
of lights and fans,
arrayed like a bird
in tulle, crinoline, silk, satin and linen
white plumage,
acting only on command,
the music soft and flowing
their frail, slender figures
take to air,
arms and legs,
torsos tender,
slender necks,
wisps of downy hair,
melding colours,
sights and sounds,
the stage a pedestal of fate,
their beauty
captured
in gilded cages
for all to watch and see,
recaptured yet again,
by the artist on the easel'd window
of his canvas,
a maestro of sorts,
tapping his baton-brush,
coating the blankness with sweet
inspiration,
like angels heavenly
brought to earth,
serenaded by strings,
life from the blankness begins,
covers the void,
bejewels the mind's eye
and beckons the ballet
rehearsal to begin,
yet shall in oil paint now
and for all time
never cease to be...

"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."
Edgar Degas

____
Inspired by the painting by Impressionist artist Edgar Degas,
The Rehearsal.
--to view the painting:
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/degas/ballet/degas.rehearsal.jpg
D. Conors
03 September 2010
 Sep 2010
D Conors
the hardest part about
writing a poem about you
is that the words tend to
get into the way
of what i really want to
say to
you
D. Conors
03 September 2010
 Sep 2010
D Conors
"Cash, Grass or ***-No One Rides Free!"*
reads the bumper-sticker slapped on the ratty Harley.
Its black leather seat is cracked, tattered and torn,
the headlight is busted and there's no friggin' horn;
with mismatched saddlebags strapped to each side,
the panhead leaks like a sieve, but it's still quite a ride.

The gas-tank is dented, scratched and coated with muck,
the chrome no longer shines, but who gives a flyin' ****?
Its tires are bald, the spokes are all rusted to ****,
and the frame is off-kilter from a cage-driver'*****.

The biker just puffed the last hit from his pipe,
slammed down the rest of the J.D. from the bash last night;
then he hops on his hog, kicks the monster to start,
the muffler-pipes blast flames and roar like a ****.

Together they roll down the road like old pals,'
with nowhere to go, just obnoxious and loud:
the tombstone tail-light flashes bright red on this mess,
'though Cashless, Grassless and Assless, they couldn't care less!
D. Conors
30 August 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Indian summer has now arrived,
riding high on its blue-saddled sky,
of mixed coloured clouds of bold tie-dye,
bright, ripe days and crispy-clear nights,
reaching the ****** of the season's delight.

September soon will enter the room,
leaves will tremble at their impending doom,
lovers shall stroll down lanes two-by-two,
sharing softly whispers of "I love you."
D. Conors
28 August, 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Although the actual authenticity of this poem's authorship is questionable, Jack The Ripper was credited with sending various taunts in verse to the police during his killing spree. The following poem is especially creative and chilling...very akin to the style and sound of The Ripper's literary exchange with the authorities.
______

(Transcription)

Eight little ******, with no hope of heaven,
Gladstone may save one, then there'll be seven.
Seven little ****** beggin for a shilling,
One stays in Henage Court, then there's a killing.
Six little ******, glad to be alive,
One sidles up to Jack, then there are five.
Four and ***** rhyme aright,
So do three and me,
I'll set the town alight
Ere there are two.
Two little ******, shivering with fright,
Seek a cosy doorway in the middle of the night.
Jack's knife flashes, then there's but one,
And the last one's the ripest for Jack's idea of fun.

__

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. EPILOGUE. "for Jack's idea of fun."

__


With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/ripper
letters/
D. Conors
09 August 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Give me another needle,
make sure it's good and sharp,
stick it deep into my arm,
in this very chilly room so dark.
Take the tape and puff of cotton,
cover up the ****** hole,
leave me then feeling forgotten,
beneath these blankets shivering cold.
D. Conors
09 August 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Like lava shooting from the spout,
rolling down the mountainside,
engulfing me in raging tongues of flame,
nothing spared, no, nothing saved,
taking me away,
     taking me away-
just a little bit each and every day,
with molten high-tech tests.
and murky I.V. drips,
no more tears of real pain left,
just flames flames flames
along with medicated ether trips.
D. Conors
08 August 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Exhale,
Inhale,
Exhale (let it all, all the lonliness go),
Inhale (and allow the lovingness to flow)
     breathe the romance
     in and out
let your entire being rejoice and shout,
"I'm in love!
Look and see!
I'm in love
and Love is in me!"

Inhale,
Exhale,
     breathe the romance.
D. Conors
04 August 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Hold your breath and close your eyes,
wish and dream with me, then sigh,
take my hands to your smiling face,
feel my loving fingers trace,
the very essence of your being,
those softly kisses worth repeating,
that from now on and ever after this,
we shall live our lives in loving bliss.
D. Conors
03 August 2010
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