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Soloy Jun 2020
The butler knows
of sorrow untold
He feels so cold,
only the warm glow
of evening
finds him
from what he knows.
                                                          ­                                    points turning
                                                         ­                         opportunities infinite
                                                        ­                                 he thought of not
would render whole dreams forever irredeemable.
His heart was breaking.

All was over. No point dwelling on. Look further beyond.
lest human warmth he needs, banter be the key to what he seeks
"This is what makes me different from humans... I do not lie."
~ Sebastian Michaelis ~
This is not my quote, I just thought it needed to be posted.
This quote applies to me. I do not lie. You may think I do, but I tend to play with words to make you think different. To make you think the opposite.
"Humans are the true demons of this world."
  ~ Sebastian Michaelis ~
This a quote that I'd thought I'd share.
This is not my quote.
Fire is red,
ashes are black,
go to hell,
and never come back!
This is a funny poem I came up with when I was roleplaying as a certain butler.. *ehem* Black butler fans.. (Sebastian Michaelis) I also roleplay as Ciel... I Made a poem in response for this... To begin Sebastian gave a poem to a maid.... I forgot it, but it was beautiful (Sorry).. The young lord asked him for a poem sarcasticly... This is the poem Sebastian gave him..
Terry Collett Jun 2016
The butler
Dudman stares
at Polly
as she stands
in his stark
small office.

Master George
will be back
home again
very soon
with a nurse
for his care,
Dudman says.

Polly smiles;
o that's good,
she utters,
(she'd thought he'd
summoned her
to complain
about her
domestic work).

Dudman says,
that does not
mean that you
will attempt
once again
to enter
or to have
dealings with
him in bed.

Polly blushes
lost for words.

I've told you
before this
about that,
and warned you.

But George
wanted me
to go there,
Polly says.

Master George
to you girl,
Dudman says,
know your place
in this house;
you will not
have dealings
with Master
George at all
or be fired
if you do;

Polly nods;
words fail her.

Dudman says.

Yes I do,
Polly says
looking past
Dudman's head
at the wall.

She thinks of
George last time
in his bed
having ***,
his moustache
her pale cheek,
having had ***
with him five
times that week.
Akemi May 2016
the bottle twists
glass falls in drifts
and air parts like flesh

there’s a terror beneath this city
trucks enter from out of town and shake the power lines
passing without pause

sometimes birds gather for days
chirps grow exponentially
before tailing into silence;
heather and brimstone
little bodies roll to the edges
and burst on the streets in red regalia

a somnolence keeps the city forgetful
time flows in fits
a streetlamp; a raven; ten gravestones
it all runs without moving

vessels dilate
hands hold themselves

there’s nothing to breathe with
an empty chalice, turned on the hour grants
heaving clenching writhing
an ocean of rust
bulb shatters, blood spills out her
mouth cave head turn faith
the world remakes itself
the colour of sunflowers
bicycle chains
wet paint

emptiness over emptiness
act without agent
lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack
peel the flesh and find flesh
always more flesh
don’t stop they know better
chirp chirp chirp
4:45pm, May 1st 2016

the broken frame; the endless egress
Terry Collett Mar 2016
George had gone
from the house.

His parents
had sent him
to a place
for treatment
for the state
of his nerves
broken up
at the Front.

Who told you?
Polly asked
when Susie
had told her.

Old Dudman
(the butler)
just told me,
Susie said.

But gone where?
Polly asked.

Didn't say,
said Susie,
she was glad
that Polly
would not now
be able
to go sleep
in his bed
as she had
times before.

I must know
where he's gone,
Polly said,
and rushed off
quickly to
find Dudman
and ask him.

Where's he gone?
Polly said
to Dudman
who was in
his small room.

Where's who gone?
He asked her.

Master George,
she replied.

He eyed her
quite sternly;
where he can
be assured
of treatment,
Dudman said.

But where's that?
Polly said.

I can't say,
not to you,
he replied,
back to work,
and forget
your dealings
in the past,
in his bed,
Dudman said.
Terry Collett Feb 2016
Polly waits outside George's room;
she anxious about his state of mind,
then being sent out by Dudman,
when all she wanted to do
was help George
in whatever way she could.  

She stares at the door;
hears voices,
then silence,
the door opens and Dudman
comes out closing the door
behind him gently until it clicks.

He grabs her by the arm
and moves along the passage,
his hand gripping her tightly,
hurting her.

What were you up to
in there with Master George?
he says,
moving her along forcefully.

Let go of me,
she says,
trying to move his fingers
from her arm.

He stops
and releases her arm.

What were you doing to him?
he says.

I was trying to calm him down;
he was bellowing out
about someone called Gwyer,
she says angrily.

They stand staring at each other
toe to toe like two boxers.

She rubs her arm
with her hand.

No need to be hurting me,
she says,
I was helping him,
not hurting him.

Dudman stares at her,
his hands at his sides,
his body stiff and his
breathing heavy.

It didn't look good to me,
he says,
like you were up to
your old tricks.

Old tricks?
What do you mean?
she says.

You know what I mean;
last time he was on leave
you were in his bed
and God knows
what you were up to,
he says.

She reddens
and looks away.

Wasn't doing nothing like that
just comforting him;
he was upset about
the **** war
and killing and such,
she says.

He stands gazing at her,
at her inner strength,
the ***** on her,
the breathing making
them more prominent.

I warned you
about being with him,
Dudman says.

I was just doing
as you told me to:
taking his breakfast to him,
that's all,
and he kicks off,
she says.

He is silent;
gazes at her.

Keep his condition
to yourself;
don't want all and sundry
knowing what he is like,
Dudman says
quieter now.

She nods her head,
breathes in deep.

I'll say nothing,
she says,
but I can see him
can't I?

Dudman stares away
from her
along the passage.

As long as you don't try
and get into his bed,
he says.

She walks off down
the passageway.

He watches her go;
the sway of her hips,
the black dress
tight about her rear,
the nice legs
in black stockings.

She goes out of sight
and he walks
the opposite way
to report Master George's condition
to the young man's father.

Polly walks down
the back stairs,
her mind in confusion
over George and his
state of mind;
she feeling like
one with one eye
leading the blind.
Terry Collett Feb 2016
Take tea and breakfast
to Master George's room,
Dudman the butler had said.

So Polly takes the tray
and slowly opens the door
to his room.

He's asleep,
his eyes closed,
his head turned
towards the windows,
where the curtains
are still drawn
letting in
only a dull morning light.

She lays the tray
on the small table
by the window
and looks over at him;
one of his hands shakes
on the bed cover,
the other out of sight.

She turns and draws back
the curtains slowly
and quietly, and the sunlight
pours in blinding her eyes.

Behind her George Elmore
sits up rigid
as if electrified,
his eyes wide open
staring at the window,
and shouts:

Polly turns in alarm
and leans back
against the table,
staring at him:
what is it Master George?
she says.

He is shaking;
his hands tremble
at his sides.

She runs to him
and holds him
against her breast.

George what is it?
it's me Polly,
she says,
holding him in her arms,
holding him.

His words mumbling:
Gwyer where's Gwyer?
he utters softly,
grabbing her tightly.

Her thoughts are in confusion;
she feels useless,
but holds onto him:
George it's me Polly.

He looks at her,
his eyes distant gazing.

The door opens
and Dudman stands there:
what has happened?
he says,
gazing at her
and then at the man
she is holding:
what happened?
he says again.

He began shouting out
a man's name,
she says,
and he was shaking
and I just grabbed him
to stop him
falling from bed.  

Dudman looks at her,
his eyes dark:
lay him back on the bed
this moment and leave;
I’ll have the doctor come,
he says.  

He's ill,
she says.

Leave now,
Dudman says.

She lays George down gently;
his hands grab her arms,
his fingers gripping her tight:
where's Gwyer?
he says.

He's resting George, resting,
she says in his ear.

He lies back
and stares at the window,
releasing her arms,
like one letting go of rope
and falling back
into dark seas.

Dudman sighs
and says,
go Perkins please.
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