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Bolaji Temilola Oct 2020
Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon
I see the passion in your eyes and now I saw the big surprise
"Cause there was a time
All I did was wish
And now I know it was love

Although it's not the way I hope
Or how I felt,
Somehow it fells lust,
But now we're standing face to face
It's in this world
A crazy place

And when I thought my chance to be loved has passed
You came and save the best of times.
All of the night you sent your words
When depression comes upon me.

I wonder how you know my feeling
Because your words always heal my depression
And build up my hope so high

It's not the way I want it how I felt
Somehow it is love
And now we're standing face to face
Is it in this world, my love, David P Carroll
Because just when I thought my chance has passed
You came and safe the best for the lifetime.
I love you 🌹❤️
Bolaji Temilola Oct 2020

Cocooning away with my
Lover David P Carroll today
Falling in love with him feels so beautiful every day,

It's like climbing a mountain
Once your at the top you truly
See it's beauty between you and me,

Together in love we'll be with the Lord's
Blessings shining upon us
Every day we thank him and
Pray to him for our happiness and joy we share together every night,

So just listen to my heart
Every day it's beating
I love you I could never love Another man darling
As much as I truly love you.
David P Carroll May 2020
My Poem Will Be In The News In Several Asian Countries Tomorrow.

Thank you all very much God bless stay safe
Peace And Love.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Caedmon’s Face
by Michael R. Burch

At the monastery of Whitby,
on a day when the sun sank through the sea,
and the gulls shrieked wildly, jubilant, free,

while the wind and Time blew all around,
I paced that dusk-enamored ground
and thought I heard the steps resound

of Carroll, Stoker and good Bede
who walked here too, their spirits freed
—perhaps by God, perhaps by need—

to write, and with each line, remember
the glorious light of Caedmon’s ember:
scorched tongues of flame words still engender.

He wrote here in an English tongue,
a language so unlike our own,
unlike—as father unto son.

But when at last a child is grown.
his heritage is made well-known;
his father’s face becomes his own.

He wrote here of the Middle-Earth,
the Maker’s might, man’s lowly birth,
of every thing that God gave worth

suspended under heaven’s roof.
He forged with simple words His truth
and nine lines left remain the proof:

his face was Poetry’s, from youth.

“Cædmon’s Hymn,” composed at the Monastery of Whitby (a North Yorkshire fishing village), is one of the oldest known poems written in the English language, dating back to around 680 A.D. According to legend, Cædmon, an illiterate Anglo-Saxon cowherd, received the gift of poetic composition from an angel; he subsequently founded a school of Christian poets. Unfortunately, only nine lines of Cædmon’s verse survive, in the writings of the Venerable Bede. Whitby, tiny as it is, reappears later in the history of English literature, having been visited, in diametric contrast, by Lewis Carroll and Bram Stoker’s ghoulish yet evocative Dracula. Keywords/Tags: Caedmon, hymn, Old English, Anglo-Saxon, oldest English poem, Whitby, Bede, Carroll, Stoker
Dream Fisher May 2017
"Stop writing" says one-half of my mind
"Just quit it's a useless skill, just biding your time."
While the other half tells me to get back on my grind
Not using what you have is like the sighted walking blind
I'm the head case that got thrown into chaotic box
With a fox in socks, but I've got a lot of time on my hands
With all these rusty old clocks, just ask Mr. Knox.
He'd say I'm still off my rocker,
Been a poet since skeletons started stalking,
Been writing since the doors got so jammed, they stopped locking.

So judge me, we aren't seeing through the same eyes
On streets where eventually it all dies
I've been my own therapist, philosopher, psychologist.
All I've got is the skin on my back, I gave away my clothes
No one knows where this rabbit hole goes
I bring shame to even hatters being this mad
You'll need a lizard with a ladder to climb to the mindset I've had
Welcoming all into my Wonderland.

I'd grab the devil by the horns
Just to say I rode that bull
Never born legends, but molded to heroes
Life chisels  children to men in seconds
Beckoning demons, only time will tell your battle
With beetles in bottles or a half-million headed hydra
The sword is yours, own that fight, own the right
To go out into that good night
David P Carroll Nov 2016
She is truly perfect she is truly from above I truly would always call you a little perfect blonde princess no other princess like you shines as bright in life your truly a special looking young woman who's beauty would truly melt into any man's heart your from above and truly I feel in love your warm gentle touch would truly brighten any man's saddened heart o your truly from above.
David P Carroll
Truly From Above
David P Carroll Sep 2016
Our Hearts Together
My love for you is so utter true love
From deep inside my sorrow heart I could never explain why I truly love you and how truly deep the love inside me is your one of a kind in life I cannot stop thinking about your warm honest heart I think about you and it makes my heart smile I'm truly grateful to have a wonderful women as bright beautiful like you in my life when I sad and lonely feeling down
I stop and think about you my heart smiles and beats of true love and utter happiness so glad
When I think about you my true love our hearts where ment together mine beats love yours beats happiness together forever in each other's hearts and we shall never be torn apart my true love.
David P Carroll
True love
A B Follie Jan 2016
Life, what is it but a dream?
Things are never what they seem:
Masquerading moonlight schemes.

Dreaming as the summers die,
Straining for the heron's cry,
Echoing the endless, "why?"

Lovingly shall nestle near
Each evasive leeching fear
Roaming round this earthly sphere.

Never seen by waking eyes
Is the maiden fair with lies,
Turned away with every tide.

Autumn frosts have slain July.
Springtime hearts that should not sigh
Walk into the wintertime.

Pleased a simple tale to hear,
Loath to drop a burden dear,
The tired, twisted whisperer.

In an evening of July
Souls are lit by fireflies.
Time alone will make them wise.
Inspired by "Alice's Poem" by Lewis Carroll.
Dark bat, would I were curious as thou art-
Like a tea-tray twinkling at night,
And lying with eternal wings apart
Til morning when you end your flight,
And spend the day at your raven-like desk
Chanting incantations old and obscure
With lyrics obscene and Kafkaesque
Quoting first Foucault, then Sassure -
No-yet still puzzling, still remarkable
A black beacon amid shades of grey -
Elusive, and in pursuit quite snark-able.
To you I am drawn as a ****** to ****
I’ll be your muse and you’ll be my death.
A sonnet I wrote for an eccentric guy with a Lewis Carroll/general literature fixation. It's the only sonnet that I have a record of writing and I'm quite happy with it even though it doesn't completely scan.
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