When time was all we had back then
In our innocence and naivety
When we went home to our separate beds
Was it for the want of creativity?
We'd sat on benches and talked of dreams
Who on earth were we trying to fool?
We teased each other with ******* memes
So how come we never really broke the rules?
How come we were virgins still
As Life took us our separate ways?
And why now is it such a thrill
We stand here gaze to gaze?
That like T S Eliot we've explored
To arrive for the very first time
Fifty years older and somewhat bored
Nervous as poets on the starting line
Look, we're not brand new anymore
I'd say more than a little threadbare -
But maybe that's what Reunions are for
That some beginnings can finally get there!
Watch out for those Reunion ***** guys! As they say, about the staircase of life... That last step is doozie !
She says she has an opening
At 9:15 a.m. Thursday morning.
Whose permission do I need
To respond to what is essentially
My own request, my own persistence,
My own action. Do I regret it
Or don’t I?
Do I dare to eat this peach?
Do I dare to bring this moment--
At 9:15 Thursday morning--
To its crisis?
Will the mermaids still not sing to me
When I become less willing to drown,
Or will they sing louder than for
Anyone else, for want of that
Which they cannot have?
I will arrive at 9:15 a.m.
On Thursday morning
With the bottoms of my trousers rolled,
Not to dip my feet into the
Misleadingly temperate waters,
But to show a counselor
The over-worn, many-colored
Socks that I wear
Much too often,
And she will tell me
It’s warm enough outside
To just wear sandals.
Quando para mucho mi amore de felice corazón
Mundo paparazzi mi amore chicka ferdy parasol
Cuesto obrigado tanta mucho que canite carousel
Come under the shadow of this moon rock—
Come in under the shadow of this moon rock,
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at sunrise wetting the bed,
Or your shadow at dusk falling down the stairs:
I will show you fear in a handful of gummy bears.
April is the cruellest month, said
Only one person ever, who is now dead.
Leck mich im Arsch.
The topsical, wopsical,
(Have you a popsicle?)
And is sometimes called
A hairless cat because of that.
Their peering eyes sit at the window sill-
Looking in they get their thrill-
A mother's brimming mess they are still-
Trolling HP gives them their fill-
Their calling card speaks ill-
Of good poets swallowing their bitter pill-
Eliot needs to stop this unwanted chill-
Of trolls riding the thumbs down, drill-
Their actions take a good community through the mill-
And ****** if I am going to watch the blades spill-
When many voices speak up it should shake the tree. I write today, inspired by all the ones carrying a torch.
all my life
i've been preparing faces
to meet the faces that
the man who delivers newspapers
at our doorstep each morning
i've laughed at their silly jokes
as they tossed their heads from side to side
in naive stupidity and their sheer ignorance
a pompous lot, the human race i tell you
i've acknowledged their staunch morals
and tried to make them my own
as they scorned at the girl in a skimpy dress
and chewed on mutton bones gluttonously
all my life, i've been trying hard
to blend in
with people who've shown me
that i don't belong with them
and tonight when i shed gallons of tears
i have only my bed and pillow to share
i've learnt that my sadness
is my very own
just a sad girl writing to survive