#carroll
FIT THE FIRST – The Tale Untold
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
He holds him with his skinny hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth he.
'The crewmen hunted down a snark,
And sailed across the sea.'
The wedding-guest here squeezed his breast
And broke the seaman's hold.
'I've gotta go,' he said to him
Whose tale was left untold.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 1:05 AM UTC
Sevena Smith
With seven faces
(One with a beard),
The girl next-door
Is kinda weird.
Little Alice Liddell
O Little Alice Liddell went,
All on a summer's day,
Down, down a deep, dark rabbit hole,
Landed, and went her way
Adventuring through Wonderland,
Where face cards played croquet.
She made some friends, and drank some tea,
And proved a right good lass.
She barely kept her head, and then
Awoke on English grass.
When back she went to Wonderland
'T was through the looking glass.
Gunther Gutenjunge
Gunther Gutenjunge's an eellogofusciouhipoppokunurious boy
With a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious cat,
A ztyxnmweqbdvghrpakcfljious dog,
And a baby brother who's an acrasial brat.
The Skipper
The skipper is skipping and skipping and skipping
And skipping and skipping and skipping and tripping.
Nicholas Claus
A fella named Nicholas Claus
Can't ever skip Christmas because
He delivers the toys
To the good girls and boys
Whose cookies are made for his jaws.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 4:08 AM UTC
David P. Carroll is a poet and writer who stands up for justice, particularly for suffering children and women. He has been featured on the news and radio, discussing poetry, and has won competitions and certificates for his writing ¹.
Carroll's poetry covers a range of topics, including love, social justice, and Irish heritage. He has published poems like "Falling in Love" and "Happy St. Patrick's Day" ² ³. His work is available on various platforms, including Hello Poetry, where he has shared his poems and mentioned being on TV talking about poetry ⁴.
Carroll's romantic poetry book is also mentioned, showcasing his versatility as a writer ¹. Overall, David P. Carroll is a passionate poet and writer who uses his words to promote justice, love, and social awareness.
Apr 13, 2025
Apr 13, 2025 at 3:21 AM UTC
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 🌹❤️
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 7:26 PM UTC
COCOONING IN HIS HEART FOREVER.
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.
Oct 6, 2020
Oct 6, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
My Poem Will Be In The News In Several Asian Countries Tomorrow.
Thank you all very much God bless stay safe
Peace And Love.
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 5:37 PM UTC
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
Bede's Death Song (circa 731 AD)
ancient Anglo-Saxon/Old English lyric poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Facing Death, that inescapable journey,
who can be wiser than he
who reflects, while breath yet remains,
on whether his life brought others happiness, or pains,
since his soul may yet win delight's or night's way
after his death-day.
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
"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
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
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.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
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.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
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.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
a blonde waitress in a diner on minimum wage
located off route 66
reads a battered book with a missing last page
hoping to find a quick fix
with no family, friends, or cash to her name
she needed to find a way out
but a greying old man with a monocle came
and quickly sorted her out
he placed a tablet before her
and ran off in a terrible state
but he called back over his shoulder
"oh my goodness, how could i be late?"
she was puzzled and thought she had imagined it
as the night shifts had made Alice sleepy
but she peered down at the strange looking tablet
and made out the two words 'eat me'
'what harm could it do?' she inquired
as she carefully picked up the pill
as she swallowed, her throat was on fire
and she began to feel rather ill
her surroundings, they became hazy
and her the blood in her body ran cold
she convinced herself it was a daydream
as she felt herself fall down a hole
she fell with a thud, then looked around
and noticed that objects were massive
then she realised that she was 10 feet underground
stuck in a dark, ***** passage
a light in the distance lead her to a door
'what's behind it?' Alice then wondered
and as she was now incredibly small
she was able to just slip right under
peering around, she was taken aback
as Alice saw things she did not understand
in the midst of the night lay a large cheshire cat
which grinned and said 'Welcome to Wonderland'
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".
Moral: "You mustn't."
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
My blood runs cold
My heart beats slow;
and I can see the world
groaning as it spins
upon the point
of a finger.
My pupils dilate
I fear it may be too late;
and trees are twisting
mouths are yawning
open to swallow
the stars.
My veins contract
Life no longer intact;
so far from the horizon
and that burning bright sun
dazzling my blind
creamy eyes.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
He fell away with his uffish head all full
and he bought what we couldn’t buy him and
he didn’t buy what we swallowed whole
or at least he sold it back or gave it away
for vorpal heresies & novel fascinations
And just like we taught him to ride the red
a few swipes away from bankruptcy and desolation
but welcome and chortled to fail if that’s
easier for now than climbing the Tumtum tree
or trying to make it in this world
well fed - given all to eat and truly loved
It’s curious how the rain gyred down today
and stopped and came again and stopped
because the cadence of his windshield wipers
seemed to coincide with the crankier parts:
only working when there’s nothing left to wipe
We don’t even give two ***** if a Jubjub bird
falls dead and he whiffles away, sword
between his legs (though that is dangerous)
and the beast escapes. He can eat the **** bird
for all we care, but for sustenance, not triumph
But our son is still lost; he’s frabjously
writhing in the tulgey fiber of disappointment
unable to slay even the puniest of borogoves
His melancholy surpasses all comprehension
and he isn’t coming home any time soon
He’s not galumphing back.
What use is a mimsy rhyme to the famished?
How often are we warned, beamishly chastised
of the brillig peril of worrying ourselves
with feeding the slithy soul
when the body burbles, always demands to eat first
and is satisfied by no less
than the frumious flesh of the fatted calf?
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC