"alison" poems
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.
What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.
I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.
If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.
Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton
So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.
Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I sat chatting to Alison of what I can't recall.
Why she was here I had no idea at all.
Ian laughed and made a reference to Cruella De Ville, a pet name for my ex that makes him giggle still.
Then she entered, seemingly frantic, papers dropped floating like feathers. Her hair trailed as though chasing to catch her as she raced through the world.
But no man could catch her as there was no race she was not even there but visiting the same.
She spoke loudly, her words echoed of Edgar Allen Poe. Deep and mysterious, soft in reference to my very thoughts.
She seemed familiar, yet not, oh how could that be?
Real and not there, I thought I had met her.
But probably not yet?
She opened a book and said listen to me she spoke so softley I just agreed.
I can't remember a word that she said only Alisons laughter and Ians nodding head.
They sat next to us but faded away I was losing reality but needed to stay!
The librarian rebuked them and I turned away, then I realised it was Caroline who was sat at the desk.
She turned and smiled and started to say
Hi I'm....
Before she could speak I said "Caroline"
I know
She smiled and leaned towards me, then I woke
The dream blown to infinity.
The library gone.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
Your fingertips across my skin
The palm trees swaying in the wind
Images
You sang me Spanish lullabies
The sweetest sadness in your eyes
Clever trick
Well, I never want to see you unhappy
I thought you'd want the same for me
Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
Should've known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do
We walked along a crowded street
You took my hand and danced with me
Images
And when you left, you kissed my lips
You told me you would never, never forget
These images
Well, I'd never want to see you unhappy
I thought you'd want the same for me
Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
Should've known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do
I cannot go to the ocean
I cannot drive the streets at night
I cannot wake up in the morning
Without you on my mind
So you're gone and I'm haunted
And I bet you are just fine
Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out
Of my life?
Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
Should've known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do
Almost Lover
by A Fine Frenzy
on One Cell In The Sea
Publisher: Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Songwriters: SUDOL, ALISON LOREN
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
_the mythic Esther notwithstanding_;
the only Jewish Miss America was
Bess Myerson; Miss New York, &
exemplar of classic beauty c.1945
studying German philosophy
living on the upper east side;
surrounded by rich Park Avenue
Jews - spewing Nietzschean
Nihilism causing them to _shudder_
at the thought of relatives dragged
from homes never to be seen
again; they don't want to hear
that **** - my buddy Mingus Jr.
bringing mechanical bebop to
his constructed paintings;
on
the other hand, I'm going on & on
about Heidegger & Schopenhauer,
Brian Eno, David Bowie, Hegel,
****** Goebbels & Riefenstahl;
my paintings are violent; as if
Jack the Ripper & James Whistler
were the same guy; all women are
beautiful by nature, but I would've
done it different - put the snooch
on top, the udders on the bottom,
*** in front, arms & legs splayed
out to the sides; yes, that's better,
Diane Arbus, Ann Frank, Hannah
Arendt, Dori Bernstein, Alison
Linefsky & Eva Hesse are more
beautiful than Lilith & Eve mixed;
I hate being called a antisemitic;
it's a painful reminder that at the
moment I don't have a Jewish gf
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
ALISON...
A granddaughter whose life was taken too soon.
She was 17
A granddaughter whose had a heart of gold.
She could never be mean.
She suffered 2 years with cancer.
But didn't let that stop her.
On her way home from chemo
She had to stop for taco's.
She got her drivers license at 16
And was always lost.
She'd call her mom...mom i'm lost...
Where are you mom would ask.
Down by 7-11
Your right around the corner.
ALISON
She loved her STARBUCKS...
She loved life.
She made people laugh
In a very innocent way.
Yesterday was her birthday.
She would have been 27...
Hopefully HEAVEN is as beautiful as you imagined.
A Tropical paradise.
Sending you a hug and a Starbucks...
Love, granny
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Mary, Mother of God--
Born without Sin
Conceived without Man
Gaia, Mother of All
Titans, Gods, the Land of Men--
She gives and takes away
Lady of the Lake
Guardian of King Arthur's Might--
Excalibur
Taylor Alison Swift--
undeniably gained Fame
through Boys' Misfortune
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
It's a phrase I often playfully use to describe my queer self.
("Were you ever?"my beloved Alison uniformly says in jest).
But now it seems unusually apt in another way:
As I swann around this empty house, the decor, the photos, the ornaments and old perfume bottles overwhelm me.
My head is brimming with memories as I glance past these fragments of our shared lives.
My loss is palpable and yet inescapable under this roof.
She surrounds us on the walls, hanging over us with her beaming smile amidst the family photos.
I want to escape but I can't:
In a mad way I want to believe that something of these relics around us can bring her back somehow.
She did after all carry something of the old Irish paganism with her.
But, no, this ancient shamanism is sadly absent in a room drowned out by every token of Catholicism you can think of.
It's all too much for this first born to take and yet she is still here in the tiny gaps of these precious artefacts.
Hidden away where you can't see her.
So, no, being honest right now - I'm not quite straight yet.
The head and heart will realign soon but not with this gnawingly painful grief.
Pray for me.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
And he killed him. And he killed him. And he killed him.
"I'm going to **** you." And he killed him. Here is the Ada fruit.
Nelson Mandela, Nelson Mandela, from New York
to the United States. U = United States,
Russian and Black Cabinet. 'K' and music, weather,
window, Ethiopia, prophet, women, black women,
black children, mothers, mothers, mothers, mothers,
mothers, mothers, mothers, mothers, voices beautiful and bright,
eyes, forehead, hair color without hair.
The story of Tama and Rehumanum is not so difficult,
but it has improved in the landscape, music and child labor.
He was born in Latin and Latin America, symbol of Alma Gold.
Well, I can hear more words than you, I listen more than words.
The story is a mistake, it is an improvement. Aristotle has a very important relationship with robotics: Cicero, A lot of Friendships,
Alison Krauss Music, Songs, Dance, Women are part of Pharaoh's fantasies about the well-being of women in the religious community.
... Chrétien c. Chatroulette is a smoke.
Marcus, in bed, you talk one day, the dog is like a chair
and a tradition, a professional Spanish lawyer
and a Geiger from Zaragoza. This has three mysterious powers.
What are the three marriages now?
You have to leave Bing Bing for Bing
Light and Bing Bing. Stay in the mental
park. Six tracks were borrowed from
the six wildflowers in modern sportswear
and softball clothing. The principle of
rewards and poisonings in Bulgaria,
Bulgarian jewelery, jewelery, lifestyle.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
This poem is not a poem
This poem may be meaningless,
Weightless yet worth reading
This poem lacks vocabulary
It holds nothing unique of poetic essence.
But carries simple words of a message
A message that seeks a place to land
Traveling within the walls of a heart.
Imprisoned, Ignored, Tortured.
Violently cracking the bricks of its cage
A message fighting for its own freedom
Seeking a break through.
A message desirous of overcoming solitary confinement
The message wants to meet others.
But others seem to have no message for this message.
This message refuses to quit fighting to escape the ******* of a home in one heart.
It hopes to locate its friend in another heart.
Futile journeys this message have walked.This night the message is discomforting.
It fights with vigour for escape.
I was up late on my bed
The same bed that puts me to sleep
The bed that invites me to rest
The bed that convinces me to forget unfinished task and rest
The bed with the magic to infect with the virus of forgetfulness for a moment
Is the same bed making me remember the message’s violence
Dreaming wild dreams and thinking wild thoughts
Opened-eye dreams
Plenty dreams
All about one figure.
When will be sleep time?
Having communion in my mind with you
I see you close though you are afar off.
In my heart I hear a voice singing your name.
The song wasn’t harmoniously great but lyrically strong.
The lyrics of the song preach truth.
It says I love you.
I fight against the thoughts with all strength
I knew I would lose the fight.
Nothing in my hands I bring.
Simply to your heart I come
Holding love in my heart.
Love looking for a place in your love
It’s homeless love
Homeless yet not hopeless
Hopeful for a place in your heart.
At your heart’s door I keep sounding the same words of old
I love you.
http://selormcharles.blogspot.com/
Dedicated to the lady I admire secretly
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
1. RICHARD RYE YAO BAKU
2. ABIGAIL FORSON ALISON
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
As ambiguous as the title may seem, it dives into the vastness of human nature, it explores a sensitivity that most neglect, and it leaves you breathless with each and every single word.
At first glance, this book caught my eye due to it's boring cover and unfascinating title. But then I read it's synopsis and I was simply blown away by the stream of consciousness - how she took me from one place to another, how she gave me air and then drowned me underwater, how she sat on the edge of the moon with me and how the moon cut us with each swing between dreams and reality, how she showed me women of the Victorian era wearing ****** little skirts and how the whole street smelled like a smithy - like raw metals and earth, how she took me to the Hastings's backyard and made me an accessory to Alison Dilaurentis's ****** - I was buried alive!... and how she brought me back to the modern bookstore with dusty bookshelves and people walking past me like I did't even exist, like I didn't even belong here, and this wasn't even me...
Ah! How she made me want more...!
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
I'd be lying if I said I had no regrets.
I regret,
All the words and actions that would've been better spent,
Better placed.
I regret,
Inaction, when action was demanded of me,
I regret that the most.
-
To list mistakes, I've made a few.
I regret,
*Alison
Alex
Cody
Erica
And Hannah
-
Laura
Lisa
Megan
And Sarah*
To name a few.
-
But most of all,
I regret you two.
N.H.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
I never fell down some rabbit-hole;
Maybe I was born in one.
Always ‘different’ than the others
Only different because
I’m naturally beautiful
I don’t need three pounds of makeup to cover my face.
Only different because
I’m much brighter than what is average for them.
Only different because
I don’t battle for attention or popularity.
I’m different because
I care about the things
Most people take for granted.
Everyone worries about
What the others think
When I could really care less.
We share this world,
But that doesn’t mean I automatically have to play
By their rules.
I’d rather be different,
I call it unique.
I’d rather look at the patterns on leaves
Than ogle at a video game or phone screen all day.
I’d rather be myself
Than pretend to blend in;
I only have so much time on this planet,
In this lifetime.
Yet, I’m still similar.
I’m not sure if this is a good thing.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
alison, sweet and strong,
if ever there was a person built for such a thing, it's you.
it's the goodness of your heart
and the constancy of your smile -
it is your kindness, your cleverness,
and your mother's love?
it will stretch past this life and into her next.
it will find you and it will hold you.
mothers and daughters, they are never gone from each other -
it is a bond ages and ages old,
lifetimes upon lifetimes and centuries upon centuries
and it doesn't end with someone's life.
she will find you, her mother's-light,
because surely you are what she loved the most -
it's your goodness,
your boldness, your beauty.
you strong and beautiful girl,
don't you know it?
not one step of this will be taken alone.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
Alison and I walked together in cold European December
Seeking a modest dose of culture & enlightenment
in some grand dead palace where we could pass judgment
on the decadence of queens and puddlejump around
from surrealist paintings to Mexican food to picking up
Evi at the airport. We found the time.
We'd gone out on the first night and been the only two
speaking English at the bar, until we were interrupted
by a hot Australian bartender who joined us and agreed
to play Country Roads to our delight. We lost the time.
It wasn't lost on either of us how foreign it had become
to be with each other like that, and happy I hope:
We were instantly caught up as I kept bumping into her
intentionally, and shouting "Entschuldigung!" because
it was the only word I knew. We'd lost no time.
She told me about her piano search and looking after
the Ambassador and hobnobbing with former presidents
and dignitaries with all the uptight flair of the affairs
of state, and her own shining searching lost loneliness
that has come to mirror my own. We knew the time.
On the last night we stayed up playing checkers and rummy
and chess until she could win, sipping wine as we ignored
the gardens and museums that surrounded us, and taunted
each other about how we were ready to party all night
if only the other hadn't grown so old. We still had time.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Mrs. Alison Valrey is a Physical Education Teacher with a beautiful smile. She always gives of herself, by going the extra mile.
She has been blessed with a precious little girl. The baby looks just like her Mother, and she is such a pearl.
Mrs. Velrey is serious, while working in the gym. I know nothing about her, that I can condemn.
She was voted one year," Teacher of the Year." They knew to choose her, because she is a teacher that is real.
She has always treated me with great respect. Just being around her, keeps me from being upset.
She is soft spoken, in the words that is said. She encourage everyone, to move ahead.
We love you Mrs. Velrey!
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
our voices
blend like Robert's and Alison's
even when we're not singing
even when you are making
little grunts and i am
making breathy
moan love
moans
and those sounds make me
want to cry just like
Robert and Alison
make me cry
but they are always
happy tears
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 6:52 AM UTC
*Listen close
and don't be ******
I'll be here in the morning
'cause I'm just floating
Your cigarette still burns
your messed up world will thrill me
Alison
I'm lost
Alison I said we're sinking
there's nothing here but that's okay
outside your room your sister's spinning
but she laughs
and tells me she's just fine
I guess she's out there somewhere
And the sailors they strike poses
on TV coloured walls
and so slowly
With your talking and your pills
your messed up life still thrills me
Alison
I'm lost
Alison I'll drink your wine
I'll wear your clothes when we're both high
Alison I said we're sinking
but you laugh
and tells me it's just fine
I guess she's out there somewhere*
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
The kisses of steel cannot compare to the kisses of my lips, they both dance on your bodies curves and dips. The crimson passion that falls sublime, all across the polished pine, whispers to me from across the void. Bathing in your agony as my blade kissed deeper and deeper, I wonder at your hearts last flitter, would it beat quicker if he was with my sister? But such thought are late and drive me straight towards my hate.
Next the ***** that stole my love, my fathers sweet white pretty Dove. Alison of the bright blonde hair, left blood trailing up the maple stairs. Come here my sister who is so sweet, who is fleeing now without her feet. Die in your lovers sheets that form in mangled disgusting heaps! Slash and cut, scream and sheen as blood flies slowly as if from dreams.
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.
hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas, dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
all those "expectations" mingling with a babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
looks nice, doesn't it?
see how honest other people can become...
that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****
oh sure, i can switch off...
i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
it's not a coincidence that our names both start with the best letter of the alphabet
after all i
always loved apples
(it's midnight but i haven't eaten since lunch because i was too busy gorging myself on poison jealous ivy to notice my stomach was turning itself inside out again)
you
always had a certain audacity
i look for sparks in people, and you had one
you deserved to wear the letter A as your lipstick
and when life kicked me in the *** you said gee don't these bruises ****
you showed me yours
we agreed that at least if it kicks us in the ***** we won't hurt
which made me laugh
you make me laugh
as many times as i breathe i think,
i wish i could have an E
but eudrey wouldn't make sense and neither would elison so can we freaking wear our A's like we we were meant to
i love ya kiddo
the scissors are pink like what my favorite color used to be
but now they're on the floor chillin like the villains they are because basic insert the face
i don't need them now
however shaky my self-love is
i'm doing this for you
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
T The way he makes me laugh and howl till my stomach aches and my face is red.
H He took me to my favorite museum on my birthday.
E Every time we’re together, the energy is so alive I swear you can see the electrons flying between us.
P Perhaps one day we’ll finally save enough money to go on that camping trip we always talk about.
H He got promoted so we bought the expensive wine that night, our regular box brand is tastes better.
O Outside it rained and we made dinner together, laughing about the past and my day at work.
T Today when he came home he wouldn’t talk to me.
O Our days have stretched into a 24 hour year, maybe a guy’s night will help.
G Getting used to this new routine of not saying goodbye when he leaves helps him I guess.
R “Rebecca,” he said in his sleep last night when I grabbed more of the blanket.
A Alison, my mom thought it was a good name, but I’ve always hated it.
P Partly cloudy with a chance of dinner plans being cancelled again.
H “How long have I been blind?” I asked the optometrist
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
Reincarnated AirBase
Military Camp
Arsenal
Underground
Railroad
Despecializing destruction
Mistakenly Imprisoned
insured terrorism
Pleasured tortured
Hells Angels
Culted
Crucified
Eyes poked out
Visually Impared
buried alive
We where thriving
striving
Love driving flooding
divin
Your the Man
Miss u when u not around
Was lost can feel now im found
You're perfect
staring
soft glaring
perfect match pairing
-Brooke Alison Ilene Anselment
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
From the time that Alison woke she knew
That she had to speak her lines,
It was part of some strange assignment that
Had lodged, deep in her mind,
And every day had begun like this
From as far back as the Prom,
For every day was a part to play
Though she didn’t know where from.
Her lines appeared in her deepest sleep,
Were as glue upon her page,
She wasn’t allowed to deviate
Protest, or express her rage,
She’d go to Milady’s ballroom all
Dressed up with bustle and flare,
Plastered with ancient make-up and
A Pompadour in her hair.
And Alan, down off the ballroom he
Would finish his last cigar,
Straighten his wig and tails and take
His boots on into the bar,
A tumbler there of Cognac he’d
Toss back, then head for the ball,
Looking to share his heart out there
With the fairest one of them all.
He’d met her before on other nights,
She’d hidden behind her fan,
Her lashes were long and fluttered then
As he tried to hold her hand,
But she had proved to be skittish, she
Would lead him along, then stay,
And disappear in the dancers there
As she struggled to get away.
But Alan was more determined now,
He pinned her against the wall,
Caught the scent of her heaving breath,
‘Don’t you care for me, at all?’
She’d hesitate as those hated lines
Once more came into her head,
‘Oh my, this maiden is blushing, sir,
My cheeks are burning red.’
He led her towards an ante-room
For a long desired embrace,
But he couldn’t see behind the fan
The anguish on her face,
She wanted to live and love, she thought
She wanted to cry aloud,
But all that her script would let her do
Was gravitate to the crowd.
And Alan was so frustrated,
He thought that he’d never score,
For Alison seemed to disappear
As he opened the bedroom door,
And she stood out in the coffee room
With amazement on her face,
Where had he gone, she’d closed her eyes
To wait for his sweet embrace?
Alan tore off his tie and wig
And he hurled them to the floor,
Why did she always disappear
Just there, at the bedroom door?
He flung about, and he just went out
With his face so set and pale,
‘I’ll not be staying a moment more
In a Barbara Cartland tale.’
He had wondered where his speech came from
It had seemed so stiff and trite,
Embedded into his head, it seemed
When he was asleep at night,
He jumped on into a cab outside
In a vain attempt to flee,
When Alison ran beside him then
And cried, ‘Hey, wait for me!’
David Lewis Paget
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC