"amelia" poems
My friend Amelia (real name, of course, redacted)
is something of a pained Ophelia.
The play's the thing, the part brilliantly acted;
She stands alone by Hamlet's side,
She sighs and moans and pouts and pines,
and waits for him to be attracted.
But Hamlet I know; He's a friend of mine,
and for her heart, he doesn't pine. He's out to solve his father's ******
Let him go, Ophelia. It's all right. He won't be dissuaded by your ardour;
your love won't keep him long distracted.
Senpai; My Liege; it all rings far more familiar than it aught.
"Notice me!"
"Notice me!"
or then again...
not.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him. Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this ***** you're a dumb ***
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
There once was a man with a bowtie
And a little redhead girl
I'm gonna tell you the truth now
She loved him and he loved her.
They sat around the table
With fish fingers and custard, ice cream
They talked about his big blue box
And her family
In the middle of their midnight snack
An alarm rang from TARDIS, blue
He told her he would be back
In just a minute, or two
He accidentally missed his mark
Twelve years had gone by
But he just sauntered out
Waving and saying "Amelia, hi!"
Twas the first time they saved the world
When Amelia was just nineteen
Two years later he picked her up
On the eve of her wedding
But then the cracks in the universe
And all of space and time
Consumed the Doctor, all of him
But that's not the ending rhyme
The night she and Rory wed
Amy jumped out of her chair
"I remember you!" She shouted
And the Doctor appeared there
And so the Raggedy man came back
No more in the crack in the wall
Amy's imaginary friend
Bowtie, suspenders, and all
Later came an astronaut
Her name was River Song
She lifted her hand and against her will
Killed the Doctor, gone.
But, hooray!
The Doctor wasn't dead
It was wibbly wobbly, timey wimey
Stuff messing with their heads
And Amy had a daughter
Name? Melody Pond.
But the only water in the forest is rivers,
So she was really River Song.
Subtract love,
Add hate
Daleks scream
Exterminate!
Angels, Angels everywhere
Take a little blink
In the ground and in the air
And then they took Rory
"Come along Pond, please!"
He said with a cry
She turned to him and said
"Raggedy man, goodbye!"
"No!" He shouts in despair
"It can't be true!"
He stands over their grave
Oh Ponds, he loved you
He sits on the steps
Letting River fly
Too grief stricken to hurt
Or even to cry
Dreams are broken
Time stands still
The Doctor runs up
A small rocky hill
Afterword, it reads
By Amelia Pond
We love you Doctor
And we're sorry we're gone
There's a girl waiting in a garden
She'll be waiting for a while
So go to her
She needs a smile.
Tell her she's a fairytale
Known by many, loved by more
Not best in the universe,
But most important in the world.
She went with him and took his hand
He showed her the stars and distant lands
Together they ran, their spirits high
Until they day came when they said goodbye
Goodbye, Ponds.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
Long bus journeys,
Pouring rain. Soaked to the bone,
Hunger pains.
Its already dark out,
Almost six. Waiting for the bus,
I feel so sick.
I'm alone. I'm so alone.
I'm off the bus, its seven
According to my phone.
Walking in the miserable dark,
Down the familiar path,
I'm dreading "home", Detention please take me back.
I get in the door, get yelled at and go up the stairs.
I'll just rest my head, I wake up to my alarm.
I'm lying in bed.
I panic. My homework. It wasn't done last night
I'm crying, if i tell the truth they'll think I'm lying,
Its not alright.
I didn't forget. I didn't forget,
To them I lied and said the opposite.
They said "All the chances I gave you I regret"
"Just do your homework"
Do you not think i try? My essays are incomplete cause i stay up half the night, being yelled at.
"PLEASE EXCUSE AMELIA FOR NOT FINDING THE TIME TO DO, TWO MATHS PROBLEMS IN BETWEEN BEING EMOTIONALLY ABUSED"
So you give me MD after MD, saying it will "help" me.
To you I'm just another wasted youth with potential thats lazy,
I deserve no credentials because my work and attitude is hazy.
You must think that I dont care ,
But really I do, I'm trying I swear.
I cant fit school into my schedule.
Dear school, I really had fun,
With my friends, and now I'm almost done.
But you didn't help,all you did to me was yell.
You don't know me,im just a name and number on paper.
But perhaps my experiences would shock you like a tazer.
Stop being rude to your students, we all have our own ****
Be nice instead, we all struggle a good bit, be nice dont pretend.
Yours unfortunately, Amelia
The End.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
My use of personal pronouns
Puts me in my poem;
I can roll a rock with Sisyphus,
Be in a ceiling flame in Rome.
I can bring you back to life,
Sharing tales and tea;
Sitting there before my fire,
For all eternity.
I go marauding with Attila,
Walk with Neil Armstrong,
Fly high with Amelia,
Be a Beatle with my song.
My pronouns give me presence
In my lover's residence;
I'm just a specter she can't see;
A spirit roaming outside of me.
I can jot an I with you,
I could pen an our;
But that's just ink on my notebook,
Not as sweet as sour.
I can use my pronouns
To put you in my verse;
And then I lay my pen down,
I'm cursed, but none the worse.
You're just poetry to me.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Now it might be hard to understand
But just for a moment I ask that you try to comprehend
The idea, the marvel, the miracle
Of learning love’s true definition from a child less than 3 years young
Her name was Amelia Lyon, but she was called Amy Lou
And her hair was up like Whoville’s own Cindy Lou Who
Dr. Suess would’ve been proud
I’m sure he would’ve loved Amelia, as did every single person of every single crowd
We would bring her with us to Disneyland
The happiest place on earth for both woman and man
And little Amy loved every second of it
With a wide smile, never crying, not even a bit
Bearing the power of a simple smile, and a thousand suns
She would light the very streets she crossed
Reaching out and attacking strangers was far from seldom
With a beautiful kiss of innocence, sincerity, we watched as joy would blossom
Did she discriminate?
Did she decide who to incriminate?
No, you see, Amelia would never
If someone was hurt, and broken, she could make all things better
A beautiful soul
To match a beautiful girl
I learned, let me tell you
What true love is, something new
Something that is rarely practiced
But only talked about, and the fact is
I’ve never seen love quite like this!
It was sincere, and it was real and it was amazing
A special perspective, a new trail she was blazing
And now I know what true love is
Humble, supportive, and nonjudgemental
Kind, gorgeous and always gentle
Thank You, Amy Lou.
One day, I hope to be like you.
But now she's gone, at two and a half you were taken from us
So unique, Heaven, God, and the Angels were jealous
Do I feel robbed? Do I feel cheated?
Certainly not! Because I know who I shall see when I am greeted
There she will be, adorable and precious
That gleaming smile with a child’s eyes
At the opening of the Gates, it will be glorious
Because finally, that disguise, that shroud of earthliness
Will have been torn away, and we will forever be united again
My baby sister, my Amelia Lyon, my Amy Lou
I miss you so very dearly, my little Cindy Lou Who
With love, bittersweet tears, and a heart deeply aching
Your brother, Remington Charles King
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
Little Amelia Pond asleep in her bed, with thoughts of a raggedy doctor
floating through her head.
Outside her window, there came a bright light,
'twas a light so bright that it lit up the night
And the sound of the TARDIS woke her up with a jolt
and with an excited smile she heard the thing halt
She ran through the house, past the mouse, past the tree
and she saw her old friend and greeted him with glee.
He was happy to see her, but there was sadness in his heart.
He brought her rare gifts, like VanGogh art.
They ate fishsticks and custard as the doctor told of tales never heard.
As the night went on the fun wore out little miss pond
The doctor tucked her into bed and told her more stories that danced through her head.
'Twas the morning of christmas
and the best gift of all
was the night full of memories and for years she recalled
her raggedy doctor until they met once more
But thats a story for another time, and then I shall write more.
Have a merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday
From The Doctor And Amy
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
Every child has a family, that cares about them and always there
I once knew a friend name Amelia, her family will play the fair.
I think I like it better there than I do here, I am speaking the truth.
My whole life I liked it better when I was just little youth.
Why do I keep trying to send letters to the baby me.
i once felled on my knee, I got right back up and start
to climb back up that tree, when we were young
we were young and free. And alive just to see the sea.
My family is okay, but I miss those days when my brother will ***
his pants cause he had no idea what to do.
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 2:04 PM UTC
Amelia wore a yellow slicker raincoat,
rain or shine, Every day without fail
And her smile was almost as bright as that
But not quite.
Amelia took off the raincoat in the seventh grade, when
a boy said she looked like a duckling,
"the ugly duckling". They laughed, but her?
Not quite.
Tenth grade rolls around. The raincoat is
collecting dust in the very back of a closet filled to the brim
with clothes no one could say were an ugly duckling's feathers.
First day of school, and it begins to rain. Pour, even.
But not quite.
Amelia is in a rush. She grabs the first raincoat she sees,
the ugly duckling yellow slicker. She
begins to cry, and her tears are almost
blending in with the rain.
But not quite.
with no other choice, she wears her feathers.
she expects laughter, and pointed fingers
but she is met with the same smiles as
she always was.
"Cute raincoat, Amelia!"
And she begins to smile, almost as wide as she did
when she was an innocent duckling.
But not quite.
For Amelia, who found her wings
in an old yellow slicker raincoat,
smiled wider.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
Maya Angelou
Frida Kahlo
Helen Keller
Amelia Earhart
Madame Curie
Mother Teresa
Marilyn Monroe
Meryl Streep
Me.
You?
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
Amelia can you hear
the calling of my heart?
Amelia can you see
the tears on my eyes
as I hide it through the smiles?
Amelia can you feel
the scars on my skin
inflicted by the people
I loved the most?
Amelia can you smell
the decayed and withered body
of mine
Amelia, oh my darling Amelia
can you pick up the pieces
of my broken heart?
Did you hear it shatter across the floor
the moment he said goodbye?
Did you see the way he stepped on it
The way he steps on his cigarette?
My darling Amelia
so innocent
fragile
save yourself
from all the pain
and i tell you this
because i couldn't save myself
learn from my mistakes
my darling Amelia
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
Amelia fixes her veil in the mirror,
and tilts her head from side to side.
Not satisfied, she removes it.
She brushes her brown hair.
If only God had made her the way
that she wished she could be.
The artist that she is,
she desires to paint herself pretty.
It's like she feels that her Maker
put out His first draft on her
and forgot to erase the mistakes,
to improve the rough draft.
Amelia adds rosy color to her cheeks,
and petal softness to her lips.
She dots her eyes with lovely additions
and powders her nose as if icing to the cake.
Yet Amelia's love does not care
if she looked perfect.
He always teases her
when she fusses and fusses,
and he often reveals to her
that she is more beautiful
than a garden of flowers.
Amelia relaxes her face.
Maybe this isn't what she would have ordered
if she could have possibly gotten
her choice of looks
right out from a store catalog.
She can tell by her own eyes
that they are alive.
She laughs at herself in her reflection.
She knows her beloved is the right choice.
From down the hallway to her room,
Amelia's mother calls out,
"Come along, Amelia.
Today is your wedding day."
Nov 29, 2009
Nov 29, 2009 at 10:31 AM UTC
The stereo lights are neon and remind me of a book
I read in middle school. I can't remember the title,
Only that nostalgic comfort of a book that relates,
dictates your own inner workings and schemes. It's
Difficult to find this emotion in modern-day fiction;
Do you ever miss the moss behind your ears when
You're watching an actress snort her way to gold?
Amelia Earhart has always inspired me. I like to
Associate with the theory that she chose to lose
herself in that triangle, immerse herself in a lost
Island life style. Even Brooke Shields made a life
stranded, and though it's just a movie, aqua water
And sandy hips appear, reappear in my dreams. I
can build a fire with a palm tree and the palms of
Your hands. I can build a home with leaves and the
beauty of your blink. A coconut kiss is precious.
Amelia's an explorer, a woman who understands
her destination. Surely she couldn't resist the dusty
Beaches once she flew miles above them. Friday's
are perfect for losing past transgressions, so I can
Comfortably pretend this ***** stream is the Mississ
-ippi and I'm floating on a raft made from the peach
Core. Is there anything better than a high?
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
She's manifested today like a ghost
appearing from a haunted house.
Desertion is that inhabited manor
from which the voices in her head
urge her into exile, urge her phantom existence.
Sitting upon the berm overlooking
the beach and lighthouse of Coos Bay,
she wishes she could ride the setting
Pacific sun to New Guinea or beyond.
Below five athletic young women
contest the physics of a soccer ball,
imagining the red-white lighthouse a goal.
In other times she'd ask to join them,
but she must lose her personal history now,
remain hidden in plain sight.
The loneliness of this subsistence
a charnel house blackening her heart.
She's Amelia Earhart about to crash
the Yukon's heartbroken cry.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
The last time we met it was raining
and the stampede of raindrops on the roof
must have made it hard for you to hear.
I had wanted to tell you about my mother
how I wasn’t yet five feet tall
when she was six feet under.
Lover, listen.
Incurable illnesses cannot recognize
the plumpness of an over ripe nectarine
from the plumpness of a woman’s breast.
And the last time we met I don’t think you heard me say
that my name is Amelia
because you kept moaning Sarah.
Now, lover.
I understand the impossibility of moving on
but I’ve run out of excuses to make.
There’s no Lauren or Patrice
just me in these sheets.
Lover, please.
Pick me.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
I hate the way her eyes scan me over with jealousy. She's so enviousm but what does she think I have that she doesn't? I'm the diluted image of my mother's beauty, yes, & she wants that. But she doesn't realize that full pouting lips, the large startled etes, the palest coffee-cream skin comes with strings attatched, a think contract she has no idea about, full of clauses & fees. the very last page reads 'Amelia', signed with my blood but written in my mother's decided, sure hand. She doesn't see all the chameleon shades in me, or how I need them just to get by. She has no idea of my longing, my yawning morning yearning for the way she's the same girl every day. I admire he belief in (the lie) that no one can **** with her, while every person I meet makes something in me panic, wondering if they'll be the next to discard me after taking me out & finding that I'm both too much to handle & not enough to stick around for. She can shrug off a punch & barrel through a crowd, moses to any sea, any shore she finds herself at the edge of, while the simple swat of an absent hand creates ripples & gusts that send me tumbling, toppling *** over teakettle. She scans aisles of people, tasting, testing any that are above her minimum standard, but I've never had that kind of freedom; I've always been a sample, appetizer, appease me, please me. babe. She knows as well as I do the desperation for approval, for being desired, but the difference between us is that she refuses to change for anyone but herself while I need people to give me someone to be.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
It’s the hollow sound of a toast to fill the silence of unaddressed questions,
the celebratory clanging of glass on glass
ringing from assumptions based on past experiences and theories
from synapses of protagonists or all
that is mystical; a god or a God
for the rhetoric of bad days; the precatory shoulda, woulda, coulda’s
you can count with all digits and the humdrums,
the lalala’s to songs with lines you can never remember.
It is to fill in, with pencil, the
blanks of unclear intentions, capricious endings,
the what comes after the highest number, tentative now, for it is a trick question,
the true stories of Bermuda Triangles and Altantises,
for the ones Amelia kissed goodbye and all that is brief,
promises neither broken nor kept;
some, hypotheses for what happens after waiting.
It is the makeshift certainty ascertained the day he left
all these unfinished, unanswered, incomplete… things. The sure of it
invented by staking everything in a nebulous something,
a nebulous anything that will have to do, like cotton patches
on satin dresses or saints for hopeless causes.
It was the invention to quench the constant
need to know, to fill the in-between start to end
for all that we can not stop. A made-up map by pirates below ten
for every time we must set destinations beyond unchartered unknowns;
a make-believe place holder to hold us to the relief
we get from closure when
the universe gives us none.
It is the lemniscate, the amen,
the St. Jude we assign to our altars
until we find actual satin or the aviatrix herself,
or surrender everything in the spirit of faith
or believe
that not all things unfound are lost.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
We fought wars, standing beside husbands and kings
Our Suitor will be no shallow man, with just money to buy rings.
Life has enough pains for us, but why? I ask you
Amelia Earhart was no man, yet across the atlantic she flew.
We have given birth to mankind
And can destroy it in a blink.
Don't underestimate us darling,
We are stronger than you think.
We fought with dark lords and GODS, when it came to that!
We stood up and brushed ourselves, when consequences laid us flat.
We solved mysteries as common people and, fight we did.
We built Trust, Trust which takes ages to build.
Yet there we stand, ignored and unloved.
Margaret Thatcher was no man, yet proudly, she governed.
It was a WOMAN who picked you up,
When times made you sink.
Don't underestimate us darling,
We are stronger than you think.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
#20 | 31 Poems for August 2016
I began writing this at exactly 03:58 a.m. on a Sunday morning while listening to Charles de Gaulle to JFK by Bas.
Lately I write my most honest pieces during the early hours of Sunday mornings while everyone is still fast asleep.
Wonder what the view is like from Charles de Gaulle to JFK, 30 000 feet in the air.
But anyway, you and I still got bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Reminiscing back when I used to be close friends with a girl named Amelia.
Guess we drifted apart as soon as I moved back to Pretoria, maybe the distance dismantled our friendship.
I’ve decided to do this all alone and if anyone’s coming along then let them come along.
I wish I could drift way with the scent of this cup of coffee but a few minutes from now it’ll be colder than your shoulder.
Always wondered if you’d head to Cape Town to go study at that school of brand leadership we always talked about.
But you chose to stay at the Pretoria campus because of certain unforeseen circumstances.
In 2014 I got accepted but unfortunately the tuition was too high like Wiz Khalifa and my mother couldn’t afford it.
That’s why I may have the perception that dreams delayed will always feel like dreams denied.
I’ve been praying for three whole years for a miracle, adjusted my faith and became more spiritual but still nothing has changed.
Guess I’m just young and unlucky; my hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding.
Navigated through space and time just to find the time to give you space.
Words unspoken make way for a silent devotion, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
Wonder what happened, we suddenly stopped talking several months ago.
Maybe you have changed, I just hope that you’ve changed for the better.
I am slowly falling apart and all I can think about is gathering the pieces of my broken heart together.
Maybe you have changed for the better, I guess no one works that hard to stay the same.
My hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
Water swept softly, caressing the malecon.
Fisherman hung tirelessly to rods unbent,
Lovers perched next to seagulls,
Looking to distant dreams,
Embracing one another, folding arms against freedom,
Denying the waves flirty approaches.
A place where coloured plates were signs of class,
Fumes of gas enveloped rusty car interiors,
Locals spoke of their better selves,
All a show, an act of unity,
Clothes hung loosely, less is more.
Skin soft from the sun's spirit.
Tourists hummed over finely tipped cigars,
Remains of better days memorilised with frames,
Sweets passed as currency for cemetario tours,
Family tombs, shines, the dog at her side,
Saint Amelia listens to gratitude for answered prayers,
Where gomez, Alvarez, gonzales make hay,
Guantalamera sung gently in the bay.
Queues formed on corners, no end to each line,
Rations existing in such plentiful times,
Disregard for professionals,
Hailing of crimes,
Hemingways cocktail maker still pouring in the Floridita,
Murals of Che plastored to the walls,
Architectural past dotted out in each street.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Amelia, our baby first,
in nine months have grown a third;
no speech, no talkie,
all she wants is walkie-walkie.
Being our first we naturally debate,
on how best to educate;
dolls for girls and guns for boys,
what nonsense, toys are toys.
Will she a doctor, lawyer or housewife be,
I live long hope to see;
right now she is just naughty,
and breaks the dining cutlery.
Of food she is choosy,
and eats most daintily;
she is chubby and she is fair,
we only lament her lack of hair.
Every now and then a few steps she takes,
tip-toe grace does not a ballerina makes;
like all parents our hopes high burn,
to a swan, our little Amelia turns.
Knowing games played by Fate,
we have decided, now of late;
to take the profit with the loss,
to let nature takes it's course.
The things of value we provide,
the self-life chart she decides;
this happy burden, we dare say,
is gladly borne, day-to-day.
As we look on her behalf,
down life's long and winding path;
we can only say, with a sigh,
sweet dreams and goodnight.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 3:43 AM UTC
opening up an eclectic ruddy random selection of books to the sound of classical concerto dimmed to 'whelming' (neither under nor overwhelming), is like entering point after point to perspective to new brain after old brain after subject to object to alluvit, the few, the many-- 'on July 21st, 1936, Lockheed test pilot Elmer C. McLeod, with Amelia as copilot, took the new Electra up for its first official flight..' 'This is the picture of the Djinn making the beginnings of the Magic that brought the Humph to the Camel..' 'A block away from the museum doors, the guards still follow us, until a new group of guards from the next building has us under surveillance..' 'More and more, I suspect that Buddhists and shamans are correct..' 'I liked Bloodworth and in the spring we were going to play outfield together on that Lowell team, he whose name for years had mystified me when I saw it in Lowell High and Lowell Twi League boxscores-' 'if the world at large found it impossible to believe the truth of the Holocaust, even when provided with incontrovertible proof, Berliners presented with piecemeal evidence, rumour and hearsay were bound to dismiss such talk as enemy propaganda, or perverted fantasy. As Ursula Von Kardoff recalled after the war: 'we were realistic and pessimistic. But Auschwitz?'- '"Twenty-five centavos."
"Twenty-five centavos," repeated the Syrian in a firm voice with almost no accent.'--
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
I'm sorry if this seems long-winded but everything I write is short
because I'm not used to speaking without you cutting me off mid-sentence and I must get these weights off my chest before they crush my lungs
like the pressure that surrounds me as if I'm a deep sea diver
and you are the ocean. I used to liken you to things like that.
The ocean, the color blue, famous women that have courted my heart
from their places in the history books:
Jeanne d'Arc, Bonnie Parker, Amelia Earhart.
But the wars you wages in my name were lost and my name could never rally the troops like God's.
And the banks we robbed never satiated your expensive taste when everything I could offer you was more brass than gold
and for that I am sorry.
I never wanted you to get lost in the ocean. Your plane crashing somewhere in the vicinity of Howland Island where you sent out your last cry for help
and it choked for life in the static of my busted ******* stereo.
I know that this is coming out in pieces and my stream of consciousness
lacks the stillness that Nature tries to instill like a watchful mother
but I can't help the way all of these words and sentences keep bringing
you back to life and I know now that I will never stop
because what can Nature tell me about the way your lips moved
when you whispered my name.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
It is you
That I still desire
So I must get high er
And high er
Than did
Amelia
Like
Earhart
High er
And high er
You drift
Furth er
With
My heart
Apart
Somebody!
Anybody!
Will you just please
Step as to-wards
Start the part
Where, when it
All did start
When
Your grip
Grew tight er..
Take me with spite
Ravage
Me with you in
Hale me
With smoke
Me in
Out slowly
In
Out
In
Out
You
Breath
Me
You weep me
When need be
Like a tree does
You leave me
A drug induced
Hung er
You feed me
High er
You offer me
An all night er
Life had
Never been
Oh so much
Bright er!
Let me go back,
Back to then
When I didn't know
The things at me
Life would throw
Round
And around
And around
I would go
Where'st the wind
Take me now,
I shall
Soon to know
What had been
What could of been
Should've been
Back then
Just lie here,
Lie here
Next to;
Beside me
As if to
Forget all that
You had lied to me
I would ask
Then,
If I could go
Back when
Round
And around
And around
We, would go
We sure
Did spin
Back then
Way back when..
A schreech
Then a halt,
This was out
Out of even
My reach
We came
To a stop
How?
Why?
Your grip
Unraveled,
You had let go
Muffled
My words were,
Like you, they too
Had gotten away from me
I sensed
You looking
While I
Listened in
To the
Wind blow
What you,
For me
Had store,
No, not
Couture
Hell, I wasn't
Even sure
If you were
Twas the
Saddest
Of ever a surprise,
As you
Right looked me
In the eyes
Panic
Fell within me;
Piercing
Fell upon me
As did your eyes
You asked
Are you ******* happy?
No.
No. I replied.
I'm not.
Not when
You're not
Forgive me not
Forget I will not,
What your revenge filled resent
Has taught
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC