"angela" poems
Oh black negus. Why do you hate me so much?
Noticed I called you by your rightful title.
Negus
King, Ruler, Emperor
Not ***** or ******
The derogatory term originating from the crackers, or ***** the mild disparagement softened by society made to think that it's acceptable.
But anyway let's get back to it.
Why do you hate me?
Is it because of my full lips or my round hips?
My low tolerance for ********
The way that my stretch marks are engraved in my skin?
Or how the roots of my hair aren't so thin.
Is it my naturally sun kissed skin? Even toned complexion?
It just can't be my uncanny resemblance to Isis the Egyptian Goddess!
So why not praise me for my natural features
Why go on one knee for their paid for enhancements
Should I react like Angela Basset in Waiting to Exhale?
Screaming and shouting while my face is growing pale.
But pardon my melanin
I was perplexed by this darkness that stared at me in the mirror
That stared at me looking in my lovers eyes and taunted me
Smiles behind hidden hate they constantly berate my beauty
But pardon my melanin
My superiority is in my melanin
Encased in my skeleton
Our ancestors wouldn't like this
They would not be proud of that colorism that exist
They slander us for our features yet they list after it
This systematic thinking has our men slandering us but they won't admit
You continue to beat me down yet I am your mother.
I am the fruit of this nation.
But pardon my melanin
So I'll ask again
Why do you hate me?
We are carved in the same beauty and without each other we can't exist
I still remember the first day that we kissed but a few months later you left me for hailey in an unfortunate bliss
Melanin filled girls I am here to say
You are a queen never be afraid to be seen
The brother that disrespect and degrade are absolutely absurd!
You are not ratchet bitter or mean
Youre a stunning melanin queen
So pardon my melanin?
Naw enlightened by me melanin.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Spoken word poetry by:
Quencie D.R
Puno ang aking isipan ng mga katanungan,
Ni hindi ko alam kung may patutunguhan.
Hindi ko alam kung paano o saan sisimulan,
Kung tatakbo palayo o sayo ay ika'y lalapitan.
Eto na sisimulan ko na ngunit nagaalangan,
Sa simulang tanungin ang yong pangalan.
Nang di naglaon nalaman ko yung katauhan,
Di nagtagal tayo ay naging magkaibigan.
Aking hihimayin kung gaano kahaba o kaikli,
Etong tulang patungkol sayo at pinili.
Kung ilang pahina at itatantya kung sakali,
Sisimulan ko na ngunit eto ako nagbabakasali.
Simula sa "Ako at Ikaw" ngunit walang tayo,
Ano bang pakiramdam ng maging gwapo?
Dahil lahat ng niligawan mo iyong napa-Oo.
Babe,Mahal at lahat ng tawagan nagamit mo.
Balita ko madaming nagkakagusto sayo,
May nakahome based na sa puso mo.
Nakatres ba? Ilang puntos ba sya sayo?
Gusto mo pala maglaro sana sinabihan mo ako.
Gusto mo ng one-on-one pero madami pa pala,
Kung tutuusin sa mobile legends adik ka na.
Paiba iba ka ng character bane,alpha at angela,
Inugali mo na pati sa laro kotang - kota ka na.
Di kami isang laro pag napagtripan mo na,
Di kami dota iffirst blood mo tapos GG na.
Di kami coc o lol iiwan mo pag nagsawa kana,
Ano bang degree natapos mo at bihasa kana.
Patawad!! Kung ginusto kita,
Patawad sa mga binitawan'g salita.
Patawad kung mahal na kita,
Patawad kung ako'y lalayo muna.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 3:46 AM UTC
~ for Angela Scuteri ~
Cancer cells bloom and open
their capsules split apart
and spit the pips
on the red tide.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
Angel, protect me my friend
Now with thy open wings you tend
Giving the grace of purity of heart
Ever there with truth never far apart
Let me thank thee, for all that you do
Angel that lights up this world, so true
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
Ballerina stance leaner
porcelain poised demeanor
lined up for a chance at that old 500 gram repeater.
Yeah, a little firecracker,
a little fire eater.
Twiggy figure, ****** fire dome where her little wires teeter.
Excellent muse material
my ***** optics viewed ethereal
Beauty, and she knew it.
Arrogance.
Noted, duly.
Pittsburgh's resident fire ant, with a grace to match her face
And a whole crew of troglodytes racing to get a taste
So thanks Angela Chase;
I prefer the fantasy too.
And thanks to you my chickens won't be sleeping easy in their coup.
Loop Jabberwocky with Calligraphy
and dabbled in polygamy. purpose:
****** cyst bubbles to the surface.
Misinterpret the tongue touching and hand clutching,
you were baby girlie thumb-sucking
But thought more than twice about it when it came to dumb-fucking.
Pretty face: check
Depression: not yet
Appreciating phonemes, but still a nervous wreck
false carrot tops to bed, awkward with the ***** work.
Near waif redhead. Pittsburgh Boys. the city lurks
It's been a minute since the girl scouts got at me, I bought it.
Hop in the DeLorean tell Lauren that I'm off it.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 2:47 PM UTC
He was a boy dressed in green who flew into the Nursery one night.
He flew in to retrieve the shadow that had gotten separated from him.
He had his fairy and best friend Tinkerbell fly into the room at first.
He followed about a minute later and told Tinkerbell to find it for him.
He watched Tinkerbell fly over a dresser drawer & asked which one.
He ran over to the drawer that Tinkerbell stayed beside & he opened it.
He takes the shadow out & happily holds it in his arms and hugs it.
He tries to stick the shadow on by just putting it on his head and poses.
He then has to pick the shadow up from the floor when it falls off.
He tries again and then sees soap & says he'll use that to make it stick.
He rubs the soap on the shadow or himself & tries to make it stick.
He starts to get very upset because the shadow won't stick itself to him.
He starts breathing heavily & asks, "What's the matter with you?"
He wakes Wendy & she thinks he's crying. "Boy, why are you crying?"
He answers her differently in the recent version from the others.
He just stands up from where he is and bows to her in the other films.
He stands up in the recent version & says to her, "I'm not crying."
He's told in the recent film that he looks like a boy out of a storybook.
He calls himself a "brave adventurer" & Wendy says, "Who cries."
He looks at Wendy and says to her, more sternly this time, "I don't cry."
He asks what her name is, she says, "Wendy Mira Angela Darling."
He tells her his & says, "It's enough for me." when she asks if that's it.
He looks around & asks, "Is this a real house?" Wendy says, "Yes."
He doesn't ask that in all the other versions, they just exchange names.
He does different things depending on what version you watch.
He goes out in the hall in the recent film when a noise interests him.
He tells her some things about himself, like that he is forgetful.
"Second star to the right and straight on till morning." is where he lives.
He tells Wendy this in every single version when she asks him.
He's asked if he gets letters & says in many films, "I don't get any letters."
He says in the recent film, "I don't get any." with a little shrug.
He also says, "I don't have a mother." when told his mother must get'em.
He puts a hand up & backs up when Wendy tries to hug him.
He says, "You mustn't touch me." Wendy puts her arms down & asks why.
He says, "No one has ever touched me." and just looks at her.
He's told by Wendy, "No wonder you were crying." and looks at her again.
He says, "I told you I wasn't. I just can't get my shadow to stick."
He also tells her, "I tried everything. Even soap." points to the bar of soap.
He gets the shadow on with the help of Wendy & is happy again.
He gets a thimble thinking it's a kiss and gives Wendy one to thank her.
He tells her about Neverland & she tells him that she knows stories.
He tells her to come with him and says that they will both fly to get there.
He says before this that he knows fairies & Wendy meets Tinkerbell.
He allows Wendy's brothers Michael and John to come fly with them too.
He teachers everyone how to fly and then they are off to Neverland.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
I didn't find the time in the months I was around you
To ever say, "Hello,"
Or learn your name.
Angela S.
I didn't know it until today.
I didn't know that you were thirty-six until I read the articles about you.
I knew that you were late to choir sometimes,
And you wore shorts even when it was cold.
I didn't know you lived in those apartments until the police were investigating them.
My sister lived so close to there.
I didn't find the time to know you,
Angela S.
But I found the time to judge you.
You stood between seconds and you were a first.
You didn't know your parts very well.
I was annoyed.
It's concert choir, no audition.
I shouldn't have been so bothered.
I'm sorry.
That was the last time I saw you.
I didn't know you had a son until after he found your body.
I knew next to nothing about you until you were shot.
We sang the same music for months.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
There you were:
Second to last track
Side 1, “Atlantic Soul Classics”.1987
R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Take out the TCP)
The power, the control, the energy,
Never heard a **** thing like it.
Then that Cliff Richard Show footage I saw on some old BBC clip show (yeah, I know…Cliff, eh?)
“Don’t Play That Song” in crackly black & white
Sorry for the language, Sister.. but **** the power of your piano playing in that moment made me realise that you were not “just a singer” but a full-on force to be reckoned with.
Like Sinatra you studied lyrics like a monk deep in illumination and then blew the song away with your received otherworldly knowledge:
Eleanor Rigby
The Weight
The Dark End of The Street
Border Song
Bridge Over Troubled Water
I Say A Little Prayer
Oh, these were your songs, now. Don’t let anyone forget it.
But there was something more to you than all of this.
The way MLK kissed you with beaming pride at some long, forgotten award ceremony.
The way you sashayed African culture when you stepped out in public.
The way you ripped up your own records when you tread the boards & faced your humbled audience.
The way you stood by Angela Davis when she was hooked up on some stupid jackshit Hoover charge.
The way you verbalized the black American experience not just through countless moments of sheer liberation but in the solemn way you stepped up to the piano on Amazing Grace
You comforted this whiter-than-white Paddy on more than one occasion and forged a path of hope in many of his troubled waters.
Oh, God we will miss you & your power – all of it.
That once in a millennia voice whose measured restraint & joyful release touched millions.
You will never walk alone.
Farewell Queen.
You are finally at peace.
Thank you, thank you Ms. Franklin
Sean M. O’Kane
16/8/18
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
If I had to create my object of love.
The way God created us.
I guess I have to imagine her.
She would have the sexuality of Marilyn Monroe.
The face of Halle Berry just for starter.
If I had to create my own creation.
She would have the charm of Kelly Ripa.
And the voice of Angela Bassette.
Plus, the grace of Deborah Kerr.
And the heart of many good women.
If I was to create my own creation.
But those are fantasy dreams of mine.
Any good hearted quality woman would suit me fine.
It's not that the prettiest women are the best.
Because many average women loves the best.
But if I was to make my own creation.
I guess she would be just like my mom.
Full of love.
Full of warmth.
Mixed with a whole lot of compassion for others.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Worthy
of what?
lies?
indifference?
Raging at my own heart
that breaks apart so easily
moment by moment
in fits and starts
wildly beating, wide open
like a fool
blindly chasing an illusion
Worthy
of what?
time?
evasion?
A strange alliance
this friendship we have
absurdly laughable
and unworthy of these words
or anything ever offered
because I am more than
worthy...
Angela Minard 2013©
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Dear Angela,
When was the last time the wind blew threw your hair or did it go through your body too? I didn’t know the last time we saw each other, the cat would stain on the wall with its **** and then you would miss your date. Your hair looked like a crown in the sun. Did you ever get the energy to come out of bed?
Dear Angela,
Soot collects in the hollows your cheekbones, the eyeliner you have rubbed off in your sleep. The last time I saw you, you were cleaning the cat’s **** from the walls and missed your date and we laughed it off and had pizza instead. Angela, I know you are exhausted from simply opening your eyes. Angela, do you still hold your body at night like it is something holy?
Dear Angela,
Do you remember when we had tea in the August heat in clear plastic cups with our pinkies up and your mother showed us her corrugated cucumbers? Angela do you remember when you were swimming in the Y with the ladies whose bodies could hold your body and mine and still have room for more.
Dear Angela,
Do you remember when we walked out of class during your first panic attack and how I told you to lay down on the plastic benches that littered the hallway and you said you suddenly felt calm again? Angela do you still lie down on your side sometimes and think about going back to your prime days? Did you know then?
Dear Angela,
I can tell you to stay strong but I don’t know what that means either. I can tell you that it is winter now and it is cold and campus is a dead white man’s tomb but there are still flowers that stay in the winter time. They call it a winter garden. Angela, maybe you are a winter garden, maybe you are the softest footprint in the snow.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 4:50 PM UTC
SINGING TO THE CARNIVAL
By Angela Turner
I’ve been singing
To the carnival
Ever since you can remember
Sometimes
With the stage fright
Of opening night
Trembling just beneath
The skin
Sometimes
Like the well worn
Paths of a sonnet.
Rote, familiar,
warm
And Lately,
As the ballad of sunset
Sends the lights to whirring
And the music to
Jar the night ‘s somnolence
Beginnings unfurl in you
Like the big top.
Death defying feats
Of the marvelous Maloneys,
Or tigers
Passing through the flame
And the stadium is seated
With row after row of
Possibilities,
I sing
With the belabored breath
Of a hospice
Knowing this chance could
Be my last
For all the new
And beautiful things
That will astound and amaze
Have designed the tent
For the next town
And their tunes
Require a different song
Than this singer
And her worn out notes
That grow the bones
building the man.
So just one last time
Let the old girl sing
To the head on pillow
And blankets all tucked in
Around the carnival in you.
That was once in me
Before I was amazed and astounded
By this life and all that awaits
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
Those like David McWilliams tried to make us see the light,
but our politicians were quick to tell us everything was all right
It’s grand they said; sure our economy is booming,
though now it appears they knew disaster was looming
It seems the easy credit and ridiculous property prices,
left the banks owing billions, facing a financial crisis
and one night our politicians agreed the bank guarantee,
borrowing billions from Europe, selling our sovereignty.
The billions owed by the banks were to be paid by you and me,
which meant we all faced years of austerity
The money disappeared almost as quickly as Fianna Fail,
we were at the mercy of the Troika, Angela Merkel and all.
We owed billions in the form of a promissory note,
with billions to be paid each year, by rote
The banks and the developers washed their hands of it all,
some even representing us now in the Dail!
Yes the banks and bond holders who were mostly to blame,
did not lose a penny, they knew how to play the game
But for us there’s no help, it’s an absolute shame,
and the politicians reasoning sounds completely lame
We had our politicians and the business world to thank,
but they laughed all the way to the nearest offshore bank
Swiftly followed by developers and entrepreneurs,
all this country got from them was a collective Up Yours!
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Angela,
would you ever
come back?
I've been asking
this question
as the licquor
subsides.
I've been
sleeping
on it,
just to take
its weight down.
I ate
three tasteless burgers,
and rummaged
through their tomatoes
looking for your lips
red as cherries.
Hopefulness
is a disease,
a cancer
because it spreads
in violent fingers.
The **** of my heart
has begun
before the burgers
settled.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
You think after so long
The pain would be gone
I know you're home with the Father
But I can't say the same for another
Is my sorrow for my own loss?
Or for others who have lost?
For I have hope, but they have none
But who's to really say till judgment day has come
Openly I weep, I don't care who sees
Out in the open my grief brings me to my knees
Some day I will see you again
So I'll press on until then
I wish you were still here
But I celebrate that you are there
Where angela tread and saints sing
"Hosanna in the highest" "Glory to the King"
How beautiful it must be
But I wish you were here with me
One day you will meet me a the gates
On the day that decides our fates
On the day my body goes to the grave
When my spirit soars and my soul is saved
Once again we will meet
And I'll cast my crown at the Fathers feet
Then we will embrace, before any other
A child reunited with his mother.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
Looking back at photos of Christmases past.
An action shot of my youngest boy,
testing out his new hula hoop.
I can see my mother’s feet.
She’s sitting in her chair,
watching what must’ve felt
like the magic of the day
unfolding before her very eyes.
And, it was magic.
For a while her pain had subsided,
her knees didn’t hurt,
and she simply enjoyed her small,
nucleus, family as we unwrapped
the wonders laid out before us.
Her shoes,
the ones she deemed the most comfortable,
were yellow and black little tennies.
I called them her bumblebee shoes.
And, there they are in the bottom left corner of these last three photos.
Now, she’s gone.
Somewhere, around the corner, we say.
To the other side, we say.
But, she’s always near, we say.
And,
as I think of her now,
I imagine her as a drawing,
a cartoon,
like something that Bill Watterson
might have drawn up.
Bumblebee shoes,
looking a little bit like dinner rolls,
(That’s how Schultz described Watterson’s drawing of Calvin’s feet.)
her capri jeans,
showing her little birdie-like ankles,
and her comfy, orange Kool-aid Man shirt.
(I still have it.)
She’s still a bit wobbly,
unsteady on her feet,
but she’s doing okay.
So am I.
(Angela too.)
So’s Pops.
So are her grandkids.
We miss her.
And,
this Christmas is different,
that’s for sure.
But,
she walks into my thoughts,
coming from the kitchen of my memories,
carrying a cup of coffee
or
a plate of something wonderful for me to taste.
And, she’s always wearing her bumblebee shoes.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2018
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
THESE EYES,THESE BEAUTIFUL EYES
When you looked at me
The fire of your eyes created
Deep waves in the sea of my soul
I am drowning deeper and deeper
In the wide ocean of infinite love
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
Made me see deep in the ocean
And imbibe wisdom from the sky
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
Painted kindness on my mind;
And inscribed love on my heart
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
More beautiful than the starry night
More sweet than the moonbeam kiss
More kind than fragrance of perfumed garden
These eyes,these beautiful eyes
Marilyn Ann Francis Beautiful....EXCELLENT...MAF
Angela Davis
Natasha Nabokov Thank you, poets, you make my day Natasha Nabokov It's such a memorable poem, Matloob. Thank you
Wow, Matloob, you should post your work in FM Online Magazine, I know that the editor would publish it!
Michele Vizzotti-White Writing about eyes is such a great idea and u do it so beautifuly, u go on from the appearance to the way they make one feel in few but rich words, my fav line is the painted kindness in my mind eyes tell so much yet i have not read many poems about them
Saalik Siddiqui Fantastic indeed.
Demelia Denton Another beautiful poem Matloob
Melanie Bingham Chapman very, very nicely written !
Natasha Nabokov Oh, you are so magnificently productive
Larry Barmash What would you do if I sang out a tune
Perry Alexander Nectar of love.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Nymphets like me grow up,
and guess what?
I am not any scared or scarred
In a parallel world,
Angela invited Lester to her wedding day
and it's realer than death
There's nothing to heal - no sight of old pain
Am I really strong?
I am not sorry - I am not hurt
Even if I did break a few hearts
This nymphet got a job and she dyed her hair
She got to her destination -
but she's not done yet!
And I might have to leave
all of those nymphet, stylish things
no more daddies on the scene
but my inner fire still burns deep
let me resignify what I mean
when I wear my heart shaped glasses
when I feel all pink
that's eternal, it has no age or anything
It's true, I am not ******** anymore.
Isn't that a whole lot more fun?
I am a full woman now
and I am not backing down
(I always was this, waiting to come out)
So I look in the mirror,
and my inner nymphet eyes back,
"you're doing fine, I am proud of who you are"
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 10:13 AM UTC
I barely know your name,
I have seen your face,
A sorrowful divinity,
Delicate like the pain in your eyes,
Small, sweet, yet somehow broken,
The tranquil pain says so much.
Your hair drinks in the light,
And your hands hold a smooth
Grief that grows deep and kills,
Eventually you will see a poem
And wonder if you are like that,
If your beauty is calamitous,
If your rose petal smile
Cries with humble tears
When you look at distant stars,
Wether you see white doves
Of dark Ravens ,
Or even both in your sleepy heart,
You who hold the adoration
Of the blind man,
In love with shells,
You- beauty of the sorrows-
Have a sweet hole in your heart,
Love complete, body and soul,
I confess your picture is a spectre,
It exhausts my soul
And I open my arms,
Would you run to me?
Would you just half smile
And cry a tear for what will never be?
You have a divine thirst,
And your eyes carry a myriad
Of fluttering whispers,
Words that float to me,
The wrath of your being,
One day to find one another.....
The bitter heaviness of your name,
Angela....Angela...... Angela,
I whisper to broken air,
Your picture is a feast of beauty,
Yet I cannot hope for more
Than a haunted glare.
I sink myself into mortal grief,
The paralysis of you,
Angela....Angela....
You leap to life
When nothing is possible.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
she is a star
suspended in dreamlike wonder
i wonder where i can find you
covered in sunflower petals and hay
where in sunrise the flowers bow their heads to you
celestial bodies fall from the sky
drawn to heavenly presence
riding over velvet winds
i stumble and sail
Angela -
you are bloodied and disfigured
red from a soldier’s bite
the breeze bows to your sword in hand
as the sky turns ashen crimson
and you call out to the bodies
of the people before you
in declining crescendo
Angela -
you are a warrior
but you are cracked open
and i want to ask you if that hurts
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 11:00 AM UTC
Reynard and I
held back
after biology
while the other kids
had gone
and we walked up
the corridor
I could have scored that goal
lunchtime
if Goldfinch
hadn't got
in my way
he's always
where you don't
want him to be
Reynard said
I saw Jeanette
walking ahead of us
with her blonde friend Angela
Jeanette had class
I thought
her friend
was a short
mouthy girl
but Jeanette
was quite reserved
and looked at you
as if you had stepped
in her sunshine
but I liked her
and that quick kiss
I snatched the other day
still felt stuck
on my lips
Angela had short tight
blonde curls
Jeanette had long
dark hair reaching
her shoulders
I gazed
at her thin figure
her arms by her side
the satchel
over her shoulder
Reynard was still talking
about the football lunchtime
I was looking
at Jeanette’s sway
of hips almost unseen
yet visible
to the trained eye
the way her legs
came down
to her well heeled shoes
the white ankle socks
think we ought
to try get Frazer
on our side
he'd be great in goal
better than Dunton
the prat
he couldn't save a goal
if the ball
was as big as he was
Reynard said
yes we must get Frazer
I said
wondering how I’d get
that kiss
that Jeanette promised
the lips tempting
and her cheek
just visible
the place my lips
touched
the other day
and the kiss
just stayed there
and wouldn't
go away.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
let's skip lunch & get this over with
a little dance of a growing flower
one at a time, bland & ignorant
girls tiptoeing, girls daydreaming
the corridor gives us chills
white, green, white, green
for fear spellbinds, we resist
will this be enough?
we never broke the walls
we found the door & it was open
w i d e. rather wide, so *"off we
go"*? where? where?
the fountain behind the library
* *was beautiful, sister
sure, it was
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
My real mother,
her name is Angela
She invests her heart and soul into
a child that she did not birth.
She loves, has a selfless sacrifice for someone else's kid in all of her,
while ignoring her own comfort.
She could never replace my biological mother,
but every child needs her mother
and nothing can change how much
I love her
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 2:17 AM UTC