"angeline" poems
Romilda was an old lady,
She had no small baby,
So she petted her sisters daughter,
Who only drank milk but not water,
Little baby had a nice name which was Angelina Geolly
But her life was a worry,
She never went for the studio,
Never had Romeo,
She was brought up at a village,
But had a wide knowledge,
Her old aunt was always frank,
But Angelina Geolly use to prank,
One morning Angelina knocked her head on the wall,
And started dialing a call,
It was to none other than the fire brigade,
Hello, Come asap for our gate, Fire! Fear! Fire!
After an hour they reached in,
It was all about a recycle bin
Angeline had only meant, fire at her aunts cooker,
But they responded you little sucker!
The poor Aunt Matilda had to pay,
For their visit all the way
But still the house wasn’t grey!
Some people, few people started to blame Angelina Geolly!
She ran into her trolley,
And Angelina Cried Cried Cried,
But later she was Fried Fried Fried
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
If dogs could speak, O Mademoiselle,
What funny stories they could tell!
For instance, take your little "peke,"
How awkward if the dear could speak!
How sad for you and all of us,
Who round you flutter, flirt and fuss;
Folks think you modest, mild and meek . . .
But would they - if Fi-Fi could speak?
If dogs could tell, Ah Madame Rose,
What secrets could they not disclose!
If your pet poodle Angeline
Could hint at half of what she's seen,
Your reputation would, I fear,
As absolutely disappear
As would a snowball dropped in hell . . .
If Angeline could only tell.
If dogs could speak, how dangerous
It would be for a lot of us!
At what they see and what they hear
They wink an eye and wag an ear.
How fortunate for old and young
The darlings have a silent tongue!
We love them, but it's just as well
For all of us that - dogs can't tell.
2.8k
Last night I dreampt the most incredible dream
So vivid, but surely fantastic
My daughter unborn was visiting me
So timmid, yet brave and bombastic
We sat for a while, and spoke with our minds
So peaceful and exciting
Her eyes were like mine, and her soul was familiar
So conversationally inviting
Words were not needed to say what we thought
To say what was on our mind
She shared of her waiting, and her longing to be
I spoke of the passage of time
Reluctantly choosing the perfect discussion
We lovingly spoke of the future
For she is my daughter, and I am her father
But only in dreams we can nurture
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
Reign on my charade, but risk the dapple
I found a new water route to Mars.
Messers Metro, Goldwyn and Meyer won't mind
when you take the turtleneck, Angeline.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 6:04 PM UTC
As I reach the last stair,
I discover a high rise shrine
When I stare at the peak,
I'm close to fall on my head
It has a large baroque door,
Not closed, so I enter
I leave all the maps outside
I'm full of spice and zeal
I see an elevator facing me,
push the illuminated buttons,
envelope myself in the dove,
and it takes me as a letter
Into the highest floor, I fly
When I land on the terrace,
the man made-day falls asleep,
and the night sky erupts
I find an abandoned telescope,
remove the dust mask,
put my brown seeing aerola
around the soft eyepiece
The silver optical tube
absorbs my golden vision,
takes it on a celestial mission
Delving into the cosmos in chroma
I see a lumen hanging
like a washing line
between two galaxies
An odyssey to discover my heirloom
Now I'm a brainbox,
I surrender myself to
this luminous flux
It looks like a feeder of earth
Everything turns anaerobic,
when Angeline and her siblings
begin to play trumpets along
A hymn for the Oxygen Crisis
I put all the aerobics in vitro,
in order to live in vivo
I'm in the S shaped column,
the centromere of the soma
In a blink of an eye,
an asteroid hits my lighthouse
My kernel explodes
I'm trapped in a series of epochs
My nom de guerre is Helios
The sun calls me Apollo
Driving a chariot of joy
with two racing horses
Until meiosis begins
A king is announced
when a stallion dies
Nucleus or karyon
And I drop back as an ****
Embryo into an egg
thrown in a steam
From Eve to a man sunk in debt
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
11/1/2014
Every time I go into the library basement I think about the fact: at one point I would have taken a very soft rubber bullet to the ball of my foot for him. Now, at this point, i'd take a very real bullet on the occasion we had to cross paths. Sometimes, walking through Rittenhouse square, I would get this urge to give him a tremendous hug.
But with the same intensity, a feeling of unease would creep on me when we drove in his car down the hill, humming and rolling with the quiet effects of German efficiency. I wondered. I couldn't possibly be scared of him.
I'm sure he thought the same things. But mere rejection of Mariology at our young age'd contributed to our mutual apathy. I hate writing in parks. I had to write my Joycean riddles facing the door. I couldn't come to terms with him or anyone reading even a word by mere coincidentiality, right-place-at-right-time.
Truth is, naked and embryonic, that none of this happened. This is just a cute dream. Philadelphia park dreams with the one who took my... innocence? I more like confirmed that societal pressures are ******** Like my friend Francis Scott said- I just want the pleasures of losing it again.
When I sit here doing my AL 2 homework and he is doing a University research paper, the fuckedupedness hits me like a brick. Born too late or born too soon, easy come, easy go. I realize that I may be scared when i'm in that car.
Because the truth is that yes,I do have to write in front of a door- but... I never thought that we'd every really be together in the grown up love future. Capable of loving someone that much I know. Old letters prove it.
And where am I left? He is saying things to me he probably will say to someone this very year- and i've never said any of them to anyone in my life.
I close my textbook, yawn a bit. I know there won't be a grown up love future- an apartment. But I just have to make sure the fantasies expressed by him are copacetic. How will a day in the apartment look like for us?
He'll forget, if I don't first.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
In the garden stir the flowers
That whisper through the trees
A subtle hint of fragrance fading on the breeze
Ripples over pebbles
Gentle rushing of the stream
Is the smile in cool reflection
That of you or Angeline?
In the binding choking clinging ****
Which stops the waters flow
Do you find her auburn tresses
And that face as white as snow
Does she walk beside you?
Like she did so long ago
It was you that drowned her
So only you would know!
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 11:49 AM UTC
Sweet dreams
Sweet Angeline
Sweet like your ***** stay
Sweet for the king
Sweet like the taste I had
Sweet as iced cream
Sweet like the moments before we were seen
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Tu t'en vas ? Reste encore :
Je te perds pour longtemps !
Et tu vois que l'aurore
Luit depuis peu d'instants.
Tantôt sur le rivage
Je marcherai sans toi :
J'y reste en esclavage,
Pauvre de moi !
Nous avons vu la vie
Sous les mêmes couleurs ;
Elle a pu faire envie,
Car elle eut bien des fleurs.
La guerre était la gloire,
J'y courus avec toi :
J'ai payé la victoire,
Pauvre de moi !
Sur combien de blessures
A-t-on rivé nos fers !
Ils en font de plus sûres,
Dans leurs prisons d'enfers.
J'ai raillé ma souffrance,
Enchaîné près de toi ;
Mais tu pars pour la France,
Pauvre de moi !
Ma plaie envenimée
Arrête ici mes pas ;
Mortelle et renfermée,
Elle s'aigrit tout bas.
Sur un ponton de guerre
Faut-il languir sans toi ?
Je te suivais naguère,
Pauvre de moi !
Si ma blonde Angeline,
En te voyant passer,
Inquiète s'incline,
Timide à t'embrasser ;
A cet auge modeste,
Qui m'attend avec toi,
Ne dis pas où je reste,
Pauvre de moi !
Au foyer de ton père
Si le mien va s'asseoir,
Mon nom sera, j'espère,
Dans vos récits du soir,
Quand ses yeux pleins de larmes
S'attacheront sur toi,
Fais-lui bénir nos armes,
Pauvre de moi !
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In the garden stir the flowers
that whisper through the trees
a subtle hint of fragrance
fading on the breeze
Ripples over pebbles
gentle rushing of the stream
is the smile in cool reflection
that of you or Angeline
In the **** that's slowly choking
to stem the watery flow
do you find her auburn tresses
and that face as white as snow
Does she walk beside you
like she did so long ago
it was you that drowned her
so only you would know!
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 4:37 PM UTC