"avon" poems
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Milyun-milyong mga blankong mukha,
pipintahan,
papahiran ng pintora
ang iba’t ibang kastilyo ng pangarap.
Subalit sa paglipas ng panahon
ang mga kastilyong ito’y rurupok,
at sa isang ihip ng hangin
ay pwede ‘tong gibain.
Masasanay kang matalo,
para sa atin ‘tong mundo.
Para sa atin,
hindi para sa kanila,
kailanman hindi ‘to masasakop
ng mga mapapait na luha.
Nasanay ka na sa panonood
ng mga teleserye o pelikulang
kung ano ang theme song
ay ‘yon din ang pamagat.
Nasanay ka nang mag-abang
sa paiba-ibang kulay na buhok
ni Vice Ganda, o ni Yeng Constantino,
ang umasa rin sa paiba-ibang desisyon
ng mga tao sa paligid mo.
Nasanay ka nang magmahal ang gasolina,
at iba pang mga bilihin
ngunit hindi ang magmahal ng totoo,
dahil takot kang masaktan ulit,
ang iwanan, o umasa ulit,
sa isang relasyong pang-post lang
sa FB, IG o Twitter,
‘yong pang-“#relationshipgoals” lang,
nasanay ka na pero takot ka pa rin.
Nasanay ka na sa mga surprise quiz.
Sa exams. Sa reporting. Sa thesis.
Sa Singko, INC, Withdraw o Drop.
Sa pag-jaywalking,
dahil late na naman sa 7:30 AM class.
Sa paulit-ulit na sorry.
Sa paulit-ulit ding pagpapatawad.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-red string.
Sa paghahanap ng ka-forever.
Sa mabagal na internet.
Sa job interview. Sa gobyerno.
Masasanay ka ring matalo
dahil ganito ang konsepto ng mundo.
Patitikman ka muna ng pagkabigo,
bago ka ulit maging buo.
Baka rin bukas-makalawa
maiisipan mo nang mag-aral ng mabuti
at iwasang ang usapang mabote,
ang bumangon ng maaga
at hindi papatayin ang naka-set na alarm,
ang maging totoo
sa taong nagmamahal sa ‘yo,
o kaya subukang ipa-Photoshop
ang 2x2 picture mo sa resume
para sa paparating na job interview.
Masasanay ka ring matalo,
masasanay ka rin sa mga peklat mo sa puso.
Dahil hindi ito matatapalan
ng pulga-pulgadang concealer ng Maybelline,
o kahit ubusin mo pa
ang stock sa AVON, sa Watson, sa HBC, o sa Lazada.
Kaya tanggapin mo na lang
na ang buhay ay puno ng pagkatalo,
dahil sa huli para sa atin din naman ang mundo,
kaya wala kang dahilan para sumuko,
dahil ang sumusuko lang ang natatalo,
at ang hindi takot sumubok ulit
ang tunay na panalo.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
From 3 p.m. Monday to 3 p.m. Tuesday
<h2>Police calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:39 p.m., Hit-and-run, 4400 block of Hwy. 16
4:11 p.m., Theft, 3700 block of Hwy. 16
4:41 p.m., Hit-and-run, 1100 block of State St.
5:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Charles St.
5:42 p.m., Theft, 2100 block of Liberty St.
5:59 p.m., Fight, Fourth and King sts.
8:08 p.m., Theft, 2400 block of Rose St.
8:08 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 400 block of Sixth St.
8:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Fifth Ave. S.
10:14 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1600 block of Adams St.
11:32 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1400 block of Avon St.
2:38 a.m., Domestic disturbance, 900 block of 16th St.
8:25 a.m., Theft, 3300 block of Rosehill Place
8:25 a.m., Theft, 1000 block of Ninth St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 500 block of Main St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 1400 block of Johnson St.
8:34 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:24 a.m., Entry to dwelling, 1600 block of Caledonia St.
9:51 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Liberty St.
11:01 a.m., Fraud, first block of Copeland Ave.
12:16 p.m., Entry to dwelling, 1000 block of State St.
<h3>ONALASKA
6:06 p.m., Animal bite, 2600 block of Midwest Drive
<h3>WEST SALEM
7:40 a.m., Vandalism, 3400 block of Hwy. 16
12:13 p.m., Theft, 900 block of Hwy. 16
<h3>BANGOR
9:24 a.m., Theft, 1800 block of Commercial St.
<h2>Fire Calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:01 p.m., Accident with injury, Fourth and Mississippi sts.
4:11 p.m., Accident with injury, 4500 block of Hwy. 33
4:26 p.m., Accident with injury, Hwy. 16 and 157
5:45 p.m., First responders, 700 block of Oakland St.
6:18 p.m., First responders, 1800 block of Pine St.
6:40 p.m., Accident with injury, Main and Fourth sts.
9:27 p.m., Natural gas odor, 700 block of Ninth St. N.
10:16 p.m., First responders, 1600 block of Adams St.
10:20 p.m., First responders, 900 block of Vine St.
1:54 a.m., First responders, 4100 block of Velmar Court
8:34 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:01 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
10:41 a.m., Accident with injury, Ninth and Vine sts.
10:45 a.m., Carbon monoxide report, 1500 block of Main St.
10:46 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Gillette St.
11:04 a.m., Accident with injury, 1300 block of Rose St.
11:10 a.m., First responders, 1500 block of Rose St.
11:14 a.m., First responders, Fourth and King sts.
11:31 a.m., Accident with injury, 16th and Main sts.
12:05 p.m., Accident with injury, 200 block of Pearl St.
1:12 p.m., Accident with injury, Hood and Miller sts.
2:26 p.m., Accident with injury, 21st St. and Park Ave.
<h3>ONALASKA
3:30 p.m., First responders, 1000 block of Westview Circle
5:09 p.m., Accident with injury, 1200 block of Hwy PH
8:02 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:43 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:50 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Oak Forest Drive
9:47 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Carol Lane
6:12 a.m., First responders, 1000 block of Frances Court
10:41 a.m., First responders, 7200 Northshore Lane
11:27 a.m., Accident with injury, Grant St. and Hwy. SN
11:35 a.m., Accident with injury, Commerce and Abbey roads
11:53 a.m., Accident with injury, 300 block of 11th Ave.
12:14 p.m., First responders, 5500 block of Commerce Road
1:08 p.m., First responders, 400 block of Kimberly St.
1:42 p.m., Accident with injury, 600 block of Second Ave.
<h3>HOLMEN
9:59 p.m., First responders, 1500 block of Viking Ave.
10:50 a.m., Accident with injury, Sand Lake Road and Laurel Place
1:32 p.m., Accident with injury, 1400 block of Main St.
<h3>WEST SALEM
8:53 a.m., First responders, 500 block of Elm St.
11:09 a.m., First responders, 300 block of Franklin St.
<h3>MELROSE
1:21 p.m., First responders, 9700 block of Hwy. 108
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
*Namis ko ang mga panahon,
na naglalakad ako papunta at pauwi mula trabaho
Sumasakay sa jeep, mukhang tanga, nagaabang sa kanto
Sulyap ko si kuya, nangungulangot ng patago
Nakatingala sa langit, ngiti ko'y tila ipinako*
Masaya sumabay sa takbo ng mga tao
Kita mo lahat ng ganda at panget sa mundo
Maging avon man o ever bilena ang gamit
May lunes parin na maiiputan ka ng pato.
*Namis kong mag tsinelas palabas ng bahay
Ngayon 3inches na ang taas ng yapak ko
Pati din ang jansport na laging nakasabit
Ngayon para akong magtatahong walang buena mano*
Madaming nabubunyag sa aking biyahe
Malalagkit na sulyap ni kuya sa pasahero
Ngayon nga'y may pisong nalaglag sa tabi
Dadamputin sana ni ate kaso naunahan ko
Hiwaga sa'kin, saan kaya siya patungo?
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Nature teaches us our tongue again
And the swift sentences came pat. I came
Into cool night rescued from rainy dawn.
And I seethed with language - Henry at
Harfleur and Agincourt came apt for war
In Ireland and the Middle East. Here was
The riddling and right tongue, the feeling words
Solid and dutiful. Aspiring hope
Met purpose in "advantages" and "He
That fights with me today shall be my brother."
Say this is patriotic, out of date.
But you are wrong. It never is too late
For nights of stars and feet that move to an
Iambic measure; all who clapped were linked,
The theatre is our treasury and too,
Our study, school-room, house where mercy is
Dispensed with justice. Shakespeare has the mood
And draws the music from the dullest heart.
This is our birthright, speeches for the dumb
And unaccomplished. Henry has the words
For grief and we learn how to tell of death
With dignity. "All was as cold" she said
"As any stone" and so, we who lacked scope
For big or little deaths, increase, grow up
To purposes and means to face events
Of cruelty, stupidity. I walked
Fast under stars. The Avon wandered on
"Tomorrow and tomorrow". Words aren't worn
Out in this place but can renew our tongue,
Flesh out our feeling, make us apt for life.
3.4k
A leaf fell, twisting in the Fir Green Square,
Like a spear thrown through the air;
A dog, distant and real,
Has barked five hundred years on Sheep Street.
Holy Trinity, the bone keeper, keeps doors open.
The Avon, not so sweet now, flows on;
Swans swim and preen, and tonight,
Henry will rage on Agincourt again,
Calling on his brothers, and me,
To breach the vicious cycle of lonely barks
And the immutable march of time.
Take my hand, look into my eyes,
My brotherhood of men.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
On Sunday, my S.O. and I
Drove to see Chorus Line
At the Stratford Festival.
A matinee. Beautiful day.
We left the Refineries of Sarnia
For fine entertainment.
The Avon flows gently
Buoying white swans gracefully.
Blah... blah... blah.
All very real.
You can see why it's called, Stratford;
There could be no other name.
A good choice.
Best Shakespearean Festival in N.A.
She explained all this to me on the drive.
If contrary people suffer
From low self-esteem, I didn't help
The situation.
As we drove through rich, green farmland,
Grazing cattle.
She asked why some barns
Have ramps leading to the barn doors.
Well, says I,
*The farmers, because of the economy,
Have to sell their livestock in parts,
So the ramps give easy access for the animals
Back to their stalls.*
Huh, said S.O.
That's so thoughtful!
Timing is everything.
Sincerity in voice, critical.
Hurry on to a new topic.
Someday, for sure, she'll tell someone, somewhere
About the considerate farmer.
She will.
Timing.
Like the kick line.
Like a punch line.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Anglophilia
An early passion
one cannot say
when or why
perhaps his father's admiration
or was it his mother's apprehension
for them
Leaves of sweet ruby tea
hot ginger pasties
glory of candle skinned ladies
the warm eyes and cold hearts
what lovely cats you have
Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
noses against windows
those of shopkeepers
that smothered
Napoleon
Yes, Avon flows
the timely midnight trains
to a myriad country stations
all the many
noble selfish
ideals
Joy of bright roses
in a small garden below
where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
and hear the City's pride
its mechanical soul
sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
The pot-bellied Mercedes squealed
As Meursault withdrew and
Marvelled at the flames
Licking
The air
Like marigolds on Ritilin.
'Raymond would have no reason not to admire this act.'
He stopped by a shimmering sea of Ubers.
The scrape and drawl of siren made no impression on him.
Leaking smoke reminded him of
Snow White’s Cottage
Where he had taken Marie when Lucie was born:
The place where he would go out at dawn to chop wood.
He liked the way her roses played
With the restlessness of children.
Then he thought: 'if only mother could see me now.'
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
We pulled up in the drive way
If it weren't for my hello kitty flip flops, my feet would've melted into the cracks of the pavement.
Running up to ring the doorbell, and the smell of home rushing through my nose as I am greeted by hugs.
Kicking off my kicks, and letting the beige colored carpet mingle with the bottoms of my feet.
Leaping on to a couch that was stained with strawberry ice cream and memories.
The lace that trailed off the ends of the curtains danced as the breeze from an open winow came to say, "hello."
Splashing in a wading pool while grandma looked through Avon catalouges
sipping lemonade that we made prior, in a Disney Princess Sippy Cup.
I run up the stair into my room; sparkly purple bed sheets cover my bed and I crash.
All snuggled up in an ocean of blankets while everyone else watches the Steelers game downstairs.
As I dose off, half way through a dream filled with pink, grandpa woke me up; he said we were going out for ice cream!
I put on my favorite Little Mermaid shirt on and ran downstairs.
We all pile into an old BMW and start our journey to Sarris.
Nostalgia and city lights fill my eyes with wanderlust.
We park the car and rush to hop in line. When we order our ice cream we sit down in a red diner-hop booth.
Everyone together, MiMi, Papap, Mom, Dad, Victoria, Patty, G-G, and me.
And I don't know if it was eating powdered donuts on Sunday mornings
Or the way that Fresca tasted after eating a happy meal,
but visiting your house
in that small town in Pittsburgh
Is the only way that I can describe "home."
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
*It all started in the town Warwickshire,
within Stratford-upon-Avon
a magician invented a spell
a thaumaturgy from Ovid's
magnum opus and Holinshed Chronicles
that whispered an image
of kings and battles
which turned into a game of bewitchment!
Hail the Globe Theatre
where the throng gathered
and witness the sorcery
ensorcelled by the conjurer
though spell cast into ashes
and turn dreams
into a nightmare
Yet, 'Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.'*
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
'LOVE IS BLIND'?
'Love is blind'?
what nonsense!
then how come we have
'love at first sight'?
Shakespeare in one sentence
had hoodwinked us since 1616
true, he wrote great drama and poetry
but we must note
he didn't study medicine
nor opthalmology
and mind you
we are living in the 21st century
with all the science and technology
surely it would be the greatest folly
to just quote the bard's cliche blindly
the eyes have it
ask the ophthalmologist
without the eyes
the lover would not see
beauty
and as a corollary
how could you love somebody
if in the first instance
you were blind id est--you couldn't see!
careful, so careful we must all be
to differentiate between reality
and the ranting of silly poetry
if this myth were to perpetuate nilly-willy
mankind would look really silly
that would look good not even to the slightest degree
and one more thing
please bear with me
and this is the bard's secret history
he had chancre--venereal ulcer
for which he received treatment
could he have written 'Love is blind'
being affected by that odious malady?
London's brothels he did visit frequently
when he was away from Stratford-upon-Avon
he drank a lot too--there is ample evidence
he also had anasarca (oh mercy!)
result of mercury-related membranous nephropathy
( we shall not defile him further-
but his alopecia was due to treatment of mercury
for his syphilis---what a medical litany!)
in conclusion
we could somehow see
that England's greatest writer
was not as bright as he had been taken to be.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
This body is to narrow to start the concrete picturesque poetry
As a marvelous bright sparkling spring into the pitch black marvel stone
My poems are shallow water running out of time climbing backwards
Shanti dances, Shakti watches, I ride the glossy magenta mountain byke Elementally through the potentially ***** city, gulping two little
flying spoons wwhhpp mhm
of
Brilliant IO Ag
Helth guarantieed on the nulth spelling positive not
Obtrusive politely declined skipped suggestive
Visually objective little pencil box down bellow
friend _ this is blank !
Absolutely! Absoulutely! A ****** stream of no perservatives no ***
Objecting flowery flunder opiates Words grow from
Barriers between insufficient gestures from human
Jazzy left ear leaving laments of sounds incapability to stay
Endlessly entwined and glued together as your soul loves
Tender tactile cats touch on your desperate desert sju++
Ave Gratias Plena Ava Gardner Avon Avion
My throat is not of a managment made suits suiting suitcases
I'm Tired Of Fraternities Or True Females Always Ends Well
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
Mother taught me flight.
Father, hover.
I learned haunt, whine,
bother,
From looking at men
stripped down to their tidies
in those Avon magazines, I found out
I liked them. Look at that paunch.
Also that crotch. And the studio light twinkle
on skin & eyes.
I looked at the ***** You have to know:
this was no sin. I covered my head
with lace antimacassar as I traced
this man’s junk with my fingertips;
I was covered.
Save for that,
I did right by rules,
most of the time.
Scraped knee, split lip,
didn’t cry at those, no,
as so ordered.
We never tell girls this, but did
you know us boys have a rite of passage
supposed to be kept secret? It goes:
Your father takes you to a hardware store.
You ask why, and he only says “this is day,
the mark of the man.” You nod.
He takes you to the aisle
with all the blades:
shears, scissors, awls, ice picks, whatever.
He lets you pick one. He pays for it.
Father takes you home, gives you the cutting tool
of your choice, and tells you to go to the bathroom,
face yourself in the mirror, and
“aim for the tear ducts.”
It’s kept secret because
it doesn’t work. Not always, anyway.
I’ve heard about other boys that missed,
both eyes damaged.
Not all, not all.
My gentle father didn’t:
he bought me Flu Game Air Jordans,
the one with maroon slithering around black.
Boys always got expensive basketball shoes.
I suppose he loved his boy, is all.
Father’s not that bad. Mother, neither.
Only clueless, maybe.
One time I came home too happy,
head-drunk thinking about this schoolboy crush,
and they never knew.
The first time I jacked off I felt the entire sky
strike my pelvis with a typhoon fizz,
and they never knew.
During prom a boy slashed my heart with a
scalpel (his cutting tool?),
and they never knew.
You can’t teach boys some things,
like how to whisper to another boy
when the light is out.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
"Take a throne, we're all royalty here"
Said the Master of Ceremonies to The Peeping Tom, The Spokesperson, The Wretch and The One Man Band
He pulled out the syllabus
It said that each of his colleges must fulfill a duty if they wanted membership into this social club
The One Man Band had to seek out a impudent amputee, a touchy nomad and give them brochures to a day spa
The Spokesperson was asked to to find his inner child, his feminine side and his sensitive side while making good conversation with Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and ask him why he holds a grudge against Bosnia
The Wretch was given the task to sell Avon products to those who looked like death warmed over and sway their urges to burn their candles at both ends
Lastly, the Peeping Tom was told to teach the languid, rough and tumble lipid worshiping people the number line then pass out pamphlets on healthy living
After reviewing their work and the rubric, the Master of Ceremonies congratulated them, they were in
"You will all now be a part of history, figures on this brotherhood's timeline; you fit the bill!"
They all got up as the Wretch footed the bill and went on to go wassailing
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
SHAKESPEARE'S MIND AND ART *
In the memorable words of Ben Jonson,
Shakespeare, the great Bard of Avon,
"Is not of an age,
But for all time."
Endowed with a brilliant mind,
Worldwide knowledge and intuition,
He comprehends the changing trends
And creates enthralling situations.
With his amazing knowledge of man's nature,
Creates admirable, everlasting characters
Like Hamlet, Macbeth, Caesar and King Lear,
Rosalind, Miranda, Shylock and Portia.
Skilful blend of wit, irony and humour,
Youthful merriment, song and dance
As well as poignant scenes of sorrow and remorse.
Dialogues lively, powerful and spontaneous
Enrich all his comic and tragic scenes.
In his inimitable way, he describes -
How "..the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven
And as imagination bodiesforth
The forms of things unknown,
The poet's pen turns to shape
And gives to airy nothing,
A local habitation and a name."
The world cherishes his poems and plays -
A perennial source of delight and solace.
******** M. G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
(Copyright: MGN)
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
There was none of your itsy-bitsy, teenie-weenie bikinis at a fashion show of vintage swimwear in aid of the Cleveland Pools.
The costumes on show on the catwalk at Green Park Station were a much more modest affair, with a lot less flesh on view, and with some very interesting costumes which seemed to amuse the younger audience.
The Vintage Swimwear fashion show celebrated the last 200 years of bathing suits – the pools celebrate their 200th birthday next year.
Costumes from the last two centuries were modelled down the catwalk, with some interesting reactions from the audience, many of them design or fashion students from Bath Spa University.
It was a great turnout according to Sally Helvey from the Cleveland Pools Trust.
"We had a great night, and it really was great fun," she said.
There was a bar and barbecue hosted by Green Park Brasserie, and ice cream from a vintage Humphry van.
The audience also enjoyed a photography booth, and picture and video slideshows.
The Cleveland Pools is the only surviving Georgian Lido in the country, with a beautiful outdoor pool nestling in the back woods by the River Avon near the Bathwick estate.
But it is very derelict and will need millions spent on it before it can be re-opened again to the public. Last summer the trust received the welcome news the amenity is to be granted more than £4 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund, so plans are in place to have the pools restored and open for use again possibly as early as 2017.
A lot more funding needs to be raised to try and match the funds given by the HLF, and the fashion show, organised by Bath Spa student Jenny Brown, was just one of many events being organised over the summer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Oh! The bard of Strataford Avon
You beautifully painted the journey of man
you are the best poet in the world
the poetic muse wrote for you the word
you are the greatest dramatist of all ages
the critics have written pages and pages
your poetry is a sheer joy
even the poetic muse becomes a tiny toy
your wonderful skill is tragedy
but your natural instinct is comedy
your clown speaks wonderful truths
but your king is surrounded by heinous coups
You wrote with a gold pen
And painted the real men and women
I am your true fanatic
You are the world’s greatest critic
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 3:01 AM UTC
Ever since I can remember, Barbara has been coming to our home
With her poofy hair and her powdered cheeks, all in a cloud of pink perfume.
She would speak in the fragile, broken voice of a woman well beyond her years,
And Mother would beckon her cheerfully to sit at the table in our dining room.
With whatever coffee was in the *** and whatever Danish found,
Mother would prepare the table and invite my older sister and I to gather round.
From noon to three they’d gab and chat and flip through the catalogues
That Barbara the Avon Lady had brought.
My sister and I would thumb through glossy, vibrant pages
Of blushes and eye shadows, eyeliners and mascaras.
But I, I would thumb quickly and tire even faster
At the conversation of the table that awaited me, inevitably, after.
With feigned interest, I would sit there a bit
And watch as my older sister would, more patiently, fake it.
I’d grab a cookie and then leave
Mother with her checkbook and her bitter black coffee,
Barbara with her perfume cloud and cheeks all porcelain powdery,
And my sister, with her blonde hair, which was just like mine,
But which tried, much harder to grow much faster.
Yes I would flounce away with my neck-length locks,
And go play with my younger brother.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
Laughter reaches new bounds
When you ask/ax me
" do I have pasketti on my face?"
Like a wild aminal you crawl
Over and smear that pasketti
On my cheeks
Like 60's rouge
Never meant to leave the Avon catalog.
cute comf-ta-ble sweaters
Swath lithe body like soft down
Byrds outside singing
Dancing in green foil-age.
Go join them,
Eyes chatoyant and comely.
With pasketti still on your face
You chirp like them byrds,
Such ebullience fits in with the robins.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
I want to see lady to ladette
set in Baltimore
with Omar teaching drug theft
with the finer points of gun cleaning
calibre selection and event planning
as his curricula.
I want Jimmy and Bunk
teaching the dos and don’ts
of alcohol intoxication
the art of shot and stubbie mix
the singing and drinking anthems
to stir the blood
and the strategic gutter chuck
before the final whisky chaser.
I want those girls out on the corners
playing police bingo
speaking drug lingo
and developing their drug-fuelled irony
of WMB, the Icicle and Pandemic.
I want Clay to teach them elocution
and elongation in the word “Shiiiiiiit”
I want Avon Barnsdale to teach them gangster codes
of respect on Sundays for stoop people
and Sunday crowns
on everybody’s grandmother.
I want Kima to discuss sexuality
and the Other
I want them to talk change and reform
with Cutty, Colvin and Prez.
Daniels will show how love and loyalty
can be made to work in reality.
And I just want
I only want
Stringer
for myself.
© M.L.Emmett
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Following the bloodstains home,
we tread the land with bristled soles,
to cleanse the souls of the wide-eyed youth,
spectacular fireworks to alter the truth,
tar the land, and pepper the streets,
concrete the corner where strangers meet,
the placebo joy of the modern life,
left vacant in the money-man's wake,
a cardboard lot left to decay,
oh, this is my Britain of today.
The newsrooms are clinical,
policies in place to reduce moral outrage,
to reduce it to a hysterical mess,
a cartoon-disaster of life's distress,
so the public in fear, exist but not live,
to fight the recession; you must give, give, give,
give, your life to your freedom
to live without choice,
you can sign a slip,
to mimic a voice
and to ensure the vow of regular pay,
oh, this is my Britain of today.
A history of salvation,
we lend heroes to established truth,
we parade on corners in our concrete joy,
rejoice in the miracle of the new royal boy,
who shall live in fat, and live in health,
sacred tender to the country's wealth,
of empire and power of totalities,
of stone-walled cities,
and Northern breeze,
the Jack tattooed on imperial flags,
oh, this is my Britain of today.
A stream of entertainment,
how it pounds the floor in seamless sound,
how it drizzles the walls in a trophy glitz,
a hypnotic and false, synthetic blitz,
of caffeine veins, and digital sea,
of attention-span in atrophy.
Wait not on thoughts, instead mind-chatter,
you say “don't talk on dark topic,
and keep depth away!”
oh, this is my Britain of today.
Following the apathy home,
I tread the land in heavy-worn soles,
to cleanse my soul of restricted air,
to dream of travel, to fortunes fair,
but in this bliss of a greener grass;
it is for Britain I hold communal mass.
For each Blair, I know, is a Rupert Brooke,
each levelled city, there's Wilfred's book,
or some Dickensian dream of caricatured past,
where only tyranny is built to last,
for each liberty taken, is Huxley's piece,
is Lessing's thoughts and Shelley's release,
and the meander of Avon through grey rain,
adds desperate poetry for the lives still slain,
so we can live in peace, and in sugared tea,
with red wine lips on the periphery;
in those day's hard living,
in those days' worth spent,
with only a book
and blood descent,
the community dances in the advent of May,
oh, this is my Britain of yesterday.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Only a fence between the Avon Railyard and my haven:
I lived in her for those good years.
Dark grey blue sides and a white skirt kissing the green weeds,
tugging at her ankles tightly.
New hours, beautifully lit by the light of my television,
were dark, bitter like my fatherʼs coffee,
and sweet as the chocolate milk he mixed for me.
Bowed chords in the treble from rails on wheels of metal,
their songs still steal my breath and remake memories.
I swayed, swooning to sounds of our trains, but
only tunes remain—
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
William Shakespeare - baptized in 26 April 1564, was an English poet, playwright and actor, widely considered as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon".
His extant works, including some collaboration, consist of about 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, two epitaphs on a man named John Combe, one epitaph on Elias James, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.
If you want to learn and know more about William Shakespeare’s bio, history and best works, please go visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare
One of the best poems of William Shakespeare:
Carpe Diem
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey's end in lovers' meeting--
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,--
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC