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A governor it was proclaimed this time,
When all who would come seeking in New Hampshire
Ancestral memories might come together.
And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,
A rock-strewn town where farming has fallen off,
And sprout-lands flourish where the axe has gone.
Someone had literally run to earth
In an old cellar hole in a by-road
The origin of all the family there.
Thence they were sprung, so numerous a tribe
That now not all the houses left in town
Made shift to shelter them without the help
Of here and there a tent in grove and orchard.
They were at Bow, but that was not enough:
Nothing would do but they must fix a day
To stand together on the crater’s verge
That turned them on the world, and try to fathom
The past and get some strangeness out of it.
But rain spoiled all. The day began uncertain,
With clouds low trailing and moments of rain that misted.
The young folk held some hope out to each other
Till well toward noon when the storm settled down
With a swish in the grass. “What if the others
Are there,” they said. “It isn’t going to rain.”
Only one from a farm not far away
Strolled thither, not expecting he would find
Anyone else, but out of idleness.
One, and one other, yes, for there were two.
The second round the curving hillside road
Was a girl; and she halted some way off
To reconnoitre, and then made up her mind
At least to pass by and see who he was,
And perhaps hear some word about the weather.
This was some Stark she didn’t know. He nodded.
“No fête to-day,” he said.

“It looks that way.”
She swept the heavens, turning on her heel.
“I only idled down.”

“I idled down.”

Provision there had been for just such meeting
Of stranger cousins, in a family tree
Drawn on a sort of passport with the branch
Of the one bearing it done in detail—
Some zealous one’s laborious device.
She made a sudden movement toward her bodice,
As one who clasps her heart. They laughed together.
“Stark?” he inquired. “No matter for the proof.”

“Yes, Stark. And you?”

“I’m Stark.” He drew his passport.

“You know we might not be and still be cousins:
The town is full of Chases, Lowes, and Baileys,
All claiming some priority in Starkness.
My mother was a Lane, yet might have married
Anyone upon earth and still her children
Would have been Starks, and doubtless here to-day.”

“You riddle with your genealogy
Like a Viola. I don’t follow you.”

“I only mean my mother was a Stark
Several times over, and by marrying father
No more than brought us back into the name.”

“One ought not to be thrown into confusion
By a plain statement of relationship,
But I own what you say makes my head spin.
You take my card—you seem so good at such things—
And see if you can reckon our cousinship.
Why not take seats here on the cellar wall
And dangle feet among the raspberry vines?”

“Under the shelter of the family tree.”

“Just so—that ought to be enough protection.”

“Not from the rain. I think it’s going to rain.”

“It’s raining.”

“No, it’s misting; let’s be fair.
Does the rain seem to you to cool the eyes?”

The situation was like this: the road
Bowed outward on the mountain half-way up,
And disappeared and ended not far off.
No one went home that way. The only house
Beyond where they were was a shattered seedpod.
And below roared a brook hidden in trees,
The sound of which was silence for the place.
This he sat listening to till she gave judgment.

“On father’s side, it seems, we’re—let me see——”

“Don’t be too technical.—You have three cards.”

“Four cards, one yours, three mine, one for each branch
Of the Stark family I’m a member of.”

“D’you know a person so related to herself
Is supposed to be mad.”

“I may be mad.”

“You look so, sitting out here in the rain
Studying genealogy with me
You never saw before. What will we come to
With all this pride of ancestry, we Yankees?
I think we’re all mad. Tell me why we’re here
Drawn into town about this cellar hole
Like wild geese on a lake before a storm?
What do we see in such a hole, I wonder.”

“The Indians had a myth of Chicamoztoc,
Which means The Seven Caves that We Came out of.
This is the pit from which we Starks were digged.”

“You must be learned. That’s what you see in it?”

“And what do you see?”

“Yes, what do I see?
First let me look. I see raspberry vines——”

“Oh, if you’re going to use your eyes, just hear
What I see. It’s a little, little boy,
As pale and dim as a match flame in the sun;
He’s groping in the cellar after jam,
He thinks it’s dark and it’s flooded with daylight.”

“He’s nothing. Listen. When I lean like this
I can make out old Grandsir Stark distinctly,—
With his pipe in his mouth and his brown jug—
Bless you, it isn’t Grandsir Stark, it’s Granny,
But the pipe’s there and smoking and the jug.
She’s after cider, the old girl, she’s thirsty;
Here’s hoping she gets her drink and gets out safely.”

“Tell me about her. Does she look like me?”

“She should, shouldn’t she, you’re so many times
Over descended from her. I believe
She does look like you. Stay the way you are.
The nose is just the same, and so’s the chin—
Making allowance, making due allowance.”

“You poor, dear, great, great, great, great Granny!”

“See that you get her greatness right. Don’t stint her.”

“Yes, it’s important, though you think it isn’t.
I won’t be teased. But see how wet I am.”

“Yes, you must go; we can’t stay here for ever.
But wait until I give you a hand up.
A bead of silver water more or less
Strung on your hair won’t hurt your summer looks.
I wanted to try something with the noise
That the brook raises in the empty valley.
We have seen visions—now consult the voices.
Something I must have learned riding in trains
When I was young. I used the roar
To set the voices speaking out of it,
Speaking or singing, and the band-music playing.
Perhaps you have the art of what I mean.
I’ve never listened in among the sounds
That a brook makes in such a wild descent.
It ought to give a purer oracle.”

“It’s as you throw a picture on a screen:
The meaning of it all is out of you;
The voices give you what you wish to hear.”

“Strangely, it’s anything they wish to give.”

“Then I don’t know. It must be strange enough.
I wonder if it’s not your make-believe.
What do you think you’re like to hear to-day?”

“From the sense of our having been together—
But why take time for what I’m like to hear?
I’ll tell you what the voices really say.
You will do very well right where you are
A little longer. I mustn’t feel too hurried,
Or I can’t give myself to hear the voices.”

“Is this some trance you are withdrawing into?”

“You must be very still; you mustn’t talk.”

“I’ll hardly breathe.”

“The voices seem to say——”

“I’m waiting.”

“Don’t! The voices seem to say:
Call her Nausicaa, the unafraid
Of an acquaintance made adventurously.”

“I let you say that—on consideration.”

“I don’t see very well how you can help it.
You want the truth. I speak but by the voices.
You see they know I haven’t had your name,
Though what a name should matter between us——”

“I shall suspect——”

“Be good. The voices say:
Call her Nausicaa, and take a timber
That you shall find lies in the cellar charred
Among the raspberries, and hew and shape it
For a door-sill or other corner piece
In a new cottage on the ancient spot.
The life is not yet all gone out of it.
And come and make your summer dwelling here,
And perhaps she will come, still unafraid,
And sit before you in the open door
With flowers in her lap until they fade,
But not come in across the sacred sill——”

“I wonder where your oracle is tending.
You can see that there’s something wrong with it,
Or it would speak in dialect. Whose voice
Does it purport to speak in? Not old Grandsir’s
Nor Granny’s, surely. Call up one of them.
They have best right to be heard in this place.”

“You seem so partial to our great-grandmother
(Nine times removed. Correct me if I err.)
You will be likely to regard as sacred
Anything she may say. But let me warn you,
Folks in her day were given to plain speaking.
You think you’d best tempt her at such a time?”

“It rests with us always to cut her off.”

“Well then, it’s Granny speaking: ‘I dunnow!
Mebbe I’m wrong to take it as I do.
There ain’t no names quite like the old ones though,
Nor never will be to my way of thinking.
One mustn’t bear too ******* the new comers,
But there’s a dite too many of them for comfort.
I should feel easier if I could see
More of the salt wherewith they’re to be salted.
Son, you do as you’re told! You take the timber—
It’s as sound as the day when it was cut—
And begin over——’ There, she’d better stop.
You can see what is troubling Granny, though.
But don’t you think we sometimes make too much
Of the old stock? What counts is the ideals,
And those will bear some keeping still about.”

“I can see we are going to be good friends.”

“I like your ‘going to be.’ You said just now
It’s going to rain.”

“I know, and it was raining.
I let you say all that. But I must go now.”

“You let me say it? on consideration?
How shall we say good-bye in such a case?”

“How shall we?”

“Will you leave the way to me?”

“No, I don’t trust your eyes. You’ve said enough.
Now give me your hand up.—Pick me that flower.”

“Where shall we meet again?”

“Nowhere but here
Once more before we meet elsewhere.”

“In rain?”

“It ought to be in rain. Sometime in rain.
In rain to-morrow, shall we, if it rains?
But if we must, in sunshine.” So she went.
Devi85 Jan 2018
Picture the scene.

You are a waitress. You've been in the job eight months.
Your manager Marie spends her breaks chain smoking often getting through 3 in quick succession whilst she broadcasts the minute details of her woeful life as if rehearsing for her sob-story performance that will propel her to the next stage of the X-Factor auditions. Whilst you hold a certain amount of disdain for Marie, so unwilling to make the changes to help herself, you admire her ability to keep mental score of those pulling their weight in the bar. This is something that comes into play with holiday requests and favourable rotas; Marie is nothing but fair and will not play favourites with the staff. Still Marie is not on shift tonight, so there has been little need to keep up the false smile and can-do attitude. It's a Wednesday, 9pm and it's been a slow night.

Too far from the suburbs to be thought of by anyone as a local yet not quite within the reach of the city to be an after-work haunt. A bar such as this doesn't have regulars instead relying on the whims of passers-by. Through the glass door pane you spot an older gentleman making his way into the bar. You look him over trying to anticipate his drink order. Ageing hippy, perhaps a biker. He has a long beard and is dressed in clothes that suggest comfort over style. A real ale drinker. You run through the guest ales in your head in anticipation of inquiry of flavour notes, alcohol percentages and a recommendation which will immediately be disregarded.

He orders a Baileys; every so often they throw you a curve ball. He asks for a tab to be set up. This isn't something that is usually done. Marie wouldn't go for it, but it's a quiet night and middle-aged alternative guys in your experience aren't the type to run out, particularly those ordering Baileys. You decide to go with it, maybe there'll be  tip in it for you. You casually watch him as he sets up in the far corner of the bar. With customers sparse sometimes all you have is people watching to pass the time. You try to work out his character. You were way off with your guess of his drink order and try to piece together the story that could somehow reconcile his appearance with his choice of drink. Bar staff, waitresses... is it really so different from psychologist. You ponder on this and discern that you are a people person, not because you're sociable but because you are interested in people.

The evening grinds on. You check your phone for messages, more for something to do than any expectation that there will be any. You lock your phone before it registers that you never noted the time and concede a sigh of defeat as you check again. 10:02. Hippy man has ordered two more drinks since he first entered. No-one else has joined him in this time. Stood-up for a date or was his intention to head here for a solitary drink? Is he escaping from something? After all drinking at home is a much cheaper alternative and he can hardly be here for the joviality of the empty bar. You continue to play detective, if only you could be debriefed after each shift and uncover how close to the truth you were.

It's as if your thoughts have probed too deep and become tangible, he seem conscious of your musings as he's looks over. You begin to feel ashamed at having being caught out before your rational mind kicks in and you realise he is simply catching your eye to settle up. Daydreaming is dangerous when you have an over-active imagination. He approaches the bar and hands over his card to pay. You notice the name on the card, Bill Bailey, and his face forms an image of familiarity as you suddenly recognise his face from tv panel shows. The transaction goes through and you pull the printed paper from the till. You smile somewhat sheepishly and then hand over the receipt for Bill Bailey's baileys bill.
Not a poem but not long enough to be a story either. Just an absent minded musing
Harsh Sep 2012
I feel drunk all the time.

You are on my mind like a sweet hangover [if such a thing is possible].
Oh, but it must be. Your eyes, the colour of dark Amaretto, I could stare
at them intensely, casually, aimlessly, eternally, until I'm completely drowning
in your bitter sweet gaze.

Just thinking of you literally makes my heart flutter. I can feel
this giant ache, a longing perhaps pulling my heart in multiple directions.
Every single alarm bell in my brain is going off and I know
this has to stop specially since it never began, and even when I can
actually taste the foreseen heartbreak like the smell of cheap *****, I still
crave for you, the alcoholic I am.

I want to savour you as I would a glass of Baileys on a summer evening.
But right now I frankly don't care. Give it to me as a single shot of Absynth,
and I'll down it in one go, because

Baby, I'm addicted to you!
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 02/09/2011]
Quentin Briscoe Mar 2012
With my fiddle I play...
and My Mug I shall drink...
with My feet i will dance...
and My mind shall not think...
I will sing of good times of now and of then...
and celebrate life with the bestest of men...
O'Charlie O'Malley and Jamison brew...
Baileys O'Reilly and a guinness or two...
Through out the day and in to the night....
No worries today to drunk for a fight...
St.Patty is here..
Now grab me a beer!!!
Francie Lynch Nov 2014
For the weekest,
Meekest, lonely
And afriad;
Understand attention
Must be paid.
Offer a hand,
Help carry their weight,
Be sincere
On your first date;
Request true friendship on FB,
Get the Baileys, share your tea;
Turn on a light for the old,
Give a coat to the cold.
Don't just shake,
Embrace and hold.
Create you own way
To convey,
Serious attention
Must be paid.
Georgina Ann Jul 2011
I was wearing stale cream lace
that used to be white,
drinking watered-down baileys
with too much ice.


My neck was wrapped in pearls
when I told you;
"Maybe later I'll show you my tattoos"

So you grabbed my wrist
a little too tight,
and let me waste your time.

You swept me to the dance floor
and guided me through
the choreography of our vibes.

You asked me to take my make-up off
and shimmy across your center fold.

So I looked you up
and lay you down
and happily obliged.
Sam Temple Nov 2015
Garibaldi with a hot tub
Dear friends and chilled drinks
As we celebrate another harvest in the books
And the comradery shared
The double dozen produced
Like nobody’s business  
Leaving with a bumper and the potential
To fast forward two years of payments

Another Baileys and ice for me, thanks

Soft footfalls in the hallway
Another flavor to savor the way that your
Grandmother asked you to chew longer
In the autumn on the veranda…. Or whatever:
I crack the jar and am met with a blast
Fresh smelling, properly cured,
Green, and beautiful
Did I mention effective?
we puff and pass and laugh
sharing these moments of triumph
enjoying each other’s company
on a clear and cool night
along the Oregon Coast –
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
i just love the monday gray sky, mixing nicotine phlegm cough-up roughage taking part of my larynx and the oesophagus wall off while drinking coffee and melted hazelnut flavoured ice-cream (baileys).*

european languages tend to stress an atomised syllables,
therefore encouraging a “cheating” mechanisation of the tongue,
don’t get me wrong, due to the lack of diacritic
in english, we have a wide diversity of accents,
no scot would say a posh yes,  but rather say aye
like a pirate to a squire in a top hat...
the asiatic languages tend to twin letters rather than breed them
as unique and segregational, but then come across the problem
of outspoken dyslexia: cat ketchup.
the asiatic countries solved the matter in the rubric:

ni               in
hon            noh
ar               ra
el                le
po              op

hence so much grammatical schrapnel in european languages,
the prepositions and the conjunctions etc.
it’s no wonder the complexity of compounding H or He or O
within CO2 or H2 or EtOH is necessary as is pictographic
representation in mandarin;
but it does make the european languages very musical,
actually that's what defines european languages
their musicology is due to phonetic approximation
of their characters a - z, alas if that were the sole +
on the matter... it's also a strand of languages
that fakes concerns, lies, and sees a quick gain
crafting a breed of ohs and zeros in the millions
for no apparent reason other than self-promotion,
white snail caviar pearl chandeliers ritzy champagne and yachts;
no wonder we have a second alphabet! i.e.
onomatopoeia /ˌɒnəˌmætəˈpiːə/.
Dark n Beautiful Dec 2021
Three months ago, I never had any thoughts

About, love, loving someone, or being in love,

They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!”
― C. JoyBell C.

If I was to tell you that I saw a rose blooming in the heart of winter

No one would believe me, that love struggling to stay afloat.

Perhaps, the rose is here to remind us, of something, we’ve have forgotten

During the summer's months, (like did we stop and smell the roses)? Such cliché indeed)

I never thought of the rose, until two days ago, when I told my friend about

That single rose I uses to get ever 6th of the month:

That too had stopped when our love for each other was dying like the rose:

However, the memory is still here, did I appreciated the rose gestures on the months

Yes, I did, I felt love, I felt the warmth inside.

It seems like I am going to be alone once again for Christmas

But I will think of that single rose,

I will drink my eggnog, and baileys Irish Cream

But will not bake my goose, but I will relive

Past memories, my mistletoe kiss will have to wait,

And disguise my disappointment like a true trooper:

(Laughter brings many positive qualities into the world and into human relationships.) quote

I am now seeing, why a laugh, a smile, a body gesture

Can make a person feel so good inside,

When he smiles at me:  

And it's because, I open my heart, once again:
Warren Jul 2017
Year 1

To look back now, I see we’ve come so far,
Our first year seems so very long ago.
But like those packing peanuts in my car,
The memories, from me, will never go.

The first year brought some questions and some doubts
Would I see war? Did I know how to clean?
But one thing we were ever sure about,
“I love you,” was a thing we’d always mean.

In that first year so much was still unknown,
We had a lot to figure out (still do)
But I was glad to forge the path now shown,
Because I would be taking it with you.

To say that I am glad that we are wed:
No truer statement ever has been said.



Year 2

No truer statement ever has been said:
My love for you has never ceased to grow.
I thought I’d known what love meant, but instead,
Our second year showed there was more to know.

As we began to settle into life,
You learned you had to tell me what you wish.
You showed me what it meant to love a wife,
And sometimes that just meant to clean a dish.

Those first few confrontations were a chore,
You were not used to speaking out your mind.
But as you opened up I welcomed more,
Learning to serve you, I could get behind.

Throughout our second year truth was the star,
We’ve ever grown to come to where we are.



Year 3

We’ve ever grown to come to where we are,
Our third year brought some changes of its own.
I started teaching; stopped selling cigars,
And that’s the year that we bought our first home.

Some bricks and mortar, walls and carpeting,
Have no real meaning when they’re left alone.
But you could turn that cold unliving thing,
Into a place we proudly called our home.

We painted rooms, changed lights, I “flipped the deck.”
You decorated with such love and care.
We made the space our own, each little speck
But really it was “home” ‘*** you were there.

And as into our fourth year we were led,
We had some plans, but followed God’s instead.



Year 4

We had some plans, but followed God’s instead,
We both had jobs; we wanted kids but when?
And after all, you liked to plan ahead,
So we said “wait” and God said “Think again.”

Despite our planning and some science too,
We found that our “two” soon would become “three”
I was delighted, quickly so were you,
(After a few stunned tears were shed on me.)

Throughout our lives, we’ve ever sought control,
And God has said, “No, I’ll take it from here.”
Once we relinquish and make Him our goal,
That His way’s better always soon comes clear.

And with the first of four sent like a dove,
Our family’s grown in number and in love.



Year 5

Our family’s grown in number and in love,
Each daughter born, another to hold dear.
But more than just our kids sent from above,
Our friends are family too, that much is clear.

Sometimes we take the time to think things through
We talk, we pray, we plan, we do the work.
We do not make the call unless it’s true,
But then sometimes we up and move to York.

When we moved here, it wasn’t too clear why,
And yet, despite that, God was in the move.
He blessed us with true friends, both you and I,
Who’ve helped us both our marriage to improve.

Year five left us more than a house to show,
With friendships that have watched and helped us grow.



Year 6

With friendships that have watched and helped us grow,
We’ve learned to trust in God, and His good plan.
And though what was to come we did not know,
He was still sovereign, we’d soon understand.

We had one child; we knew we wanted more,
But thought that we should wait a little while.
And yet, despite our plans, just as before,
We were surprised again, as was God’s style.

This second gift from God, as with the first,
Came to us sooner than we’d thought was wise.
But here again, a line we’d well-rehearsed,
Though often us, nothing could God surprise.

As He has o’er and o’er displayed His love,
Our faith has ever grown in God above.



Year 7

Our faith has ever grown in God above,
As of his love and care we’ve been assured.
And understanding what it means to love,
Has grown as through some changes we’ve endured.

One thing that’s changed a lot over the years,
My jobs (my resumé is very long).
But even as I’ve changed jobs and careers,
Your love and your respect have remained strong.

As I have tried and tried to find my place,
And tried again only to soon abort,
One thing that’s ever with me in the race,
Is knowing I can count on your support.

No matter what may change I’m fine, I know,
With your respect a shelter when winds blow.



Year 8

With your respect a shelter when winds blow,
We’ve weathered though some storms caused us to lurch.
And through this trip to where we do not know,
We’ve had the steadfast anchor of our church.

Year eight began and found us once again,
Embarking on a new uncharted course.
We joined a group of young ladies and men,
To plant a church; we started with such force.

Over the years, people have come and gone,
The church has seen its share of pain and strife.
But one thing that has helped me struggle on,
Is doing so united with my wife.

While through it all few things have stayed the same.
God’s taught us to rely on His great name.



Year 9

God’s taught us to rely on His great name,
A lesson sometimes difficult to learn.
One thing that’s taught us how His grace to claim,
Is our four daughters, each a gift in turn.

Our girls are treasures, precious to behold.
They love to dance and sing, they love the arts,
They love to hear our families’ tales retold,
And like all Baileys, always laugh at farts.

But it’s not all rainbows and butterflies,
We struggle to stay patient with their sin.
But if we see them through the Father’s eyes,
The grace He’s shown to us flows from within.

Our daughters bring us joy, too much to tell,
As we have sought to raise our family well.



Year 10

As we have sought to raise our family well,
Our life has taken many twists and turns.
At ten years in, so much to us befell,
And there was much of marriage we had learned.

When newly married, friends had said to us,
As we were struggling to make it through,
“When ten years married, then you will adjust.”
Their words, though hard-heard then, have proven true.

In early years we tried to figure out,
Just what it meant to truly love someone.
But now our love was true, we had no doubt.
Although we know the work is never done.

Since then our marriage hasn’t been the same,
With sacrifice and love to fan the flame.



Year 11

With sacrifice and love to fan the flame,
Our marriage is a beacon in the night.
And so when challenges at work soon came,
I knew with you I could withstand the fight.

I thought I’d known what God called me to be,
An educator in “the good and true.”
But soon it was quite clear for us to see,
That God was calling me to something new.

So much of me had been wrapped up inside,
Of education and the parts therein.
You helped me see while walking by my side,
Identity is not in work, but Him.

Through struggles and when things are going well,
Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell.



Year 12

Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell,
The triumphs that we’ve shared along the way,
And our fair share of challenges as well,
Have made our marriage what it is today.

At some point when we took a look around,
We realized ours was not the newest love.
We helped some younger couples and we found
That giving counsel fit us like a glove.

Pre-marriage counsel’s caused me to reflect,
On how far we have come in these few years.
We’ve ever grown in love and in respect,
And though not easy, I that growth hold dear.

And so, the good and bad, the thick and thin,
I’d gladly go through all these years again.



Year 13

I’d gladly go through all these years again,
Despite the bumps we’ve had along this ride.
I’d face the worst of it and shout “Amen!”
So long as I can do so by your side.

Some struggles I have faced have been unique,
Not from the outside but from ghosts within.
But when my melancholy makes me weak,
I feel your love and find some strength therein.

Though darkness seeks to overtake my mind,
And drown me in a sea of fears and doubt,
I look above the surface and I find,
You ready stand on shore to pull me out.

I’ll gladly see this journey to its end,
With you my bride, my life, my love, my friend.



Year 14

With you my bride, my life, my love, my friend,
I’ve seen how sweet a person’s life can get.
But looking on this last year, I contend,
That God had more of trust to teach us yet.

In one sense, this has been our hardest year:
Heart surgery, sickness, and broken bones.
And yet despite it all we’ve never feared,
Because we were not facing it alone.

“Better or Worse?” was asked, we said “I do.”
And through this “worse” year, that’s still my reply.
Each challenge has the lesson taught anew,
To on each other and on God rely.

And though this year has left us with some scars,
To look back now, I see we’ve come so far.



Year 15

To look back now, I see we’ve come so far.
No truer statement ever has been said.
We’ve ever grown to come to where we are,
We had some plans, but followed God’s instead.

Our family’s grown in number and in love,
With friendships that have watched and helped us grow.
Our faith has ever grown in God above,
With your respect a shelter when winds blow.

God’s taught us to rely on His great name,
As we have sought to raise our family well.
With sacrifice and love to fan the flame,
Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell.

I’d gladly go through all these years again,
With you, my bride, my life, my love, my friend.
Taliesin Jan 2019
The sick green lights are off.
The takeaway was eaten
hours ago it seems.
The bottles are half empty.
The hourglass half full.
The clock is reading: TWO AM.
The movie is boring, she paces
across the room, crushing wrapping paper beneath her feet.
Her lover is upstairs, sleeping soundly,
she will leave before the week
is up, and the moments…
Every second a knocking.
Every minute a nail.
There's some baileys on the mantelpiece
it tastes strong and long and sweet.
She turns the fairy lights back on
and basks in Christmas Day.
The Fire Burns Nov 2016
On weekends, mixed in my coffee cup
Amaretto
Kahlua
Baileys Irish Creme
sometimes even Jack or Jim Beam

Usually black, though, for the day to day
my boss looks down on drinking at work
and I have bills to pay

Glorious, as it burns down my throat
a few minutes later the caffeine kicks in
and I am fueled up for the day
Time to be productive and earn my way

At Christmas a bit of eggnog
into my morning brew
It gets me in the spirit
to bite off what I need to chew

Summertime evenings
you'll never guess
a scoop of vanilla ice cream
is simply the best
Donall Dempsey Dec 2017
THE LONG HELLO


I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.
Zemyachis Nov 2014
When I think of litos and I am sleepy...
The feelings I feel are about the same
As when I see pictures of baby bunnies snuggling
And I want to race to embrace
Your face in Cali
SO HARD
The hardest of the snuggles
Like hot cocoa with marshmallows and baileys
Cept I don't need the cocoa cuz
I'm cuckoo for cocopuffs in milk
That's you!
Brown and Sweet.
And I promise not to eat you if you feed me.
<3
Berry Blue Aug 2019
Pressed labels against the glass read
Chocolate, hazelnut, coffee, strawberry, and vanilla.
Two scoops of berry
Two scoops of coffee
Ice cream is sweet. Ice cream is fun.
I scream I love
Ice cream!!!!!
Its all just for fun.
With a hesitant voice and a warm hand
I propose to you
It might be time to leave the ice cream parlor.

Oh but
where would we go?
Soon we'll surely know
We'll go to a new place.
The safe place the one that burns real slow.
Truly, to warm and burn is much more exciting than to cool and freeze.
Trust me you'll like it
Nobody eats ice cream for the brain freeze.

Heat up your thoughts and we'll go on next door.
For here we'll get too cold.
Or maybe
its time to knock on the door of those who think they love you most.

How vanilla

I know what you'll say
"you think too much. stop it."
but I won't
I'll say
"you drink too much. stop it."
but you wont

If we stay promise me you'll pace yourself when you eat ice cream.
I'll add a shot of baileys for your liking.

Real talk
sugar aside
It's not power.
Its the rage of love.
Its the will to do.

Pace yourself when you eat the ice cream and focus on its sweet.
Tell me how sweet is too sweet?
DO YOU EVEN LIKE SWEET?
BEAUSE i love you
i mean i love sweet.
October 2018
Tim Emminger Mar 2021
Follow the rainbow
Find a *** of gold
St. Patrick’s Day is here
Put on your green and gold

You don’t have to be Irish
Just wear something green
Have yourself a Guinness
Some Baileys Irish Cream
Or Jameson Irish whiskey

Check out the Chicago River
As it turns green
Only on St Patrick’s Day
Can this be seen

This year there will be no Irish parade
But you can find an Irish Pub
And have a green beer to start you day

Belt out a verse of
My Wild Irish Rose or
My Irish Eyes Are Smiling
On St Patrick’s Day
Everyone in Irish
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
what will ******* any man...
  it starts with
   a bowl of watermelon, diced,
taken from the fridge,
followed by
    mixing a rasberry & passion fruit
yoghurt with a pint of milk,
pixed with a knife,
  gulped down ferally...
what?! you know any healthier
milkshake alternative?
  that's not the part where a man
will become *******,
that part is reserved for a glass of
baileys irish cream on ice...
  after about 30 minutes,
  and the man gets a tip-tongue-taste
of the 17% blush...
  he starts thinking...
what am i, a woman, drinking
this *******?!
                   now i'm mad...
it's as if ******* at the ******
  of kali... asking:
                   where's prithvi?!
so the man does what a man
always did...
   he cools off his anger by turning
to the ***;
   well, that's breakfast for you.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.
(a stout rendition of O Captain! My Captain!
Perfect rhythmic rhyme with tonic
when the doth ale).

Mine eyes espy the glory per the ending
of another work day beckon Baileys Irish Creme
with Absolut certainty that Fireball named Brandy
the Patron Crown Royal abets dream
quest proof positive to expunge stressful Boss
distilling this cooked Grey Goose a gleam
with nary a clue how my ceaseless toiling efforts
play within the lager corporation scheme
assigning exemplary skills and talents within
what appears to be a ******* up losing team.

No exit out this grueling
twenty first century rat trap
when The Chips Are Down,
whereby Scotch chief en gin that air
except to drawn displeasure
and wallow in sorrows
downing ***** or house brand beer
despite  drunken state
erodes axons and synapses
snap like chattering teeth of broken gear
quickly cause tenuous grasp on queasy reality,
sanity, and tenacity rent asunder and tear.

Now that work day done
at long last, not a moment
to tally date with Jack Daniels to delay
this linkedin the conga line wants to wash away
sounds of barked orders *** bling – may
king me insides writhing
with anger as if type cast
in diabolical formidable, horrible play
whereby each active scene increases assistance
for Johnny Walker to glide and sashay.

Argh, how those last remaining minutes to escape
hubbub tick away at the pace of a snail
to these myopic eyes, which suspect manager
surreptitiously turns back clock hands male
lush hiss lee deliberately toys with sanity, thus
seek counsel from Jimmy Beam without fail
when super tramping head honcho will cease
cheap trick renouncing cruel act with ale.

Without schmaltz, Hops, skips and jumps
inebriation welcomes me by rendering taps
receding thoughts of being bound, cramped,  
and emulsified in dark cubicle Schnapps
as if invisible taut cord tears into virtual tatters
and this life of Wry lee loosed like *****
from shredded material trailing a tail that
rivals tales of Aesop's.

That  ambler liquid of the gods soothes palate
and tongue helps a  comfortably numb
feeling to settles within thine body electric
dulling the senses with heavy eyelids plum
met to close shut tight riding the wave of ecstasy,
reflecting about dad and late mum
though come the morrow, a hangover with
sensation akin to Gunter Grass
loud internal tin drum.

Upon rising sober with total amnesia sans
pandering as a buffoon
realizing fallacious gimcrackery while ensconced
in fermented cocoon
an email fried off from the top dog quickly
reminded yours truly how I did goon
off the rails, perhaps cuz of living within
a trackless caboose
August sized wife named June
adept at belting out
and playing Claire de lune.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2023
THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finished! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.
Let's go far away on the night train
We'll make beautiful memories
And have dinner with the Baileys
With a blend of honey of course...

You're not a fan of natives so we'll take origin off the list
Let's get high on life accompanied by chelsea
Listen to some midnight blues
Maybe that'll give you a bit of the spin...

I'll really love to be with you on trips to colorado
But ****!! That city is just too big to visit...

I promise not to get too naughty
But I'll eat you at my best and **** in all the cream.
You're princess and your beauty crowns my staff
So please let me drive you to Virginia in a golden circle...

— The End —