"bernadette" poems
...Sky Isa Love!!!!
THAT IS ALL!!!!!!!!!
BILL WITHERS - LEAN ON ME LYRICS
http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v;=JR0NZqu6igg
Lean On Me (Live) From a 1973 Concert
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Wpof8s5ZTg
Love potion number 9, The Searchers
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rXhXLsNJL8
White Wine In The Sun by Tim Minchin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Q
MOTOWN MAGIC!!!!!!
Sa Sa Go Go Go
BEST OF MOTOWN....BREATHE...Sky Isa Love
I Can't Get Next To You, Psychedelic Shack (the Temptations),
Bernadette (The Four Tops),
Everyday People (Sly & The Family),
I just Called To Say I Love You (Stevie Wonder)
Ain't Too Proud To Beg (The Temptations),
Back In My Arms Again (The Supremes)
Build Me Up Buttercup (The Foundations)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=--jWPzNNdN4
Best Of Motown Part 2 Video Mix of;
My Cherie Amour (Stevie Wonder),
I'm Gonna Make You Love Me (Diana Ross & The Supremes with the Temptations),
What's Going On (Marvin Gaye)
Love Child (Diana Ross & The Supremes),
Runaway Child Running Wild (The Temptations),
For Once In My Life (Stevie Wonder},
I'm Losing You (The Temptations),
What Does It Takes (Jr Walker & The All Stars),
Stop In The Name Of Love (Diana Ross & The Supremes),
Reach Out I'll Be There (Four Tops),
I Can't Help Myself (Four Tops),
Get Ready (The Temptations),
Dancing In The Street (Martha & The Vandellas)
I Hear A Symphony (Diana Ross & The Supremes).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v;=VTe06PrXwo4
Top Tracks for Earth, Wind & Fire....
Starts with;
"Fantasy" (1977)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTQJ2QiK4QU&playnext;=1&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9AIdf-oDDL0ZRzIehPw5WY6
Top Tracks for Diana Ross & the Supremes
Starts with;
Love Child!!!!
Beautiful imagery!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IluVWcNtR8&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9BkdB7ckbcLpD9AIriJX-5P
**The Power of Music & Images
Used On One Of The Most Popular
& Most Loved Ballads Of All Time, Enjoy!!!**
***Top Tracks for Chicago
Starts with;***
Hard To Say I'm Sorry
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqq3tW3iACw&playnext;=1&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9ABX4lv1Ast8ZktnOYg-vpB
Okay so double triple down on this!!!!!!!!
LOVE CHILD Diana Ross & The Supremes
***~Sky Isa Love~~
What can I say my first album;***
LOVE CHILD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gets me every time!!!!!!!
More Beautiful Imagery!!!
Afu Ra Ka ALL!!!!! (see note)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2icqNPcNS4
EARTH WIND & FIRE-WOULD YOU MIND
...Sky Isa Love
very beautiful once again!!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rInQEQ-yUc
A Motown mega-mix mashup: Motor City's biggest hits combined with classic Christmas songs, sung by your favorite Motown stars.
Includes....
"I Saw My Girl Kissing Santa Claus"
"I Jingle That Emotion"
"I Heard It From The Red Nosed Reindeer"
"Claus Get Next To You"
"Santa Was a Rollin' Stone"
"Ain't No Silent First Noel"
...as performed by....
Stevie Wonder
Michael Jackson
Smokey Robinson
The Temptations
The Supremes
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir
...and, of course, the Funk Brothers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNvoSf2389k
THAT IS ALL!!!
LOVE ALL!!!!
Sa Sa Ra!!!!
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé
It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.
In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.
Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”
That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.
Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
Jun 6, 2023
Jun 6, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
Listening to “The Chieftains” again,
Their Long Black Veil CD: a gift to
Marijuana smokers. N'est-ce pas?
**** Jagger singing the title track,
A sweet, lugubrious ode to black widows.
Could there be such creatures?
Women you would **** for,
Offing your best friend for?
She had better be as good as it gets.
Could such women exist?
Beautiful & toxic;
Duplicitous, cunning,
Cunnilingus-worthy.
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**** would have licked her **** as
They led him up the scaffold steps,
She was a woman worth dying for, to be sure.
And Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor?
Isn’t it time we forgave her?
So she shaved her head.
So she shredded the Pope’s photo on SNL.
He was, after all, the Polish Pope,
The one that kissed the ground
Whenever he got off an airplane.
How could you not love the guy?
Shot while riding in his Pope Mobile,
He later visited Mehmet Ali Ağca in prison,
Forgiving his would-be assassin face-to-face,
Exonerating the Bulgarian kreplach, for all
Special Victims Unit “especially heinous offenses” &
Proto-Islamic terror.
Surely, he could forgive the little Irish ****
Can’t we? Leading by example?
I don’t know what you’d call it.
In any language: powerful.
Oh, Sinead, my sweet Sinead,
We miss your sweet sad dulcet tones.
Consider yourself exonerated.
Consider yourself free to be loved again.
And let’s not forget Tom Jones,
Come on ladies: you threw your sopping
Wet ******* to the stage for him.
His “Tennessee Waltz” breaking my heart,
Losing my wife to my best friend.
No wonder I shot the Sheriff.
Surprised I did not also shoot the Deputy.
And “The Chieftains” themselves,
Transporting us to the Coast of Malabar.
We are all Irish sailors
Infatuated, hopelessly enchanted by a
Swarthy Dravidian shiksa.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Lady, they tell me not to see your face. Tell me
if I was not meant to see you, why does your smile
ride on the wind? Why would your laughter shine
in the pink flowers that creep along the front walk?
They find you in the grottoes of Lourdes, on the hills
of Fatima, and burned into the hallowed grilled cheese of Hollywood, Florida
but balk when I find you in the whisper of rain. They blanche
when I find you in the first heady sip of coffee at midnight.
Most holy event, where you show your visage in faded lights
to little Lucia or Bernadette – tell me, when did you lose
your ghostly form? Were you tired of the heavy robes
they dressed you in? Were you tired of the name Maria?
Were you happier as Arianrhod or Demeter, Sigyn or Xiwang Mu?
Do you wish we had never named you?
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
Sister Teresa felt the cold evening wind through the cloisters. Shadowy figures sounded near by; the sense of waiting; the held breath; the stillness before the office of Vespers. She refused the wheelchair; wanted to walk along the cloisters to the church. A novice sister held her arm to guide her; Sister Bernadette's young hand on her elbow. Blind now apart from shadows and imagined faces from memory. She sighed. Sensed touch of the novice's hand. Breathed in the evening air; remembered the years of waiting in the cloister; the anticipation; the prepared prayers; the youthful voice gone now, she mused, releasing a breath-like prayer. She recalled Sister Clare's embrace by the wall where the cloister bell-rope hung like a tail. God is my witness and saviour, Sister Maria had said. She's dead too, Sister Teresa, thought, peering through her darkness at the shapes and figures ahead. Was it Jude who had kissed her once or was it more? She wasn't sure. Time distorts, she muttered softly, but none took notice. She breathed the air; sensed the dampness; the evening prayers hung in the air of yesteryear. The novice squeezed affectionately; her whispered voice soft and child-like. Did she need the toilet? Was that what she said? Words carried off in the air like the dead friends of her contemplative life. She shook her head; squeezed shut her eyes until lights flashed behind them like a stormy night. Whether the novice was pretty or not, she had no idea; had no sense of her except the touch of hand or softness of voice. Papa was in his heaven, but Mama where was she? Do not let them touch she had said; men are such creatures. Flesh on flesh; lip to lip. Jude had kissed and lain with her, she thought through her muddled mind. Clare had held; dead and buried; her mole-tilled ground holy still, she wanted to say, but only sighed. Movement. Bodies moved. Sister Bernadette touched her arm; gently prodded onwards; said gentle words; failed to keep hold of; slipped away like soap in a bathtub. She tried to clutch the passing words, but silence returned black and deep as the darkness of her days and nights. Chill in the air. Sighed. The footsteps on stone; the echo of chants surrounding as she moved to the pews reserved once for the lay-sisters, none now, all left or dead and swept away like the dead leaves of autumn. She sat; uttered the prayers; listened for the soft voice of the novice nun; wanted to feel; to hold; to touch. Not too much, not overmuch. God be my witness and saviour, she whispered between prayers and chants, recalling a kiss, an embrace, but not of Judas, not of Judas. She breathed the chill air; imagined Clare was there; imagined Christ's breath on her cheek and brow; a light far off beckoning from a distant hill.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Converte nos, Sister Teresa whispered, leaning forward in the darkness of the church; convert us, she repeated, sensing the infirmarian nun beside her, hearing the breath and muttered prayers. She had insisted on being wheeled into the church for Compline; had got her way; was pleased she was in the pew where she'd sat for the last ten years. She loved the silence before it all began; the sense of space; the soft opening of the Confiteor, the movement of bodies like a wave of water over the blacked-out walls and high roof of the church. She brought her arthritic hands together; dug deep for a fresh prayer, but all was used; all had done before; all spread wide over her life of contemplation; in and out of her light and alternating darkness. The infirmarian muttered something. Sister Teresa shrugged her shoulders; inclined her ear; moved her head and unseeing eyes. Was it Sister Bernadette? Or was it another? She couldn't tell; all were the same in her darkness, except the touch; hand on hand; whispered words. Long ago, Jude or Judas had kissed; had betrayed. The sound of footsteps on flagstones; the rustle of habits and clicking beads; a sense of breathing and life; entering into the shared darkness and blackness, except for the red altar light to inform of the Crucified's presence and the all-seeing-eye. Sighed. Waited. Held breath. Reached for the sister's hand or arm to reassure, to sense she was not alone in the dark and that she had not died and sunk to dimness and damnation of another dark. The infirmarian tapped her hand. Relief. Converte nos, she mumbled, convert us, she repeated. The Confiteor opened up as if the whole world had breathed out in one voice; had poured out the world's sins in a soft eruption of voices. She breathed in. Clutched her hands. Wanted the closeness and nearness of all; wanted to be held; to be kissed; wanted to see the face of the sister beside her who sat close and whispered her own Confiteor. Ora pro nobis, she whispered, pray for us, let me not be lost in this darkness. Where was Papa? Where is Mama? Clare where are you? she muttered, her eyes searching the blackness, reaching out with a hand into the empty space before her. Hand on hand. Whispered voice. The chant rose and fell like a gentle sea carrying the prayers of the black-robed sisters. Jude or Judas and the kisses and betrayal. Dead now; all dead; all gone. Left here, she muttered, like a beached fish, flapping on the emptying sands of my hourglass like a whimpering child. She clutched her breast; sensed a pain. Leaned her head neatly on the sister's shoulder; sank slowly into her arms like a child searching for its mother's breast and the comforting embrace of warmth and love. Stillness. Peace. Darkness. Light.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
Sister Bernadette
came rushing
across the grass
to where Anne
was screaming
about the pain
in her amputated leg
sitting next to you
by the small white table
where does it hurt?
Sister Bernadette asked
in the leg
Anne screamed
but the leg’s been amputated
the sister said
lifting the hem
of Anne’s skirt
showing space
where once a leg
had been
you turned
your head away
Malcolm was swinging
on the swing
his hands gripping
the steel chains
on either side
as he rode his ride
I know the ******* leg’s gone
Anne screamed
but it still hurts
language
in front of the children
Sister Bernadette said
I’ll speak to Matron
and see what she says
and off the sister went
leaving Anne following her
with her deep eyes
you looked back at Anne
taking in her dark hair
plaited into two plaits
I think they call it
a phantom leg
you said
what is?
Anne said
turning and staring at you
a limb amputated
but still causing pain
you said
what you a doctor now Skinny Kid?
no
you said
just saying what I read
some place
forget it
she said
hand me my crutches
you handed her her crutches
and she stood up
and crutched herself away
towards the far end
of the garden
come on Skinny Kid
she said
let’s go catch the sea
coming in or going out
and breathe some salt air
ok
you said
running to catch her up
her one leg
swinging forward
a lonesome traveller
across the well mown lawn
her naked thigh and calf
showing as the skirt rose
in motion
and filling the air
like a gull cry
her bellowing laugh.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
Her blood alcohol level was point thirty three
when the trooper pulled over her car.
She had a flat tire and her speaking was slurred
As if she had just drunk a whole Bar.
She was over the limit and half in the bag
So they charged her with a D.U.I.
Yet her case got dismissed and the D.A. was miffed
When she proved she was naturally high.
In seems that some people who munch on French fries
Are host to yeast that is causing them grief, making sure that they never run dry.
For Stella’ own body was churning out brew thus explaining her bloodshot red eyes
(and her sad reputation as a cheap date as well as her poor taste in guys.)
Her babes that she nursed never fussed or complained
For her ******* they were naturally keen.
Kids back in High School all thought Stella was cool
(She was drunk off her *** as a teen.)
She now must watch carefully what she consumes
when she’s out for a night on the town.
She produces Grey Goose with her own gastric juice
So Pasta remains out of bounds.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
I fell head over heels in love with my comely neighbor Bernadette
Without ever seeking consent of the noble soul,just think of it!
All those long passionate,purple prose crafted, burning midnight oil
My offerings for her,reposed in my imagination,till they withered!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Blue skies hover above the mountains and beneath a blazing sun.
Exciting sceneries are seen below, all are amazing views below the clouds.
Resting underneath the shade of trees are the ones who wonder about.
New beginnings that came from old ends and about the endings that would begin about.
A certain cold in the blowing wind suddenly turns into warmth.
Drums started to roar on the shores of the ocean front.
Eagles soar with preys on their claws to serve a lunch.
Thunderous noises brought by a storm that has a rain to launch.
Through the wide plains water fills the land.
Everything was soak except for the huddle of a million trees that has the tightest bond.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 7:29 AM UTC
At a gypsy’s stall in Soria, Spain
It was a beautiful market day
His tables were filled with French made shoes
Recommended by our friend Renaye
A cute pair of shoes caught Bernadette’s eye
They were tied up with 2 brocade bows
All covered with pink and orange flowers
With low heels and gold-tipped pointed toes
“No mas”, said he, there was no size forty
Only Bern found those shoes in her size
Then we happily tried on so many
Buying 6 pair we thought were great buys
Counting our shoes 2 by 2 into bags
The gypsy’s crooked smile seemed funny
We both grinned, too, with all our swell new shoes
Purchased with sixty euros of our money
Strolling we stopped at the York seeking churros
Too late, we had fresh croissants instead
I decided to try on my new sandals there
That led right to the trouble, Bern said
While awaiting the bus to the village
We both carefully held all our shoes
And watched a man with a rose in his teeth
I asked why, but not given a clue
Once arriving back home to the village
Feeling quite tired from walking around
Bern showed her shoes to Jose at the bar
Sad to learn one shoe couldn’t be found!
Yes, we retraced our steps in search of it
And twice-to check at the York- someone ran
Jose searched the bus, but right from the start
She thought she’d been scammed by the gypsy man
We had to go back, only on Thursday
A leisurely pace, eating churros
Yes we did get the shoe but discovered
We were over-charged by 20 euros
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
I opened the shutters
of my room
and the 5am morning
welcomed me
with dawn chorus,
the bell tower stood
like a giant in the mist
viewed from my window,
Deus movet me,
the abbey toilet was empty
and I filled my basin
with cold water
for ablutions,
lavabis me sunt
alba sicut nix,
my cup runs over
she said and laughed
after *** and so did I,
Dom James spoke
of learning Latin for plainsong
and to practise reading
aloud in church
and I dreaded such,
nous avons un Dieu écoute
the French monk said
as he showed me
how to lay out
the vestments for Mass,
George talked of the way
the dawn light
brightens up the abbey
in mornings and I said
I had seen,
kiss me here she said
and pointed with her finger
and I did
and did again,
ohne Gott gibt es nichts
the Austrian monk said
as we walked back
to the abbey after
our walk on the Thursday,
I brushed my hand along
the brick wall
in the cloister
sensing the roughness
and the smoothness,
Hugh said the Scottish monk
had funny ways
liked knitting in his
spare time and once
played the bagpipes
so I heard,
why must we suffer?
because here below
pure Love cannot exist
without suffering
said St Bernadette
so I read some place,
un peccatore pentito
the Italian monk said
lo siamo anche noi,
I tolled the bell
for the office of Sext
my stomach rumbling,
we are what we repeatedly do
excellence is not an act
but a habit Gareth said
quoting Aristotle
as we sat on the beach
in the abbey grounds
watching the tide roll in,
I counted her ribs
with my tongue
and she was pleased,
the monk reading
in the refectory read
on Mary Queen of Scots
in monotone
his eyes scanning
the pages of the book,
see this she said
as she undressed
and I turned around
and had to look.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed?
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
o
OOOOO
0 • | • 0
<>
••
True love
--
The lightening has struck the clock tower !
The children crawl
Thru the lies the men have told
••
(true )
--
DON'T LOOK FOR ANYTHING BUT THE SOURCE
OF PURE STRENGTH
(I shall be there )
--
Look the child in the eyes
Then I'll know if you love me
••
The lightning has struck the clock tower !
TIME ITSELF is gone
••
True love
--
I'm trying to learn what it is
•
When tomorrow comes
We got to know
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
When I first met Bernadette
she was chasing a fledgling down cobbled streets
I saw the frantic look on her face
her icy blue eyes of concern
so I helped her to corner the poor creature
I lifted it up and put it gently in her hands
she smiled at me and said thank you
I replied that I help any creature I can
I had just bought some shoes
so I gave her the box they came in
told her to hide him safe in it
with tissue papers as a bed she put it within
from that day to now, we have become good friends
two lovers of life and caring
and for that I call Bernadette my sister
for she shines with beautiful angelic light
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
I do everything with Bernadette
my angel, my muse to write
In the stormy seas
the cold nights breeze
she is my guiding light
I beam at her perfect smile
my heart it beats for her
Together we will be
this I believe...I'm sure
I go everywhere with my Bernadette
My God I love her so
I keep her in my pocket
her picture in my locket
for she died so long ago
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
I flew in a plane last night
back to Lourds in France
I have been praying to
St Bernadette
so all makes perfect sense
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC