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Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
Four women stared at the shoes.
Only one could afford them. Only one wanted them.
Only one needed them.

The fourth woman would steal them.

Beryl Masterman glared at her competitors in the plush carpeted showroom of Sothebys on Oxford street

Her eyes were transfixed on the three women. Seething with rage at the sight of her great grandmother's former diamond studded heirlooms on ****** display in a gold gilded glass cased monstrosity.

Beryl was a beautiful woman possessed with delusions of grandeur.
Her family's fortunes were lost when the ***** industry collapsed and the Chinese authorities nationalised their properties.
Barely escaping with their lives they had  made a valiant attempt to smuggle arms into the Congo in the hope of securing a lease on a diamond mine in the Transvaal.

This scheme  too was fated to collapse but not before forty extremely precious diamonds were discretely sewn into the hem of Great Aunt Sarah's wedding dress.

It was a small step, no pun intended, to get a cobbler to purpose build a beautiful pair of diamond studded shoes. No one knows what price he was paid or if it covered the cost of his funeral two days after the shoes were handed over.

The Mastermans were a ruthless lot and each generation had an intelligent matriarch at the head of the family.

Beryl was trained in the ancient art of skullduggery, hand to hand combat,profiency in wrestling and was an expert with a rapier.

All her skills would be called upon in the events about to unfold.

Only once had Beryl come close to death. Making a mad dash across check point Charlie she had unleashed a full ammo clip when her sten gun misfired. The startled guard, a brute of a woman with the fists of a boxer cut Beryl's face with a nasty uppercut. This immediately caused her nose bone to destruct and the blood flowed unmercilessly.

Provoked by this savage attack Beryl lunged into a full tilt roundhouse and caught the guard on the side of the head causing instant death. Five other guards shocked at her reactions failed to act and Beryl made it to safety. This would go down in legend although it was the least of her exploits.

Hitting thirty eight now she still had the legs of a glamour model.
Six foot six and a beer belly to match the bar flys in any American city. Yes, she was out of shape but once committed to a cause was known to get into fighting shape in rapid order.

It's true that her mishaped nose took away from her looks slightly but even at that men stopped in their tracks at the elegant gait.
Men were known to duel at dawn for her affections.
No one ever really captured her heart and had they known her scurrilous background they would have backed up the bus a mile before she boarded.

As Beryl cased the room and took note of the exits and fire escapes she noticed a small man looking at her. It might have been an innocent glance but nonetheless his body was found an hour later in the Gentlemans privy with his head shoved and smashed into a ******. The look of horror on his mutilated face was a sight the coroner to this day has never forgot.

Beryl was on a mission and it was essential to get those shoes.
Her fake passport and identity were in her handbag and a hotel reservation booked in South America. Tonight she would steal the shoes and three women would lie dead in their hotel rooms.

One man would be given the task of solving the case. Detective Harry Horsefooder would need his full faculties to bear down on the culprit. As Beryl's plane took off that very night his body was found torn from limb to limb in the backroom of a cheap hotel. He never got a chance to fire his weapon. His eyes were gouged out and his wallet was missing.

Scotland Yard were now on the case. The trail would lead them all over the map of South America.

In a hotel in São Paulo Beryl lounged across her bed. Smoking a Cuban cigar she figured out her next move.
Perhaps she would get the next flight to Cape Town.
The shoes were going back to Africa either way.

Beryl gazed in the mirror and looked at her reflection.
The belly was getting harder to lose. The make up not quite as good at camouflaging her broken nose. A couple of teeth were getting loose in her head but by God she was still beautiful.

A soft smile traced her countenance but even as she relaxed another woman was on her trail. An enemy from the past.
The incident from Check point Charlie was about to reignite.

A KGB agent wanted to apprehend Beryl. She had orders to bring her back to Mother Russia. Belanka Stavros Lettrovnass was on a flight to Sao Paula.

Belanka looked at the photo of Beryl her handlers had given her.

'What a fat ugly looking *****' she thought.

Already she was underestimating Beryl and this would have fateful consequences for the KGB's best undercover operative.

Beryl averted her gaze from the mirror and sank back a Black Russian. Stretching her torso across her bed she thought to herself

'I will get the Masterman fortunes back. Or die trying'

Then she closed her eyes and slept the sleep of the just and righteous.
Beryl's exploits will follow soon.
Frank Ruland Dec 2014
.     Hello, friend. I am here to discuss the absolutely, most amazing poet that this world has ever seen. Edgar Allen Poe? Nope. Robert Frost? Yeah, right. William Shakespeare? Not even close. I, of course, speak of the most amazing individual on the Earth. His talents are so immense that, as a little known fact, Hello Poetry was actually created in his honor. This is his cyber world, and we're all just living in it.
     So, just what makes Mr. Dov the most amazing poet to have ever graces this world? Well, first off, he's written more breath-taking poems on here than anyone (5,636, as of this writing to be exact). Every precious poem is a godsend to man, and any given one is worthy of replacing the U.S. Constitution as the most precious document in America.
     Surely, we are not worthy.
      But, just WHY is the man so spectacular? Well, he's the second most Googled poet on the ENTIRE internet behind Shakespeare. But don't worry, after only a few more months of sitting in his chair and repetitively Googling his name, rest assured, he will beat down that no-good Shakespeare guy down into second, just like he deserves. "Romeo & Juliet?" Please, Beryl Dov surpasses that creation every morning when he graces the toilet after his cup of coffee.
     That, and on top of that, none of the poets on here are anywhere close to measuring up to him. Not any combination of poets from this site put together could match his incredulous talent. And do you know what? Mr. Dov knows it. Yes, he knows it so well in fact, that he often gives other poets on this site the incredible honor of being mentioned in his poetry, such as when he lists a great number of us and compares us to excrement. See here for yourself.
     Haha, yes. Aren't we all indeed excrement compared to the godliness of Mr. Dov? I mean, just one of his 2,000+ ten word poems is enough to surpass anybody else's talent tenfold. And with around ten of them posted a day, I'm sure there will never be any shortage of his amazing graces. Somebody call the Pope, because Mr. Dov must actually be the second coming of Christ in disguise.
     But, how much less are we worth than Mr. Dov, to be precise? Well, let's refer to one of pieces just to see. In his 'Poets Hate Poets [10]" poem, he says, "The Talentless Jealous Turds Who Hate Me." And goes to list the absolutely worthless poets below. Yes, we live in the shadow of a behemoth, truly.
     Mr. Dov is such an amazing poet, President Obama has offered him an honorary monument that will replace Lincoln's in D.C., if he will just write ISIS a ten word poem to quell their troubles hearts. Whereas America's drones and troops fail, he will surely succeed.
     As well, Paramount Pictures has asked Mr. Dov to look into the recent stealing of top-secret scripts for future movies that were stolen from them illegally from hackers. Mr. Dov is an expert on stolen works, as he himself was booted from Deviant Art for plagiarism, but as we all know, Mr. Dov does not steal work. He creates work that is so amazing, we just can't help but think he got it from someone else. Like O.J. Simpson... Mr. Dov. is guilty of  nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, it's hard to go anywhere when you have more followers than anybody else on Hello Poetry.
     Yes, Mr. Dov is an amazing person. Please, go see his amazing work and let him know what you think of his work regarding the defamation of poets on Hello Poetry that have no right whatsoever to post their material on here. In fact, Mr. Dov would appreciate it very much if everyone would stop posting their "turds" on Hello Poetry from now on, as to not contaminate his amazing graces.
Bery Dov is the biggest hater on Hello Poetry. He has an ego the size of Texas,   he harasses people to share his works, and any critiquing (constructive or otherwise) is met with extreme hostility. He is in his own world. He has posted multiple poems that outright refer to other ACTUALLY great poets that don't spend their entire day posting nonsensical 10 word poems. I have personally received messages from Mr. Dov asking why I do not like his works. He insisted I share his amazing works with the rest of HP as well as comment, but I shall not. He is the most egotistical, filthy-mouthed, slanderous person I have ever met. I may catch flak for this, but I don't care. I have seen your works, Beryl. You aren't anywhere as amazing as you think. You call poets like The Girl Who Loved You, WickedHope. r, Francie Lynch, and many others who write from their heart to express themselves, ****. I am friends with many of these people, and I will not stand for this. Please, if you feel the same way, repost this/ Repost this so we may help Mr. Dov of his immense ego
Wren Djinn Rain Jul 2015
"I fear once the time for friends ends, my desire
would leave me exposed to the ill kept as well
from enemies, leave me forgotten, misfit for both."

                                        -- Beryl to Sky-Rend
Ashley Willson Aug 2014
"I've got 13 million pageviews so go **** yourself!"

He says before being banned.

Now his message is permanently unavailable...
And I'm left with the notification.
Terry Collett Nov 2019
Beryl invites me
to her dolls' party
in the back room
of the flat
it is a big room
where her mother
hangs washing
on wet days

I sit in a small chair
next to the doll
named Mrs Smiler
and a teddy bear
with one ear called Ted
(the bear not the ear)
other dolls sit around
with Beryl being mother
pouring tea
from a clay teapot
(milk not tea)

They don't say much
your dolls
I remark

They do if you
listen carefully
she says

I listen
but hear nothing

What's that Ted?
she says
who is he?
it's Benny he's a friend

I gaze at Ted
who stares at me
with his one good eye
(not the sewn on button eye)

What's that Mrs Smiler?
Beryl says
where does he live?
he lives in Banks House
off Rockingham Street

I turn and stare
at the doll
who has a permanent smile
and bright blue eyes
that look faraway

Beryl says
they are friendly

she hands me a small cup
of poured out milk
which I sip

thank God the boys
back home can't see me
sitting here with dolls
and teddy bear
they would rib me no end
if they knew
but I will keep it
secret from them
they would only condemn.

— The End —