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King Panda Mar 2016
Rodin: My love, I am on my knees facing your beautiful body. My mouth is drinking your fire. I ***** us in stone. We are indissoluble.

Camille: I am heaven and hell. I am goddess and fire. You are my chauvinistic art-boy concubine.

Rodin: My dear Camille, can you not see my love for you is rooted in passion not stone or clay or bronze? Can you not feel my tongue lapping at your feet?

Camille: Foolish man. My feet are broken. I walk over you on stumps.

Camille leaves for England. Rodin follows.

Camille: You are boring.

Rodin: My love, can you not see that I am in a depressed mood. Can you not see that your capriciousness plagues me?

Camille: I love another.

Rodin: How can you say these things to me? I give you my heart. I give you my soul. I give you my artistic genius!

Camille: You’re right. You are a genius.

Rodin: Shall I write us up a contract?

Camille: As long as you don’t touch me.

Camille and Rodin return to Paris separately.

Rodin: It has been written. I will mentor you, write you in newspapers, place you in museums, and find you buyers.

Camille: You will not love another? You will spurn all but my art?

Rodin: I will. And you will marry me in return.

Camille: …

Rodin: Is there something wrong, my love?

Camille: Can you not see I am being facetious?

Rodin: My dear, you are my flora and gaiety. You are my chisel and stone. You are my breath and lungs.

Camille: Learn how to breathe without me.

Camille exits. Rodin crumples at the feet of Eternelle Idole.

Rodin: What have I done wrong?

Camille re-enters, her hands caked in clay.

Camille: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Rodin: Shall I get the handcuffs?

Camille: No. The lion’s cage.

*Strong tides and wet fuchsias. Camille enters the cage forever.
Max Evans Mar 2013
Burning of eyes as I just awoke
My room pitch black
The warmth of my bed makes me want to stay forever
But excitement boils over my five year old mind
as I remember it is Christmas morning

My feet turn to ice as I stick them out of the blanket
The floor making them stick.
I lift up my feet and gallop to my sisters room.
Boom, boom, boom,
My heels make contact with the hardwood floor

I grab the golden **** to my sisters room
I push quietly but fast
The door makes a slight squeak
I sprint to her bedside.
“WAKE UP CAMILLE IT’S CHRISTMAS!” I yell in the middle of her room.
At that point, I didn’t care about waking my parents up.

She sits right up with a smile on her face
And flings the blankets beside her legs as she puts her feet to the ground.
We race down the hallway
Dogs nails tapping on the floor as they follow us to the living room
The big, dusty, gross purple couch is the barrier between
me and the present I have been dreaming about for this entire year,
A new bike.
I run around the couch to see the chrome shining in the moonlight
The tires casting a shadow over the small area rug.
Stockings on the back of the big leather chair,
which instantly drew our attention.

We tear open the stockings and compare the new trinkets we got.
Cardboard, tin wrapping, and chocolate wrappers flying everywhere.
We were smiling so much I swear we could hear them.

Parents come out to see us grinning beside the heater as we tear apart our favorite toy for the day.
We gather around the living room like it was superbowl sunday and the tree is our
flatscreen.
The blue and silver and red and green collage of corny wrapping paper,
the giant boxes wrapped tightly and perfectly.

Dad is beside the tree, deciding which present we can open, and lightly tossing it to us.
We catch is as carefully as we could, set it on our laps and wait for our turn to unwrap.

As thank you’s are thrown around like baseballs at a little league practice
I patiently glance at my mom, and get the nod that I can unwrap.
This square box is staring eye to eye with me and I get the jitters as I unwrap it.
The red paper finally off, I open the box with ease.

What I found was the coolest thing ever, thats all I remember.

But now, that box is filled with my happiness.
My memories.
Never has an empty box held so much.
It has the family dinners,
The camp outs and bon fires.
The laughs that come from the belly while playing games around the table.
The piano lessons for hours
And those coloring books that were more sacred than the bible.

But for now, the box is closed for the time being.
Sitting upon a shelf in my closet, waiting for the right time to be opened again.

The greatest gift I have ever received is the memories of home.
What home is to me is all inside that box.

Dads cooking on the table,
Moms questions about our day at school,
Camille talking about her math homework.

Now it’s just two lonely guys sitting at a table
discussing how ****** the economy is,
girls,
that one time when he tried to give me “the talk”
But he doesn’t need to, I go to public school after all.

What I am trying to say is, I miss those family dinners more than anything.
I miss the nights we would spend outside gazing at the stars
Pointing out the constellations in the sky and making up our own.

I look for those constellations all the time.
I once found a rose, and I named it Camille.
Dad never knew why I named it that, since shes my sister.
I named the constellation of the rose Camille because
Well, she has the rosy cheeks and the lovely smile.
But she sure as hell has her thorns.

A family dinner now is three people instead of four,
I say bedroom with a plural,

But this family, although gone through hell and back,
We live together in between different walls, roads, and doors.
But most of all, we live behind our present, and live in the past.

I want to end this by saying, Christmas brings new memories and my favorite time of the year,
because then my family exists.
I started to open presents slower and slower,
and hugging tighter and tighter.
And loving more and more.
I love you, Mom, Dad, Camille.
I really do, even when you think I don’t,
I love you guys, and I always will.
King Panda Mar 2016
spirit stone
the emotion caught
in your embrace
where my body
melts into yours
the perfect blend
of masculine
and feminine
bathing in a river
of marble
the waves are
disquieting
the ring is lost

spirit stone
don’t deceive me
with other women
don’t trick me with
the old man
at your feet
I do not give up
I slave away
I work morning
and night

spirit stone
everything has been
cut
hay, wheat, stone
the interlude in
the fields
the moment when
the ring is found
dawn and thought
watch me
dawn and thought
wear on my
countenance

spirit stone
the moving echo
of my own past
the waltz to come
the hidden
atelier
the moment when
the king falls in love
with his wife
with his child

spirit stone
I am muse
I am artist
I am caught like
a fly
an agnostic
queen who found
the ring
to fall in the arms
of man

spirit stone*
if you keep your
promise
we will grow
with the sky
if you keep your
promise
we will be in
paradise
maxx lopez Aug 2013
here we are
sitting side by side,
like it was meant to be from the start.

little did we know about each other
but that did not matter
and what a great chance of luck
that we both got stuck
in the same hospital
sitting side by side,
together, through it all.

2 years before me
were you able to see
the monsters that sprouted
in our mind, never doubted.

the disorder of
perfect order,
is what you have.
and hurt yourself
by slashing your wrists
and because of the bullies
that always used their fists.

on our hospital trip,
we met the others.
doctors and nurses gave us all tips,
on ways to not **** ourselves.

he met daniel and nate
in the boys ward.
while i slept in the other gate.
adeline, or addy,
has quite another story.

her combined-adhd
gets the best of her, just like me.
her problems are the
same colours as my own.

she doesn't eat
until she can feel ripples
in her stomach, and see her feet.

the voices of her
tormentours
damaged her soul,
leaving a hole.

a hole exactly where
the bullies would tear
and rip and shred
her own self, until she was dead.

daniel, blonde, eyes so blue.
he was so young,
only age two,
when he was taken away.
the string of his life
were beginning to fray.

he told us of how he dialed
3 numbers on the phone,
and thats how he became a foster child.

from home to house to home
the more he regret
picking up that phone
"you know you did the right thing"
says doctor camille.
"your parents were destroying
your childhood."
doctor camille was right.
that didnt mean
he didnt slip further into depression
each night.

moving and moving and moving.
he never found a place
that didnt feel like he was losing.

every family sent him back,
because he would have attacks,
until finally one family
called the doctor and said,
"hes scared, can't you see?"

schizophrenia,
thats its name.
daniel says its
like a tornado of mania.

he's scared, afraid, terrified.
"what if the voices tell me
to not stop till i have died?"

how can you eat
when all you feel
is fear and beat?

"how am i suppose
to eat when i only
think about when i am so lonely?"

"daniel, its not you.
its your disease that makes
you thinner and blue."

nate -nathaniel- from b gate.
age 12, height five foot, eight.
light brown hair,
running his hands on
his head with care.

nate has been here before,
its not his first time.
he began by saying
he was sexually abused by a "manwhore".

in his old home
back in los angeles,
where his uncle used to roam.
and eventually moving in to stay.
that marked when
nate would be afraid to come out and play.

the self hatred hit you hard
those memories that you wear
have been charred.

when you cry,
you always want to die.
when you hurt,
you leave blood on your shirt.
but when you love,
everything else rises above.

but affection-
you could not feel,
wherever you were headed,
is where the sad kids go to deal.
you weren't into everything,
but your choices made sure you had a good time.
believing all your life
that if paid to love you, no one would spare a dime.

i remember telling us all
about your great hope
of climbing onto a ledge, expecting a fall.
but that moment before you jump,
you said you heard your hurt
go, 'thump, thump, thump.'

and that made you cry.
you explaining to everyone here,
that you still want to die.
but inside you, you hold a deeper fear.

lastly,
lux & lucy,
their story is quite ghastly.
so hold onto your loved ones.
unlike these twins,
you must have tons.

lux sees herself
opposite of her name.
she would exclaim
to us all in group.

black, studs, piercings, hate,
everything she is
and all she wants for herself is to sedate.

"why is that" asks dr. camille.
"because the monsters
in my head cant be revealed."

we all wondered
what monsters she had
all of us sitting here are thundered
by our own devil's minions,
so why did she say no
from her opinion?

for the first few days,
neither lux or lucy
said what made them gaze
off into each
of their own reality.

not until lux was shaken awake,
by one of the orderlies,
which was a big mistake.

she was catatonic,
her eyes i'll never forget,
how they looked so demonic.

later when we had group,
she finally spoke
and as she spoke, her head began to droop.

psychotic depression erupted
through her when she and her sister
were physically corrupted
by their father.

hard punches,
stinging slaps,
lethal kicks,
fatal grips.

lux already had
the disorder
of being bipolar
coursing in her DNA
and her father sought to control her.

'"i can't have a daughter so * up like you."
many times, against the wall
is where he threw
my sister and i.'

after nights like these,
lucy would lock herself in her room
and cry till daylight.

but nights like these,
where she would try to hide,
a banging on her door would make her freeze.

when their father
discovered poor little lucy,
he would beat her for hiding.

the more the twins were hit,
the more lucy was deciding
how much she would force up.

this was her secret,
that only she would keep,
to always force up the food that settled deep.

but after one certain meal,
lucy went to her room,
skipping the bathroom,
and broke the seal
on a new bottle.
this was the deal
she made with herself,
"if everything turned to *
**,
take one bottle off the shelf
and let these pills be how you will commit."

'in the hospital i awoke,
which was followed by
meeting all of these folks.'

so this is the true tale
of how we met
of course it lacks a few details,
but to know those secrets
i guess your insanity would have to tip the scales
so you can join us all here,
where we all met.
where we thought we might die,
each of us appeared.
we did not meet
to save each other,
we met before our moments of death
to accompany one another.
King Panda Mar 2016
my dear Cosette,
why did you fall?
why didn’t you pick
yourself back up?

I saw you
on the battle lines
red shemagh
tied about your neck
I saw the bayonet
pierce your
breast
to match your
red
your man’s
clothes

why do we
disguise ourselves,
Cosette?
why don’t women
make history?
why can’t a woman
take a bullet?

my dear Cosette,
we fall
on words
on chisels
on the battle lines
sometimes we don’t
get back up
sometimes we die
before we are dead

my dear Cosette,
I watched you
bleed
I heard you
scream blue
******
you were my sister
and I was the sculptor
to capture
the peace of death
on your face

my dear Cosette,
I watched you die
now rise
to the battle lines
rise
with your head high
let me resurrect you
with my hands
Terry Collett May 2015
You gaze down at your daughter, Camille, and lay your hand upon her body. She is asleep, resting after a long day, exhausted after the day with Boris at the Zoo, then the café in the park. You wish her father had been that affectionate, had taken the time to be with her, been interested enough to want to be with her and you, but he wasn’t, just other women, other things to occupy his life and mind. You stroke her rib cage; how thin she seems; not a bit like her father, not one ounce of him in her that seems apparent. You gaze at her hair, at the features that you can see, she takes after you, it’s in her face and eyes. Even her temperament is yours, you feel, and are glad, rather than her father’s moroseness, and cruelty. If you had taken you mother’s advice you would never have married Paterson, never have let his hands or lips near you, let alone marry the ****. He’ll be no good, for you, Mavis, she had warned on your wedding eve. You never listened; never took note; you knew best you thought. Marry in haste, relent in leisure, you father had said, in that voice that made you want to hit him, but you never did, although he had hit you many a time as a child, even for the most trivial of things. Dead now, preaching to some other crowd now, wherever he is. You smile at Camille’s sleeping face. Picture of innocence. Like you as a child, you guess. But there had been no Boris in your mother’s life; just your father and his preaching and teaching and moaning and sitting at the table with his long hangdog features and the cane by his hand ready for punishments. You remember creeping into your parents one night as a child and hearing the most awful noises in the dark; like your mother were being strangled or beat up upon, you raced from the room, hid under your blankets in case you father should come and get you. Camille came into you room last month as you and Boris were making love, her voice knifed you, so that you and Boris fell apart like some circus act gone wrong. She had wanted a glass of water, her small voice echoing through the dark, Boris and you panting, going all frigid as if death had claimed. Boris lay smiling in the dark, as you went, took Camille by her hand, fetched her water, lay her back to bed and to sleep. Now she sleeps again. Picture of innocence. Angel of your life. Your precious. Your daughter.
2008 PROSE POEM.
eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they
Cedric McClester Apr 2016
By: Cedric McClester

As we shall see infidelity
While seeming to be
The latest fashion
Where there’s conviction
And passion
So even those
Who walk down the aisle
Are often betrayed by words or a smile

Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree

Let’s keep it real
There’s Bill -  (And Camille)
Knows how it feels
When tabloids reveal
The infidelity
That she didn’t see
Though it kept happening
Time and again

Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree

The unions survive
The husbands and wives
Living separate lives
Check out the archives
So what’s the reason
For their treason
Finding someone to squeeze in
Must be in season

It’s hard to respect
Those you wouldn’t suspect
Of bedding the babysitter
So you can’t blame the wives
For being angry or bitter
Cuz it never occurred
It was the babysitter
Who was preferred

Increasingly
We’re beginning to see
Infidelity
Wouldn’t you agree












Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
Barbara Swan May 2014
CAMILLE
“She is So cute” we are told constantly
and oh how we love it, her Poppy and me
She’s our little “Camookie” smart as a whip
With her fingers a-snapping, or hands on her hips

We never had figured, just a few years ago,
That this sweet little girl, AKA “Dynamo”
Would come into our lives to spread joy and beguile
And capture our hearts with her “Monkey Face” smile

Now she is three, a most innocent time,
Her problems are Huge “It’s not yours, it is MINE”
Her Mommy’s her rock, and her Daddy is wrapped
So serene her small world, until time for a nap

Right now she is young, but there will come a day
She will read this and know, we are not far away
I wrote this short poem for the future, you see
To tell her we love her – her Poppy and me
I wrote this a while back, my Grandaughter Camille is now sixteen and is a sweet beauty, where did the time go?
maxx lopez Aug 2013
his name i won't say to you
but that doesnt mean
his name would be forgotten by few.

the way we danced
the way we smiled
the way he glanced
at no one else but me.

remember when i said
my last kiss was the first?
excuse me, but i secretly misled
you to believe something else.

yes, 8th grade kisses came first,
but the ones that followed
were kisses that were cursed.

i suppressed the memory so well
that i almost forgot about it
until you led me back to that hell.

now believe me that this is true
dr. camille says its long overdue
to confront this suppressed memory
and face the fact
the thing that made me crack.

so break out the tisses
and prepare to read about my scarring issues.

we danced
and i felt entranced
your smile so uplifting and exciting
i couldnt hold back laughter that i was fighting.

we kissed,
and i remember it feeling like sparks.
as of now, i can't believe i made such remarks.
the more sadness i tried to erase

weaving up the stairs
i thought that nothing in this world
could ever compare.

a room that was open and bare,
i honestly could swear,
that my head was shrieking 'no'
but your smile kept on shining 'hello'

i'd rather not go into detail
of what emotions prevailed
that night,
but i would like to share
what felt wrong, and what felt right.

it felt wrong that he pushed for it.
it felt right that i said i'd rather quit
it felt wrong that he ignored my pleas.
it felt right that i was trying to shut my knees.
it felt wrong that he roughly tried to open them.
it felt right i would persistently condemn him

sooner than i thought, sooner than i would expect,
sooner than i would imagine,
i was a potential victim of ****
i knew i had to escape.
his threats and shouts and cursing and strength
could have done more damage considering his height and length.

tears and fear.
fears and tears.
screaming and shouting.
shouting and screaming.

finally did oliver and nate
use my screaming as bait
and bust down the door.
as they led me outside,
i heard his voice shout behind me, "you * *****."

that night
made my face and hands and blood
turn white,
especially when i had to remember the pain
and all of the things that were incredibly inhumane.

not until two days ago,
did i summon the will
to write this truth, although
i couldnt stop crying and hiding and feeling chills
racing up and down my spine.
dr. camille said that therapy would reassign
my past memories and horror and malign
but never again would innocence,
could i honestly say, would be mine.

dont believe me?
dont believe that this memory of my life is trye?
well ***** you.
but in all honesty,
it really happened.
and i do all that i can
to forget about where parts of my horror began

still dont believe it was real?
well, heres the deal.
why dont you ask
for yourself
what really went on.

the other patients will cry
when asked to reply
about my mishap.

or maybe dr. camille or thatcher or hammond
each will make you see
what i said occurred
actually happened to me.

if their professional words
dont fall into your defenses,
why not go to the man himself.
you standing on the offenses,
with him full of pretenses
acting like he was the best there ever was.
but let me caution you,
that's all he ever does.

lure in girls, like me.
lead them in and before i know it,
i'm struggling to flee.

so if you dont want to understand
theres nothing else i can do
to help you expand
your minimized thoughts and mind.
but beware, when you fall to traps like his,
your soul will be so scattered, you won't find.

to those who believe,
i'm thankful,
but i'll never be able to relieve
the memories that have been scorched into my head.
these moments, among others,
are the reasons i'd rather be dead.
Ryan Bowdish Jul 2013
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Female names are beautiful. Poetry on their own.
Marvin Paul Jan 2016
Camille her beauty pursued.
Music she listens to according to her mood.

Before you can get to her hearts door there is a huge body of water that is frozen to cross.
All those who can't ice skate withdraws.

To her heart's door there is only one course.
When she takes off her glasses she is like a princess.

Her poem is a process.
Not writing her a perfect poem is pointless.

She is as sweet as the sweet things she likes.
I have to admit it. That's why I have to write it.

A closet with a mirror containing all the clothes and shoes she shopped for.
Where she keeps her special things a safe in her hearts floor. ©M.P.Jacobs
BB Tyler Aug 2010
It's easy to say things when they don't mean anything,
and that's how I've always gotten by.
But then I said something that ripped off my skin,
and my sea-soaked beauty didn't want to give in.
She ****** me, I ****** her,
we danced all night,
I wrote her a poem,
when I forgot how to write.
Rj Oct 2014
You have the warmest look of anyone I've ever seen
When you smile  your moon eyes gleam
You don't realize your pretty the way you are
You don't need to listen to death music to force scars
I see your hurting, and feeling inferior
Because some people, to you, seem highly superior
The amounts of your kindness, and small little winks
Or the way your mind simply,  innocently thinks
You don't need to skip out, or stop eating your meal
Your amazing the way you are
Your amazing as **Camille
I'm writing a poem for everyone strugglin
Lamar Cole Nov 2019
Camille never let age get in her way.
She could stay on the dance floor from March until May.
You could never tell that she was 70 years old.
She still wore capri pants with blouses of colors bright and bold.
Camille was still very pleasing to the eyes.
She could still attract guys' attention for more than just being wise.
Brycical Feb 2015
For Achievement in Editing:
-Julie Williams of the Jefferson County School Board for her attempting to change the AP US History curriculum so that it "should not encourage or condone civil disorder, social strife or disregard of the law [while] instructional materials should present positive aspects of the United States and its heritage."

-Dan Fisher and the "Black Robe Regiment" for their work in banning AP US History in Oklahoma because it "fails to teach American Exceptionalism," whatever the **** that means.

-Creation Museum of Kentucky for their work in "[Bringing] the pages of the Bible to life, casting its characters and animals in dynamic form and placing them in familiar settings. Adam and Eve live in the Garden of Eden. Children play and dinosaurs roam near Eden’s Rivers," because everyone remembers where dinosaurs are mentioned in the bible.

For Achievements in Adapted Screenplay:

-People complaining against #blacklivesmatter and #icantbrethe protests with old tropes like, "How are people supposed to go shopping during the holidays?" or "This is just too inconvenient."

-All the liberals who champion free speech and all the conservatives who want to "stick it to terrorists" yet most if not all of them for not showing any of the Charlie Hedbo cartoons.

-All the political parties, including conservatives and liberals who haven't updated their perception of the world or their talking points beyond 1980's yet sill trot out their gibbligarsh like it's not a polished slice of *******.

For Achievement in Acting, Actress:

-Camille Cosby, wife of now infamous Bill Cosby for at first saying nothing then later defending her husband about the 'alleged' ****** assault allegations by 37 different women (or whatever the number is up to now).

-My mom for pretending to listen whenever I propose solutions to her various anxieties.

-Hillary Clinton for not tearing out the beating heart of her husband or anyone who asks about her husband, even though she probably really wants to but at the same time makes you wonder why she just doesn't divorce the horn dog anyway.

For Achievement in Acting, Actor:**

-McDonald's (because corporations are people) for their work in getting excited that they supposedly serve real food and making patronizing adverts about loving their consumers while they are currently battling seven lawsuits alleging "wage theft, failure to pay overtime and alteration of time records."  

-For White Guys who continue to go along with the idea that there is nothing wrong with the current Justice System.

- Robin Williams because I'm pretty sure he would have been voted least likely to commit suicide by the general public at large.

-An Uncle of mine who continues to joke around and play nice with everyone despite the fact there's a mountain of evidence suggesting he's verbally and/or physically abused his wife and kids routinely.

STILL TO COME LATER IN THE SHOW, BEST DIRECTOR & PICTURE NOMINEES .
Perry Suzuki Feb 2017
When i first met you
You brought a spark to my world
A flame it started
Warm, pure, and bright

When i saw your smile
Its like the sun shined as bright as noon
Or the moon, on a clear chilly night
It brought my world to its toes
I learned to laugh and love to the everyday sun you brought me

When i saw your face i saw the most beautiul thing
And thought the most beautiful thoughts
Like a shimmering sunset over the water on the deep blue water at the beach

When i saw you my world became whole
The cracks filled, the darkness fades
All i saw was the sun, shining in my face
Im greatful to have the gifts you bring me.

Im greatful to have the beautiful inspiration
That i can call. You
To the person that helps me through thick and thin. And reminds me to get back up and push on.
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
Waverly Jan 2012
I like to think
that when Oscar painted
Camille,
it was their best time.

Afterward
Camille
becomes a blur on the beach.

But in all her detail
and naivete,
Oscar paints her
the last time
he really sees her.

They had coffee
and played with each other's feet
underneath millions of tables
during that time.
Monet's the Woman in the Green Dress.
Paul d'Aubin Dec 2013
La bibliothèque solaire de Périgord à Toulouse

Il est en notre belle cité Raymondine
de beaux monuments d'une beauté si fine.
Bien sûr, le Capitole, dominant la grand place,
conservant à la ville un charme très Latin.
Et puis, Saint-Sernin d'or, beauté incomparable
véritable navire de briques sur la ville.
dressant son clocher effilé sur les arabesques
du ciel, le tournoiement du soleil et des nuages.

Mais il est un curieux temple nommé, «Périgord»
construit par Jean Montariol et porté  par Billieres,
comme un lieu d'exception voué à la lecture,
au beau, aux arts, à la lumière et à l'esprit.
Entre deux rues étroites, l’oratoire et «Le printemps»,
le chantier fut immense, désormais habité,
par deux magnolias et deux nymphes pimpantes.
Sur le porche est écrit le mot : «Bibliothèque.».

Trois salles de lecture, une immense réserve
vous baignent de lumière, de calme et de paix.
Quoiqu'ait écrit le maître Borges. sur l’ «octogone»,
la salle principale est immense rectangle,
chapeautée d'un dôme sur fonds bleu, jaune, blanc,
d'où descend la lumières et montent les pensées.
C'est ici, que le choc du livre s'accomplit
que le citoyen s'ouvre au monde de l'esprit.

Rien de plus essentiel que trois panneaux muraux,
peints par Marc Saint-Saëns, donnant à voir
le «parnasse Occitan», la grandeur du Midi,
avec comme devise : «FE SENS OBRAS MORTA ES».
Et Camille Soula pensif, aux côtés de Vaudoyer,
sont comme des vigies veillant sur la pensée,
sur l'art et la culture de notre Languedoc.
alors qu'Apollon gambade et joue de la lyre.

Le lecteur moins pressé, fixant la grand ‘horloge
aux chiffres romains dorés, peut laisser ses soucis
se plonger dans ce mode de vivre intemporel
et s’imprégner d’une atmosphère murmurante,
faite de chuchotis, de chaises déplacées.
Enfin, pouvoir penser, et avoir comme amis,
les grands anciens, à la pensée de bronze,
les jeunes écrivains qui tissent l’avenir.

Mais c’est rêve fugace, surtout, quand le soir tombe ;
que les lampes aux tiges d’argent se font étoiles,
une étrange magie vous aimante
et vous saisit comme sirènes en mer.
C’est là, à ce moment, que comme une étincelle,
un séisme profond secoue votre quiétude
et guide la conscience vers des endroits de feu,
où brûlent les pensées et jaillit l’écriture.
C’est le moment magique que l’on voudrait figer.

L’on fait le rêve absurde, d’être enfermé la nuit,
parmi cet océan de livres et de décors.
Cela serait une expérience existentielle
que partager,  de nuit, des siècles de pensée
et se sentir veilleur de l’espérance humaine.
Mais c’est rêve fugace et à l’heure donnée,
ayant rendu vos livres, sourit aux bibliothécaires
vous sortez lentement, pensant à revenir.

Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi)- Toulouse- France
, décembre 2013.
Sam McCullough Sep 2012
i tell myself someday i'll start living
not just breathing and moving
and using fake ****** expressions
i don't wanna make waves as a freshmen
'cause i know one you throw the stone
you don't control the ripple
and the waves can reach many shores
so i'm afraid to become attached
and afraid to say how i feel
i'm not comfortable with myself
hell, i'm barely comfortable with people
if it weren't for my three really good friends
Camille, Elizabeth, and Lexi
would i still smile
no
would i start living
no

living, to me, is doing what you love
every **** day
and loving people
and being happy
all the time
and listening to music that makes you dance
going outside
being able to sit with people and not wanting to leave, or feeling like your being judged
not judging yourself
loving yourself
making beautiful art, but no one gets it except you
and when someone does understand it, you fight for them, because you know it's meant to be
and if they slip through you  hands, you move on
no regrets
no broken promises
you go after each dream
every **** one

and one day, you'll die
but you won't say "i wish i did this..."
you'll smile and say
"i'm glad i did this..."

i think it's the saddest thing in the world that some people aren't living
in a sense, they are already dead
they are just atoms moving through the air
until the air stops coming
and the atoms cease to move
they die
never knowing
life
Pen Lux Apr 2013
I am camille for real I'm awesome
I dunno who posted this, but it wasn't me. To whoever did it, thanks for doing a nice "hack". xD
judy smith Apr 2016
Bethany Care Centre staff member by day –internationally recognized knitwear fashiondesigner by night, Sylvan Lake resident SallySandusky recently took Vancouver FashionWeek by storm with her stunning Fall/Winter2016 line.

Eight models strut their stuff for Sanduskyduring her recent show where they showcasedher signature chunky knit sweaters, dresses andshorts as well as a number of delicately knit overlay dresses as they meandered the catwalk.

Her clothing label named, Sally Omeme, stemsfrom her middle name and the Cree word fordove Omimiw, a name her adoptive parentsgave her in hopes of helping her to hold on to a part of her heritage.

In addition to the name for her stunningknitwear line, Sandusky also credits her motherwith her love and talent for knitting.

“I had wanted a scarf and my mom, who hadbeen a knitter all her life, said ‘Well let me teachyou how to knit’,” remembers Sandusky whosaid she has now been knitting since the early2000’s. “One year I knit 75 scarves byworking nights and it just kind of grew from there.”

Following graduation from Camille J. Lerouge School in Red Deer, Sandusky began her career withBethany Care Centre before making the decision to attend the John Casablancas Institute inVancouver – an internationally renowned fashion and beauty school where she studied creative artsand fashion business.

Following graduation from the Institute she returned home to Sylvan Lake and continues designingin her spare time with hopes to launch an online store in the coming weeks. She hopes her recentsuccess at Fashion Week could potentially lead to a buyer picking up her line. In addition to therecent Vancouver Fashion Week show, Sandusky has also been featured in two previous VancouverEco-Fashion Weeks.

The fun doesn’t stop here for Sandusky as some of her most recent line may be featured in upcomingeditions of both Vogue UK and Glamour UK over the next year.

While it is apparent Sandusky was born to create, she added she has faced a number of challengesover the past four years as a designer.

“I think because I’m not trained as a fashion designer I’ve had to learn everything from scratch,” shesaid. “The more complicated my knitwear design becomes the more I have to learn as far as sewingin linings and zippers goes. That has been the most challenging for me in addition to learning how totreat it as a business and not just a hobby.”

She encourages young fashionistas everywhere to never give up on their dreams adding it’s hard tobelieve how far she has come.

“My plate is definitely full right now. Before it seemed so out of reach but now it seems like it’s reallystarting to happen and I’m excited to see where it takes me,” stated Sandusky. “IfI had one piece ofadvice it would be to never give up – keep working towards your dream if that’s what you want.”Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

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