Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt May 2015
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...

that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"

that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,  
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones  alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...

a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective

when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"



that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
Entirely fictional, of course.

L.I.E. is the Lomg Island Expressway, a/k/a, the longest parking lot in the world.
Red and blue football team, the NY Giants.
Bathsheba Everdeen from Hardy's "Far From the Madding Crowd."
Alternate song choice, the Eagkes "Take It Easy."

Inspired by this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/10/style/modern-love-tinder-swiping-right-but-staying-put.html?rref=collection%2Fcolumn%2Fmodern-love&contentCollection;=style&action;=click&module;=NextInCollection®ion;=Footer&pgtype;=article
Terry Collett Aug 2013
Carole was one
of the shortest girls
in class;
she had blonde

short cropped hair
and sat next to Miss Pretty,
and was always yakking,
always giving her opinion

on  something or other,
her voice was high
( as if someone had
grabbed her ****

Reynard said),
her eyes blue,
her compact body
(seen from behind)

was clothed in the cardigan
and skirt and blouse
of the uniform of the school.
You watched her

as she put a hand
to the side of her mouth
and whispered to Miss Pretty.
Her thin small hand

hid her mouth;
just the whispering sound
hung on the air.
Can you be quiet, Carole,

Miss Graham, the teacher said.
Reynard whispered,
fancy being married to her;
she'd wear your ears away,

with her non-stop tongue.
And looked at her backside,
imagine that lying next
to you in bed each morning,

he added.
You tried not to,
imagine that is,
not that at least,

Miss Pretty maybe,
you thought,
taking in her thin frame
beside short ***  Carole

sitting next to her.
Miss Graham put on
the Mozart LP
on the record player

and the class sat
bemused or bored,
except Miss Pretty
whose head nodded slowly,

whose foot tapped
a silent beat
and shorty Carole
whose mouth was sealed,

arms crossed,
elbows on the desk,
sat with eyes fixed
on the record player.

While Reynard muttered comments
about both the girls,
debating in whispered voice,
who had the biggest backside,

or smallest *******,
who he would least like
to kiss, while you,
wondering how long

it took for the Mozart guy
to compose the stuff,
noticing Miss Pretty's
pointing finger

conducting,
some imagined orchestra,
her long wrist moving
like a moving swan,

her head to one side,
stirring momentarily,
an odd feeling within you,
which you had to hide.
Kath Whitehead Apr 2015
Our train comes to a standstill
looking down on a bluebell graveyard

where lines of tall green headstones stand
shoulder to shoulder, arms length apart.

The ones near the wall lean
on each other, like friends,

as in life. Carole says each one of those
upright stones is a person, standing,

looking right back at us asking what do we do
now? I ponder that thought.

Carole wants Coldplay’s, Why Worry going
in and Eminem’s, Lose Yourself as people are leaving.

She holds me responsible.
She doesn't want flowers, they always make her sneeze.
Fenix Flight Jun 2017
Little Carole Jean
You were born to early
Only 20 weeks and 4 days into my pregnancy
Born without a heartbeat

I held you in my arms
So tiny so fragile
8.6oz and only 21 inches long
But so beautiful and pure

You had your daddy's long legs
And my annoying chin
Nine Perfect Baby fingers
And Your tiny feet so cute

I'm so sorry babygirl
That mommy couldn't protect you
I failed you little one
Please can you forgive me.

I see how Daddy cries for you
His eyes show how much he misses you
You were his world, his little princess

I miss you so much
I miss you growing inside me
Watching your daddy wrap his arms around my tummy
And say he is on protection duty

I wish I could have watched you grow up
I can picture you in my mind
Dark unruly red hair
And bright blue eyes like daddy

Your dad would have had to chase all the boys away

I wish I could wake up from this nightmare
And erase this whole last week
Look down and see my bellies small bump
Can I go back to when things were good?

Rest Easy Carole Jean
Be safe up there ok?
You have a whole lot of people to meet you there
And a whole lot of people still yet to come

I will see you again one day
Until then please be good.
I cant wait to hold you again
And I know Daddy can't either.

We will be a family again one day
Until then you are always in my heart.
I will NEVER forget you
I dont think I ever could

I love you daughter
And forever always will
You are with me for eternity

My little baby Carole Jean
My daughter Carole Jean was born 5/26/17. Weighting 8.6oz and only 21cm long. Born still but never the less Still born. I love you babygirl and Mommy always will
by David Patrick Mowers


Been together a long, long time,
your heart and hand held close to mine,
but after fourteen years,
and you know some thousand tears...

I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore.

Had some problems in our life...
times I weren't your Man, times you weren't my Wife,
..but after Fourteen Years,
and you know some thousand tears..

I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore.

Oh no more..

No, no, no-o....no more-or

Still have to think about,
all the things we couldn't talk out....
..but I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore...

Oh I know I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore.

Now the end is finally come,
new things have now begun,
funny, I still think of you,
...and all the things that we've been through,

But I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore.

No, no I don't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore.

I can't wear my heart on my sleeve anymore,
no more...
...I don't wear it no more,

I don't wear it!

I don't wear it no more....
This song was written by my father about his relationship with my mother. It was his one recorded track after a lifetime of playing music as a hobby. The title of the track is Carole. Anyone who messages me will receive an invitation to DropBox to hear the live recording which contains two versions as well as jam material.
Don Bouchard Jan 2012
I remember reading
Martin Luther King, Jr's
Letter from Birmingham Jail
Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom
Mark Twain's Huck Finn
DuBois' Souls of Black Folk
For the first time

The words of Chief Joseph
Sitting Bull
Tecumseh
James Welch
and Alexie Sherman
And others of indigenous kind
Linger like arrows in my mind.

Of course, there's
Gilgamesh's forlorn quest for Enkidu;
Osiris, Amun, Ra, and Seth,
Homer's Illiad and Odyssey,
And Virgil's Roman treatment -
(For whom the gods destroy
We all must learn bereavement).

I remember reading
Milton's Paradises (lost and found)
And Dante's Infernal quest for Heaven
Through the bowels of Hell with Virgil's spritely guide
And up the Devil's staircase with Beatrice by his side.
John's Revelation of Times' End;
And LaHaye's money-making Left Behind
Apocalypses here to chill my mind.

I have surveyed Dead Presidents
Washington,
Jefferson,
Lincoln
Both Roosevelts, Ted and Frank,
And Reagan
And smatterings of others...
Then hopped the bookish pond to read
Sir Winston and some others,
Not the least of whom is Gandhi G,
Taught by the Queen to free his brothers.

I have studied
Moses
Job
David
Ruth
Esther
Isaiah
Jeremiah
The Disciples
Paul
and James
(Ironically,
Though Jesus is the "Word"
He never penned one).

British poets's thoughts,
Tale tellers long-dead
Have found their way
Into my head:
Beowulf and Chaucer
Old moral plays
Shelley and Keats
Cavalier Poets
Scott and Brownings
Burns and (not) Allen
Spenser and Shakespeare
Dylan and Tolkien
Lewis and Auden
And so many more
That I leave on the floor

Western Americana I have loved
Hemingway and Steinbeck, all worth the time,
Mari Sandoz' Old Jules, and
Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth,
Keroac went on the road, while
Joseph Kinsey Howard showed us the West
Lewis & Clark in journals scribed
Their journey west and back again

I can't forget psychology
And so I will digress
Or Sigmund's accusation stays
That I have but suppressed:
Ellis, Freud, and Eric Berne,
Pavlov, Skinner, Thorndike, Watson,
Wundt, and Wm James, Piaget and Chomsky
Then Vygotsky and Bandura put a social spin
on cognitive psychology, and Everybody's in.
Diverging and Converging, psychic students, all
Could never make transaction
'Til Rogers tried to make some peace
But Ellis wouldn't have 'im.

And then, of course,
The lighter stuff,
The popcorn of the mind:
Clancy, Rankin, Carole Keene
L'Amour and Will James
Stephen King and Poe,
Cruz Smith and Leon Uris,
Grisham, Deaver, Cornwall,
Asimov, Bradbury and Herbert,
Carroll and Baum...
Written Words change us.... I use the term "poem" as Louise Rosenblatt did, namely, a poem is the creation each reader makes to describe the connection between the Text and his or her own life experience, opinion, knowledge, beliefs, feelings, etc. Those "poems" affect and change us in our wanderings on this earth. I am, indeed, changed by the texts I have read and continue to read....
In haphazard fashion, I am starting a collection of writers who give me an understanding of the world's color and shape. This is just the beginning.... If readers have suggestions or reminders, I will add the ones I have read....
Joe Cole Jul 2014
Me and Carole,  Carole and me

Do I love her? Yes
Does she love me ? Yes
Can we be together one day?
I remember our holiday in Malta
She looked so radiant
But oh how ill, cancer
A woman who had dealt with cancer patients all her life
She is a Catholic and so I took her to a special church on Gozo
The church of miracles
She had a special blessing there
And I think for her that was the highlight of the holiday
And then into hospital
Both ******* removed and a bit more
The times she tried to give up, she just wanted to die
I gave her abuse no normal human would have ever accepted
But deep down I like to think I kept her alive
One major problem,  she has a partner,  I have a wife
But I love Carole
I will let you my peers judge me
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
I remember reading
Martin Luther King, Jr's
Letter from Birmingham Jail
Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom
Mark Twain's Huck Finn
DuBois' Souls of Black Folk,
Adichie's The Thing Around Your Neck,
Sherman Alexie's Part-time Indian tale....
For the first time

The words of Chief Joseph
Sitting Bull
Tecumseh
James Welch
and Alexie Sherman
And others of indigenous kind
Linger like arrows in my mind.

Of course, there's
Gilgamesh's forlorn quest for Enkidu;
Osiris, Amun, Ra, and Seth,
Homer's  Illiad and  Odyssey,
And Virgil's Roman treatment -
(For whom the gods destroy
We all must learn bereavement).

I remember reading
Milton's Paradises (lost and found)
And Dante's Infernal quest for Heaven
Through the bowels of Hell with Virgil's spritely guide
And up the Devil's staircase with Beatrice by his side.
John's Revelation of Times' End;
And LaHaye's money-making Left Behind,
Collin's Hunger Games and Dashner's Maze Running
Apocalypses enough to chill my mind.

I have surveyed Dead Presidents
Washington,
Jefferson,
Lincoln
Both Roosevelts, Ted and Frank,
And Reagan
And smatterings of others...
Then hopped the bookish pond to read
Sir Winston and some others,
Not the least of whom is Gandhi G,
Taught by the Queen to free his brothers.

I have studied
Moses
Job
David
Ruth
Esther
Isaiah
Jeremiah
The Disciples
Paul
and James
(Ironically,
Since Jesus is the "Word,"
Through men He penned).

British poets's thoughts,
Tale tellers long-dead
Have found their way
Into my head:
Beowulf and Chaucer
Old moral plays
Shelley and Keats
Cavalier Poets
Scott and Brownings
Burns and (not) Allen
Spenser and Shakespeare
Dylan and Tolkien
Lewis and Auden
And so many more
That I leave on the floor

Western Americana I have loved
Hemingway and Steinbeck, all worth the time,
Mari Sandoz' Old Jules, and
Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth,
Keroac went on the road, while
Joseph Kinsey Howard showed us the West
Lewis & Clark in journals scribed
Their journey west and back again

I can't forget psychology
And so I will digress
Or Sigmund's accusation stays
That I have but suppressed:
Ellis, Freud, and Eric Berne,
Pavlov, Skinner, Thorndike, Watson,
Wundt, and Wm James, Piaget and Chomsky
Then Vygotsky and Bandura put a social spin
on cognitive psychology, and Everybody's in.
Diverging and Converging, psychic students, all
Could never make transaction
'Til Rogers tried to make some peace
But Ellis wouldn't have 'im.

And then, of course,
The lighter stuff,
The popcorn of the mind:
Clancy, Rankin, Carole Keene
L'Amour  and Will James
Stephen King and Poe,
Cruz Smith and Leon Uris,
Grisham, Deaver, Cornwall,
Asimov, Bradbury and Herbert,
Carroll and Baum...

The list goes on and on, and will, I'm sure, expand beyond capacity.
Work in progress.... Thanks to Soul Survivor for catching my glitch about Jesus.... Since all Scripture is God-breathed, technically, Jesus is the author of Holy Scripture, and He inspired the text we know as the Bible.... Good catch!
Lee Mar 2014
Carole King and crickets
tonight i'm scrubbing the day's labor and auras of others from my feet
and breaking my heart all over again reading love poetry
and Grandma's Keats she will have me read at her funeral
Matloob Bokhari Oct 2014
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
Dark Paradox Dec 2011
The last time I saw you,
Hope shown from your eyes,
A smile lit your face and you were ready.

The last words I heard from your mouth were
“I love you”.
I said them back as the elevator doors were closing.
We smiled at each other and waved goodbye.

When I heard you were gone the next morning
My world stopped for a moment.
There would be no hope for you now.

But also no more pain.
No more suffering.
God had taken you home.

I still miss you so much.
My best friend, Carole, died November, 2004 after a short battle with pancreatic cancer.  The night before she died, she was waiting to have a surgery which the doctors hoped would add a few months to her life.  She died that night from a blood clot.  I guess God had other plans.
Fenix Flight Jun 2017
Its times like this
when its quiet and still
that I realize just how much I miss you

Oh My Daughter
I miss you so much
It kills me inside
the pain I feel

It hits me like a tidal wave
and tears stream down my face
I just want to scream to the sky
"BRING HER BACK TO ME"

My chest tightens
and my body starts to shake
I cant catch my breath
and the depression sinks in

I just want to crawl into a hole
and cry until my heart gives in
I just want to go back in time
And save you from this fate.

You were my strength
what kept me going day to day
With out you here I feel so lost
I feel like just giving up.

Baby girl I need you here
I need you back in my life
This isn't fair to me or you
You never got a chance

I wont ever hear you say Mommy
Or hear you say I love you
I will never feel a hug from you
or a kiss on my cheek.

There isn't a second that goes by
That I don't think of you.
You are forever in my heart
and forever a part of my soul.

Stay safe up there Carole
Watch over daddy and I
I'll see you again someday baby girl
I love you.
I miss my daughter so much. The pain is so much.
Lucius Furius Dec 2021
"Janice, I sat next to you in Latin.
We were sophomores.
You were a cheerleader
but smart too.
The excitement was unbearable
(Cicero; the shape of your sweater . . . ).
I asked you to play tennis."
"You did never."
"Yes, I did."
"I suppose I didn't want to get sweaty."
"So then you would have gone with me to a movie?"
"No, I doubt it. . . . I was a brat."
"You were divine.
I wrote a poem for you in Latin."
  
"Lynda, we met at The Three Penny Opera.
You were an usher.
I was a college student; you were in high school."
"Yes, a 'townie'."
"I put my arm around you.
I stroked your hair.
When I tried to kiss you on the forehead our noses collided."
"I was expecting a lip kiss."
"It was a powerful attraction,
but it wouldn't have worked."
"No, we could have made great love,
but it wouldn't have lasted."
  
"Gina, you lived on that 'hippie farm'
at the edge of town.
I was the 'knowing elder',
the one who'd worked on a real farm.
You were so high-energy, so alluring.
Guys flocked to you:
William and Michael; Davy, back home;
sexually involved with all of them."
"Not Michael really."
"You seduced me--
I think you wanted to make William jealous--
not that I was unwilling. . . .
I was, however, impotent."
"I wanted adventure and, yes, I suppose I did want to make
       William jealous."
"Our intimacy awakened me.
I realized what I'd been missing.
Your rejection was devastating."
"I didn't mean to hurt you.
I didn't know you were so fragile."
  
"Carla, I loved you in your apartment.
It was all softness and warmth;
**** carpet, soft bed,
Carole King on the stereo. . . .
We slept together, showered together."
"I really listened to Carole King?"
"Your parents were divorcing.
You didn't have time for a relationship."
"I don't think I was ready."
"Just as I was overcoming my impotency. . . ."
  
"Sarah, I loved you on a camping trip.
We kissed at dusk in the Great Smoky Mountains."
"I remember."
"I felt so connected--
physically, intellectually, emotionally.
You smiled with your whole face, with your whole being.
I wanted to be with you steadily.
You said it wouldn't work.
I guess you were right:
I couldn't love someone who couldn't love me completely.
When we parted,
I cried uncontrollably."
"Yes,
I remember."
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_037_former.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
winter bare her soul.

medieval trees reach up

for solstice and better days.



sing in silence and simplicity.



sing for those in  remembrance .



dark winter bares the soul, those

that believe. sing in silence.



one voice breaks.

dark winter.



sbm
~
October 2023
HP Poet: Maddy
Age: 65
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Maddy. Please tell us about your background?

Maddy: "Retired Teacher now Media and Digital Literacy Educational Consultant and writer."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Maddy: "Been writing since I was eight. Three years now as an HP member."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Maddy:  "Poetry wakes me in the middle of the night on airplanes and when I walk. It is still one of my best friends other than my husband, sister, and Best BFF Irene."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Maddy: "It is my friend and companion and is a precious asset. Without it my life would be empty."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Maddy: "Thoreau, EE Cummings, Sappho, MAYA Angelou, Carole King, Emily Torres, Mary Oliver, Millay, and many here on HEPO."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Maddy: "I love Travel, Photographer, Nature, Cooking, Theatre, Concerts, and Reading."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, dear Maddy! You are a wonderful addition to the series!”

Maddy: "Thanks and looking forward to it and your review of my book on Amazon."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Maddy a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #9 in November!

~
Maddy: "My books 'Put Your Boots On and Dance in the Rain' and 'Beautiful Heart' are both available on Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble.com and local bookstores in the US. My best poems are here on Hello Poetry, you can choose."

"Here are five of my favorites." - Carlo C. Gomez

Anatomy of a Poem:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4440901/anatomy-of-a-poem/

Special Someones:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3265576/special-someones/

Isles of Skye and Iona:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4427746/isles-of-skye-and-iona/

Only You:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4731877/only-you/

Beautiful Heart:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4569936/beautiful-heart/
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
Those old comments from the disappeared with no names,
no faces, just a large gray dot and two -- anonymous*




<•>

Those old comments
live on, unremoved,
from the disappeared ones,
no faces, no names
a large gray dot and
two -- anonymous dashes

a most contemporary kind of disregarding,
disregard-me, frak you, cause I disregarded you first,
funeral pyre ******* gesture,
where only your face was consumed,
but your words live on forever. ...  
congrats, in this day and age,
you, managed to get in the last word

who were you?
why was it necessary to leave?
while your comments, pithy,  
cheddar sharp, meaningful,
of just a plain old prdinary
wow,
tender precious to me
drive me now to simple
madness gladness sadness
failing to yes, to be recalling
who you were/are

were you stalked, trolled, gored,
or just bored
with the word-gaming,
needy for some well constructed avatars
desirous for ****** machine gun killing?

did you heart break one last time
into one million parts too many
you did not believe, didn't trusted me enough,
to heal the cuts and paste
you together like I did previously,
no more one more time?

did you get
transmigrated,
move beyond and out of
London and Minneapolis, Katmandu?

win the lottery,
get parental sent away,
super jetting wealthy,
married, divorced, soul lost,
unhealthy in complete privacy,
up and left the poems of we
poor sods behind,
on your way to Monaco or Singapore?

did I offend beyond any mending?
gladly would have kissed you knees,
written a poem just to tickle you pink
or whatever color you so desired but that
gray grey cream dot not,
that makes your disappearing act,
twice as a pain-full, a banner unfurled of,
you pick the word

was I too sweet, too kind, cloyingly annoying
driving you crazy with my midnight clockwork
"jes' me checking in on you"
one liner messages,
go one message too far?

how we conversed, holy roman dialogues
till one day and hadn't heard and
chagrin uncovered no more souling
we two, ragging and consoling,
on each others nonsense,
cause
you cloaked a name in deliberate invisibility!

well ha on you I am lying,
I will know your name, your face,
your funny way of signing off
when fate sits us side by side
on some long plane ride

you will watch me tap on my tablet
in letters so big you won't struggle to read over my shoulder,
the poem I will write for you / just one more
for just you

and I'll see reflection of your turned away head
in the plexiglass window smiling and tearing,
while I hum some Carole King sad love songs

you will salty say
to wound and to love
cause ain't no difference:
now

you're still an idiot,
write way too long
and forget to put the title in, on -- whatever*

and I will nod also,
in that idiotic identical
tonality of whatever,
in holy poem agreement
not saying much, just
tapping grey --
the rest of the way till we land,
thinking mostly about all the gray grey shades and shadows
in that dashed word,
whatever--



9:27pm 10-5-no jive
"Now And Forever"
ny Carole King
Now and forever, you are a part of me
And the memory cuts like a knife
Didn't we find the ecstasy, didn't we share the daylight
When you walked into my life

Now and forever, I'll remember
All the promises still unbroken
And think about all the words between us
That never needed to be spoken

We had a moment, just one moment
That will last beyond a dream, beyond a lifetime
We are the lucky ones
Some people never get to do all we got to do
Now and forever, I will always think of you

Didn't we come together, didn't we live together
Didn't we cry together
Didn't we play together, didn't we love together
And together we lit up the world

I miss the tears, I miss the laughter
I miss the day we met and all that followed after
Sometimes I wish I could always be with you
The way we used to do
Now and forever, I will always think of you
Now and forever, I will always be with you
Matloob Bokhari Oct 2014
LINES WRITTEN WITH TEARS
Gp Capt Matloob Bokhari



In the midst of corpses without arms,
In the midst of corpses without heads,
In the midst of corpses, drenched in blood,
In the midst of corpses, without coffins,
In the midst of corpses, stood the pride of Islam.
On a corpse pierced with arrows, Zainab  screamed:
“I cannot identify, are  you  my brother Hussain?”
My friends, Have you read a tragedy  darker than this?
A sister unable to recognize her brother, so ruthlessly slain!


COMMENTS  :  LINES WRITTEN WITH TEARS

Farzana Altaf: Very touching indeed, a poet who can feel, taste, weep, laugh his poetry in his reader's heart and soul has accomplished much...
Kristine Nicholson: This is a poignant expression of sorrow, Matloob. War is always ugly. Sincerely,  Truth survives, although human life is ephemeral. Ken
Arkay Evans:This is truly beautiful; it reads as a river of tears begins - flowing and healing to the sea...I pray you are well, lifted and comforted on your journey. Blessings
Xpuaa : Indeed lines written with tears. Moving! and congrats this poem needs courage and sincerity to be written!!!!
Iulia Gherghei :very touching!!!!..that is the measure of humanity!!!
Kristen Scott: Zainab suffered and bore it with strength and dignity . it's amazing and heartfelt Matloob ~  K.
Sandra Delussu:  Matloob. you go on touching my heart..
Michael Edward Clearman: May the message of this poem water the earth with its truth.
Sandra Delussu: a knife in the heart! and it is but a drop in the ocean of suffering what we try to feel...  dear Matloob the figure of such a great woman comes shining in the souls of those who didn't know her! go on telling us! Enmity starts in frustration. frustration starts in ignorance! taking along pretending serving God's will!!!!...such blindness only can speak to blindness...but we're not blind!
Shareef Abdur-Rasheed: REEEEEAAALLLL!!!!This is no joke,WORLD!! This bloodshed, carnage got to stop!!How can the world turn their back and shut their eyes?? akhi This piece and others addressed to this critical issue are vital to raising awareness in a preoccupied world who are "Numb, deaf, dumb, blind to genocide until it knocks on their door! Jazak Allah Khair for raising consciousness!!
Alma Delacruz Gossman: We are not blind! We just simply refuse to really see! Excellent  your compassion and dignity are unshakable...and I so admire your conviction and belief in the greater good...we mustn't ever give up...and the messages of those who truly see, like you, must continue and we ALL need to hold that torch up high, as many remain in the dark by choice, often swayed in the wrong direction by those led by their ego, rather than their hearts and souls. Thank you for shedding your loving light and make so many aware that just refuse to see or who are shut off from the truth! Bravo! Thank you for writing the harsh reality, that many a man had truly blown it for far too many!  You create an awareness that truly needs to resonate in each of us! If only more would take their blinders off and really see!
Sophia Brownie :I CANT EVEN BEGIN TO IMAGINE SEEING THIS.
Shahzia Batool : though i always think that the best comment on any poem is "SPEECHLESS" ,but as i am the student and  teacher of poetry  so i always try to use words of appreciation and the just words...i read the poem twice and read the comments as well . it's a very consoling  and comforting thing that you have a strong voice ,and people listen to your voice...symbols  and allegory are your tools and you know how to weave images. You are loyal to the promise of existence...matloob sb  it is divinely ordained to expose the evil forces...by any substantial effort ! May you be blessed and heard !
Isabelle Black Smith:  Cannot even begin to imagine the depth of sorrow, loss and helplessness. You make us stop and think.
Maurin Alessandro :Good words my dear friend. So sad, but is a true history .. I am from Brazil and has a  musical group.  Can I sing this  awesome poem?
Gail Wolper :terribly sorrowful. I am sad.
Gary Leikas:  sounds like you were with Krishna and Arjuna at Kurukshetra .
Carole Semeniuk : NO.. I cannot imagine not being able to recognize my brother in life, or death............. very searing poem to the heart my friend . Your words cut through the heart... and make one appreciate the pain and agony of this moment................................... well done . Such a tender compassionate Soul you are!
Karyn Walker: Beautiful lines, Matloob  'Why good suffers and evil prospers?' It does for a reason Matloob. But you and I both have seen them fall. Sad part is that sometimes it takes so long. Evil provokes Evil that's a paradox in itself. That's why we pray so much because that is what it ends up taking: Prayer.
Jennifer Long: oh my..... So powerful the imagery and the punch of the rhythm, and the words. this is a great piece of writing!
Satyender ParkashAas:  Progressive, fine personification of darkness, cloud.  Matchless!
Lone-elisabeth Berg Jakobsen: I read it twice, and I love it so much I had tears in my eyes, I am very sensitive and it is very strong and beautiful.
Jeannette Mendoza Dalling : no words to describe the sadness this cause's me , that so many live like this .
Leo Riccio :sad. beyond words



Blessed-Heart - Hi my friend, may your day be filled with joy, peace, and much harmony. And your heart filled with love and kindness. Enjoy your rest of your day. Moved to read these moving lines!!!! Nancy
Angela Moreno Nov 2016
Why am I still doing this?
The road no longer offers
What I had hoped it would offer.
I ran out of my money weeks ago,
And the only money these gigs offer
Are just enough to get me
To my next gig.
Every morning I wake up inside my car,
Frost on my windshield and hair,
Not sure where I'm going next,
But not ready to go home.
I smoke some stranger's
Thrown away half cigarette for breakfast ,
And put all of my trust
In Paul Simon and Adam Duritz
To get me to my next stop alive.
I haven't written a new song in months,
And all the ones I keep playing
Have grown old and stale--
Maria being the only song I can still sing
With passion.
Yet I keep doing it,
My todays following my yesterdays,
Each day a shadow of the last.
I found an old Carole King CD
Underneath my passengers seat,
And I let it remind me that someone
Is still riding next to me.
Reno sounds nice.
I might go there next.
I pop in the CD,
Hoping to find some comfort,
But all I hear is Carole's voice
Reminding me of everyone
Who is still so far away.
Joe Cole Apr 2014
I didn't write this work, it was written by my dear friend Carole Hurley who has been having a problem posting

I sit on the top deck of a red London bus and view the world passing by, so much more interesting than a drive in a car.
Where are they all coming from, the people I see? Where are they going to, what do they do with their lives? These people I view.
That little old couple,  side by side holding hands. They look so content as they walk down the Strand.
The young men and women hurrying by, perhaps going to work, maybe going to buy a sandwich to eat in the park.
Tourists in their thousands viewing our London sites. I wonder where do they all go to at night.
I gaze eagerly down as we pass famous stores, their names proudly emblazoned over the doors.
I love the hustle and bustle of our London town, a wonderful mix of the old and the new, I try to absorb all the breathtaking views.
Theres Tower Bridge in her livery of gold and of blue,  her ramps held aloft as a ship passes through.
Whitehall where the soldier high on his horse so proud and so still, while tourists take photographs later to view.
Big Ben chimes as the Houses of Parliament we pass. Westminster Abbey so stately and tall, for hundreds of years overlooking it all, the laughter the sadness,  the tears and the fears.
I look at new buildings all made out of glass.  I look at it free courtesy of my free bus pass.
Hasan Maruf Nov 2017
"I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island,
And I will kiss thy foot. I prithee, be my god"


It is he who fills my plate with penny
So, I return the gratitude in plenty
I took his pennies and never did I feel empty
Red, silver and scarlet there are so many
Would I stare with frenzy or count one to twenty?

The door of my conscience is locked
So did I absorb?
The torture of Gog and Magog
Everything I do now is
Much ado about nothing

I became the scion of darkness
I was crowned with Babylonian fiendishness
I had everything to charm and to alarm
To those who fail to succumb
To the lord that empowered my élan

To His feet I pledged
My allegiance of insurance
How can I revert now?
Like demon magicians I did avow
My soul under his bough


Rather I can do one thing now
I can idolize my white knight and sponsor
In the talk show, promotion or daily soap
Repeating his bounties under lie detector

Who knows how many progenies are there in the line?
Who were invited before me in his salacious dine?
The fruits, salads, meat roasts, wine and damsel
In bare ******* could serve them a feast of Fife
Displaying the raptor world in the shade of Eglantine

However, a little bit more burst
To cool my masters' unrelenting lust
Can seal my ignoble fate
With perennial gifts and trusts

I will keep preaching my master's crescendo
Cloaking it with metaphor's of poetic innuendo
Wisdom and words from his box of tricks
Will be my WMD to ruin the uber smart freaks

Who can out fool the serpent of evil?
When I will get the ticket to
Fly from Wall Street to London
To give lectures as if I am The Noam Chomsky
Theorizing natural hierarchy in front of millions
The naysayers keep rioting to demand my execution
But like the trash they will be flushed to oblivion


My religion is to plea for His majesty's mercy
I know whenever I will defy like Satan's pride
He himself will greet me again with wealth glorified
Don't misinterpret me, don't despise me either
What I see in you is the same yearning
Rather with a face of a grim and terrible onlooker!

Perhaps there is some contentment in seeking restitution
But, I see the world is aflame in its karmic retribution
So, this is my space, to the feet of my Masters' shoelace
The noblest of life is led by those whose gracious art
Be saved, on pain of punishment for his master's bait!
Jackson Freeman Oct 2012
I singe with a hertly lud whan ycham herty,
And I arme whan singinge is ne ynewe.
Carole whan my corage blissieth,
And I shal deye whan his blase deyeth.

Druerie shal be his a-brune billets.
A stable blase that shal sustene my spyrakles.
A schrewe destroyere that kesseth so dimliche.
A þeauful kempe with an as-spire swerde.

Gostes of i-þank als ouer my vingeres.
Al-only dulce conceiptes fletene in my gostes.
Sumdel real cannot be als amaddinge.
Sumdel real cannot be te-tealte!

Is the mannish þonc als mase and puissant
Sweuenen of suic a selkout conand?
Dest Moder Folde cune of hire child?
Hire misty doter who berne and bilde?

The hoom is not where the herte is.
The herte is the hoom bote motif
The herte, the hoom, the ende, and the sepulture.
A luft who is the mest derure in the Folde.
I'll post the translation when I can ****** find it on my other computer. Enjoy this piece, though, even if you can't understand it!
winter bare her soul.

medieval trees reach up

for solstice and better days.



sing in silence and simplicity.



sing for those in  remembrance .



dark winter bares the soul, those

that believe. sing in silence.



one voice breaks.

dark winter.



sbm.
Alexa Mar 2021
Where did her husband go?
No one but Don Lewis know
Did he really run away?
Or is this a case of foul play
The people speculate he got eaten by his wife's tigers
Or did she use the meat grinders?
I don't want to tell you too much and spoil
But they said something about sardine Oil.
Who killed Don?
That ***** Carole ******' Baskin
But since he's dead we can't ask him
~ A.S 16.04.20 ~
Matloob Bokhari Oct 2014
THE BEAUTIFUL FACE
MATLOOB BOKHARI
I saw a moving full moon over the sea
Then I saw the face of a maiden
I stopped and said, “Moon is fair
But the sweet magic of her face is
  Fairer far, which attracted my eyes
Captured my heart and won my soul.
Moon tries to imitate hr face and
Rose tries to copy her lips in vain!
She is beautiful,she is most beautiful!"
Niamh Dada Land Lovely friend. Many Blessings
Michele Vizzotti-White I totally like the first one, it was vivid and I saw how the rose must have felt, they r both awesome and fanciful, a maiden more fair than the moon wow that is a powerful statement, the 1st one reminds me of a painting the second one a song of love, both lovely though
Demelia Denton Lovely written words Matloob Bokhari

Barbara Shoetaker And is this fair woman still the one who stole you heart?

Semeniuk Carole you know how much I love your poetry . your stories .. the way in which only you can tell it ~~ thank you my long time friend, Matloob Bokhari .. wishing you well .. alwayS !

ina Farnworth What a beautiful verse Matloob, thank you so much for
Connie Hofacker Hemmerich Senter Thank you, for sharing this lovely poem, Matloob.
Matloob Bokhari Oct 2014
AN ODE TO A BABY
MATLOOB BOKHARI

I saw a baby in a valley wet with dews
Standing   in the wholesome herbs
And flowers of fresh hues
Plain air was ruffling her hair
She was honey sweet and a pure chaste lily
No bee has ****** her;  no wasp has stung her
The valley was alive with the music of stream
With flowers so various, so beautiful, so new,
So stunning sunlit blue sky,  so sweet cool breeze
In the valley ,  the baby  was the most delightful flower
I praised her  with all my heart and with all my  mind
O sweet heaven, lucky will be the one
Who will pass his life with you!
Few moments in the valley have made a forever memory
Still smell  perfume of her beauty   when  lay awake at night
The baby  even to date brightens  up  my soul with her smiles
Semeniuk Carole Matloob Bokhari . that is a huge compliment coming from such a worldly writer as you my friend .. .. thank you . You've such a gift ; you are talented; and we are blessed to have the privilege of hearing your stories; experiences; dreams; thoughts ~~ indeed we are .. .. happy weekend my friend PEACE

Demelia Denton My goodness Matloob ... so many expressive words you write ... A great mind for words ... very nice
Sandra Delussu something worth to keep in your eyes. thanks Matloob
    Rebecca Longan I love this my friend Matloob Bokhari
Christy Noel Feddersen My Grandma Feddersen (God rest her soul) used to call me "Flower". She said I was the first little flower of the Lord. She was wise and filled with Spirit, and taught me many things. I have been thinking a lot about her lately, and this reminded me that she is always with me. Thank you.
Debbie Tripp · Friends with Christy Noel Feddersen
She is always with you Sunshine \
Sand Tucker Lovely write. It carried me back to when my children were actually children. A sweet journey. Thank you.


Karyn Walker I tried to send you what I saw, in your manuscript, dear brother Matloob. From my heart to yours.
Stunning lines.
Christina Dec 2020
There you were on 658 North Skyline drive, visiting the place where you once called home
With those innocent, helpless girls on your restless, manic mind.
At the age of twenty-five, a hopeless law-student drop out
Sitting in the blistering hot Summer Tacoma heat in your battered beige Volkswagen windows down,
wind blowing on your ruddy face.
Wishing you had a flashy Maserati
Thousands of beads of sweat trickle down your head like a waterfall.
Frustrated and exhausted
Knowing the fate what's going to become of the pretty, carefree girls laughing, walking ahead on the street by your car, but they're completely unaware.
The reminisce of cheap beer and stale cigarettes on your breath
As you quickly glance at your velvet crowbar, that resides on your chair-less passenger side, so desperately wanting another hit.

Jittering with panic inside, that familiar feeling surges with an adrenaline rush in your body, going from zero to eighty in 0.01 seconds
You start to get in a trance with self-destruction, panicking with chaotic anger beginning to emerge again, in waves like the ocean.
The entity begins to set in
Yet something abruptly stops you.
Holding a crumbled picture of dear Elizabeth and Molly, you keep your wallet in your right blue jean back pocket.
Yet you don't give in to your double life.No. Not this time.
Letting the devastating, destructive behavior from the entity consume your entire being.
As you begin to have sudden regret ignoring the powerful, impatient fidgety urge.


Ten girls have now suddenly evaporated into thin air, caused by your harmful doing.
Police and newspaper sightings of a certain man named "Ted" have appeared out of the woodwork,
But you keep that identity hidden under lock and key.
Newsflashes pop up at the five o'clock hour, but nothing seems to phase you into utter shock.

Now sitting in an unclean, rat-infested jail cell in Colorado
The walls only seem to know the REAL you
The light fixture is almost sawed off entirely to your liking, for your excitingly filled escape, set for tonight.
Going through the small labyrinth of the ceiling of the jail,
New, fresh, clean clothes on, and annoying coveralls off
You open the front door, as a blast of the bone-chilling cold goes through your body,
Fast, snow falling on the ground, and luckily a car with its doors  unlocked
You now fade away into the blackness.

After you've completed the horrendous event in Lake City that you so desired to do on a whim
There's now no recollection of your recent event, even though you were there.
The trees with the wind are whispering and gossip your horrific acts.
Only they truly know your lawless stories


A couple of years has rolled by,
Trial after trial, day in and day out
Hoping and confident that you'll win, but each time, you've disappointingly lost.
Judge Cowart sits on his throne, tentatively listens
The buzz from the ***** and pills that your beloved Carole snuck in for you is finally beginning to wear off.
Irritation sets
As you razzle-dazzle each individual with your stealthy charm
The time has finally come that the jury decides your ultimate, timely fate


Flash forward to eight years on death row, with that heavy metal that you wear
Living in a concrete castle, in a desolate foreign land
Indeed not Buckingham Palace.
Rowdy, loud, *****, unclean, unshaven men surround you.
Something that your not used to doing.
Not the place you wish to be at the moment.
Body odor and sweat with no air conditioning in a stagnant, minuscule cell might also be Hell on Earth.
While just an old malfunctioning fan tries to keep you cool from Florida's oppressive heat.
You talk to the four walls, that listen when the detectives get fed up and bored. With your perpetual beating around the bush rhetoric.
You wasted  your life on behalf of your destructive behavior and wrong choices
Time is ticking faster and faster when you only have a few days left till death day arrives
Rose is officially gone and is now a long distant faded memory of your failed career of a deadbeat father and husband.
It's been a few years since you last saw her and Carole as they vanished from your life.
Vanished and stolen.
Like the girl's lives, you had vanished and stolen from happy families only to destroy when you willingly obeyed and fulfilled the entity's destructive wish.
Your tears become your lullaby, for your last night on Earth.

January 24th, 1989.
Your expiration date has arrived.
Rowdy, drunk onlookers are at your last hurrah
The warden swiftly comes to your death watch cell and wakes you up from the unrestful, anxiety-filled sleep you had gotten
Are you ready? He asks you.
No longer now is a handsome forty-two-year-old, but a shaven bald gangly, ailing man, with the appearance of looking like a sixty-year-old who's unrecognizable to one's eye.
"Deadman walking," the warden shouts.
Emotionless expression looks of people that you've once known in your past are now seated in small white chairs
As officers restrain you in the infamous wooden chair, of the many in-humane men who've gone, years before your time.
Adjust your electric crown
Nerves begin to quake internally like a rattlesnake
And in less than a flash, with two- thousand volts, you'll be gone from this world forever.
At approximately 7:16 am, you're pronounced dead.




Alone & Forgotten.
judy smith Dec 2015
Aside from New Year’s Eve specials, it’s a lean week for original programming. Still, there are a few stand-out offerings. Here’s what caught my eye on television this week:

Sunday: “Undercover Boss” 7 p.m., CBS: Yeah, it’s just a reality program, but it’s one of the only new network offerings tonight, so we’ll take it.

Monday: “Happy New Year, Charlie Brown” 7 p.m., ABC: The ol’ blockhead hunkers down with some choice Tolstoy during these Peanuts’ festivities.

“******: Cape Cod, USA” 8 p.m., HBO: This documentary explores the grip of addiction through the stories of eight twenty-somethings.

Tuesday: “The 38th Annual Kennedy Center Honors” 8 p.m., CBS: Host Stephen Colbert pays tribute to Carole King, George Lucas, Rita Moreno, Cicely Tyson and Seiji Ozawa; James Taylor, Janelle Monáe, Yo-Yo Ma and others perform.

“Almost Genius” 9 p.m., truTV: This new reality comedy series looks at folks who fall just short of their goals. They should be knocking on my door any day now.

Wednesday: “The Twilight Zone” 6 p.m., Syfy: The annual marathon features 156 episodes of the acclaimed anthology series and ends on Jan. 3.

“In Defense of Food” 8 p.m., PBS: Michael Pollan trots the globe in search of people who eat for health.

Thursday: “The Simpsons Movie” and New Year’s marathon, 5 p.m., FXX: The animated motion picture kicks off a back-to-back showing of 56 episodes.7 p.m.

“**** Clark’s Primetime New Year’s Rockin’ Eve With Ryan Seacrest 2016” 7 p.m., ABC: Whew! That title was so long that it’s almost 2017. The special breaks for local news and resumes at 10:30 p.m.

“Pitbull’s New Year’s Revolution, Part 1” 7 p.m., Fox: Jussie Smollett, Shawn Mendes and others help the performer ring in 2016 from Miami.

“Live from Lincoln Center” 7 p.m., PBS: Alan Gilbert leads the New York Philharmonic in a Parisian-themed New Year’s Eve special.

“NBC’s New Year’s Eve Game Night With Andy Cohen” 9 p.m., NBC: The Bravo star hijacks the prime time portion of Carson Daly’s annual holiday event.

“NBC’s New Year’s Eve With Carson Daly” 10:30 p.m., NBC: And again, Daly is relegated to late night.

Friday: “Sherlock on Masterpiece” 8 p.m., PBS: It’s practically the only non-rerun programming on tonight, but it’s really the only programming you need. The special finds Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman’s Holmes and Watson solving a case in 1895 London.

Saturday: “Galavant” 7 p.m., ABC: Four episodes of last season’s surprise hit musical comedy air back-to-back-to-back-to-back.

“Austin City Limits” 7 p.m., PBS: Alabama Shakes and Vintage Trouble perform.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
again, and weaving.



we listen to the coventry carole,

the little tiny child, fingers tapping

in time, the medieval, the membrance

of cathedral . walking up hill chanting.

repeatedly. they moved the stairs.



we hold the cotton, the wool

for comfort.



sbm.
CJ Sutherland Aug 19
It’s sad
      how the people
             you were once
                 so close with
                        can become
                       just another
                     stranger
you don’t know

Inspired song
1) You’ve got a friend by Carole King
Written 7-21-24 posted 8-16-24
I have been friends with Peggy for over 40 years.
I have been friends with Cindy since third grade she married my older, brother(, it didn’t work out.) But still we remain friends. The thing that changed the relationships with both of these people  is
Trump derangement. syndrome.
Even when I suggested let’s not talk Politics, it didn’t matter. I was no longer their friend. Because I voted for Trump.
I wonder now if I ever truly  had a friendship with them.
Ellis Reyes Mar 2020
I'm from hate and discontent,
from words so caustic that they burn after 35, 40, 45, 50 years.
I'm from nowhere and everywhere,
I'm from nine schools and fourteen houses.

I'm from "You'll make new friends,"
and "Quit crying, we didn't live there that long."
To the KFC Christmas and "They're too old for a tree anyway."

I'm from slammed doors, and curse words and silent treatments.
I'm from high expectations, icy glares, straight A's, and disappointment.
I'm from 800 miles of claustrophobic silence in the family car and 18 years with no vacations.

AND

I'm from lazy days at the family farm
and hard-*** work a few years later.
I'm from rides on the tractor with Grandpa,
and watching the illegal sabong... with the sheriff.

I'm from Uncle Martin and Mary Lou,
and the tiny apartment with the swimming pool.
I'm from the mean man in number 9 screaming at us to be quiet
and Uncle Martin telling him to, "Shut the Hell Up!"

I'm from David and Richard, my cousins, my brothers
I'm from poison oak adventures at the creek
and countless days at the beach

AND

I'm from Gentile and Jew,
From Asian and White,
From Catholic and ****.

I'm from St. Patrick's, the old church.
I'm from stained glass and wooden kneelers,
incense, and Latin Mass.
I'm from Ego te absolvo and Dominus Vobiscum

I'm from tradition and sanctity,
dignity and peace.

I'm from Hellfire and Brimstone
Screaming, Bible pounding preachermen who are slain in the Spirit,
babble in tongues, and exhort the congregation to be "Washed in the Blood of the Lamb".

AND

I'm from love and loss,
and love again

I'm from Lisa, and Donna, and Carole,
the girls who were far too pretty to have been my friends (but were)
I'm from Jaki who wrote me letters letters every two days
and sometimes more,
and Laurie
and Kelly.

I'm from Cardinal and Gold
from Conquest and Traveler,
from the dorm and the Row.

I'm from 90,000 screaming idiots,
I'm from Greek Week and road trips,
and long nights in the reference section.
I'm from typewriters, card catalogs, and white out.

AND

I'm from gritty men and terrible places.
I'm from peace, and war, and peace, and war again.
And peace - with war thundering in the distance.

I'm from the cold wet ground on cold wet nights,
and I'm from blisters upon blisters; blood and water.

I'm from the Blacksheep, the Alphabots, and the Ranger Creed.
I'm from the M-249, the 203, and the A-2.
I'm from Colt, not Beretta; that's the M-1911,
and I'm proudly from jungle fatigues and black berets.

AND

I'm from a fateful encounter on a random night
an order of pizza and beer that would change our lives
Days together and weeks apart
Time didn't matter
She'd captured my heart.

I'm from loyalty and faith,
Trust and honor.
I'm from a small ceremony,
nothing to big or too fancy,
and groomsmen carrying guns, pagers, and foreign passports.

I'm from odd jobs and uncertainty and graduate school
I'm from UPS and PKP, and Summa *** Laude,
MISD, WM, and the birth of Anthony.

I'm from safety patrol and tug-of-war,
Accelerated math, now Maria's born.

I'm from the Blonde Mafia, the Bumblebees,
the Shopping Girls, and the Ubermensch.
From 14, and F, and back to 14, and 15.
Principals Emerson, Anthony, Blix, and Mellish.

AND

I'm from the Middle School
and teaching only math until
I'm teaching math and tech until
I'm teaching math and tech and study skills until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and more tech until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and media and Spanish until
I'm teaching tech, tech, tech, media, and Spanish with
Principals Miller and Budzius and Lucas and Stone

I'm from the animé girls and the theater crew
From the gamers and poets and dreamers
From the introverts and hackers, autistic kids and slackers
I'm from the kids who don't fit anywhere....
Neatly

(To be continued)
Slices of my life
jeffrey conyers Jun 2013
We all have our taste.
We all are judgments.
And in music there's no different.
Except, people personal opinions.

Benny Goodman.
Duke Ellington.
Glenn Miller.
Doing their time, they were the music of soul to many.
When people probably dance a little different.

Frank Sinatra.
Vic Damone.
Nat King Cole.

Doing their era music had changed.
More was borrowed from the previous decade.

Elvis.
Little Richard.
Buddy Holly.
Fats Domino.
Gene Vincent.
Jackie Wilson and Sam Cooke.
And yes, Pat Boone too.
The music of the soul were beaingt to a different tone.

Then came the sixties.
And a various style came before us.

The Rascals.
The Beatles.
Donovan.
The Beach Boys.
The Temptations and the Supremes and the Miracles.
Was totally changed from Neal Sedaka early days.

James Taylor, Carole King, Elton John and the Eagles.
Marvin Gaye, Teddy Pendegrass and the O'jays.
Was the masters of the seventies decades

The the eighties came.
And again the music changed.
Rick James, Prince and Madonna too.

Don't we see all the above artists in the music of today.
Especially, in rap.
Where they take an old song and tries to create a new tune.
And questions, why they getting sued?
CJ Sutherland Aug 11
Survive rejection
Poet's must be durable
Celebrate, poets


Modern haiku
3 lines 5-7-5 syllables

Inspired songs
1) You’re no good By Linda Ronstadt
2) so far away, by Carole King
3) where you lead(I Will follow)
By Carole King.
4) you’ve got a friend, by Carole, King
BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge
Durable 8-10-24
Things or people that are durable and remain strong over a period of time. Something that lasts, in good condition.

There are times I will write a poem, and it  will get 20 views. The next poem will get None.
In today’s climate, you’re lucky if you get 10 comment. It’s rather frustrating when you review minimum 30 poems a day and people don’t reciprocate. Sure you benefit from reading their poetry. But when others read your poems, you can get a sense whether you’re on the. Mark or you missed it all together. The societal climate is fickle. However I am blessed to have a community of friends here on HP.
Daniel A LaPlume Feb 2019
Don’t just rely on the clay, perse.

Live life
From the spirit,
Listen- to it.

There is no death
Only life
Or the lack thereof

Or there is only light or dark.
No time
but only space.

Everyone who was anyone is still,
Will always be with us.
Carole King is a part of me.
All of the remakes of King Kong are also me.
I am also The Women. A Star Is Born.
Hello Dolly.
Reuben Dec 2017
By: Reuben Paredes

Oh, Christmas I’ve seen you in my past,
Were my childhood, innocent is instill,
Like a child waiting for the present,
Until, I unwrapped my gift and felt content,
As I smiled and keep enjoy at will,
In hoping that each memory may lasts,
How is different the feeling to be a child?
With the cold wind, blown in wild,
And imagine, the tidings in tenderness mild,
Would it be the same today?
Of the glimpse of my youth is gone,
In zenith of Yule, may I salvage of my heyday,
Will my shout of hurrah! Is enough and done,
Whatever will be the tomorrow brings,
May the Old Christmas Carole will be hear and sing,
Like a wind chimes that sounds serene,
Be the light in my eyes to be seen,
Let, your bright star, be shine above,
And be the lambent light, glows in our beloved.
CHRISTMAS DEDICATION
Tate Morgan May 2014
Feeling the day as it passes
to memory from the now
Finds my wonder of life's spaces
sweeping the sweat from my brow

So as the day now spins along
reckless and out of control
No hand upon the tiller's wheel
with no aim in life or goal

Cast to a life of drudgery
full to the rim with despair
Life seems too close to misery
lost souls live everywhere

The roadside vendors give respite
to the holes in their worn shoes
As all go running on and on
playing life unto the blues

The sound from the touting vendors
carole "Save your soul" and more
Learn to tolerate the preaching
take your soup as if a chore

Not surprised to hear their answer
when they're asked which they prefer
Would you rather have all wisdom
or be an entrepreneur

Knowledge is said the enemy
of the working common man
Slave, toil and suffer to the sound
of a life without a plan

Now walk the streets of the lonely
with no bed to lay your brow
Push along the cart you call home
of the fate you disavow

For that is all that's left of you
to hang your dignity on
You've lost the hopes of any dreams
your family is all gone

Pride now carried upon the wind
everything has a price and fee
Won't someone smile, hold out a hand
to share salvation with me

Tate

© 2014 Tate Morgan
Written
February 15, 2014
Who can say with any certainty that one day this will not be their own fate? "There but for the grace of God go I". These people had hopes dreams children families. Who cares why they have fallen down? It is the duty of humanity to lift them to their feet. In this era of globalization we have taken a step backwards in civility. Gone are the days of pensions and compassion. Crushed under the jackboots of the giant corporations that don't believe in humanity at all. Corporate profit is all that matters to the world now. All are made to be thrown out none are saved or even repaired. Our politicians are as corrupt as ever selling our birthrights to the highest bidder and leaving the old and infirm along the side of the road. Greatest place in the world? The day will come when we are given the choice to end our days through euthanasia. Rather than to live as an outcast to the society that no longer values us. Welcome to the 21st century. Everything we hear is an opinion not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective not a truth. Many have been convicted on an opinion of a perspective.

— The End —