"cavendish" poems
O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,
With the little bright boxes
piled up neatly upon the shelves
And the loose fragrant cavendish
and the ****
And the bright Virginia
loose under the bright glass cases,
And a pair of scales not too greasy,
And the ****** dropping in for a word or two in passing,
For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit.
O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Lend me a little tobacco-shop,
or install me in any profession
Save this damn’d profession of writing,
where one needs one’s brains all the time.
3.6k
Joe and Rose’s Children
Joseph’s plane was shot down near England during WWII
John was assassinated in 1963 of November Twenty-Two
Rose Marie Mary had a lobotomy because she was acting aggressively
Kathleen, wed Wm J Robt Cavendish and she later died unexpectedly
Eunice married a great man, Lieutenant Robert S. Shriver
Patricia wed actor Peter Lawford, their marriage wasn't forever
Robert wed Ethel Skakel, he was another that was assassinated
Jacqueline Bovier felt sure that the Kennedy’s might be hated
Married to Stephen Edward Smith
Jean was wed to him until his death
Edward (Ted) late one night drove off a bridge at Chappaquiddick
Reporting the next day about Mary Jo Kopechne was quite horrific
Ted was married twice, first to Virginia Joan Bennett 1958–1982
And then next until his death Victoria Anne "Vicki" Reggie too
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
The wind is ripping
From the sound of oscillating
Overhead 'copters
Splitting my vision.
In the peripherals;
A polyester carpet—sleeping bags—breaks the dry monotony of summer grass;
The bicycle courier awakes from said floor, listless;
Important man, suited, takes calls from other men, suited — octopus arms scattering papers, receipts, coffee cups and tie;
Two hard hat builders chain cigarettes and fight visible hangovers, droopy eyes staring down some impending scaffold.
And I almost miss it all,
For the passing,
Of oscillating 'copters.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
Radiant blast of fury and fire.
Mixed and hid inside like uranium in iron.
Wild boy dreams and finds, Nirvana in art.
The art of words, the sculpture made with hands. The music of those dead too young.
A briar wood pipe carved with care.
A smoke of Cavendish hovers in the air, like a phantom.
Mind free, purpose pure.
Perfect peace inside a volcano.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:32 PM UTC
Elder Gents studying their cards , a rollicking game of pinochle
on the lawn , Black Cavendish tobacco sweetens the air as they sip on RC Colas , dine on Moon Pies ...
Southern Belles reminiscing over coffee and shortbread cookies ,
young guitar players selling songs , gray pigeons making a living ,
hard at work on the busy sidewalk ....
Retired lovers window shop Main Street , a penny for their thoughts
today at Noon ...
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
Let the childhood dose of cod liver oil
Perish from its own sour smell and foul taste
Send yellow squash to the poor children in China
May Popeye keep his spinach to himself!
But not bananas!
The appeal of the peel, yes, what a deal!
A wrapper that children may throw away
A summer-yellow star sky-spiraling
Onto the garden grass (it’s good for the soil)
Alas, poor banana, joy to eye and tongue:
Why is it that the Cavendish dies young?
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
I wish I could tell you things I could tell you
Things I know and things I wish
I wish I could tell you things I could tell you
The things we say are Cavendish
You know me and I know you
More than you ever know
But unless i tell you things I could tell you
It all comes down to Caberdeux
I wish i could tell you what i know you
There are words i cannot say
Except the 'deux and cavendish,
and nor co lique co lique oo lay
These are our words
From back when
Why don't you
Remember them?
Tell you or don't
I cannot say
But noir colique colique quelay.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC