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LD Goodwin Mar 2013
Charley Bob is a "walker".

He walks the roads and avenues where I live.
He doesn't appear to have a job, he just walks.....every day.
He use to walk with his zipper down
and with flacid ***** in hand proudly display himself to all who drove by,
but that embarrassed many
and they made him put his security blanket away.
Now he just grabs his crotch like the gangstas downtown.
Sorry Charley.
Every town has a "walker",
some have several.
You've seen them.
They walk the streets, lost in their own little worlds.
They look the same as they did 20 years ago.
There's the lady with nary a tooth in her head,
her ankle length skirt and her Pentecostal hairdo (PHD).
They say for 50 bucks she'll let you know why she has no teeth.
She's a "working girl walker", but she is still a "walker".
Once I was walking downtown,
and as I passed her she angrily mumbled something to me, all lips and gums,
"Muver Phucker", she said.
I don't even know her,
but she was as angry with me as if we were the best of friends.
Some "walkers" talk to themselves,
some answer themselves,
some stop and turn and scream out profundities to no-one,
or someone,
it's a matter of perspective.
It's like some shrink somewhere
gave them a prescription for their mental disorder,
walk 20 miles and see me in the morning.
Charley Bob is the best though.
I swear you can see him at 10am,
and by 5 he is still
slowly
making his way
back
from where
he went to.
I wonder what makes him turn and go home.

Charley Bob is a "walker".
Harrogate, TN  March 2013
Feel free to write about your "walker".
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.

Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
Salvador Dali
Rode a Harley-Davidson
All the way from Bali
To Abu Dhabi
With Charley the Cat
Riding pillion.

Said Charley to Dali
All weathered and gnarly

I get quite incensed
By children's lack of road sense.
When I get back to Britain
I think I'll start
A Road Safety Campaign.

Good idea
Said Dali
To Charley
Who replied
Thanks a million.
Robert G Page Apr 2013
by
rgpage

I never cried in viet nam,
I  just seemed to take it in.
The missing limbs and twisted flesh
friends one day and gone the next.
Was I too young to understand?
And need someone to take my hand?

No mother there to hold my hand              
no father there to teach me ways.
To lead me through the day by days.
Just left alone, and alone I stayed

Instead I found my bottle friend
to stay my tears and hide my fears.
Back then “charley” felt they owned the night.
With blusterous thud the mortars hit,
Of saying hi it was “charley’s” way
then to be my friend by day.

From no where came the dragon ship,
and tipping his left wing
as a polite executioner saluting his victim just before unleashing hell.
W/ firery tongue lapping up the earth while mini-guns
roared, eagerly devouring all living things,
leaving “charley” w/ no where to run.

All clear, a small visit w/ my bottle friend
and back to sleep in the alcohol deep.
I was no John Wayne, I didn’t fight the war
a target yes for “charley’s” sights
when the sun gave way to night.

But no, I didn’t fight.

I never cried glossary:


Charley=VC=viet cong=enemy: by day he acted like any of  the population, some were even employed around the various bases. But at sundown he would turn…
Dragonship=C-47=2 or 3 several barreled mini-guns mounted on left side of the plane capable of firing a few 1000 rounds per minute each w/ a phosphorous round placed at every 6th round a tracer. At night this made it look like a steady stream of fire coming from the plane, hence the name “dragon ship” or “puff the magic dragon.” To aim the pilot had to dip his left wing and fly in a counter clock wise fashion. Very effective weapon…

Written for a special friend A.S.
John Stevens Oct 2014
I was asked to talk on hope so… This was presented March 12, 2009 for a  “Celebrate Recovery” session.

===================================================

My­ daughter asked me where I was going this evening. I said I was going to “Celebrate Recover” meeting to give a talk on HOPE.  She asked, “what are you recovering from dad?’  I told her” My name is John and I am a recovering parent.”  She was rather amused.

Hope. When all is going well and the world seems to be heading your direction… you maybe don’t need hope or think about hope very much. If you do it might be rather superficial as in “I hope I get to work on time”. Personally, right now, “I hope I can get through this talk on hope.”

When life puts you through a trial by fire and all seems hopeless in the eyes of man, when all is burned away such as pride, selfishness, lust, ( insert your favorite hang up here)… all that is left is hope and faith. For me pride evaporated. I had and still have a bumper sticker which says “Proud parent of an O’Leary Junior high student.” The bumper sticker has faded into near nothingness now but it is a reminder of what was left for me. Hope and faith were still standing tall. Pride faded into the past and hope refreshes the vision of the future.

Hopes in our past are probably gone or maybe faded like the bumper sticker. We must look for new hope from Jesus’ words and His life. We must base our hope on Him, live in Him, trust in Him and never give up.

Most of my life, I have been the type who could fix things. Then the reality that my youngest daughter was broken and I could not fix her nearly shattered my life. As hard as we may try we can not live the life of someone else for them. Alcohol and drugs had apparently triggered bi-polar tendencies and she went from a straight A student to a total failure in a matter of months. It was very difficult to understand or even accept that this was happening to our family. For some time the guilt factor was rather great. Where did we go wrong? Why is this happening to OUR family?

The next two years spun totally out of control. Counseling and therapy seemed to make the situation worse. I remember saying in one session, “I feel as if she is on the other side of a glass wall. There is a door in the wall but there is no handle on my side to open it. As I pound on the door, she is bleeding to death and she will not or can not open the door and let me in to help her.” I felt helpless and there was little hope. Life as we knew it was slipping away and it would never be the same again.

Skip forward to May 6, 2003. At work, I received a call from a credit card company and they ask, “did you make such and such purchases? No.” They put a stop on all activity on the card. I went home and found my card in my daughter’s room. I told her to get dressed we are going to take a ride. She got some clothes on and we went down to the Sheriff’s office. A couple hours went by as we sat on a bench and waited. Our hearts sank as we watched her taken out of the sheriff’s office in chains to juvenile detention.  

This was the turning point of hope. It was going to be a promise of new hope or a train wreck. It all depended on the decisions she would make in changing her life style. There was a light at the end of the tunnel and I hoped it was not an oncoming train. After 20 days of detention and another 30 days house detention, we made a trip to the Walker Center where she would spend the next 30 days. It was not an easy 30 days and there were some very tense moments. About 3 weeks into the 30 days, there were three intense days of family sessions. On the second day of the family sessions at the Walker Center, we were on our way home and for the next two hours, I felt compelled to write this piece. I could not stop writing. It just flowed out of the pen from the interaction with parents and our children.

“My Name is __.
I am a Dopeless Hope Addict.”
© (7-25-03) John L. Stevens

Life seemed to ****.
The pain seemed so real.
The drugs seemed so easy
To change what I did feel.

At first it seemed to help
To cover up the pain.
But the ******* sound I heard
Was my life, down the drain.

The hole I found myself in
Got deeper by the day.
Hope seemed to fade from me
That help was on the way.

The help I sought and found
Was the “friends” who got me here.
Those who had the ***, the ****,
The drugs and the beer.

The family I once had loved,
Seemed distant from me now.
My love had turned to hate
By the love of drugs somehow.

The hole caved in on me
From a distance I could hear.
“We loved her, Oh so very much”
“We failed her. Somehow my Dear.”

They pulled me from the darkest hole
I, myself, had dug.
And took me into their arms
To rescue me from drug.

The days turned into many weeks.
My head began to clear,
To see the ones who really love me.
My hate was not so near.

A cloud of doubt and guilt rained down
For the things I had done.
Soon love returned to fill my heart
Where once the drugs had won.

Forgiveness came from those who loved,
To me, for the many years.
For the pain and sorrow I had caused
To them, through many tears.

A group of families gathered ’round
With love so great for me.
I soon discovered through the tears
Their abundant love was free.

I felt the love of those who care.
I learned to love again.
To care once more for what I’d lost.
To trust and live within.

When temptation comes to my door
To offer me a high.
Let Love instead answer the knock
And with Serenity say – goodbye!
——————————————-

This story has not ended. It will continue for a life time. Life is about choices we make on a daily basis. It dictates what we will possibly do tomorrow based on what we do today. Life is built on choices. The end of the story will be written when we meet the One who loves us unconditionally. The One who died on the Cross for us.

Love triumphs over adversity when God is in it. In the vernacular of Lola of “Charley and Lola “Never, never, never, ever give up” must be the words to live by. Progress is made even when there are two steps forward and one step back. Thank God for the progress. Hope lives on in the hearts of those who trust Him.
======================================================

A strange feeling set in during the time she was in detention and a ward of the court. We could sleep at night. We knew she was in a safe place and not running in the drug culture. It meant we would not get a call in the middle of the night to identify her body. It was the first time in a long time we could breathe.

On Father’s Day that year, my daughter wrote me a two page letter, a beautiful letter saying she understood why we did what we did. I treasure this letter. Tough love does not get any tougher. It was very tough on us. Most every night the last few years when I go to bed and she is awake, I hear this little voice as I pass her bed room, “Goodnight Daddy, I love you.” “I love you too, Sweetheart.” It melts my heart every time.

As I lay my head on the pillow my thoughts most every night are, “thank you Father for this day. Thank you for my daughter, thank you for letting us be her parents.” And with that, all is well in the world.


Faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love. Without love there would in all likelihood not be very much faith and hope hanging around. God’s love for us is so great, how can we not give our love to our children and each other, unconditionally, as an extension of His love for us? The story of the prodigal son was ever on my mind. A story of never ending love and hope on the part of the Father.

My hope is in the eternal Jesus who has promised to never leave me or forsake me.

I can not imagine living my life without hope. I can not imagine living without the love of God.

Spring of 2002 unraveled for a friend of mine. His wife got sick, his mother came out to help them and she had heart failure and died in the hospital one floor below where his wife was located. A month later his wife died, he lost his job, a vertebrae in his neck deteriorated, his insurance evaporated. It was Job all over again. We spent many hours of many days trying to make sense of his situation. It seemed pointless. Absolutely hopeless. I can remember a cold fear pouring over me. There was nothing I could do to help him.

I wrote a piece called “Hope for Tomorrow” a couple months later that reflected his loss and my loss when my mother died 1991. Writing is therapy for me. Writing puts on paper a reminder of where I am at that time. The words of this piece points to the loss of a loved one but the thoughts can translate to any loss.

Hope for Tomorrow
© July 2002 John L. Stevens

My heart was so heavy
With sadness and sorrow.
The day was so dark
I could not see tomorrow.
Hope seemed so dim
Through the tears that I cried.
I could not see You Lord
The day that she died.

I remembered Your promise
To be by my side.
For always You’re with me
In You I abide.
In the midst of the darkness
Your hand touched my soul.
You drew me so close
And made me whole.

There are times that I cry
Alone with just me.
When the silence comes crashing
Like a storm-troubled sea.
There are times that I laugh now
When I remember the years.
That we shared together
Through the good times and tears.

The peace oh Lord
The memories You bring.
Fills my life with hope
Make my heart strings sing.
Draw me close to Your side
And lead me gently on.
Give me hope for tomorrow
Till the dark turns to dawn.
———
Open my heart Lord
Let out the sorrow.
Pour in your spirit
And hope for tomorrow.
I need Your touch Lord
On my heart this hour.
Fill me with Your love
With Your healing power.

===============================

I hope these thoughts I have shared with you have been an encouragement to your heart. I hope you will have a renewed resolve to never give up but keep taking baby steps forward as you make your journey with Jesus through this life. Now from the words and wisdom of Lola, “I will never, never, never, ever give up Charley.”

To those who did not go to sleep, thanks for listening.
Ok it will stay up.  It is still a source of pain to read and to remember the days that almost killed me.  Maybe this is for you.
Alone in the workhouse. Is where she gave birth.
The starch Parish Surgeon. A Drunken old Nurse.
The cries of a boy child. In her arms did he lie.
Gently kissing his forehead. Before she did die.

Not to be married. Mentioned the Nurse.
Was not to be heard of. Almost a curse.
No Father to speak of. Illegitimate offspring.
His Mother a corpse. With no wedding ring.

Without relations. Brought up with force.
Grown as a captive. Poverties course.
Life in the workhouse. Juvenile offenders.
Selfish providers. Fat cat Pretenders.

"Mrs Mann", Overseer. An hierarchy lie.
Starves and abuses. Would let them all die.
Nine years of age. Each picking a straw.
The boy stumbles forward. Asking for more.

Gruel knocked aside. The fat man, Bumble.
Shocked and alarmed. Off top shelf does stumble.
Dragged by the scruff. Out in the snow.
Sowerberry’s undertakers is where he will go.

Childish look. Innocent way.
To walk at the head of the hearse, they will pay.
Treated unfair. Leading the dead.
Next to a coffin they position his bed.

Insecure Claypole. With nasty remark.
Temper unleashed. Thrown into the dark.
Overwhelming silence inviting a tear.
By morning, escape. Will leave this room clear.

Seventy mile trek. Things look so bleak.
In London he lands. Dejected and weak.
The first friendly face stands counting his loot.
All wide eyed and fresh. In whistle and flute.

"Jack Dawkins the name. But you call me Dodger.
Need somewhere to stay, cause I know this old Codger."
Old Fagin insists to offer him bread.
A warm place to live. A snug place to bed.

Next mornings instruction as Fagin explains.
We live by our wits. Rely on our brains.
Its not thieving we do. We take it by slight.
If they wanted to keep it, why leave it in sight?

Bet and Nancy drop by. For a drink they are glad.
Showing concern for this down trodden lad.
Oliver’s training goes on for days.
Each time he succeeds is allotted with praise.

The day that gave Oliver oh so much tension.
When he met the man he had heard no one mention.
Gruff, rough and evil, A man no one likes.
With Bulls-eye his dog. The man known as Sikes.

The day comes around, when Oliver goes out. With Charley and Dodger, their isn’t much doubt.
The two older boys get the items they sought. Though in all of the turmoil Oliver’s caught.

Brought before Fang, the court Magistrate. Innocent plea onto deaf ears migrate.
Last minute witness brings light forth to shine. On innocent captive in front of said shrine.
The message is out, the crooks are all fraught. Nancy is allotted to spy in the court.
The boy is acquitted. Nothing is told. Nancy relays that they haven’t been sold.
The kindly old victim shows pity on boy.A quiet misdemeanour, a look in his eye.
A child of worth, should not be alone. Mr Brownlow decides to take Oliver home.
For the first time in ever, contentment and love.Poured onto said urchin from those up above.
A picture looks down on this scene from the wall. Similarity so true, most evident for all.
But outside a danger does start to lament. The signs coming out from a previous event.
Sikes and his lady hide out in the shade. Waiting in patience for mistake to be made.
A simple small errand would easily portray. That Oliver Twist is not of bad way.
Mr Grimwig suggests that the boy should be bound. With a parcel of books and the sum of five pound.
Brownlow agrees but his friend will soon gloat. Of the loss of said books and the crisp five pound note.
Surely as hell the time is upon. When onto the streets the child is soon gone.
But Grimwig still boasts that the boy they did trust. Was simply a fraud and just earning a crust.
The kindly old man does have to agree. That Oliver Twist is about on a spree.
Held up and imprisoned by this awful pair. Terrified boy removed to old Fagin’s lair.
Bill Sikes decides that the boy needs a blow. Nancy steps in, she will not stoop so low.
Be satisfied Bill for you have ruined his life. Condemned the poor boy to an history of strife.
Is that not enough to cast onto him. He has been through the mill, now he’s out on a limb.
Brownlow decides to post a reward. For information on the loss of his young ward.
Bumble arrives for the five guinea toll. As he opens his mouth the lies they do roll.

Oliver is taken, carted away.
By Nancy and Bill to the place where they lay.
No notice is taken to the tears he will sob.
For Sikes plans to take the small boy on a job.

Shepperton town is the place they will go.

To silence the boy a gun he will show.
Darkness will produce where his sights are set on.
A quick in and out and with goods they’ll be gone.

Toby Crackit and Sikes are partners in Crime.
Through a small window will make the boy climb.
But plans all go wrong and they do not get a jot.
Although in the event the poor lad will be shot.

Old Bumble is called to the workhouse for wine.
With widowed matron intending to dine.
Things interrupted the matron must go.
To visit old Sally on deathbed below.

The dying old woman does make good a wrong.
As she pours out a death persons song.
She tells Mrs Corney about a gold locket.
That she in the past had decided to pocket.

Inside it gave clues to someone’s true worth.
As owner was dying whilst still giving birth.
To a small sickened child it could of helped save.
Returned him to family as she went to her grave.

Three Cripples a pub where to Fagin will fast. A man named of Monks will throw light on the past.
The story of Oliver’s plight he does pitch. Not knowing the boy has been left in a ditch.
Giles and Brittle two servants regale. Remembering the robbery they did make fail.
An embellished story that has one slight hitch. The bloodied young man will make their story switch.
Doctor and Constable soon to arrive. While injured is taken upstairs to survive.
Upon seeing Oliver, Miss Rose does exclaim. That burglar and boy are not one and the same.
Officer’s Blather and Doth examine the scene. Oliver soon will explain his regime.
Miss Maylie house owner and her niece Miss Rose. Will not let the boy to a prison expose.
Losberne the surgeon and Rose take some time. For ways to conceal the boy from the crime.
Giles and Brittle are forced to retake. Admitting to Officers that they made a mistake.
Oliver’s life takes an healthy uplift. And lady and niece are so glad of this gift.
Tender care and love, make this young lad at home. Never again need to feel so alone.
Losberne takes Oliver to London to see. Where Brownlow and Bedwin could possibly be.
Upon their journey the news they do find. The persons in question have left England behind.
Without any warning poor Miss Rose gets sick. Oliver runs to get Losberne so quick.
On his return as he walks down the lane. He comes on a man who is writhing in pain.
Having retrieved some assistance for man. Returns towards home just as fast as he can.
Wanting to make certain of good news for Rose. Memory of the man in the lane simply goes.
Maylie’s sons Giles and Harry attend. Harry wants Miss Rose as more than a friend.
Whilst Harry is aiming for fortune and fame. Miss Rose has a sensitive mark on her name.
Although the misdeed was no crime of her own. Her parents wrongs will not leave her alone.
Harry is aiming at Prime Minister. So marriage beneath him would cause quite a stir.
With love in his heart the relentless Harry. Tells Miss Rose once more that he does want to Marry.
Although after this time he will not ask again. A tearful lady does have to refrain.
Oliver wakes up in shock from a sleep. Whilst at the window two men they do peep.
Fagin and other man, run off for their shame. Memories rekindled. The man in the lane.
Giles and Harry soon at Oliver’s aid. Searching the grounds but no trace can be made.
Away from the scene things come to an head. Old Bumble and Corney it seems have been wed.
The matron tells husband about what she’s learned. About the dead woman, money could be earned.
Chance meeting with Monks Bumble does make. To meet this caped man his new wife he does take.
For twenty five pounds a deal is made. She passes the goods for which she has been paid.
The locket from Sally, she did take and hold. Inside of locket a ring made of gold.
Inscribed on the inside the man Monks saw there. The name of Agnes and two locks of hair.
Inclined is the man, evidence must go. Weighted and thrown into rivers own flow.
Sikes is in fever and sweat it does shine. As Fagin arrives to deliver some wine.
Fagin replies he does not think it funny. The sickened Sikes still demands from him money.
Fagin takes Nancy back to his hideaway. To get Sikes the money he must indeed pay.
A visitor arrives, two men speak alone. Inquisitive Nancy can hear their drone.
Whatever she heard commits her to see and knock on the front door of Mrs Maylie.
Admitting to Miss Rose so that she should know. Who kidnapped the boy from Mr Brownlow.
She explains what it is she heard from the other. That Monks is indeed poor Oliver’s brother.
Oliver later is out for a treat. He spots Mr Brownlow out on the street.
The young man relates what he saw unto friends. Mr Giles and Miss Rose to Brownlow attend.
Oliver is allowed a visit to see. Brownlow and Bedwin who don’t disagree.
The story from Nancy is passed onto both. To keep it from Oliver they all swear an oath.
The idea to see Nancy would be a vantage. So visit they must, upon London Bridge.
Plans are drawn up things are in sight. The deadline is Sunday. The time is midnight.
Sowerberrie Robbed, Claypole the crook. To London a journey. The police he should duck.
A meeting with Fagin does help to define. The shaking of hands as this union align.
With Dodger locked up the need for a new. Association, by joining the crew.
First on the agenda a visit to court. To view on the sentence that Dodger has bought.
The sentence is in, result deportation. For Dodger a blow, Fagin some irritation.
Fagin tells Noah he will give him one pound. To latch on to Nancy and follow her around.
The midnight meeting from shadows perceived. Of talk about Monks who is not too relieved.
Spying for gentry Nancy will announce. When Monks will attend at that old ale house.
Idea as such, he will be forced to declare. The truth about all he has worked for and where.
Sikes is informed of Nancy’s concern. Anger and hatred through him will burn.
When he returns home, throws the girl onto bed. Lifts up his stick and beats Nancy dead.
Sikes will flee London the following day but tries to drown Bulls-eye who could give him away.
Brownlow captures Monks, taking him to his home. After constant question his cover is blown.
The secret of Monks they were soon to discover. Real name Edward Leeford they then did uncover.
His father he told was forced into marriage. With woman with whom he had tried to disparage.
This loveless union for the father was coarse. So he left but was not to secure a divorce.
Agnes Fleming, this lady became his only affection. The two of them seemingly lost their direction.
As a result of this loving affair. A woman alone with unborn child to care.
Fagin and Noah by police are detained. Though Sikes and his freedom still they remained.
Held up alone at his iniquitous den. Out of the way of all other men.
Bates he does follow, Bulls-eyehe will track. Calling on others to help him attack.
Murderer Sikes is forced now to flee. For the ****** he did to his poor Nancy.
He uses the rooftop with avoiding intent. Hoping that crowds will soon give up, relent.
Using a rope to air his escape. About his person the rope he will drape.
High up on rooftop Sikes does his trek. With rope still entwined in a loop around his neck.
A slip as he ran caused a rooftile to loose. Effecting in Sikes with his head in this noose.
Onlookers can see this of this man that they dread. Asphyxiated. Hanging stone dead.
They say what it is that made this man die. Was caused by seeing into Nancy’s eye.
That her ghost came along and did have its way. Making Bill Sikes forever pay.
Even though this story we cannot prove. For many a persons minds this does indeed sooth.
A Letter its told was found by another. Proving to us to be Edwards mother.
Destroying both a Will and letter. Ensuring that Edwards life will be better.
Agnes’s father found out when she left. Became broken heart and soon to bereft.
His shame and honour were both denied. Accelerated greatly the time when he died.
Poor little sister is taken we see. By good Samaritan lady named Mrs Maylie.
Bringing this child up as her own. Miss Rose as she is now, to us be it known.
Bumble and his wife confess. To their dealings in this mess.
Concealing to Oliver’s history. Never again, office be held by he.
Harry’s makes change of his life’s employ. Prime Ministers aim he will deny.
And thus open another direction. To marry her of his hearts affection.
Fagin is sentenced for all of his crimes. The Gallows imposed for his evil times.
Oliver will feel a need to beset. Fagin for proof of his legitimate
Noah is pardoned, excluded his time. For his testimonie about Fagin’s crime.
Monks travels by ship to the new world. It isn't to long until his life is unfurled.
His wicked ways again he will try. Imprisoned, eventually this is where he will die.
Oliver becomes the adopted son. Brownlow a father does also become.
Miss Rose as aunt that will often frequent. To see Olivers life gaining so much betterment,
Life now to all will be a good friend.
This story is formally now at an end.
A poetic translation of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens..
May 28th 2011
Keith J Collard Jan 2013
"Wow, what a mansion!"--Albert Wesker RE1


Gothic mansion, where every warrior lost it,
head, heart, and soul--as Faust did,
there walks a scientist who's blood is acid,
with glasses that turn to shade--death reactive.

" Who dares touch my holster" he says bombastic.
as walls evaginate victims, send out vines,
it is from Jesus' in the crowd--Mathew--his lines.
the sight of thorax, stinger and fang,
******* the slain,
do not phase him, for he is phase-less,
turn off receptors of pain, and all is pain-less.
A fallen teamate, still and a'swarm,
the black shades do not mourn,
as thorax crawls ontop of her
but laughs at the irony of a female,
impregnated with ovipositor.

He helped design those creatures,
and--he is her traitorous leader.

Howling night forest, awakens the staff,
as if they sleep facedown in saltwater tides,
shuffling and whale moaning, as if  harpooned--
going to lonely depths to die.
then there are the hunters, reptilian apes,
can open locked doors with skeleton claw,
move to quick in hallways,
why pump buttstock you saw.
Pepper the **** on the bed with full load,
with zombies fellating down to bone,
scream through your muzzle,
slide room apart in jigsaw puzzle.
then watch your six for the hunter,
it is stalking you, wants to put its foot on your face,
and dig in, then kick its leg--and rip off your skin.
retreat from hunters and faces bloated with cadaverine,
find a safe room to safely scream.
Sit down at the bar, pull scotch from its coffin,
on counter, rest pump and Colt python,
do not think of the things you will die from.
there are three darts in the bullseye,
in William Tell style,
but the board is in fashion of an atom,
with electrons in orbit,
the  numbers are the human genome,
and a surgical marksman has scored it.
He is Wesker, and this mansion is his tester,
blood and bone is both colors of his litmus,
horribles awaiting in dark room pay witness.
his muzzle flashlight's rooms with hot spark,
entry beats claw swing, shades now clear in dark.
they say in total black silence, one will go crazy,
from the sound of their heart.
but "My trigger that squeezes within,
charged from pupil's firing pin,
sweet semi-auto strokes of violin."
as he vaunts over dying beast,
and darkness returns to his shades,
from moon light through window,
reflecting knifes on wall from moon in wane.
he slicks back a loosed strand,
locks the door behind him, and continues with his plan.
" In my father's mansion are many rooms,
" I'll go prepare a room for you." he mocks, as he walks,
with parabellum hollow points and acid round glocks.
This is his mansion, he is Achilles loosing knees,
he is warrior and scholar, a student of Thucidydes.
team-mates--out air holes in jungle boot bleed,
blood seeping through pants--
olive drab uniform now fatigue.
rooms: blood grooves running down your bayonet--
traps-- channeling you to your death.
prop open  oaken door with knife, hope  it will hold,
walk to the far side of parlor,
the sound of medieval bolt.
door spits out knife,
just scream through keyhole.
The iron maiden taper is coming slowly,
do not let it go through non-vitals,
a slow way to die,
take it through frontal lobe behind eye.
alas a team-mate hears your screams,
in the sepulchal hall,
door swing, and out of deaths thrall.

Charley Mike: continue mission,
and paint the walls black,
with dead flesh backsplash,
gun or nerves jam, then die a ripping death,
smell a cannibals breath.
Be it known, the man in black and strap,
laughs off exposed rib cage slats,
with only a scrape to his pistol belt.

Enter the man in reactive shades,
Picture a alligator, calm, age old in the everglades.
One in the brain, and none in the chest,
those extra shots for rooks, without prowess.
" Wesker, you'll pay for this treachery," invoking Karma,
but the man in black measures her tears as he harms her.
So all that enter mansion portal,
and reach the basement, before becoming morsel,
finally catching up with Wesker,
no more trail of labotomized minds,
and jaws and eyes in epileptic shock,
from a calm trigger squeeze of glock.
Face to face with the master of the saxon race,
mastering gunpowder under the scope,
and you hear the hunters off distant,
primal howls and hissing.
Listen to what the man in black says,
the mortal contest is over,
and he has a virus to offer,
" Die here, and your death will be longer than your life,"
says the man, who's shooting hand is the reapers scythe.
" But live with this virus, and you will never die."
but watch the sun burn out in the sky."
You can refuse him, and face the nightmare creatures alone,
adding your skeleton to the calcium of mansion stone.
or take the virus that invaded the first cell,
invading mitochondria,
making 'other men' the meaning of hell.

" Come decide, lest I go prepare a room for you".--
From powder burns,  your tears are black,
eardrums ring from screaming contest of
chrome python against giant asp.
shoulder numb from combat loading shotgun,
thumbing shells straight to chamber--
almost cyclic.
blood in boots: not much fight left.
your friends are dead, and you answer,
" I rather die forever traitor, to rid the world of your cancer."

In my masters mansion, are many rooms,
dying, crying, moaning: eternal tombs.
how resident evil the movie should have felt.......I only cite the 96 video game, which only shared the setting with my poem.
Geno Cattouse Dec 2012
The little brown diary lay on
Doan's chest its final restingplace.
Operation Indiana. Quong Nai province.

NVA guerrila. ****** smoke and sticky fire.
VC local yokals
Dipping pungi sticks for effect.

Hochi minh trickle trail.tunnel citties
Criscrossing our lines. Bouncing betty saying high
To your pecker.

The pictures in his dairy makes him. Human


Against my will. Hard I just killed their father.
Two grown women now with an open question
Relentless and tough. Cunning and rugged.
The diary looks back at me the blood
Splatter gives it a face that weeps
And sneers
the answer lies
Back there.
Close the circle
“Chip!” Ernie bellowed.; “What do you want you stupid, *******?” Chip answered; “Who are you calling a stupid, *******? You're the real stupid, *******, not me!” Ernie exclaimed.; “Oh yeah?” Chip questioned.; “I'm not half the stupid, ******* that you are!” Ernie informed.; “Yes, you are!” Chip retorted.; “No, I'm not!” Ernie indignantly replied.; “I say you are!” Chip boldly proclaimed.; “No way am I a stupid, *******!” Ern, as he was hardly ever called, reasoned.; “Listen,” Chip began in earnest, “it's no secret around here, and you can ask Uncle Charley, that you are the dumbest and the stupidest ******* ever!”; Ernie stood up and faced Chip. “Well,” he began frankly, “Uncle Charley is senile so he's not able to judge who's the stupidest ******* here!”
   Just then  Rob, played by Don Grady, came in. “Hey Chip. Hey Ernie.”; “Hey Robbie,” Chip muttered. “Who's the stupidest *******: me or stupid, ******* Ernie?”; Rob put down the shoe box that he was carrying. “I guess Ernie is.”; “Thanks, Robbie,” Chip thanked Rob, thoroughly relieved because the issue of who is the stupidest of dumb *****, he or Ernie, was settled once and for all even though one must use stupider as the comparative (comparing 2) & stupidest as a superlative (comparing 3 or more); even though stupider & stupidest ain't even proper words.
Elué R G Nov 2018
Charley had deep brown eyes,
a beautiful smile
and long strands of hair
that framed his head.

He was once happy,
but now he felt sorrow
with every emotion.
He was trully unhappy.

The cold and fearsome grip of death
finally got hold
of his young soul
And he gladly let escape one last living breath.
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."

Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
    Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
    Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
    Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***?
    How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
    Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
    Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***;
    Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
    You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

Suppose you try a different tack,
    And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
    Or with the mummers mug and gag?
    For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
    Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.

THE MORAL
    It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
    Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Kitty Parson Sep 2012
"Hello,"
said Charley,
the elder of the two.
"You may wonder
what I am doing
in your lavatory."
"Oh, there you are,"
said the younger
"I wondered how
you had left
so quickly."
jeffrey robin Mar 2014
^+^
<+!+>
~•~
\ /

Two a my very best friends just got married !!

MR MANURE ! ....... He married his long time
girl friend --- ******* CHARLEY
(yep --- that is her name !)

It was a grand wedding I gotta say

BUT

More importantly

Ain't nobody knows them don't think a them as special

As MAGIC !

What their love is their lives shall be !

It is so great to known them and to to be part of
what they shall create !

Hail to thee --  MR MANURE !!

&

I'll love you forever --- ******* CHARLEY !
Mutt May 2014
Let.... me... sleep...
Please.
PLEASE! let me sleep!

You keep me awake with your toxic kisses
Wrapping yourself around me,
Soothing me in a false comfort,

My eyes are heavy,
My head is weary,
So please, PLEASE!
Let me sleep.

It was fun in the beginning,
You gave me more time in the night,
You keep me up,
So I could study,
You keep me up,
So I could keep in touch with myself,

My mind was free to wonder with this extra time,
Just to have you confirm,
That I'm who I say I am,

The nights were fine,
But my days became ****,
Not having the energy or patience for others,
Greeting my teeth in frustration,
As people wonder where I went,

I am right here!,
But Im really not...,
I'm trapped in my mind,
Which is screaming!,

Screaming at me,
To scrap any couple of minutes of shut eye that I can,
Looking for any break in my day,
To just get away,
Away from the noise...,
The people...,
My friends...,

Any energy I have is used just
To keep moving,
To keep standing,
To keep awake,
Throughout the day,

Any chair becomes a temperpedic mattress,
Finding comfort with ease,
In the most random places,

Which makes sleep easy,
But the cricks I'm my neck are not worth it,

Teachers lectures become slurred mumbles,
Like the adults in charley brown,
But much more melodic,

Just to be shaken out of my daze,
By the sound of back packs zipping,
And Chairs shuffling,
At the end of class,

Socializing is not revitalizing,
Being around my high energy friends,
Just fries my system,
It does not jump start it,

My friends wonder where their energetic friend went,
I just tell them I haven't been sleeping well...,
Excluding you and what you do to me,

**** IT! LET ME SLEEP!,
I no longer want to be a creature of the night!
You topsided my life schedule like a row boat in a tsunami!,
Only to feel your furry in the middle of the day,

Now I am afraid to see you at night,
Knowing you will ruin my life,

As if like clock work,
your there in my bed,
As soon as I'm comfortable and cozy,
Echoing my thoughts...,
Letting my mind travel...,

Traveling to no where!,
You take me on journeys that last a life time!,

Nudging me...,
Egging me on..,
To go on night drives,
My poem book is filled to the brim,
Full of all these ideas you give me,
While my tank is on empty...,

But what is a full mind,
With a weak body?,
What would I be,
Without you?

I'd be free,
I'd be alive,
Free to run!,
Jump!,
Climb!,
Do whatever I wanted!,
Not be held down by your ball and chain...,

Actually hold a conversation with a cute girl,
Without giving up,
Or not even attempting,
Because of you and my lack of energy,

The sun,
Will once again feel,
Like rays of love and warmth,
Rather than a monster constantly,
Trying to sizzle my eyes to a crisp,

Have time and energy to go on a hike with friends,
Instead of fearing I'll pass out,
And fall off the top of mount baldy,

I don't know...,
Maybe view coffee as... just a drink,
Rather than a gift from god,
Sent to help me survive another day In hell!,

I wish these where exaggerations...,
But they are far from it,
Sleep is important to me,

Sigh I just think we should go our separate ways,
We are just no good for each other...,
I got my life to live,
Sleep to catch up on,
So please insomnia.....let me sleep.
Nathan Millard Apr 2013
Let me tell you a bit about me
A bit that I haven’t told anyone

Here goes nothing…

I listen to Lady Gaga
A lot
The smell of whiskey doesn’t burn my nose
Rather it smells familiar, similar to maple syrup
I love to dance a lot when no one is looking
And really provocatively
I doubt my ability
Yet fear my potential
I kissed a boy in first grade
But don’t know why I have literally hid this all my life
The book “Charley and the Chocolate Factory” changed me
And I never like chocolate until this year
I am afraid of dogs
I grew up with dogs all of my life
I really dislike my arms from the elbow up
But play off my flannel shirts and hoodies as a fashion statement
I bite my nails but not nervously
Rather because nail clippers make my nails feel weird
I watch ****…
No one really admits that one but most of us do
I love not washing my hair
But I hate going out in public that way
I love most people but pretend I don’t
It’s easier that way
I love the feeling of crumbling sheet rock
Especially if it is wet
I have cussed since I was probably 7…
I think I cuss less now than I did in fifth grade
I generally admire those farthest from me
They are what I’ll never be
I could see myself as president
But just as easily a stripper
I have to try really hard not to cry when I think of my childhood
Especially young memories
I have tweezed my eye brows
And my toes
I have worn makeup while no one was home
Mainly just to try it
I love eating raw sugar
Especially chewing it
I am pretty sure I was delusional as a child
But sometimes I feel like either I wasn’t or I still am
I don’t feel like people ever really know me
Especially my family

There is a chunk of me
Please don’t waste it
jeffrey robin Oct 2010
***** charley
was the name of our high
school mascot
back in the early 1930's

we was a bunch of german kids

we loved  adolph ******

--

after the war
i became a used-car dealer

in peoria

--

my wife died

my kids went to college

--

the grand children are

"out there"


----somewhere
Anais Vionet Mar 2022
Yesterday’s weather was squallish, so Mich and Lisa were posted-up all day. They’ve been hanging together lately but tolerhate each other - I don’t get it.

Mitch, a Junior, is the snippiest man I’ve ever met - except for my brother, when he’s actively trying to be a ****. Everything Lisa does seems to rub him wrong, but he’s got a massive ***** in her direction.

Sometimes Lisa lets him intersperse his harsh music and we get “Neural Milk Hotel” or “Bikini ****” - screemo tracs that set me pinching fingers close together THIS close to unplugging the **** router. I don’t think he’s a comfortable fit.

So, the three of us were going to pick up dinner at “Charley’s Place” and bring it back for the room. We get about ten feet out in the rain and Lisa says, “Argh! My Phone,” holds up the “1-second” sign and turns back.

Mich, with the rain lashing down, is clearly irritated. He turns to me, looks me up and down and says, “Should we sleep together and see what it’s like?”

I decided that either his irritation with Lisa was emboldening him - or more likely, he was making a joke. “Wow, you’re really smooth with the seduction thing,” I say, hoping he takes the joke path.

“I’m being direct,” he says, bending his legs or something to look me more directly in the eyes. “I like you, I’m attracted to you.” I looked away. Then turn back.

“It’s wrong. The whole idea. Deeply wrong,” I say, deciding that he’s serious and starting to get mad, “Lisa’s my friend,” I say, wondering how I can tell her about this, “die for that.”

“We know each other - it wouldn’t be like sleeping with a stranger,” He says, trying a logic so odd I almost laugh.

“Collapse already,” I say, dryly, as the dorm door opens and Lisa emerges.

I put Lisa between us. “You know,” I say, sweeping my hair back from my forehead but keeping my palm pressed there like I’m taking my temperature, “I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Awww,” Lisa says, grimacing disappointedly. “Really?” Tilting her head in concentration as she searches me for reasons, symptoms, or a change in heart.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a hug, “see ya later.” I turn and go in, as they walk off arguing.

I decided to work on an essay I’d been putting off, but my heart wasn’t in it - I couldn’t concentrate. Everything was irritating me - my clothes felt like wool - thinking I was going to have to tell Lisa about Mitch’s proposition.

Forty minutes later Lisa’s back home - with sandwiches for both of us. I’m sitting on my bed playing Animal Crossing when she scooches onto the foot of my bed and tells me she decided the Mitch thing wasn’t working anymore.

“Thank God,” I say, letting my head fall back on my pillows, “You couldn’t trust him.”
BLT word of the day challenge: Intersperse: place or insert something at intervals"

Slang: post-up = staying inside   tolerhate = hate but tolerate

There’s a song for this: All I’ve ever known by Bahamas
Expectation

We bow to our gods
Our demigods

Take sides
Give credit where we think
Credit's due

***** at the other

An exercise in hope
Despair, disgust

An act of rebellion
Worship, boredom

A little entertainment
Perhaps

Oh Holy Night is blasting
But it's business as usual

What did we expect?

The Donald's having another
Rad hair day

Merc is mixing up yet another shot
In the arm of the unsuspecting ignorant

Monsanto's engineering one more
Pernicious stew for dinner

World War Three pending
At Arm's Dealers Inc

A trader goes Kachung

A raven drops his doodoo

Really
What did we expect?

Shiny stilettos go clack clack

A homeless man shivers in the rain

The guy on the bike gives ya the finger

Grandma turns on and drops out
Can ya blame her?

Another heart-breaking day
For the broken

A little goodwill
For the willing

Martin Lawrence sneezes
And we can't help ourselves

Hilarious

Charley Sheen loses his knickers
In repeat spin

Another bad news nugget
For the rag-mags

What did he expect?

The jingle bells jingle

It's tinsel time again
The gift can go bye bye in the mayhem

In this the season of high expectation
It's good to have less expectation
To worry less, to feel more

Share
See what happens
Expect a miracle
or
Expect nothing

The gift
Ah the gift

The present
Presence

That is all
What did I expect?

2015 for the present
expectation, disappointment, duality, mayhem, bikes grandma, stilettos, clackclack, presence, gift.
Jeherico C Aug 2011
If I were a writer
I’d actively seek
A mild patina
A mad mystique
I’d write about death
As something good
I’d sign my name
Edgar Allen Atwood

If I were a writer
There’d be Tom and Huck
A great big world
That didn’t give a ****
Bout the little guy
Floating down the main
And I’d call myself
Charley Dickens Twain

If I was a writer
I’d have a golden plume
I’d write about
That day of doom
I’d write about
Laughing at fear
And I’d call myself
Mordecai Shakespeare

If I was a writer
And I had a page
I’d write about
The good old days
‘Bout what I’d ‘ve done
On a day with you
And I’d sign my name
And I’d sign yours too
jeffrey robin Aug 2014
(        )        #       (      )  
) (
••••••
===

I'll call you     Frank
You call me       Charley

.//.

got it !

NOW TRY TO        BLEND IN !

/////

human beings in an Alien World

////

FER CHRIST'S SAKE  !
JUST FIND SOMEBODY AND LOVE THEM !

WITHOUT THE CONSTANT         MELODRAMA !

ITS KILLING EVERYONE !




( really )

Don't ya know what's happening  ?
Don't ya know what's going on !

( I mean
                                  ------- really ?  )

/./

So

I'll call you            Frank
You call me     Charley

Ya got it !

WE         UNDERCOVER NOW !

/::/

We undercover now so try to blend in
Firewalker Oct 2014
Walking with the weekly dregs, of soup cans, tomatoes, & cauliflower,
Passing the empty stares, vacant looks and rude remarks,


It must be Halloween, look at all the Zombies, please no treats,
or tricks,
I have joined the masses,

My cart has a broken wheel and constantly shifts to the left
Pressure to the Right, no back to the Left,

The 200lb's of cat litter doesn’t help,
Beware of The “Cat Lady”, Yes, I have become The “Cat Man”
Just as Crazy,

Listening “Sir could you tell me where I can find the lower sodium Gefilte fish”? did I even spell Gefilte right?

Aisle 10 next to the Tuna

And then it happens! Crash, (I wasn’t looking, I wanted to see if Sorry Charley was really next to Gefilte) right into the luxury cart, parked in my space,

I was ready to give my mean, meaningless I’m sorry I’ve become the one person I feared as a child The grumpy old man.

I look up and my breathing stop, she captured me with her lovely face
I was sent reeling to a distant romantic time & place, centuries ago

Did she drift slightly towards me? Or was it just my imagination,

Did our eyes hold each other in an embrace? Or was it just my imagination

Did she see the poet in my heart?, Or was it just my imagination

Was there anything at all?, Or is it my imagination.

Either way my heart is closed and youthful energy gone,

I gave a soft I’m sorry lowered my eyes and walked away,

Scowled a couple of brats, get out of the way,
**** cart shifts to the left,

I had to look back, I caught a glimpse,

of a single teardrop running down her cheek,
or was it just my Imagination

Firewalker
MARIA PANOUTSOU Nov 2016
Όποια λέξη και να πλάσεις υπάρχει πριν από σένα
Tι έχεις να πεις γι’ αυτό;

she doesn’t like to be too uncomfortable, no
she doesn’t like to be too uncomfortable, no
she doesn’t like to be too uncomfortable
Charley Genever

Πλησίασε το καράβι στα ρηχά /μικρό, χαρούμενο
Η θάλασσα έγινε όπως τότε/ με Οδυσσέα και του άλλους
Ιθάκη, το νησί της προσμονής/της τύφλωσης
Το βλέπω το λαμπάκι στην ξύλινη κολόνα/
Μη με ρωτάς αν θέλω να έρθει/ ο ένας και μοναδικός/
Φτάνει/ας μείνουν άχτιστα τα σπίτια
Για θιάσους περαστικούς /το νερό λίγο και γλυφό\
Δεν έχω αυτιά για τα τραγούδια σου/
Πες μου για τον κόσμο που αγάπησα/ αν θα ξαναδώ
Εκείνη την παντοτινή ώρα/ που μπορείς να θυσιάσεις
Τον λόγο/ τον χρόνο/ την ίαση/ την ομορφιά / το πεπρωμένο/
Όταν βρέχει ακούω μόνο ότι πρέπει
Και το βουνό καθυστερεί τον ερχομό του ήλιου το χειμώνα
Όπως τα δένδρα ξεχειμωνιάζουν γέρνοντας έτσι και εγώ
Βυθίζομαι αντάρα με αντάρα/ το κορμί σε μοναστήρι άσκεπο
Δεν φτάνει το φως μέχρι εδώ / ούτε του ήλιου/ ούτε το φεγγάρι
Δεν φτάνει μέχρι εδώ /ούτε το όνειρο που έπλασες
Δεν φτάνει ούτε η φωνή / που μυρμηγκιάζει στον λαιμό
Μίχλα παντού/ και εκεί / το τέλος του δρόμου

Αδημοσίευτο ©ΜΑΡΙΑ ΠΑΝΟΥΤΣΟΥ
MARIA PANOUTSOU Oct 2016
she doesn’t like to be too uncomfortable,no she doesn’t like to be too uncomfortable, no she doesn' t like to be uncomfortable
Charley Genever


Πλησίασε το καράβι στα ρηχά /μικρό, χαρούμενο
Η θάλασσα έγινε όπως τότε/ με Οδυσσέα και του άλλους
Ιθάκη, το νησί της προσμονής/της τύφλωσης
Το βλέπω το λαμπάκι στην ξύλινη κολώνα/
Μη με ρωτάς αν θέλω να έρθει/ ο ένας και μοναδικός/
Φτάνει/ας μείνουν άχτιστα τα σπίτια
Για θιάσους περαστικούς /το νερό λίγο και γλυφό\
Δεν έχω αυτιά για τα τραγούδια σου/
Πες μου για τον κόσμο που αγάπησα/ αν θα ξαναδώ
Εκείνη την παντοτινή ώρα/ που μπορείς να θυσιάσεις
Τον λόγο/ τον χρόνο/ την ίαση/ την ομορφιά / το πεπρωμένο/
Όταν βρέχει ακούω μόνο ότι πρέπει
Και το βουνό καθυστερεί τον ερχομό του ήλιου/ το χειμώνα
Όπως τα δένδρα ξεχειμωνιάζουν γέρνοντας/ έτσι και εγώ
Βυθίζομαι αντάρα με αντάρα/ το κορμί σε μοναστήρι άσκεπο
Δεν φτάνει το φως μέχρι εδώ / ούτε του ήλιου/ ούτε το φεγγάρι
Δεν φτάνει μέχρι εδώ /ούτε το όνειρο που έπλασες
Δεν φτάνει ούτε η φωνή / που μυρμηγκιάζει στον λαιμό
Μίχλα παντού/ και εκεί / το τέλος του δρόμου

©Mαρία Πανούτσου Ανέκδοτη Συλλογή
Donall Dempsey Feb 2017
AS DEW IN APRYLLE

It is as if
he has fallen

from the end of
the 15th century

into this
present day.

A Friday as it
happens.

And falling from
century to century

he has lost weight
the flesh fallen from him

so that
Simon Sadd

(“Sadd by name…sadd by nature!”)

arrives at this
particular now

nothing but
a bag of bones

with a skin
that no longer fits him.

As if…as if
he had once been a fat man

and Time had
thinned him…tamed him.

And so it is
I bathe him

sing songs for him
recite for him

carols, poems, hymns
anything

that lets him escape
even for a moment

this nursing home.

My voice carries him
back to his Norfolk childhood

where his mother
bathes him

on some forgotten Friday
in the once upon a time.

Soap stings his eyes
then and now.

“Moder ‘ud give us
such a ding on the lug.”

He laughs as if
she were there.

“Cor blarst me...stop yer blarin!
Such a sharmin’!”

he scolds himself
with her voice.

Then she’d hush me with…
“I SYNG OF A MAYDEN”

“I syng of a mayden
þat is makeles,
kyng of alle kynges
to here sone che ches.”

I finish it for him.

“My heart alive…how does
a yung feller like you…no dat!”

  
“He came also stylle
þer his moder was
as dew in aprylle,
þat fallyt on þe gras.”

“You must have high learnin’
bor!”

He, for his part,
creates a world of words.

I enter entranced
into his voice

where a ladybird
transforms itself into

a bishy barneybee!

A woodlouse
becomes a Charley pig.

A jasper
is a wasp.

“Ahhh look a King Harry
by the Lady’s smock!”

And when I look
the goldfinch has

already flown away
into the lost years.

The Canterberry Bells
still…so still

“…as dew in Aprylle.”

His mind a “bishy bishy
barneybee…”

“When will yer weddin’ be?
he says softly to himself

“If it be a ‘marra day..."
I towel him dry.

“Tairk yer wings an’
floi away!”
I SING OF A MAYDEN

I syng of a mayden
þat is makeles,
kyng of alle kynges
to here sone che ches.  

He came also stylle
þer his moder was
as dew in aprylle,
þat fallyt on þe gras.

He cam also stylle
to his moderes bowr
as dew in aprille,
þat fallyt on þe flour.  

He cam also stylle
þer his moder lay
as dew in Aprille,
þat fallyt on þe spray.;  

Moder & mayden
was neuer non but che –
wel may swych a lady
Godes moder be.

***

I SING OF A MAIDEN

I sing of a maiden
That is matchless,
King of all Kings
For her son she chose

He came as still
where his mother was
As dew in April
That falls on the grass

He came as still
To his mother’s bower
As dew in April
That falls on the flower.

He came as still
Where his mother lay
As dew in April
That falls on the spray

Mother and maiden
There was never, ever one but she;
Well may such a lady
God’s mother be

***

Some nice Norfolk words!

bred and born  - instead of "born and bred"

Bishy-barney-bee  -  ladybird

Bor  - friend/boy...pronounced Buh!

Burr -  haze around the moon

charleypig/barneypig  - wood louse

Coshies/cushies   -  sweets

Cuckoo  -   cocoa

Dudder    -  shiver yet shiver for a splinter

Ding   -  sharp blow

Dickey   -  donkey

Dockey  -    a labourer’s dinner

Dodman/dundmun/doderman   -  snail

Duzzy  -  silly

Erriwiggle   -  earwig

fillum    -  film or movie

fumble-******   -  clumsy

gansey   -  jersey

Garp/gorp   -  gape

Co ter heck  - go to hell as in amazement

guzunder  - goes-under...another word for chamber-***

Hedge Betty   -  hedge sparrow

High learned  -  well-educated, clever

Hold yew hard ! -  Hang on there! or Wait a moment!

harnser  - heron or a goose for which the Latin name is Anser

hoddy-doddy (very small)

jiffle   -  fidget

kewter  -  money

King Harry   -  goldfinch

Lady’s smock   -  Canterbury bell

Mardle   -  gossip

mawkin   -  a scarecrow

Muckwash  -  sweat a lot

My heart alive! (expression of surprise or just "my heart"

occard   - awkward

"Oi hent nart gart none",  - "I haven't got any".

Pingle   -  play with your food

Pishamire  -  an ant

Pollywiggle   -  a tadpole

puckaterry   - stress/panic

Quackle  -   to strangle

Rafty   -  damp raw weather

Rimer  -  **** frost

Shiver   -  splinter

skerrick   -  a morsel of food

Smur   -  fine rain drizzle

snob   -  shoemaker

squit   -  nonsense

stannicle   -  tadpole

tempest   -  thunderstorm

"The Fenians are coming!"  - a  commotion nearby.

tittermatorter  -   see-saw

*****-totty   -  very small
jeffrey robin Oct 2014
(               ^^^            )
~<                     >~
  ~<       (    )        >~
(       )
(           )
/-----\

                                        it's just ole Charlie

                        Ya know ?

                                              The old ****

•     •

In the old garage

The antique queer AMERICAN

Lies there

////

He's weird !

He says he remembers  when

Something called      Children      was here

/::/

Yeah

Ole **** charley is all

•   •

Thru the rain and the  hail

Of bullets on the street

Ole **** Charlie

He's still here
CharlesC Oct 2018
Charley Harper
is my example..
His animal forms are
minimal and simplistic..
(you can google his name..!)

Charley was a forerunner of
consciousness-only awakening
which is today offered as a
paradigm of hope..

Each life form
bird animal insect tree
expresses and abides
in something more..

Essence is consciousness
manifesting within itself
a plethora of forms with
geometric brushstrokes..

This artist's stroke finds
our commonality in beauty
the recognition for which
each of us longs...
For examples of Charley Harper's work
please google, or go to my blog:  
polarityinplay.com. :)

— The End —