"cinemas" poems
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”
(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
*“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”*
(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”
Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?
Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…
Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances
(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated
Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
Tucking Dostoyevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
into the bedside cabinet
of the cheap
Paris hotel
having cleaned
the greasy sink
and bidet
you walked out
on the street
breathing in
the Parisian air
smelling the perfume
of the restaurants
on the side walks
seeing the sights
taking photographs
as memoirs
drinking the wines
and beers
and that fish
with eyes still there
putting you off
you tried to get out
of the cheap cafe
but paid for the meal
you couldn’t eat
the fish eye
gazing up at you
dead eye
battered fish
and the Left Bank
and night
and you taking in
the sights and lights
and those ******
sitting in windows
like gifts
to have wrapped
but not take home
or the **** films
you never
went to see
in those cinemas
you just walked by
or the Eiffel Tower day
right to the top
the view splendid
the sight historical
or those rides
on the Metro
riding the wrong carriages
looking out
for the train inspector
pretending to be Aussies
giving it the yak
and later
in your hotel room
taking out
Dostoyevsky
and entering
the Russian world
of ****** and deceit
and being followed
you imagined
by the detective
looking out
onto the Parisian street
from the open window
of your room
gazing at street corners
and shadows
or remembering
that French girl
in the cafe
who served you
with bright eyes
black and white dress
and white apron
the fine long legs
and wiggling behind
recalling the old priest
who once said
too much ***
will make you blind.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
I have never really been into poetry,
Nor have I been into theater.
I was never interested in animated films,
Or movies in general
And music was just a hobby for me
Then I met you...
And now it seems as if,
I have found myself remembering you, by just listening to music,
And spending many nights, sleepless and lorn.
I'm patiently waiting for the next blockbuster hit
To appear in cinemas, so that I may ask you
For a single day together, once again.
Now my ambition is to create a cartoon,
Similar to that of Ghibli's, because you had me by a thread,
On that day we watched Spirited together.
I became the stage manager of a production,
Worked hard so I could make you say
That you were proud of me, but more than that was
To simply make you something beautiful.
And now all I can do
Is write poetry,
Every time,
I think of you.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
On silver screen cinemas
Actors portray pain
Sobbing
weeping
Dripping tears
Like that of thunderstorm rain
Comedies - that's all they are
Comedies is all I see
Sick and twisted parodies
of me and those like me
Horror flicks
and gruesome pics
are simple things when compared
Agony
Yes Agony
Agony is your true name
What actor dare play my part
what actor dare say
"I Dare"
Because of you Agony
My bittersweet agony
Joy
is but a lost memory
Because of you.... Agony my sweet agony
Peace
Is a mystery- never clear
And my heart, my agony
Is a flame
flickering, riddled glimmer
Beating..... nevermore
Thanks to you- my sweet Agony
I know Hate
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
You had never seen kale before
it looked like large cabbage plants
reaching skyward
so that you could hide in it
and not be seen
from the farm
and Jane walked
with you there
and you both sat there talking
she about her father
and how he prepared
his Sunday sermons
right after the one given
on the previous Sunday
and how he liked
to close himself away
from the family
for hours at a time
with just his Bible
and other books
and God of course
and get it down
and afterwards
polish it up
until he had it off to pat
and you listened to her
trying to imagine
what it must be like
to have a father
who was a pastor
and you'd met her father
a few times
and her mother more
(and was told
she liked you)
and tried to think
about what her father's sermons
were about
(you never went
to the services)
and as she sat there
with her flowery dress
red and yellow
and those white ankle socks
and walking-about
-the-farmland-shoes
and dark hair
tied at that moment
with a red ribbon
you noticed
how beautiful she was
in her own way plain way
and how her hands
were held together
over her knees
as she raised her legs
and how the sun light
still reached
you both there
in the kale
and warmed
and eased you both
and you talked
of London
and when you left
and why
and how so different it was
and how you could walk
to at least to two cinemas
whereas here
there was none
but that you didn't mind
as it was a new life
and next to nature
and you could learn
new things kind of life now
and she smiled
and that thrilled you
that smile
that spread of lips
that pierce your heart
and mind kind of smile
and her wrists
slim and white
and the fingers
thin and white
and the nails
had white half moons
on them
and you wanted
to sit there
with her forever
in the tall kale
with the bright sun
and secret love
and feel inside
and 13 year old
sensibilities
each wanting to touch
but not at least not much
and she pointed out
a Red Admiral butterfly
fluttering over the kale
and slowly by.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
Cold rain pelting on my skin,
city lights reflected in the wet black tar of
a road almost too narrow for the cars racing by -
all this I saw last when you were standing by my side,
feeling the nighttime city live and breathe around us
as we watched people scurry by and call for taxis in the cold.
It has never felt lonely to me before, I never saw
how isolated you are in a city when you're standing in its heart,
watching the blood pump through veins around you
and yet not moving, stagnancy amidst torrents.
A neon light flickers across the street from me
and I am ripped out of my dream to realise
you are not with me this time.
I see you in every street lamp;
around every corner I expect to see your face
to face only myself in the mirror of a dark shop window.
My face looks unexpectedly hollow,
my shape unfamiliar without you next to it,
and I wonder when my life became about you.
I do not belong here, into this city where
lights gleam bright even in the darkest hours
and sirens scream agony all night long.
I am from a different world, one where
dogs run free across wide fields and along rivers
and the air smells of fresh-cut grass in spring.
I am from a world where nobody locks their door
and stone-and-wood houses are made to live in,
not concrete boxes where numbers rule lives.
All this was once foreign to me, and is again;
I do not belong with the neon lights and cinemas,
the glass facades and cold black tar,
I do not belong with the flashing ads and loud sirens,
the people who don't smile as they walk by.
All these things remind me of you.
I was one of them, one of the souls that made up this city
but I cannot live in it when you are not here.
I do not belong here anymore,
among the thousand lights that remind me of your eyes
and the constant noise that sounds like your breath.
All this reminds me too much of you.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Oh it’s just gorgeous outside
pale skins hide
sunworshippers basking in a lazy glow
work, troubles for a while they don’t know
cinemas, libraries emptier today
as kids want to go outside to play
natures calling
work rates falling
beer gardens, beaches
suddenly enthralling
Oh boss can we have a reprieve
Can we have sunny days leave?
Especially in this lovely Emerald Isle
where glorious sunshine only stays a while
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
Y, desgraciadamente,
el dolor crece en el mundo a cada rato,
crece a treinta minutos por segundo, paso a paso,
y la naturaleza del dolor, es el dolor dos veces
y la condición del martirio, carnívora, voraz,
es el dolor dos veces
y la función de la yerba purísima, el dolor
dos veces
y el bien de ser, dolernos doblemente.
Jamás, hombres humanos,
hubo tanto dolor en el pecho, en la solapa, en la cartera,
en el vaso, en la carnicería, en la aritmética!
Jamás tanto cariño doloroso,
jamás tanta cerca arremetió lo lejos,
jamás el fuego nunca
jugó mejor su rol de frío muerto!
Jamás, señor ministro de salud, fue la salud
más mortal
y la migraña extrajo tanta frente de la frente!
Y el mueble tuvo en su cajón, dolor,
el corazón, en su cajón, dolor,
la lagartija, en su cajón, dolor.
Crece la desdicha, hermanos hombres,
más pronto que la máquina, a diez máquinas, y crece
con la res de Rosseau, con nuestras barbas;
crece el mal por razones que ignoramos
y es una inundación con propios líquidos,
con propio barro y propia nube sólida!
Invierte el sufrimiento posiciones, da función
en que el humor acuoso es vertical
al pavimento,
el ojo es visto y esta oreja oída,
y esta oreja da nueve campanadas a la hora
del rayo, y nueve carcajadas
a la hora del trigo, y nueve sones hembras
a la hora del llanto, y nueve cánticos
a la hora del hambre y nueve truenos
y nueve látigos, menos un grito.
El dolor nos agarra, hermanos hombres,
por detrás, de perfil,
y nos aloca en los cinemas,
nos clava en los gramófonos,
nos desclava en los lechos, cae perpendicularmente
a nuestros boletos, a nuestras cartas;
y es muy grave sufrir, puede uno orar...
Pues de resultas
del dolor, hay algunos
que nacen, otros crecen, otros mueren,
y otros que nacen y no mueren, otros
que sin haber nacido, mueren, y otros
que no nacen ni mueren (son los más).
Y también de resultas
del sufrimiento, estoy triste
hasta la cabeza, y más triste hasta el tobillo,
de ver al pan, crucificado, al nabo,
ensangrentado,
llorando, a la cebolla,
al cereal, en general, harina,
a la sal, hecha polvo, al agua, huyendo,
al vino, un ecce-homo,
tan pálida a la nieve, al sol tan ardido¹!
¡Cómo, hermanos humanos,
no deciros que ya no puedo y
ya no puedo con tanto cajón,
tanto minuto, tanta
lagartija y tanta
inversión, tanto lejos y tanta sed de sed!
Señor Ministro de Salud: ¿qué hacer?
¡Ah! desgraciadamente, hombre humanos,
hay, hermanos, muchísimo que hacer.
1.6k
There will be no better days
there were no bad days
there were just so many days
one after another and another and another
and there will be unendingly more
because this is never done…
…each day is a quantum string of moments
shimmering with meter, rhythm and rhyme
if you listen
moments make days of music...
…but not loud
more like angels whispering to each other
just out of earshot
there it is
behind the other sounds
traffic of door and automobile
the hiss that kills the middle ear
that makes hummingbirds hide…
…so just listen;
be present
and the leaves will shiver in delight
as the hawk cries
and cat stiffens
and you finish your latte
and the barrista smiles at you
and you…
…remember childhood’s pets
rain rivers on windowpanes
through which you sat and watched
cinemas of sunsets
with those sweet, few others
who understood this
with you…
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC
Night's hours gathered slowly at my chair delayed to stare
as each conferred upon the next I was still.
The hour of doubt crept in a shroud for me fear
a storm to tremble in the hour of remorse so reticent to leave.
Memory gave Judas' kiss desire an empty cup to parted lips.
At the edge of dawn the morning stars do fade I saw
an amber line on distant hills weak before the vow of dawn was made.
In that final hour only you.
Before what light could prove
gathered round the hours of my days whispered hushes
rustling as crowds do in cinemas and concert halls.
Then only you
the one I fell on spent a scent breathed in
out object of my touch the parts of you
the wish to hide the night in you.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 11:37 AM UTC
These memories are like wounds,
and even though they are old they still feel fresh.
You never said you were sorry,
you never stitched up my gashes,
so every time I am reminded of them,
they start to bleed again.
In flashes I watch them, the memories,
like old-time movies on cinema screens,
in black and white, so monochrome,
the least my mind can do,
at least spare me from the colorful detail.
I am trapped in that theater,
forced to watch through ocean waves,
until a boy comes with a golden key to unlock the doors.
His smile comforts me,
covers up my cuts like bandages.
His voice, my morphine,
makes the pain fade.
But like every medication, the relief wears off,
the boy disappears,
and I am alone again.
Left to wonder when the delicate dressings will rip,
and when the blood will pour down my chest,
infinitely.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
Most breeze through the Boardwalk Big Dipper Bling
Ocean Street Sleeze, and a walk on Cowell Beach and say
I've seen it all, that's Santa Cruz, as they cruise off on highway 1
or crash into the barriers or 17 but that's not all, at all
I love Santa Cruz on a bright sunny day in May as I
gorge on the Indian vegetarian buffet, available all day, by the way
And check out the O'Niel sidewalk sale, and then past the sweaty crowds in front
of the Cineplex and the sign in the window display at Camouflage that reminds:
May is National ************ Month, are you doing your part?
and at Pergolesi a homemade sign says "friends don't let friends drink Starbucks"
and there are two art house cinemas within 200 yards of each other
and there are lesbians holding hands and homeless people breathing the fresh air
with their shelter pets and I feel free
like anything can happen here, even me
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
Man with no name
Laconic in every frame
Smoking a cigar
Or driving a police car
Westerns or a Cop Thriller
As a Drifter or a Rider
Iconoclastic instant justice
44 Magnum to carry it out without prejudice
Mayor of Carmel
All American Male
Filling cinemas across the globe
East West North or South
Its got to be Clint Eastwood
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 7:59 AM UTC
Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,
she 's known it
all 9 years
of her life.
Her mother's
indifference,
her father's
strict and cruel
attention,
the beatings,
the cold stares,
the loud shouts,
the harsh threats,
promises
of spankings.
There is just
the one love:
Benedict
from along
the narrow
balcony
of the flats,
9 years old,
brave of heart,
with his sword
painted blue
(his old man
had made it),
false silver
6 shooter,
cap firing
toy hand gun,
gun holster,
leather belt,
with wide grin,
hazel eyes,
with talk of
cowboy films,
Robin Hood,
Ivanhoe,
and she his
pretty Maid
Marian,
so he says
or cowgirl
borrowing
his rifle,
to shoot down
bad cowboys
or Injuns.
He takes her
to his haunts:
the bomb sites,
the bombed out
old buildings,
the play parks,
cinemas
to watch films
in the dark,
feeling safe
beside him.
He has seen
her bruises,
her medals
of beatings,
the red welts
on her skin;
understands
the reasons,
who did it,
but not why;
giving her
cruel father
the cold eye
or hard sneer
when he sees
her father
in the Square
or passing
on the stair,
*********
two digits
(up you pal)
gesturing
behind her
father's back.
Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,
she known it
all 9 years
of her life;
except for
Benedict,
her young knight
with blue sword,
and one day,
when they're grown
and left home,
she'll be his
pretty Maid
Marian
love and wife,
so she dreams
in her bed
in the night
of her sad
childhood life.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Derelict concrete buildings from the second world war sit like the skeletons of dinosaurs with gaping holes where someone used to look through windows dotting our island that look now empty eye sockets in great big skulls
lookout towers and brick built barracks and cinemas and pump stations and piers reach out to supply ships that now either turned to deep reefs for fish and sea creatures of myriad kinds or cut up and recycled into modern metal sea horses carrying a new generation of teenagers on to some kind of glory death and war.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
Fay met you
at the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
she was dressed
in the lemon coloured dress
you liked
and her hair
was pulled tight
into a ponytail
where are you going?
she asked
to the Globe
you said
what Shakespeare’s Globe?
she asked
no the fleapit cinema
at Camberwell Green
you replied
oh
she said
I’ve never been there
my daddy doesn’t like
me going to cinemas
he says they’re
dens of sin
she looked at you
as if you would confirm
her father’s words
well it’s certainly a den
you stated
but whether its
of sin I don’t know
she looked puzzled
and touched
her ponytail
with her hand
are you coming along?
you asked
she looked about
as if her father
might be behind her
should I?
she asked
do you want to?
yes
she replied
then let’s go
but I haven’t any money
she said
I have enough
you said
my Mother gave me money
for chores I did
oh I see
she muttered
and she bit her lip
what would my daddy say
if he saw me?
he won’t
how can you be so sure?
trust me
you said
fathers know little
of what their kids do
she smiled
if you think so
she said
sure I do
besides it’ll
do you good
you said
giving her a smile
and then the bus came
and you both got on
and sat next
to each other
and you paid
the bus conductor
the fare
and as the bus
moved off
you both swayed
to the motion
of the bus
her arm touching yours
the fading bruise
on her flesh
a mixture of yellow
and brown
and blue
but you said nothing
besides you thought
if her old man
beats her
what the hell
can I do?
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
Tonight is something different.
Not the cinemas, not the bars, not the restaurants.
Tonight we chose to lie on the front deck of my dad’s catamaran,
In total silence.
Just gazing at the sky above.
Your head rested on my chest,
My fingers twirling and digging in your hair
As if there was something I was searching for.
Above us, the silver moon stands out in brilliant splendor,
And perfect contrast with the deep, dark, night sky.
I twist my head slightly
And look over to the shore
Where I spot tiny silhouettes of little children playing on the beach,
Kicking a ball and running and dancing about full of energy.
Their distant playful shouts and screams are carried across to us
By a pleasant gust of wind that brushes past,
Whoosh!
And the boat dances in the waves.
A slow, rocking motion.
As we lay
In silence.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
It’s in the night,
when light recedes to leave me with my thoughts
and the darkness encompasses every crevice of my room and of my mind,
that the person I am is most illuminated.
In those long hours
that stretch with lack of sleep
my thoughts are as clear as a cloudless blue sky.
On good nights, there'll be thoughts of my future, of my hopes and my dreams.
On good nights my imagination will soar to heights beyond the sky
for on good nights not even the sky is the limit.
But good nights are rare and most nights,
the darkness seeps into my thoughts
with the past.
with each and every imperfection that owns me.
All my weaknesses and fears
are painted on a black canvas
portraying the things I’m so afraid the world will see.
my cowardess,
loneliness,
hopelessness.
my fears of betrayal
of feeling too much,
caring too much,
loving too much…yet not enough.
Like tendrils of smoke
the thoughts linger on one fear then float away
only to be replaced by another.
As my eyelids become cinemas of the past,
images of innocence lost flash behind my eyelids
Almost as if they’re stuck on repeat
Sometimes, I embrace those nights
As if they were an old friend.
I wonder if that makes me masochistic but
Truth is those nights,
difficult though they may be,
are the times I’m most honest with myself.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
I got the flu in mid January and it's nearly Spring and still I cough
but I decided to force myself to go out
and get on Bart and go to Berkeley
and I saw things
stared at an ad for "American Idol" on the platform
for an unseemly amount of time trying to figure out which
human representation had been more photo-shopped
Fascinated, coming out into another land other than work home bed
Standing on the Bart platform, with no evil smells like the New York City subway and a breeze
and a polite voice telling me when the train would come
And at the next station an ad for the Jewish Museum and a young Ethiopian Jewish man
has an exhibit there and I felt good, that yes, there is such awfulness in Israel
but even there, like here, some can rise
And then Berkeley and my favorite cafe,
and it so reminds me of Columbia University, only cleaner
but it doesn't hurt about my X anymore
but it reminded me of my cat who was dieing in July and
he didn't want me near him too much because
dieing things like small spaces and not too much attention
so I left him in the closet curled up as cancer worked it's inevitable devastation
And I was coughing and tired, an invalid at the end of the day
but I made it to the Shattuck Cinemas to watch "Lincoln" and they have
a bar, and couches in the theater and you can take drink in if you're over 21
and that was our idea, in my days as a theater manager, we'd
talk about ways to bring more people in and we suggested couches and alcohol
and our manager laughed and thought we were crazy
but here is crazy and people walk in and love it
I sat in the back and took up a whole two seat couch selfishly and
listened to people come in and say how nice it was
Today I was an invalid again and could hardly get up
but the memory, it was worth it
I am slightly more alive again
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
Chocolate in paper cups
Early mornings having maths
Long bus drives that never end
Letters I've written but not send
Cinemas next to the port
A falling star that we lost
Photos of us with the sea backround
The waves we reach with no sound
We live in a society oathed to distruct
Too many scratches in a tiny box of love
My mind is racing back and forth
Am I the one, the same I was a moment before?
Sweet shops like the sixties
Nebulae that this magic kisses
You're already too far away
Memories that I'm afraid to make
We are people destined to forget
Too many black holes into which we step
My mind is lost in bright fallen leaves
The rain will turn into light summer breeze
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Box Office Breaker
I’m sorry if you’ll be hurt with what’s up my sleeve
But HBO lied, Universal deceived.
From adults swearing to ****** useless quarrels
Not every great movie comes with great morals
Whether they’re vile or full of wonder
All movie characters seem to end six feet under.
Lives blown away like husks in the wind,
People **** anyone of any variety
Is this really the direction of our society?
Death is the end, but it’s just the beginning
‘Cause movies approve other methods of sinning.
Whiskey bottles are emptied, and smoking gives class
Teens can kiss as they please, and it’s great to have sass
How are we desensitized to people being killed?
How much more death is needed until our satisfaction is filled?
How can we live when our integrity’s sent to slaughter?
How can we breathe if we’re drowning in sin’s waters?
In a world where we need to love what’s right
Our faith is assaulted, yet, do we put up a fight?
We watch as the world venomously mocks our statutes.
We may be called to stand, but not stand like statues.
If you think this is just a battle that shouldn’t be fought
Just look at all the chaos these dogmas have wrought
I’m sure there wouldn’t have been any school shooting
If the cameras at action films hadn’t been shooting
Let’s try to clear the cinemas for the approaching era
For how can a young child follow God if no one does on camera?
We are losing this war,
Satan marches with his crew
How can our hearts and minds survive
When the defenders are so few?
We can rise up in arms if we rise up in words and actions
Keep battling through the trenches of violent reactions
With God in our hearts, and the Bible in our hands
The Holy Spirit will energize us as we purify the lands
Don’t do it for the fame, don’t try to take the honors
Be humble in your victories, and God will give heaven’s Oscars.
Be a Christian who shapes as he is shaped, be an earth shaker.
Do it all in the name of Jesus, be a box office breaker.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Types of girls: heavy rain drops sliding down your shoulder, customized license plates, smokey motel rooms, black nail polish, dead roses, empty cinemas, expired valentines chocolate.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
I get a little bit sick to my stomach
Each time I see that repulsive blue heart.
Who else will be holding hands now,
Swapping kisses for hours,
Making love in the darkness?
I seem to be the odd one out
When double dates are planned.
Everyone says they haven’t seen me in forever,
Everyone says that they miss me,
Everyone says that I’m too beautiful to be alone.
Nobody seems to realize
That I’m always around,
Sitting in coffeeshop corners,
Or in the backs of cinemas,
Relationship status: single.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
American singers, Australian cinemas, love, court,
Islamic love and titanium home theater, including
embassies and carpets, stones, trees and waves,
women and tourists in the United States.
Contemporary
and modern styles The best way to find a city
is to ask for a city. Some Jewish knights
are in the tomb. In the United States,
Kenya's first dog and dog-cats, Eric Generator,
powerful weapons, red and red, red and green,
four musicians, four Iranian students
are complex and friendly, but Latin and Latin.
They tell women about terrorism stories
and know how strong the power
and value of the world, their fingerprint,
their control, and how they fit
in the world's lowest daily quotation.
My first name is first, first, first. 1.
When he sees Joseph, he looks and falls.
At the end of the four titles, we read
about the most popular animals of all ages.
Another source of information is Kangra
Mata, Galgia Girl, Red, Kenya, Toy Toys,
Nature Nature, Italy, 200 ocean Odias.
Yank Power Women Love Australia 1;
Justin and the United States Tourists, singers,
musicians, and Americans do not protect
famous pro waves like the oceans, stones,
trees and ACL waves. "It supports cats
and dogs in the night and in the United States at night."
RV, all major weapons, red, green
and very modern, chest and green,
other friends, clothes and other friends.
Latin American cats talk about hatred
and fires, and like Einstein, Einstein,
Vitamin A and Einstein, Einstein has
about 100 deaths in Canada, source, gang
and red brain in Einstein, but his overall
strategy and security It is the same as e-US Greece
and Latin America have repeatedly condemned
the Greek people. This issue has been successful
in training Robotics design in Indonesia
such as Pittsburgh and John, Agni, Fire or Pier.
Red Rings Red Rings Red Rings Red Rings Red Rings.
The pictures of the red rings robot can be seen in a long,
deliberate crisis. Near Kenya,
he shot a photo of Yokati's 4487/5000.
Australia blamed United States
for failure to check United States,
Kentucky, Esther Aldon, and Los Angeles,
Australia and Australian for more than 13 hours.
This is my love for my life in this country.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
I can almost recall a time when I didn’t care... there was so much life laid up in store
frivolous days tossed aside:
grisly hangovers of endless nights,
I used to observe the characters of Paris from a window in Chez Camille... sun light flashing through the green of horse chestnut trees lining wide Montmartre streets-
well heeled parents guiding their chattering children past a
staggering drunk, **** marks up his trouser leg, greasy hair clinging to his beard
he’s avoided too by those girls in summer dresses, all legs and laughter and dreams
they are ogled by the old men drinking coffee outside cafes, complaining about their busy wives...
back in that time when our choices could send us anywhere-
careening into old cinemas watching movies with wide eyes,
building driftwood fires on deserted beaches
or writhing with nameless shapes in little rooms
washed in strawberry *****
back before our choices defined us and hardened into everything we are.
back when right and wrong were only whispering
and the streets of Paris called my name
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 2:03 PM UTC