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ENDNOTES:

(1)  ll. 1-9 are preserved by Diodorus Siculus iii. 66. 3; ll.
     10-21 are extant only in M.
(2)  Dionysus, after his untimely birth from Semele, was sewn
     into the thigh of Zeus.
(3)  sc. Semele.  Zeus is here speaking.
(4)  The reference is apparently to something in the body of the
     hymn, now lost.
(5)  The Greeks feared to name Pluto directly and mentioned him
     by one of many descriptive titles, such as 'Host of Many':
     compare the Christian use of O DIABOLOS or our 'Evil One'.
(6)  Demeter chooses the lowlier seat, supposedly as being more
     suitable to her assumed condition, but really because in her
     sorrow she refuses all comforts.
(7)  An act of communion -- the drinking of the potion here
     described -- was one of the most important pieces of ritual
     in the Eleusinian mysteries, as commemorating the sorrows of
     the goddess.
(8)  Undercutter and Woodcutter are probably popular names (after
     the style of Hesiod's 'Boneless One') for the worm thought
     to be the cause of teething and toothache.
(9)  The list of names is taken -- with five additions -- from
     Hesiod, "Theogony" 349 ff.: for their general significance
     see note on that passage.
(10) Inscriptions show that there was a temple of Apollo
     Delphinius (cp. ii. 495-6) at Cnossus and a Cretan month
     bearing the same name.
(11) sc. that the dolphin was really Apollo.
(12) The epithets are transferred from the god to his altar
     'Overlooking' is especially an epithet of Zeus, as in
     Apollonius Rhodius ii. 1124.
(13) Pliny notices the efficacy of the flesh of a tortoise
     against withcraft.  In "Geoponica" i. 14. 8 the living
     tortoise is prescribed as a charm to preserve vineyards from
     hail.
(14) Hermes makes the cattle walk backwards way, so that they
     seem to be going towards the meadow instead of leaving it
     (cp. l. 345); he himself walks in the normal manner, relying
     on his sandals as a disguise.
(15) Such seems to be the meaning indicated by the context,
     though the verb is taken by Allen and Sikes to mean, 'to be
     like oneself', and so 'to be original'.
(16) Kuhn points out that there is a lacuna here.  In l. 109 the
     borer is described, but the friction of this upon the
     fireblock (to which the phrase 'held firmly' clearly
     belongs) must also have been mentioned.
(17) The cows being on their sides on the ground, Hermes bends
     their heads back towards their flanks and so can reach their
     backbones.
(18) O. Muller thinks the 'hides' were a stalactite formation in
     the 'Cave of Nestor' near Messenian Pylos, -- though the
     cave of Hermes is near the Alpheus (l. 139).  Others suggest
     that actual skins were shown as relics before some cave near
     Triphylian Pylos.
(19) Gemoll explains that Hermes, having offered all the meat as
     sacrifice to the Twelve Gods, remembers that he himself as
     one of them must be content with the savour instead of the
     substance of the sacrifice.  Can it be that by eating he
     would have forfeited the position he claimed as one of the
     Twelve Gods?
(20) Lit. 'thorn-plucker'.
(21) Hermes is ambitious (l. 175), but if he is cast into Hades
     he will have to be content with the leadership of mere
     babies like himself, since those in Hades retain the state
     of growth -- whether childhood or manhood -- in which they
     are at the moment of leaving the upper world.
(22) Literally, 'you have made him sit on the floor', i.e. 'you
     have stolen everything down to his last chair.'
(23) The Thriae, who practised divination by means of pebbles
     (also called THRIAE).  In this hymn they are represented as
     aged maidens (ll. 553-4), but are closely associated with
     bees (ll. 559-563) and possibly are here conceived as having
     human heads and ******* with the bodies and wings of bees.
     See the edition of Allen and Sikes, Appendix III.
(24) Cronos swallowed each of his children the moment that they
     were born, but ultimately was forced to disgorge them.
     Hestia, being the first to be swallowed, was the last to be
     disgorged, and so was at once the first and latest born of
     the children of Cronos.  Cp. Hesiod "Theogony", ll. 495-7.
(25) Mr. Evelyn-White prefers a different order for lines #87-90
     than that preserved in the MSS.  This translation is based
     upon the following sequence: ll. 89,90,87,88. -- DBK.
(26) 'Cattle-earning', because an accepted suitor paid for his
     bride in cattle.
(27) The name Aeneas is here connected with the epithet AIEOS
     (awful): similarly the name Odysseus is derived (in
     "Odyssey" i.62) from ODYSSMAI (I grieve).
(28) Aphrodite extenuates her disgrace by claiming that the race
     of Anchises is almost divine, as is shown in the persons of
     Ganymedes and Tithonus.
(29) So Christ connecting the word with OMOS.  L. and S. give =
     OMOIOS, 'common to all'.
(30) Probably not Etruscans, but the non-Hellenic peoples of
     Thrace and (according to Thucydides) of Lemnos and Athens.
     Cp. Herodotus i. 57; Thucydides iv. 109.
(31) This line appears to be an alternative to ll. 10-11.
(32) The name Pan is here derived from PANTES, 'all'.  Cp.
     Hesiod, "Works and Days" ll. 80-82, "Hymn to Aphrodite" (v)
     l. 198. for the significance of personal names.
(33) Mr. Evelyn-White prefers to switch l. 10 and 11, reading 11
     first then 10. -- DBK.
(34) An extra line is inserted in some MSS. after l. 15. -- DBK.
(35) The epithet is a usual one for birds, cp. Hesiod, "Works and
     Days", l. 210; as applied to Selene it may merely indicate
     her passage, like a bird, through the air, or mean 'far
     flying'.
__
The Homeric Hymns in the Hello Poetry collection are provided by:
Online Medieval and Classical Library.
Source site: http://omacl.org/Hesiod/hymns.html
A doctor's sorry for birth complication
A sea of CP cases in physiotherapy centre
Siblings, twins, triplets
All with defects

Advice of

Therapy,
Botox,
Vision,
Hearing,
Ocupational,
unheard names of unknown place...
!!!
Children I never thought existed
Parents I couldn't believe laughed
Joy in the eyes of kids with severe disability
Waiting for acceptance but yet unknown..
Blanked eyes of a mother
Whose 4 yr old child can die any day
Income reduced expenditure doubled
!!!

Yet

Optimism,
Joy,
Laughter,
Patience,
Hardwork,
Belief
multiplied many folds...

Coz they are the chosen one
God believed in them

And so God sent to them
The special gifts in
SPECIAL KIDS...
to make them
SPECIAL MOMs...
!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018
It was Christmas Eve, a Thursday
On the Northern Express Christmas Train
We were on our way north through the wilds
And our  destination was to be old Hornepayne

One hundred and eighty two people
Three kittens, one goat and nine dogs
Were riding up north on the railroad
Oh, I forgot to mention six hogs

There was snow coming in from the waters
Surrounding the bays, both Hudson and James
The engineer was prepared for a whopper
This would not be a time to play games

It was nineteen twenty in the year of our lord
The great war had been done for two years
These people were travelling homeward
To spend Christmas with those they held dear

The storm was gathering force over water
There was no way to safely arrive
They only had one option before them
If he wanted them all to survive

He pulled the train off on a side spur
They were not getting home safe tonight
But, the train, being old wasn't worthy
Of surviving the storm and it's fight

The conductor gathered up  all his courage
And he entered each car in their turn
He said "It looks like we're here for a while"
The storm looked real bad, as they'd learn

Remember it was nineteen twenty
The trains had no heat to keep warm
There was just an old stove and the engine
To keep them alive in the storm

The lines were down, so no message
Could be sent via morse code machine
They were stuck in the Ontario wilds
In a storm worse than they'd ever seen

They prayed and they sang hymns all together
Christmas carols and some all would know
As they sat, and they watched out the window
At the wind whipping, white sheets of snow

It was just after four when it started
Six hours in it was worse
One man, a fellow named Woolner
Said "we're stuck on a CP rail hearse"

The children were kept calm by their mothers
The men were watching as well
They were keeping an eye on the weather
They would not die in this frozen hell

It was just before midnight I reckon
When the storm broke enough to see out
The snow was now done and was over
Of this there was surely no doubt

Christmas Day...it was now after midnight
Some were sleeping while others were not
They had left to go start a fire
This was an idea given plenty of thought

The people awoke and they followed
To the fire to keep warm and still pray
They would make the best of a bad situation
Don't forget it was still Christmas Day

Christmas happens, it doesn't pick a location
It doesn't give a **** where you are
Christmas happens, and it gives a feeling
Of goodness, whether you're close or home is quite far

These people all stuck in the forest
Still a day or so from where they would go
Spent a Christmas with a whole bunch of strangers
some dogs, cats and hogs and a goat

Gifts that were destined for family
Were opened that night by the crowd
And the carols they sang in the forest
Shook the snow, they were singing so loud

The trees were lit up by the fire
Snow was covering branches up high
When they looked up into the dark heavens
And they saw the bright lights in the sky

The rainbow of colours was awesome
It shone brighter than bright in the sky
But one thing stood out in the distance
The one star that shone bright from on high

What was it that brought them together
Made them share this Christmas as one
Was it the storm that was the only reason
Or was there something else there that had come

The word came on out from the engine
The lines of communication were back
They should all get on back to their carriage
And he'd get this train back on track

When they all climbed aboard to get moving
Every seat had a package, all wrapped
No one saw who delivered the presents
As they were all in this outland, and trapped

Was it Santa come through to deliver
Their presents while they all went to pray
It's a question that no one can answer
It's a puzzle that remains to this day

If you ever go north on the railway
And you pass by the park near Hornepayne
Remember the big storm they encountered
And the magic on the Christmas Train
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
(Omaha to Ogden - Summer 1870)
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

I can hear the whistle blowin’,
two short bursts, it’s time to throttle up.
Conductor double checks, with tickets punched,
hot glistenin’ oil on connectin’ rods.

Hissin’ steam an’ belchin’ smoke rings,
inside thin ribbons of iron track.
Windin’ through the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
along the banks of the river Platte.

A summer’s breeze toss yellow wild flowers,
joyful laughter an’ waves goodbye.
Up ahead, there’s a sea of lush green fields,
belo’ a bright, blue-crimson sky.

O’er plains where sun bleached buffalo,
with skulls hollowed, an’ emptied gaze.
Comes a Baldwin eight wheeler a rollin’,
a sizzlin’ behemoth on clackin’ rails.

Atop distant hills, Sioux warriors rendezvous,
stoke up the locomotive’s firebox.
Crank up the heat, pour on the steam,
we’ll outrun ‘em without a shot!

‘Cross the Loup River, just south of Columbus,
on our way to Silver Creek an’ Clark.
We’re all lookin’ forward to the Grand Island stop,
where there’s hot supper waitin’, just befor’ dark.

On our way again, towards Westward’s end,
hours passin’ without incident.
I fall asleep, while watchin’ hot moonlit cinders,
dancin’ Eastward along the track . . . . .

My mind is swimmin’ in the blue waters of the Pacific,
dreamin’ adventures, an’ thrills galore.
When I awake with a start an’ a **** from my dreamland,
we’re in the midst of a Earth shatterin’ storm!

Tornado winds are a’ whirlin’, an’ lightnin’ bolts a’ hurlin’,
one strikes the locomotive’s right dash-***.
The engine glows red, iron rivets shoot Heaven sent,
it’s whistlin’ like a hundred tea-pots!

The train’s slowin’ down, there’s another town up ahead,
must be North Platte, an’ we’re pushin’ through.
Barely escape from the storm, get needed provisions onboard,
an’ switch out the locomotive for new.

At dawn’s first light, where the valley narrows,
with Lodge Pole’s bluffs an’ antelope.
We can all see the grade movin’ up, near Potter’s City,
where countless prairie dogs call it home.

On a high noon sun, on a mid-day’s run,
at Cheyenne, we stop for grub an’ fuel.
“Hookup another locomotive, men,
an’ start the climb to Sherman Hill!”

At the highest point on that railroad line,
I hear a whistle an’ a frantic call.
An’ a ceiling’s thud from a brakeman’s leap,
to slow that creakin’ train to a crawl.

Wyomin’ winds blow like a hurrican’,
the flimsy bridge sways to an’ fro.
Some hold their breath, some toss down a few,
‘till Dale Creek disappears belo’.

With increasin’ speed, we’re on to Laramie,
uncouple our helper engine an’ crew.
Twenty round-house stalls, near the new town hall,
up ahead, the Rocky Mountains loom!

You can feel the weight, of their fear an’ dread,
I crack a smile, then tip my hat.
“Folks, we won’t attempt to scale those Alps,
the path we’ll take, is almost flat.

There ain’t really much else to see ahead,
but sagebrush an’ jackalope.
It’s an open prairie, on a windswept plain,
the Divide’s, just a gentle *****.

But, there’s quite a few cuts an’ fills to see,
from Lookout to Medicine Bow.
Carbon’s got coal, yields two-hundred tons a day,
where hawks an’ coyotes call.

When dusk sets in, we’ll be closin’ in,
on Elk Mountain’s orange silhouette.
We’ll arrive in Rawlins, with stars burnin’ bright,
an’ steam in, at exactly ten.

It’s a fair ways out, befor’ that next meal stop,
afterwards, we’ll feel renewed.
So folks don’t you fret, just relax a bit,
let’s all enjoy the view.”

Rawlins, is a rough an’ tumble, lawless town,
barely tame, still a Hell on wheels.
A major depot for the UP rail,
with three saloons, an’ lost, broken dreams.

Now time to stretch, wolf down some vittles,
take on water, an’ a load o’ coal.
Gunshots ring out, up an’ down the streets of Rawlins,
just befor’ the call, “All aboard!”

I know for sure, some folks had left,
to catch a saloon or two.
‘Cause when the conductor tallies his final count,
we’re missin’ quite a few!

Nearly everyone plays cards that night,
mostly, I just sit there an’ read.
A Gazetteer is open on my lap,
an’ spells out, what’s next to see –

‘Cross bone-dry alkali beds that parch man an’ beast,
from Creston to bubblin’ Rock Springs.
We’re at the backbone of the greatest nation on Earth,
where Winter’s thaw washes West, not East.

On the outer edge of Red Desert, near Table Rock,
a bluff rises from desolation’s floor.
An’ red sandstones, laden with fresh water shells,
are grooved, chipped, cut an’ worn.

Grease wood an’ more sagebrush, tumble-weeds a’plenty,
past a desert’s rim, with heavy cuts an’ fills.
It’s a lonesome road to the foul waters of Bitter Creek,
from there, to Green River’s Citadel –

Mornin’ breaks again, we chug out to Bryan an’ Carter,
at Fort Bridger, lives Chief Wash-a-kie.
Another steep grade, snow-capped mountains to see,
down belo’, there’s Bear Valley Lake.

Near journey’s end, some eighty miles to go,
at Evanston’s rail shops, an’ hotel.
Leavin’ Wahsatch behind, where there’s the grandest divide,
with fortressed bluffs, an’ canyon walls.

A chasm’s ahead, Hanging Rock’s slightly bent,
a thrillin’ ride, rushin’ past Witches’ Cave.
‘lot more to see, from Pulpit Rock to Echo City,
to a tall an’ majestic tree.

It’s a picnic stop, an’ a place to celebrate –
marchin’ legions, that crossed a distant trail.
Proud immigrants, Mormons an’ Civil War veterans,
it’s here, they spiked thousand miles of rail!

We’re now barrelin’ down Weber Canyon, shootin’ past Devil’s Slide,
there’s a paradise, just beyon’ Devil’s Gate.
Cold frothy torrents from Weber River, splash up in our faces,
an’ spill West, to the Great Salt Lake.

It’s a long ways off, from the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
to a place called – “God’s promised land.”
An’ it took dreamin’, schemin’, guts an’ sinew,
to carve this road with calloused hands.

From Ogden, we’re headin’ West to Sacramento,
we’ll forge ahead on CP steam.
An’ when we get there, we’ll always remember –
Stops along an American dream.

“Nothing like it in the World,”
East an’ West a nation hailed.
All aboard at every stop,
along the first transcontinental rail!
This is one of my favorite poems to recite.   I wrote this after I read the book "Nothing Like It In the World" by Stephen Ambrose.  The title of this book is actually a quote from Seymour Silas, who was a consulting engineer for the Union Pacific railroad.  Stephen's book is about building the World's first transcontinental railroad.   Building the transcontinental Railroad was quite an accomplishment.   At it's completion in 1869, it was that generation's "moonshot" at the time.   It's hard to believe it was just another hundred years later (1969) and we actually landed men on the Moon.   "Stops Along an American Dream" is written in a style common to that period.   I researched the topic for nearly four months along with the Union Pacific (UP) train stops in 1870 - when most of the route's stops were established.    The second part of the companion poem, yet to be written, will take place from Ogden to Sacramento on the Central Pacific railroad.   That poem is still in the early formative stages.   I hope you enjoy this half of the trip on the Union Pacific railroad!   It was truely a labor of love and respect for all those who built the first transcontinental railroad.    It's completion on May 10th, 1869 opened the Western United States to mass migration and settlement.

Jim Sularz
A King Jan 2013
Body lights and the obtuse
A crooked branch acting
Quickly as a noose detracting
In alumnus' eyes and trepidation
The all too obscene becomes normality
A fallacy of epic notoriety
Drawn to conspiracy and altruism
And banality
Fools' boring ruse
And tumble
Fatality
I came home and found a lion in my room...
[First draft of "The Lion for Real" CP 174-175]

A lion met America
in the road
they stared at each other
two figures on the crossroads in the desert.

America screamed
The lion roared
They leaped at each other
America desperate to win
Fighting with bombs, flamethrowers,
knives forks submarines.

The lion ate America, bit off her head
and loped off to the golden hills
that's all there is to say
about america except
that now she's
lionshit all over the desert.
JOJO C PINCA Nov 2017
PWEDING MALA SUTLA O MAGASPANG NA TELA,
GANYAN ANG MGA ALA-ALA,
MINSAN MALALA MINSAN NAWAWALA.
MGA PAGTITIWALA AT PANINIWALA,
LAHAT AY DAPAT NA MASALA,
GANITO HINAHABI ANG HIBLA NG MGA ALA-ALA,
PARA MERON KANG MAPALA.
NAGBABAG ANG DALAWANG KUMAG,
MGA KUTONG LUPA NA PURO HAMPAS LUPA.
HAMBUGAN ANG DAHILAN NG UMBAGAN,
PAREHONG DUGUAN MATAPOS ANG BUGBUGAN,
ITO ANG HIBLA NG KABATAAN.
SA ESKUWELA KAILANGAN MO RIN MAGING MAKUWELA,
KUNG AYAW MO’NG MAGMUKHANG GUMAMELA.
HINDI LAHAT NG MATALINO AY PINO,
MERON DIN MAASIM NA PARANG PIPINO,
AT HINDI PORKE BOBO AY PARA NG LOBO,
GANITO ANG BUHAY ESTUDYANTE.
UMIIBIG HABANG UMIIGIB?
PWEDE NAMAN SABAY,
DEPENDE SA ARTE,
KAILANGAN LANG NG DISKARTE.
WALA PANG INTERNET SA TINDAHAN NI ALING NANNETH,
WALANG CELLPHONE PERO MAY MEGAPHONE,
PWEDE **** ISIGAW NA MAHAL MO S’YA.
KUNG MALUPIT KA EDI LUMAPIT KA,
KUNG TORPE KA EDI SUMULAT KA.
GANITO ANG LABANAN NOONG WALA PANG FB AT CP,
HIBLA NG KASIBULAN.
GRADUATE NA,
KAYA TRABAHO NA,
APLAY DITO APLAY DOON,
WALANG HUMPAY ANG PAGSISIKAP.
HAPAY-KAWAYAN,
KAHIT SAAN SUMASAMPAY.
HIBLA NG BUHAY EMPLEYADO.
TILA ITLOG NA ESTRALYADO NANG MAGING PAMILYADO.
PAKIRAMDAM KO BUO NA AKO,
SINTAMIS NG KAHEL ANG DULOT NG DALAWANG ANGHEL,
ITO HIBLA NG KASALUKUYAN.
The hp deathstar  had all but sqaushed  are rebellion.
And the pub falcon  was being  looked for parked in front of everycyber  bar across the net  so it really ****** cause capt Gonzo
was really thirsty.

We had  taken refuge on endor for awhile  untill
thoose fury *******  got ******  over a simple misunderstanding
they sure were some horney little teddy bears .

In thinking over  were to hide  there  was mention
of  eurainus to which I replied.
Get your mind outta the gutter  man.
you just said eurainus.

Cp bathsebo  and  R2 Swanson said s0mething to which
I  jokingly replied hush the men are talking once wasnt to smart.
Ever been kick to the grown  by a steel high heel shoe
hopefully the numbness will wear off.

Master golden had  taught me much  
but that was many drinks ago.
How am i supposed to remember that far back
yesterday was a blur.

So **** it lets kick his *** already jack skyhorner said.
Darth Elliot was mighty the battle was hell.
I would have joined in but someone had to  rob the liqour
cabinet   besides  Honzo  Gonzo  a bit of a hangover.

As the stormtroppers  aproached  screamed like a 13 year old girl and ran to fire up the pub falcon.
As the others  said what about jack I said  im sorry but he's gone
it was brutle  i took out as many as could.

But Jack would want us to move on.
Just then  Jack appeared  and said nice scream gonz.
We blasted across  the gallaxy with no direction  cause ya know
how guys are about asking  for directions.

Fully stocked and and reloaded so to speak.
Drath Elliot    was amighty foe.
But no match for  the outcast  girly screaming
Capt Gonzo
And who ses you cant think up ****  when semi sober.
Cheers  amigos  see ya at a pub near you.
Louise Jan 2019
It was 3 A.M. in the heart of the metro,
although by the crossroads of Katipunan,
Aurora Blvd and CP Garcia,
the music of time seems to sigh to a stop.
And there by the corner, an orchestra.
Our hearts, on the other hand,
were out in the open
but the cold weather got the best of us.
Our sleepy eyes were giving us away.
You had to pull me closer
and I had to warm up your hands.
Have I told you before?
You have the hands that could unsettle
but your eyes tells a whole different story.
A tale I was too terrified to start reading, perhaps.
But a favorite of mine it has become in time.
Moments with you are as raw and surreal
as moments can be;
they were just once imaginations and inspirations for
those bad poems I used to write years ago.
Not that my poems now are good but the ideas I can now grasp,
they're inside my realm, within my reach.
Your far-fetched dreams are statement patches
on my denim jacket while my craziest of hopes
are tucked safely inside every pocket of your dad's
hand-me-down vintage jeans.
"He got this from Vietnam in the 80's",
you uttered between a puff of smoke
and before I could start talking about the war yet again,
just like in the movies,
you started asking me about my dad, his whereabouts,
'just anything' about him;
something a lover has never done before,
something a friend wouldn't even bother hearing about.
You were waiting intently yet so patiently
for my response as you threw away the **** of your cigarette.
Right then and there,
I swear I was in rock bottom in love with you.
Should I reach for your lips first then proceed to tell you?
Or should I tell you first and then stop to stare at your lips longingly before finally reaching
out to kiss you, like in the movies, too?
For the very first time, I was in rendezvous with the story
and the abiding pain that comes with its telling.
I almost liked the melancholy lying in its very idea.
I was at peace talking about it,
almost as if it wasn't my own story to tell.
You made everything so easy, like throwing up acid
after about twelve celebratory shots of Stolichnaya.
You listened, you didn't just hear me out but you listened
like no one did before
and right then and there,
I swear I could give you the world.
And I started doing so by giving you the bricks
from the ruins of the walls around my heart.
The same bricks that I shattered
and played my own heart with.
I even had the faint chance to understand myself,
but not as much as you did.
I saw some things I've never seen before
but not as clearly as you did.
I stopped mid-sentence, first to catch my breath,
second to recollect myself
and I wasn't very sure about the third
if I wanted to break down
or if I wanted to reach for your lips,
finally pull you in for a kiss but to hell, you knew
what I needed better.
You took my hand, kissed it tenderly before pulling me in.
You let my head rest on your lap like I would have with my dad, should he stayed.
And I told myself "there's no turning back".
You found me by the crossroads
and you made me tiptoe happily through
the speeding vehicles that once killed me
and destroyed parts of me that I could never take back
but I would do it all over again.
I would live only to die again.
For half the time, you were waiting for me on the
other side of the road but for the latter,
you impatiently crossed the other half of the road
to meet me in the middle,
so we could cross back to safety together.
I could double whatever price I had to pay
when I saw your face getting closer
and when you finally touched me,
I was willing to embrace the glory of bankruptcy.
Right then and there I swear I could do everything for you
and I started doing so by forcing my heart
with all its might to try beating once more
and it did, to my surprise, the loudest it ever has.
I didn't have to hold the shards for too long
with my already bleeding and wary hands
because you held them with me.
You held me.
And just like that, I am whole again.
We were singing along to Strawberry Fields Forever,
exchanging soft, contented sighs while wishing
Walrus didn't have to close so soon as 2 A.M.
Cynthia Jean Jul 2016
Dear poetry writers and readers

I once wrote a story

about bedtime stories

from my granddaughter.

Some people see their  granchildren

all the time...

I can't even use all the fingers on one hand up

for the times I have seen

my precious

grandchildren.

But God is so good

He has made a way for me

and I am going to see them  again....

I am numb

with ecstasy.

so, dear readers, please know I will be gone for a while...

please don't forget me

for I won't

forget you.

I will be back.

God bless you all.

cp 2016
You can read my poem about "Bedtime Stories from my Granddaughter" on my page.  I hope it blesses you.
.

The journey is never ending
&
yet each day is filled with love.

Treasures unfold daily.

------
Sparkle In Wisdom
Life of a CP child & their parents.
Many firsts - smile, sitting, turning, rolling, crawling, crooning... And so much more.. ❤️💕
Cedric McClester Feb 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Some will sell you out
For a dollar
Some will sell you out
For free
Some will sell you out
For the hell of it
Cuz they hate themselves
Ya see

She said we don’t need
A month for Black History
And we don’t need channels
Like BET
Simply American
Is what we should be
Wish that were the way
That they treated me

Some will sell you out
For a dollar
Some will sell you out
For free
Some will sell you out
For the hell of it
Cuz they hate themselves
Ya see

There shouldn’t be
An N double A CP Image Awards
Because according to her
That only affords
Black people honors
While whites get ignored
Which isn’t the case
She can rest well assured

I’d like to believe
My country is for me
What the song says it is
Sweet land of liberty
But it hasn’t been
Far as I can see
Everything that
It's been cracked up to be

We’re all just Americans
I wish that were true
What about proud Italians
And the Irish too
Who have days of pride
That  she says we should eschew
Which clearly illustrates
She doesn’t have a clue

Some will sell you out
For a dollar
Some will sell you out
For free
Some will sell you out
For the hell of it
Cuz they hate themselves
Ya see




































Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
imehsahdehahs Mar 2018
I am not in the mood

We all are happily doomed

Double tap,PC is CP Full Fast Food ****

I had Grew Out of Dog Tooth

Another Brick in the Wall

is Ready To Fall

Daddy's  Car , Flashin' Cuts

CopyCats Down Town Hall Fame

Sui-Sites
Ciarra P Sep 2014
i used to think this corner of your heart would be overpopulated,
but i was so wrong;
i now know this corner of your heart is empty,
all except for me;
i have begun to realize how alone i really am now,
with only this small piece of you left;
i've been thinking of what i wouldn't give to get more,
because it'd take to long to think of what i would;
Dearest, im lonely, and cold, and so very tired in this little corner of yours.
please come back. ~cp
I miss him more than anything, and that scares me more than anything.
Cynthia Jean Apr 2016
Don't own the disease
It doesn't define you
You decide
....if you win
or you lose...

fight the good fight...

cp 2016
Never give up...never never never....give up...
The Cripple May 2015
I
Having  decided to return home after seeing my friends
Victorious in battle
I launched Lucifer away from the gate.
The weather permitted my swift travel
And I was off!
Galloping across the tarmac.

II
The opening naughts were easy
I glided along like a swift, if unruly dragon
I knew something would be wrong: the weather was still nice
And, if you know Éire you know you're in trouble
I met fellow travelers who seemed to agree with me.
They brought their dogs in: wise move.

My muscles began to tire; but then again
They were always weak (pathetic *******)
Hills grew steep  and Lucifer rebelled (*******)
I found myself swallowed by mud; drowning, drowning in muck.
The journey goes on.

Continuing on my voyage, I saw  several other travelers.
(They owned neither dogs nor Lucifer)
We detoured, talked and I gave my muscles rest
An labhríonn tú Gaeilge I asked.
They affirmed; I procrastinated.
The journey still went on.

I finished that stretch within a short space of  time
I was tired and Lucifer was grumbling.
Went through the gate
Unto the estate!

III*
The opening hills were grueling
Long unending, unforgiving mounds
My hands ached.

I reached the top of the hill,
Rocketing down the gravel,
The wheels compounding the stones
I was doing it! I was doing it!

I got stuck in the grass.
Oi Vey

I eventually got myself free
And there were only a few more hills
To wage war with.
II turned the corner after the last
And saw the ramp.

In my head, a variant of  *Chariots of Fire
thundered in my brain.
(Greek composers are the best to give one inspiration)
I reached the ramp
Turned the key
And was home!

VICTORY!

VICTORY!

VICTORY!

P.S.  The journey took me 10minutes.
CP's a *****.
CP May 2014
Our advice is loose a few pounds
You're too round, they said
They frowned and drowned your silhouette
We'll kick you to the ground

Our advice is take up less space
Women with grace should know their place
You're a disgrace
A women should not leave a trace,
For this is a mans place

Our advice is speak less
Your opinions are too excess
Just go fix your dress
You have men to impress
Don't depress them with your free thoughts

Our advice is cater to your surroundings
These stings of femininity are your duty
But you see you cannot flee
They key to your freedom
Hangs around the neck of ****
Beaten till you're numb
Look what I've become
Come come, look what you've made us do
Beat you till you're blue, because you flew

My advice is, crush the bones of your oppressors
Put on your armours, grab your spurs
Smash the words of your oppressors
You deserve answers not slurs

My advice is gracefully place your furs on your throne, built of their souls
Throw away their scrolls into the coals
Admire the fire within your porcelain chest
And create a bonfire for the blessed

Their advice is done, you are no longer their nun
Now teach these to your son
Or he may too be, thrown into the sun.

-CP.
Yo i know this track was already blessed
So i guess i sit back n roll aome sess
My life is always revolving solving
Problems of the worlds nobodies involved in
And nobody gives a **** only after the buck
Some do gun play but most of my homes stay
Pimpin' the pen my skin is my sin
Will the Heavens let me in??
Its ****** everywhere i go
Fools even gettin' killed at funerals
No shame in the game humans huntin humans but all in the same gang
Naw we divided by race look me in my face
They want us to go after the paper chase
So they can cover of the murders
Of there **** ups blame minorities
Then we summoned by the authority
**** authority  i clame royalty
My ancestors died on this blood soil for free
So how are we free? When tell us from the jump street we enticed to the penitentiary?
Education is a joke occupations goin up in smoke
Feel the vapors compensations fadin'
Wake up youngin' and start obeyin'
Ya instinct dont act like ya **** dont stink
In all house nigguhs **** a **** *****
Homeboy this aint childs play
This life n death so listen to what i say
They murdered many with the injections
Because elite society a growin' infections
They murdered Eazy Janis Hendrix Malcolm King Nat Turner and Amy and many?
So yea you can blame the
Music industry music is revolution the only solution
Is to invoke pollution gun shots silent provoke violence
Shake up the white house now its deaths appliance
Defiance
I am cuz im a man not boy so **** being coy
If they really wanna end you they put you
On a ******' tube to show
That they murdered yiu in cold blood
And not even cry sit on the chair interview spreading a lie
Know this the eye sees the mind believes
Break that mentality before you recieve
The mark of the beast three slashes on ya *****
Turn the degrees
Up six hundred and sixty six **** dollara n sense
Wake up or get caked up because if you get to close to light ya might die of ****** ******




Now im stretching the heat
Of beef
So if ya hungry you can eat uh
I stand on my feet
After beat downs of the punk police
This aint a tale this is a saga
Spittin' lava from my saliva
And if you mad get yo steel
And if you happy go pop a pill
Cuz the **** i speak make the pigs squeal
Runnin' to corners like mice
Cuz they know im so real **** mass appeal
You can cash out on death
And take a deep breath
Cuz its hard to inhale all this ******* it aint hard ti tell
Open yo head or let the ghost out the shell
Earths is Hell cant find a bail
Enticed to famine disease illness
Id rather die young like Black Jesus
Yo religion dont please us
So tell Jessie n Sharpton
To get back on the bus
Cant trust
These hyprocrites suckin' white supremacy ****
So wipe ya mouth N double A CP
Cuz i aint down with O P P
They steady watchin' but im watchin' them
Just ask my homie Tim
OLSAN BETTER KNOWN AS BIN LADEN
that nigguh aint dead he just bin hidin'
In government custody
Remember how they did Toby?
Show that you real
And watch how fast you end up behind bars of steel???
So you can say im a pessimist
Naw this is just a  genesis the realist
To ever spin off a instrumental
**** a sentimental im official
Like Jude break the law always entice the blood
Hold up this aint a gimmick
Killin' all the mimics its murderrrr

ray Aug 2014
i recall my first bar fight
all skeptical eyes and words i needed to spew out  
filled with hatred and abuse and
screams of a twelve year old's pent up anger,
this isn't okay- they'll tell you it is,
perfectly normal for your father to
take you to christmas dinner
at the local bar your girlfriend tends at,
maybe this is when i learned to argue
maybe this is when i learned not to flinch
at the sight of your temper,
no, i flinched at my ten year old brother
in the smoke-filled billiards room, playing pool with
forty year old alcoholic men
no, i flinched at the sound of my eight year old sister
asking, 'daddy, why can't you drive straight?'
see- CP shuckers doesn't suffice for a visitation  
and maybe i was twelve,
but if my torn ear-drum could talk
it'd tell you that hit wasn't discipline
explaining why it was mommy's fault for leaving
isn't the fatherly thing to do,
the pernicious potential of keeping you in my life,
see- the risk was exponential.
the rain fell in ropes that evening and
it wasn't coincidence your three were
the only children there,
i spoke in roman numerals and
maybe that was the last time we really spoke,
maybe three years later i am really writing about it
kfaye Nov 2016
it's 2oclock in the morning on election night.i am driving over to the east end
projects with my mother in a blue minivan.

my nana
is having  another nervous breakdown. she's already called 911 twice about a rattle snake in her kitchen closet .
we get there to find a
peanutbutter-and-jelly sandwich cut into
three uneven peices
it's
wrapped in clear plastic,
set aside for a nonexistent maintenance man who fell out of the bathroom window
  while painting it.

we learn her very living daughter has died in a motor vehicle accident while in transit to see her husband, my grandfather- who died when i was in second grade.

she explains to me how she shut the closet door in such a fashion as to make the enclosed space entirely    airtight.
she
won't let us open the door.
she
laments the ****** of the snake by her
deeds.

the conversation turns to the positioning of
furniture.

we spend an hour and a half there.i
check the results on my
phone
i don't think i can go to thanksgiving
anymore.
a few neighborhoods away,my girlfriend is

crying
my nana        explains various recent births
in
the family that are untrue and
biologically
impossible.
most of the stories involve people  
supposedly
   next door.or in the basement

she talks about Elizabeth
who doesn't exist.

we go home after she finishes her peach
yogurt

i spend ten minutes outside my house , zigzagging around the block.

i catch my first snorlax
who
is my favorite pokemon.

it is a foolishly low cp
Pumpkin King Apr 2016
Broken down and shaken up my life here is an empty cup…
Dreams shattered… knowing something’s there…
But yet I’m still broken…
My mind.. a war zone of broken bones and ****** tears….
Fighting the past but yet being overcome.. by my past and my mistakes…
One by one… my resolve is undone… not even caring… because the oven says I’m done…
The empt7y shell cracks and withers away..
The shell that used to be me..
But now I’m twisted image…. Everyone is disappointed to see….
Molded by society… this cage and shadow so cold…
So far there are too many cracks in this withering shell for their liguid trust to be holden…
For their love, trust and admirations are too golden….
For my wrotting insides to have beholden…
He looks down on me… smiles but yet goes to the accusor’s table… and riddles out my plee…
In terms that these constricting chains don’t speak, feel or hear….
For I am no one…
And I am lost in no man’s land….
They say,to let your conscience be your guide but what use is it when your mind is too damaged by those hurting words that mommy and daddy forget that they spoke and think my plans for life are just one big blasted joke……
I feel  like I’m being choked…
Choked by the endless knotted rope of the anticipating uncontrolled stroke...
When life hits me hard and knocks me down on my backside and keeps blaring the white twisted noise…
Become the nightmarish reality of my creative dream…
my dream of to imagine a heavy bass cannon
and keep going no matter how crazy or stupid it seemed
when the cage’s copper wires closed in and squeezed my heart out of my head and into my hands…
where it slipped and fell like mistakenly placed pots and pans…
He said to look at my own two hands…
that they weren’t my hands but what he related to a zombie’s missing pair…
he never tried to understand, how I try to put two and two together and ponder why I never ended up with four…
to see that  under this smile there is a broke down, bent out of shape lost boy…
that just wants to see his father smile and truly be proud of what he brought to the table…
Not just the countless cp’s and the umpteenth e-mail that states my “struggles” of the week….
No not just the problems that everybody else’s parents don’t know what to do with….
I want them to see the potential in me and step back and let me set it free….
Instead of  putting me down and pressing me hard with their disapproving gaze that bends and breaks my resolve to do at least something right and drains me of me…
replaces the emptiness with what’s not me and walks in the shadows and builds up the signature monster personality..
until they find their son through the darkness…
the darkness that’s not their lost and alone son that they know has talent and potential…
but the monster that was imprinted from all the questioning thoughts that conjured because they forgot to ponder how their lost and alone son…
added two and two together..
but somehow never got four.....
like a steak… my soul’s skin has been seared and cooked… sealed and locked…
never again to grow and learn….
And forever more the lost and alone two year old…
Splashing in that same puddle of mistakes…
And as time goes on… the two year old stays a two year old..
And as time goes on.. the puddle becomes a pool…
That pool becomes a brook… that brook becomes a stream…
And eventually as time goes on and countless mistakes are added to what once was a puddle..
And now is an obsidian dense ocean…. Where that same two year old is engulfed in and is not seen as the two year old he truly is as his actions and appearance continue to show….
But is perceived as the ocean he is consumed by… the mistakes sealing the split cracks and missing pieces… that he was forced to leave behind to force the image of himself he ever so wanted to show….
Disappointment after disappointment the two year old sees….
His resolve engine is running out of steam…
The two year old sees the endless darkness at the end of his hopeless tunnel..
The torment..
The fury..
The  me that’s not me...
And let’s the ocean consume the seared and resolve empty shell that floated not into satisfaction… but plummitted down into the false but real fate
it's hard to meet other's expectations, but almost impossible to meet your own
rexitals Jun 2018
Eventually, I found myself missing you a lot more above all, ‬
when you were right in front of my eyes but the air felt strange,
when you were talking to me but your words spelled ‘pain’
and when we were out on the sun but all I felt was rain.
-cp
rexitals Jul 2018
I think the saddest part of breaking up for me is the day where you pack all his things, gave one last hug to his sweater, once was your favorite and perhaps still is, giving a last look at all the memories and feeling all the sentimental emotions when your skin touches those items. And the saddest part too is when you saw their mother in the streets days, weeks, months or years later, and you have to brave yourself to say a Hello and found yourself thinking about the times you and her could have been in a deeper bond but that may never happen, for now. And it is also when you felt the knot in your stomach and the lump in your throat when you tried your best to fake an answer when people asked you how’s the two of you been doing. Nothing easy came before, during and after the breakup, especially when it ended but only on the base, yet the love is still in there somewhere.

-cp
And after all this time, the love is still there.
Ciarra P Nov 2014
Honestly all I want is you, here, now. I want you to wrap me up in your arms and whisper in my ear about how everything is going to be okay. Because no amount of rock or sad songs can help me as much as that. I've been craving you... Every inch of you. Its almost like having a sweet tooth for just you.
All I can do is lie here in my empty queen with the lights dim singing bittersweet blues. Or sometimes I strip down to nothing, crawl under my down blankets, and put on a show for you even though youre not here. These are the things that keep me sane, baby. For those days, when all I want is you.
Xoxo CP
Just a little free writing I liked
For cameron
I sit among you.
I laugh with you whenever the teachers do something funny,
But has anyone ever wondered,
Just who I am?
Just a poet, right?
I mean,
What am I doing right now?
The thing is,
I do that too.
I neglect the simple things.
I don’t know every one of you.
But I should.
Because each of you are beautiful in your own way.
I have failed to stay positive.
So, this is my confession, I guess.

I neglect the beautiful sky,
The clouds,
And the stars.
I don’t recognize the grass,
Someone should really kick my…****?
But, don’t we all?
I think it’s time I give myself a chance to move away from darkness for just a moment
I think we need to give this time of year a shout-out
This is the time for summer,
Swimming pools and tanning under the bright, golden sun.
This is a time for celebration.
I feel so glad.
It’s been a long year,
Tons of work and little cheer.
But,
This is the last poetry session,
And it’s time for my confession.
I’ve been in the dark a little too long.
And I wasn’t brave enough to sing you all a song.
But hey,
It’s almost “next year”
And this one has been good.
Imagine it,
It’s almost summertime, baby.
Lets stop being negative
For just one moment.
Lets forget about those cp’s and refocuses,
And just be happy.
We’ve made it this far.
For me, I got three years left,
But if my brother taught me anything,
It’s that I will survive.
He’s in the military,
And I’m at school
If he can do it,
Than I can too.
It’s time to celebrate guys.
Time to celebrate each other,
The year,
And the life ahead of us.
Its time to celebrate our girlfriends and boyfriends,
Best friends and teachers.
The seniors and their achievements.
This is the time of year
To remember all that we have fought for.
The sun is shining,
Someone somewhere is smiling.
So let’s give this year a big bow,
As we walk away from the school
For another two months.
Lets hear it.
For the last poetry slam.
Yep, this is it.
(rip paper)
This is your, our
Shoutout.
this will be performed next friday
Ciarra P Aug 2014
you know I can't do it:
can't ever let you go;
i can't stand the thought of losing you,
losing you for real;
can't ever be enough for you,
no matter how hard i try;
can't ever be just the shape you like,
even if i starve for days;
can't ever hate you,
no hurt, nor abandonment, nor insult could do it.
i can't, i won't;
i couldn't, i wouldn't.
because we both know i need you more than air, my dearest. ~cp
Ciarra P Nov 2014
"hallelujah", is what I mean to say when I press my lips to yours,
"hallelujah", is what I mean to say when I moan into your mouth;
every breath I breathe, or sound I utter, is a song of praise to you,
Because you, are more of a god than "God" ever was to me.
Xoxo CP
For cameron

— The End —