Back in upstate New York
she was a girl with stars in her eyes
She hopped a freight out westward
And tried Vegas on for size

Off strip hotels, little shows
Young Delores danced with glee
She was working in Las Vegas
the home of Jubilee

"Do you have a minute folks?'
"Do you need tickets for a show?"
"Will you be in town tonight?"
"There's a place you need to go"
"Will you be in town tomorrow?"
"We could send you for a meal"
"You just have to see our condo's"
"It's a real fantastic deal"

Twenty years upon the strip
Wearing fruit baskets on her head
Delores was a showgirl
Even though the shows were dead

She danced backup for lounge singers
She was with Wayne Newton for a while
She still had all the attributes
That made the tourists smile

"Do you have a minute folks?'
"Do you need tickets for a show?"
"Will you be in town tonight?"
"There's a place you need to go"
"Will you be in town tomorrow?"
"We could send you for a meal"
"You just have to see our condo's"
"It's a real fantastic deal"

Time went by as it always does
Her body said "No more"
Dancing in the big time shows
Had made her body sore

Options down in Vegas
For ex-showgirls were not good
But she wasn't going east again
Even though folks said she should

"Do you have a minute folks?'
"Do you need tickets for a show?"
"Will you be in town tonight?"
"There's a place you need to go"
"Will you be in town tomorrow?"
"We could send you for a meal"
"You just have to see our condo's"
"It's a real fantastic deal"

She didn't have the hands for dealing
The casino was her second home
But, she didn't want to waitress
She was just too old to roam

But in Vegas, there's a sub trade
One she had the smile for
She could still work in the casinos
And help get people through the door

"Do you have a minute folks?'
"Do you need tickets for a show?"
"Will you be in town tonight?"
"There's a place you need to go"
"Will you be in town tomorrow?"
"We could send you for a meal"
"You just have to see our condo's"
"It's a real fantastic deal"

Selling timeshares to the folks
Who come in all the time
They could get free shows and dinners
And it wouldn't cost a dime

Delores was still a show girl
But, it was not the same by far
But, she was still selling in Vegas
And Delores was still a star

"Do you have a minute folks?'
"Do you need tickets for a show?"
"Will you be in town tonight?"
"There's a place you need to go"
"Will you be in town tomorrow?"
"We could send you for a meal"
"You just have to see our condo's"
"It's a real fantastic deal"...

Being present means I'm not mentally labeling
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's haven

Being present means I'm not feeling emotionally drained
Creating inner space and stillness, more and more gained

Being present means I'm not waiting to react
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's habitat

Being present means I'm not clinging to the past
Creating inner space and stillness, it is so vast

Being present means I'm not worrying about the future
Creating inner space and stillness, and this I will nurture

Being present means I'm not compulsive thinking
Creating inner space and stillness, to God I am linking

Being present means I'm not judging what others think, say or do
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's point of view

Being present means I'm not resisting what is
Creating inner space and stillness, a native of this

Being present means I'm not attached to any kind of form
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's norm

Being present means I'm alert and alive
Creating inner space and stillness, a being's high five

Being present means I have the time for you
Creating inner space and stillness, and wholeness too

Being present means I enjoy what I do
Creating inner space and stillness, consciously too

Being present means I am consciously speaking, doing and acting
Creating inner space and stillness, of which there is no lacking

Being present means I am aligned to my purpose
Creating inner space and stillness, alive and alertness

Being present means I am at peace
Creating inner space and stillness, and flowing with ease

Being present means I accept its isness
Creating inner space and stillness, that is growing within us


Being present means I know there is no more important moment
Creating inner space and stillness, and feeling atonement

Being present means I'm connecting to a depth within
Creating inner space and stillness, for all to live in

Being present means there's nowhere else I'd rather be
Creating inner space and stillness, and the power To Be

Plant your flower ........

Being present means
I know there's no more
Important moment
Than NOW


© Delores Wiltse 2008 Excerpt from:
A Door Is Opening/AuthorHouse.com  
  
Fresh Spiritual Poetry via:
http://peacefromwithin.shawwebspace.ca/

I am only three thrusts away
enjoying the girl,
oh her little bones,
sweet somber hair
as my pants
become tighter.

I watch you brushing teeth,
foam on your lips,
as my crippled spider
legs sway forward on
towards your tender little ***
hole like a cherry,
hidden within the cleft of a peach,
sweet, then a flash of violence
towards your haunches, hips, shanks.

Older women are sweet like saccharine,
but you are pure cane,
****** peppermint
cinnamon disks,
which drip
the same as crushed
maraschino cherries.

Today,
An Old Lady Hugged Me

She Said, "Son

     Don't Put Your Faith In A Church
     Give It To god Instead

     As Long As You Believe
     In him
     he Will G  u  i  d  e   Y     o       u

  T                           R
               H                                 O        
                                                                ­      U                  H
              
                                                                ­                                               Life.

Believe In
him
Because
he Believes In YOU."
                               .
                            .
                        A
       ­                nd
                     ItWas
                  AtThose
                Few Words
               ThatMyEyes
                B e g a n To
                  Tear Up
                        **

    god          Loves            You

    Don't       Forget          That

                   "I Won't"

                     I Said
                
                    Silently
              ­  
                  Thinking:
          But I'm An Athiest

The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,

On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:

It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops

Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind

lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!

With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace

My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high

Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed

I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws

From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper

The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?

I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
scrivener (case in point Stephen King)

Woolworth ridding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisically shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate
muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.

Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounder, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.

Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these
Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire

telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet heftily jackknifing lust.

Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic
soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.

Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.

Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.
Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a hand basket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Ole Virginny.

Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
to transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining

opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully
being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action

brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes reddit carefully Just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet ick feet took me where they would.

I heard once this dumb joke
About acid taken by some bloke
And how he had a wild, wild trip
Saying that he liked long walks
On the beautiful beach
With his beautiful girlfriend
Until he finally sobered up
And was dragging a stolen mannequin
Around some three am parking lot
But that sounds pretty ideal to me
A mannequin girlrfriend
All smiles and no curves
With arms that don’t bend
And parts which are all smooth
For me to grind and groove against
Licking, *******, *******…
She sounds plastic perfect
Anyways, her name is Delores
And she likes to wear florals

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, Yes, nothing has changed.

Little ****** with your
Parted lips and
      Parted thighs,

хотели как лучше, а получилось как всегда,
The best, darling, I only wanted the best.

Lovely Little ****** Lady
Batting your
      Lively ****** eyes,

за красивые глаза,
Is there anything you would not do for me?

Little ****** with your
Candy apple
      Lollipop sighs,

больное место,
How easily fruit bruises.

Lovely Little ****** Lady
Wearing your
      Dollhouse disguise,

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, Yes, nothing has changed.

Little ****** with your
Frozen beauty,
      Winter skies,

бабье лето,
And also my Indian Summer.

Lovely Little ****** Lady,
Sorrowful Delores,
      Smile, my prize,

не вешать нос,
Love me as I love you.

Little ****** with your
Soft little
      ****** cries,

Lovely Little ****** Lady,
Why do your eyes
      Bleed with such despise?

а воз и ныне там, Nothing has changed,
и а воз и ныне там, *Yes, nothing has changed.

Fame for you wasn't what mattered,
It left you lonely, sad and shattered,
You couldn't distinguish day from night,
As you were cast into the limelight.

You tried to play the perfect role,
But the fame game swallowed you whole,
And at the height of the band's success,
You began to love life less and less.

You persevered, you saw it through,
Realising singing was what you were born to do,
Your children helped you find the ways,
To help you through your darkest days.

Your songs helped me through times of sadness and elation,
I turned to you as my inspiration,
The innocence of youth in "Just my Imagination",
Contrasted with the pain of addiction in "Salvation,"

Thought there were many times you did dismay,
Your legacy saw you conquer Europe, Asia and the USA,
A gifted artist one of the very best,
May God grant you eternal rest.

"M'APPARI TUTT' AMOR..."

Here in the church
of my father's carpentry

the incense is
of pine

sunlight genuflects
through the window

wood curls
in religious ecstasy

a blue bottle
preaches an  iridescent  sermon

a choir of dust motes
make this a heaven

as my father hums
"M'appari tutt' amor.."

this my epiphany
of the ordinary

this the everyday
prayer

I bow my head to
the saw as it sings

"....bella si che il mio cor ..."

*

"M'APPARI TUTT' AMOR..."Lionel's aria from from Flotow's Martha

You can see this sung as a charming serenade in the film BREAKING AWAY ! and in the soapuds episode from ***** WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY and used here and there in Hitchcock's REAR WINDOW.

There are also two swing versions.

My Da didn't know any of this and it was just a passing air on the radio that got stuck in his head and he would hum or la la la it every now and then as he hammered or sawed without knowing anything about it! It was only years later when he was 90 that I was able to tell him what it was and get him a recording of Domingo singing it.

Of course it features highly in a certain Mr. Joyce book as well. Caruso had made it popular and Joyce always a big Caruso fan( he had hoped to do an interview with the great man when he came to Dublin but that came to nothing.)

‘Singing. Waiting she sang. I turned her music. Full voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. ***** I saw, both full, throat warbling. First I saw. She thanked me. Why did she me? Fate. Spanishy eyes. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Delores shedolores. At me. Luring. Ah, alluring.

—Martha! Ah, Martha!
Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, must martha feel. For only her he waited. Where? Here there try there here all try where. Somewhere.
—Co-ome, thous lost one!
Co-ome, thou dear one!
Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha, chestnote, return!
—Come …!
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don’t spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the etherial *****, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness …….
—To me!
Siopold!
Consumed.’

The Last Rose of Summer was inserted into the opera as well. Caruso made both popular. I only came across it by my Da whistling it with nails clasped in his teeth. Took me about 30 years to find out what it was. Just the opening bars would get to me always. Then it started turning up in Joyce and everywhere. Strange the ways of the world.

I Want to be unforgettable.

I want my name to be written in the stars.

I want people to see me bleeding.

I want them to remember my scars.

I want to be remembered as a rebel with or without a cause.

She was a child of the wind,she danced among the stars.

She never met a stranger, she was warm like the sun.

She was a luminary in her own right, She fought for freedom and sunlight.

Never one to be held down.

She was a fighter.

She earned her crown .

She was a mother and a daughter ,

and a best friend too.

She will always be remembered,

Delores we will always love you.

Will you let life dictate to you how your story will go or will you take control?

There is one life to live so take the chance.

Delores would say live life to the fullest and let and let the devil dance.

which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) – as cheesy poem!

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted LIX.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.

crafted when Wallace and Gromit
returned from their trip to the moon,
which I can prov-olone huck curd
(within Trump con feta ration) –
as cheesy poem crafted whey back
when the following Gouda eye idea
occurred while milking the cows.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably
burst asunder at the most inconvenient
opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,
taking a shower, or using the bathroom.
Accursed ambition becoming a prolific
wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)
Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering
lackadaisical shoehorning out this
being from a self made gully. The jury
yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades
old setbacks via literary output successful.
Every morning, noon and night, this chap
blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),
yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured
person along the boulevard of broken dreams.
Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The
Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,
a previous saunter found me surmounting
The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire
telephone contact with Cell phone quickens
pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected
Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,
motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds
(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.
Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds
any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience
Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose
Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis
a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.
Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.
Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced
by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent
to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted
of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off
abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.
Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted
courtesy spluttering, nauseating, and foaming LIX spittle.
They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin
Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate
a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious
ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates
nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.
Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The
Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result
(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)
sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative
futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named
Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)
along vista. The roads have no name. They command
stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested
To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than
playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining
opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly
encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes
Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull
Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action
brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved
spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme
vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias
Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved
Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus
her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical
po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining
and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer
limits of the twilight zone.

Didn't want to be a party of one
But I suppose that's what I am
In my solitude
Father of Cam Cam

Thailand was sticky hot
Mango and sticky rice
At the edge of the bar sat a girl name Delores
Ooo dat girl looked nice!

I'm not a clergy person
Wear no professional religious clothes
The Pentagon now has an office
To study UFOs

I write because I ....
Exoplanet  search
1 dear deer
Episcopalian church

                Tar. Heels!