"dianne" poems
Dearest Reader,
My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.
On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.
I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.
Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a bitch-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.
Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.
Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.
During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."
The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.
I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,
Margot Dylan
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
____THEY___would EACH day take the ROLL CALL ! !...iT WENT LIKE THIS= *GERRY GIRAFFE="here sir", *SHARON SNAIL= "here sir", *SIDNEY SNAKE= "here sir", *DIANNE DEER= "here sir", *HERMAN HIPPO= "here sir", *FRANCES FOX= "here sir", ....AND it seemed like the list went on "FOREVER"! ! There were not Hundreds,, thousands or Millions ,,, BUT *HUNDREDS of Millions who were on the ROLL CALL List ! Many often Wondered , How Long would it take to complete the *ROLL ?? Many often Wondered ,, Would They be on the List ?? EACH=TIME a ROLLCALL* was answered ,, Another would wait in Heated Anticipation ! ! NO ONE HERE,,,Knows for sure, When the Exact Moment of the * ROLL CALL* Started,, but= it is SURELY known for fact,, EVERYONE WANTS TO BE ON "THE" LIST ! ! Some may deny the need for the List, Some May doubt the Existence of the LIST, Some may say "WHY EVEN HAVE alist ?" Some say "EVOLUTION" has brought us here ! ! Some not Understanding ,have SHED MANY A TEAR>> *LEONARD LION="here sir", *ADRIAN ANTELOPE= "here sir", *RONALD ROACH= "here sir", *MAUDE MOOSE= "here sir", ... THEY STAND IN AMAZEMENT as they see what looks like Surrender,, Have Feared for their VERY EXISTENCE,,, Looking around in AWE,, EACH SIGHING for the Sorrow in Others Hearts , ....BUT STILL THEY ASK ?? 'W H Y THE ROLL=CALL? > *BERRY BEETLE="here sir", *CAROL CROAKER = "here sir", >> THE ROLL CALL does continue this very moment! ! AND......is promised "TO GO ON" til the " GREAT-GATHERING"...>*FLOYD FLOUNDER= "here sir", ZELDA ZEBRA="here sir",....... the list IS STILL BEING CALLED AS "W E S P E A K "...simply waiting FOR the Gathering,, AND______the "calling " OF their NAME on the * ROLL-CALL*"
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC
Oh, sweet Dianne, Huntress,
How ****** steps do bless
These very woods through which you give your chase.
Wearied now, so wish to lave
In your spring off the way.
To there she did repair, her holy place.
Actaeon, hunter too,
Left his friends, oft did do,
To run with his dogs, his skill was unmatched.
The same it was that day,
With his friends back a way
The beginnings of Actaeon's doom hatched.
So it was that noble
Actaeon did stumble
Upon fair Dianne attended within
Guarded by handmaidens
But her face un-hidden
The sight of which, Actaeon's final sin.
"Go and tell, if you can,
That you have seen Dianne
Unapparelled!" she added as water,
So potently bless-ed,
In his face was dash-ed.
Actaeon a stag, form she did alter.
"Ah! So wretched is me!"
No escape did he see
As the great hunter became the hunted.
And his dogs now gave chase
Knowing not his new face,
Run, Actaeon! Your life yet stunted!
The chase gave for three days,
Greatest, worthy of praise,
Till Actaeon's poor heart did finally
Break, now unto his fall
To the dogs he did call.
Actaeon's death, as a stag he did see.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
To shine
she lay before us the night sky in
somnolent waves dusted with
her own chimerical astrology
studded and dimpled with
compressed carbon and
time made material
sweeping her hand across it
like Asteria hanging her mobile
over the cradle of civilization
nodding gently to Zorya
brilliantly conjoined twins spanning
the Slavic night sky
dotting our lives with
multi-faceted tears of joy
like champagne held immobile
bubbles suspended in gold
at unions and births and
fading scrapbooks with worn edges
as a pulsating joy vibrated
trembled
meanwhile
shared
like the wind chime hung near
though not next to
the one disturbed by the breeze
a breeze that bends the path of raindrops
glistening toward new summer meadows
to kiss blades of grass with
a dusting of diamonds and
pearls floating on the wind like dandelion fluff
seeking a relative weight
and a landing spot
with color
to call home
with clarity
to rest easy
a cut above
and
to grow
to bloom
to shimmer
to sparkle
to shine
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
I bear a hard ball within me,
swollen with disease
and alive with pregnancy,
an alien thing
grafted onto me by another
and grown into me.
its numerous offspring surge outward
in crusty, scratchy waves,
flooding my system with infection
and attaching themselves to my being
to run my innermost workings
by remote control.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
From far away, a voice recalled
Me to the days gray, gone, and old
Dear mother tucked me in to bed
And warned me of the night ahead
Of the many monsters lying in wait
For an innocent child to bite the bait
From head to toe, they'd eat you whole
Skin and hair and bones and all
But daylight it was when uncle Strouss
Brought Teddy into his colorful house
His dad's brother helped him unbutton
While in the frame, Jesus looked on
And don't forget, it was a bright day
With Dianne there along the walkway
Wearing her shorts; the weather was hot
But those who saw her called her ****
It was a good time, Lyda thought
To try out the new dress she bought
But men around her looked at her funny
Eyes all over her temple, her body
Mike went out for a drink with Sybill
He didn't know that drink had a little pill
The next day he woke up stark naked in bed
Beside the monster he thought was his friend
Among necktied men, Jenny sat busy
Focused on work for a 6-digit salary
But some monsters are pros too, chum
And he felt her up and left her mum
And as I tuck you in to bed, my child
I will tell you all this world is scary and wild
It is never safe for you and Teddy,
And Dianne and Lyda and Mike and Jenny
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
It started late on a Sunday night,
The sudden rattle of pans,
With nobody in the kitchen then,
‘What’s happening, Dianne?’
Dianne went pale and she looked at me
‘You’d better go down and see,
Maybe we have an intruder there,
Just keep him away from me.’
I went, but nobody there of course,
I didn’t think there was,
But two large knives on the cupboard were
Arranged in a sort of cross,
‘Didn’t you put the knives away,’
I called, but she was there,
Looking over my shoulder and
I saw that she was scared.
‘But I haven’t used those knives for days,
There’s something going on,
Somebody must have sneaked in here,
I tell you, this is wrong!’
I turned and I tried to comfort her,
‘There’s no-one in here now,
Just someone playing a crazy trick,
I’ll catch them out, somehow.’
But late that night, in the early hours
The bed began to shake,
Dianne woke up and she grabbed at me,
‘I think it’s a real earthquake.’
I tumbled onto the floor at that,
But the floor was still and sound,
Only the bed was shaking, quaking,
Just above the ground.
And that was only the start of it,
Strange things went on for weeks,
For things would fly off the table and
Plates off the mantlepiece.
A carving knife pinned me to the wall
By the collar of my shirt,
‘I don’t think somebody likes you,’ said
Dianne, ‘you might get hurt.’
Dianne had an ancient father who
Was mean as the day was young,
He hated me, and I used to say,
‘How did he stay unhung?’
We rarely went off to visit him
As he acted like a skunk,
But Dianne dragged me along at times
To show a united front.
Doors were slamming and windows cracking
So Dianne had to shout,
‘We have to visit my father, Dean,
It’s time that we went out.’
I ventured cautiously through his room
And called the old boy’s name,
But it was quieter than the tomb
And Dianne said the same.
We found him out in the laundry then,
He’d fallen in the tub,
Had gone a couple of spin cycles,
Oh yes, and here’s the rub,
One bony arm and a hand were out
And pointed, looking mean,
We knew then who was the poltergeist,
But boy, his bones were clean.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 6:53 AM UTC
Mother’s Weeping Willow
by Dianne Moritz
Mother carefully snipped
a small, green cutting
from a friend’s lush yard,
set it to root in an old jam jar
on our kitchen window sill.
Us kids were intrigued,
as fragile shoots spouted,
buds of leaves unfurled,
like baby fists, opening
to streaming sunlight.
Sometime later, Mother
carried an elfin sapling
outside to our backyard,
placed it in the warm,
rich, fertile Iowa soil.
We watched in wonder,
watered & tended the tiny
tree, doubtful it would
survive the scorching
summers, harsh winters.
But we learned that Old
Mother Nature is shrewd,
and by summer’s end
our tree grew four feet,
as tall as me, and thrived.
How we loved that willow!
We’d hide beneath its boughs,
to read, nap, and daydream,
a safe haven, our spot
to plot our next adventure.
Mother’s Weeping Willow
is gone now, chopped down
for firewood; yet, it remains,
in memory, a testament to
life’s transient beauty….
HAPPY EARTH DAY!
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he had
Missy
Eieio
With a cat cat here
And a cat cat there
Here a cat
There a cat
Everywhere a cat cat
Eieio
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he got Daisy
Eieio
With a woof woof here
And a woof woof there
Here a woof there a woof
Everywhere a
Woof woof
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on that farm he
Fell in love
Eieio
With a DiAnne here
And with DiAnne there
Eieio
Old McKarl had a farm
Eieio.
And on that farm all his beloved Eieio.
Were gathered round his feet and arms
eieio.
They gave him love and warmed his heart
Eieio
Ole McKarl had a farm
Eieio
And on this farm he
Gave his heart
Eieio
With a kiss from DiAnne
Here and a kiss kiss
There
Here a kiss there a
Kiss
All the animals
Watching this.
EIEIOOOOOOOOOO!
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
Jack: "You're deserting me."
Dianne: "No. It's that you won't come with me"
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC
Oh I love your dancing
Tapping out the beats
Joe Sugg with Dianne
Red hair to the roots.
Quirk of the Charleston
Bad boy of the Street
Thatcher of countryside
Took Strickly by sweep.
Love Mary 2018
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
The love of my life has passed. I am devastated and ripped. My life seems ended.
To my baby, if only I had one more day.
Even just an hour , I could go on.
DiAnne, my soul mate, i need you more than any breath or water.
I shall remember you and keep you close in my heart as I always did.
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 2:39 PM UTC
the *****
is an itch
that I could never scratch
until now.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
IT’S COME TO THIS
by Dianne Moritz
Once
she sipped daiquiris
by the pool
high above Hollywood
gazing down at the vista.
Eucalyptus
shade cooled
her soft, tanned skin
as she kissed his lips
under the California sun.
There
he made promises
to love her forever
and ever and ever
until the twelfth of never.
Today
she lives in the east
writing... remembering
dreams of long ago
when now was all
everything she wanted to know.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
If
I were to be a star
brandish words
Like a gunslinger
Shoots the eye out a fly
At fifty yards
Or tease the ears
Of every maiden near
And far
If
I were to
Write a novel
And thereby
Be rich with
Not a care in this
World
If
I had power like
God to Change the past
And predict the future,
My love, DiAnne,
The only thing
If
I had all those things
I would do
Would be to
Make heaven on
Earth.
And you and I
Could live there
Now.
If
I had all my wishes
I wouldn't
Have to
Wish
For you.
You would be in
My arms.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
A little ditty bout Karl and DiAnne
Two old kids living in the heartland
Karl he gonna be the next Bukowski
DiAnne the beauty he loved in the backseat
******* on a bud on the porch
Dianne sitting on his lap
His hands tween her knees
C'mon Dianne let's run off
neath the shady trees
Dribble off them Bobby Brooks
Let me do
What I please
Ten cats
Two dogs singing
Oh yeah
Life goes on
Long after
All the kibble
Is gone
Karl sits back
Collects his thoughts for a moment
Thinks
With you and all
These
Animals
I ain't missing
Nothing.
Oh yeah
Life goes on
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 3:00 AM UTC
INSTRUCTIONS TO A CAMERA*
By Dianne Moritz
Find good light,
perfect angles.
Blur your focus,
soften scars,
furrows of frowns,
deep crow’s feet.
Catch a dazzling
twinkle of mischief
in sunlit eyes, bright
smile on pouty lips.
Pause a moment.
Ready…
set...
click your shutter.
Published in “Today’s Little Ditty” May 23, 2019
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC