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Black Jewelz Apr 2018
I’ll never forget that day

When she lifted her head from the bed in which it was buried

And with bloodshot eyes reaching through 2 black holes

She asked, “Why’d they have to **** my brother?”

That exact question was already in my mind.

Happy Easter
I don't know how it started

But it's an annual event

But I don't think that an egg hunt

Is the best way to present

The story of our saviour

Chocolate eggs you go and find

I don't think that's the image

That the church wants in our mind

Every year since I was little

Our family made a choice

Either host the Easter Dinner

Or go hunting for eggs and toys

This year we chose the egg hunt

It was better than the meal

But our egg hunt went all wonky

In fact it all was so surreal

Most years twenty people

Showed to hunt about the yard

so setting out some easter eggs

Didn't seem so hard

But this  year, thanks to facebook

People showed up by the score

When all was done the count was

One hundred twenty four.

With that many people coming

A family meeting then took place

One hundred twenty four people

This was way off base

With Uncles, Aunts and cousins

Grandparents and the rest

some new plans would be needed

to execute this test

I thought about logistics

There was only so much yard

To run an easter egg hunt

Was going to be hard

I checked the list of children

Eighty seven kids or so

But I said that we would host it

So I could not tell them no

I called up all the Uncles

Told them come around to plan

They all showed up as suggested

All fourteen, to a man

We needed eggs and then some

Chocolate, mallow...every kind

We had to hit the stores fast

We had to buy up every kind

Baskets, ribbons, bows and stuff

stuffed rabbits, all they had

We had near ninety children

And we could not have them sad

We drank and set agendas

We all planned out our attack

They would all come out before hand

And the goodies, we'd unpack

The women met as well though

Dying eggs would be their task

They got 100 dozen large eggs

and some colouring to mask

The last time plans were handled

on a scale as big as this

Was on D-Day for the Allies

And we knew that didn't miss

We had crepe paper for streamers

Balloons and chocolate logs

but the one thing we'd forgotten

We also had twelve dogs

We had to keep them busy

While we figured out just how

We were going to hide all of our presents

And we had to figure NOW!

We called up to the kennel

To book them all in for the night

But, they didn't have the space so

We'd have to make do with our plight

Two days before Good Friday

All the parents showed to meet

We would plan and hide the goodies

We would all be so discreet

We would hide the eggs on Friday

While the kids all went to pray

Then we'd come back here  for dinner

And we'd finish Saturday

It was easy, a no brainer

We would pull it off....with ease

It would take great execution

And the children would be pleased

On Friday night they all arrived

And were given tasks we all could handle

We all went out to the yard to hide

The eggs, by lighted candle

We stuck them up in trees and then

In bushes by our gnomes

We hid them in the veggie patch

We hid them in our home

When finished we'd put eggs and toys

Of every shape and size

We were all so ****** tired

We could barely blink our eyes

The next day all our work  was shot

When we went outside to see

That night after we'd finished

Some raccoons came out of the tree

twelve hundred eggs and four raccoons

Two skunks and nineteen rats

Decided that they like out smorgasbord

And to them then...that was that

Hard boiled eggs of every size

For them to come and eat

After surveying the damage

We vowed we'd not be beat

We set to work and dyed more eggs

another nine hundred in all

We sent all of the mothers out

To buy gifts at the mall

We'd lay them out before the hunt

We didn't care when they got hid

We had to have an easter game

For eighty seven kids

We strung the streamers through the house

We wrapped the willow tree

It looked just like "The Party Place"

Had blown up...just for me

We put balloons up everywhere

The kids would be surprised

Uncle Jack would wear a bunny suit

It was a good disguise

With lots of work and alcohol

We'd get this egg hunt done

And come hell or come high water

The children would have fun

On Sunday they came back from Church

And I want you all to know

That we had a real nice dinner

For we overlooked the snow

While sitting in the church pews

Hearing tales of Easters Past

A storm came in so vicious

And it came in really fast

By the time we'd reached the garden

There was one foot on the ground

It had snuck up on us quickly

And it didn't make a sound

So the egg hunt never came about

We took them out for lunch

It'll be our last time trying this

At least that is my hunch

If it comes down to a choice now

To ever utilize my home

For an egg hunt here at Easter

I won't answer the phone!
easters nearly over just a day to go
life gets back to normal to the life we know
children back to school no more easter fun
ready for more lessons a new term as begun

people back to work as they were before
waiting for the summer.  to holiday once more
taking all the children for some summer fun
somewhere thats abroad to a land of sun

easters nearly gone but summers on the way
time for fun once more on your holiday.




.
easters coming its nearly here
we have this time every year
chocolate eggs and kids galore
easter chicks are here once more
rolling eggs down the hill
giving children such a thrill
a happy time for girl and boy
easter time is such a joy.
with lots of games for them to play
on this special easter  day.
Sarah Lennon Jun 2014
She woke up early
To see what the Easter Bunny brought her
And she fed her dog jellybeans
And she put on her new baby blue dress
With the matching hat
And couldn't sit still in Church.

She woke up early
To find that the Easter Bunny only brought Dad’s favorite candy
And her mom sat her down
And said, “The Easter Bunny is a fantasy”
And her dog got stomach cancer and couldn't eat the jellybeans.
Her baby blue dress was too small
But she wore it anyways
With pants underneath
And the matching hat,
And she got a cramp in her neck
From counting the ceiling tiles in church.

She woke up early
To the sound of her parents fighting
And she climbed into the bed of the pickup truck
And told her brother about Easters he was too young to remember
Of baby blue dresses
With matching hats
And how they used to have a dog that ate the jellybeans.
She wore her pajamas to church
And refused to get out of the car.
Not even when her mother cried.

She woke up late
To the sound of DVR’d episodes of Pawn Stars
And her dad told her that taking the SATs once was not good enough
And her boyfriend needs to take driver’s ed.
And they didn't go to church
Because her mom didn't live there anymore.
So she put on a different dress,
Dark blue with no matching hat,
And drove that pickup truck off the bridge.
Laughing as the cab filled up
With death’s cold fingers.
Wrote this when I was in a bad place a few years ago.  Went back and edited it recently.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018
a short poem

<•>

kept women

my words are all kept women;
an old fashioned term
that has no currency today
but true for me

they but be the heart of my hearts,
when they leave my employ
keep them well, these yeowomen,
good fellows all,
for they will always be your
one true reciprocating lovers

keep ‘em

please

<•>

lie

how many gray April Saturdays are inventoried,
that we be bequeathed yet another this dull day of the 7th of the 4th month,
of errands and tax preparation and poem initiative-nationhood

the city backyard is a dulled green, energy ****** by one three too many nor’easters in March that  “Sherman-through-the-south”
came marching double time,
leaving the leaves, airport-delayed
and the spring poem planting, struggling

buy milk, lie and get a refund, do stuff and
don’t forfeit forget to
do laundry and
lie

write the longest short poem in history
that green-shots nature won’t provide,
so Me absinthe wills into existence

<•>

this English Woman

tomfoolery’d me continuously,
nature comes to her on knave-bended knees begging for
a verbal sword tap upon each shoulder for a knighting of a periodical glorious poem.  

She provides.

Does woman live in a glen, upon the wetlands,
walk moors
in moons grasp,
or upon a table way in the back of the pub, drinking pints of imagination?

man will die disconnected for so many “reasons”
but if his passing precedes an answering to where,
wherever she locale composes,
man will haunt her residential terrain  happily

<•>

Seven Hours

the clock implies that the body sleet-slept, probed deep-dark for seven hours.
disbelieving, then recalling the dues Frodo-Friday eve paid:
three and half hours with two thousand others at the Opera,
hours of Placido Domingo,
extracts from the body
emotional  countenance,
homage to artistry exemplary;

the pharmacist denies having this drug among the sleep aids
so to the opera must return to earn my occasion occasional dreamland refreshment

a well worthy trade: innervation trust rest from enervation must

<•>

idiosyncratic

all my idiot life wanted to be
syncratic
unique something special different

then I realized that’s what
everyone wants and we are all idioticsyncratic

so much trying, exhausting life,
it’s wonderfully human and classically

idiotic

<•>

* Postfaces*

Postfaces are used in literary works so that non-pertinent information appears at the end, to not confuse the reader.

this very short poem was born, birthed, on a salty grey Saturday, April Seventh, Two Thousand and Eighteen,
precisely between
Eight and Nine O’clock Eastern Standard Time

The opera was Luisa Miller at the Metropolitan Opera,
Lincoln Center, New York City.  

Everything Everybody is a factual fiction of your imagination.
Short Poems are copyright, copied write from the tissue of a man who is epistemologically incapacitated in a life incapable of writing a short poem, post facing forward.

(Too **** bad for you).
Arlene Corwin Mar 2018
Sitting in the bath once again, small blue pad in hand, bit of plastic as support, I write this poem.   Albert Cat demands a bit of attention and pad slides into the water.  I grab a bit of toilet paper to blot it.  That makes it worse.  So, blurred and vague, I reconstruct it, using magnifying glasses (2!) while watching the evening news.  Here it is:
             I Like Facebook

I like Facebook. I don’t know exactly why.

I like looking at the pictures,

Friends I’d never meet another way.

I like friendly messages,

Passages of verse I’d never read

If not for Facebook’s lead.

I like Likes and Comments kind,

Find in comments rich expressions.

Possibly I’m one of few - or few new millions.

I’m inspired when tired, fired up.

Even when I’ve written ‘crap’

No one’s there to trap me.

Some reviewer always sees my views,

Understands.

Someone always sends

Me praise; ends with a Like.

I’ve never had a spikey word;

Cordiality is all I’ve ever read or heard.

Commonality forever somewhere, there

Where someone wants to start a group.

Always somebody to whoop de whoop:

Somewhere folk who populate;

A troupe with common passions.

Then there are the monthly Happys:

Happy Birthdays, Christmases and Easters…

Never had one word rescinded.

Reminded gently daily:

Classmates, playmates

I’d forgotten, dovetailed,

Blazoned on the psyche;

Friends and places,

And of course, the faces -

It is Facebook, after all; the key, the glee,

A source of history.

As for weaknesses I’ve read about –

Never think to route them out,

Going ‘bout my business,

Focused on creativeness,

The lofty and the small.

I like Facebook.

Happy Facebook to you all!

I Like Facebook 3.31.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin
The notes are in the intro.
Anais Vionet Aug 2021
I finished moving into my residential college as a storm began
- fat raindrops, as big as coconuts, falling from a black and fouling sky.

These northerners were acting like a "tropical storm" (Henri) was a big deal.

“Surely New England gets storms?” I ask, from behind my mask.
“What about NOR_Easters?” I say, like a meteorologist.
“Those are different.” I’m told, with no other explanation.

“Did you bring this storm from the “SOUTH?” I’m asked, accusingly.
(This was after I told them about coming from one ”bulldog-college-town” to another.)
“Yes.” I reply, “It was in my luggage.”

A silly question but they have a point - the storm feels like it’s involved and fulfilling some obligation to dramatize my college move-in story.

“Time to quarantine!” I’m informed - “Yep, can’t WAIT!” I lie.

One disaster at a time.
moving into my college dorm before a storm.
'What time is it', asked the rock, who had turned to dust, and the voice replied,
'rise o-clock'
and the legend began.

Rumours ran rife that the man with no wife had returned, someone burned bushes in honour but that had been done before.

The rock that was dust blew away but returned as a man and I hear people say, Peter, you're cool, but Pete was no fool, he knew there was a reputation to salvage.

In Virginia on a blue ridge a cowboy, head slung low, which matched the slant of his guns
hummed tunes from a memory that his Ma' made in Yosemite a long time ago,
the man with no wife who was also a cowboy rode far into a canyon and it fired his imagination, and more bushes burned as he passed.

'Nothing new here my dear', he said to his horse and he talked to his horse more than he talked to most people.

By a steeple in Piza, leaning towards a disaster, a singer of ballads sat eating chorizo because even singers need to rest, It was Monday and the light burned which was a nice change from bushes.

'It'll never be the same, we should have left well alone' came a disjointed voice from an unworldly zone and that's the way of it, gods and aliens like to play a bit, sometimes the game gets away and they lose the plot and what have we got,?
Easters eggs and fun
bunnies watch them run as the sun
passes over the sky.
The truth is the truth *****
I rather a lie,
Living forever sounds better
Than everybody dies

Cause the truth is the
Truth *****, so just lie
Say you'll see me soon
Even if it's a final good bye

Similar to parents lies
About a kids Xmas gift
Cause more enchanting
Is the idea that Santa exists

Good old st nick
Catholics have it best
Cause heaven sounds good
As no one wants death

Like mutual break ups
Everyone knows ain't mutual
Tell the ugly duckling that
One day she will be beautiful
Tell tall tales of Atlantis
Or a fountain of youth
Tell Pinocchio he's a real boy
....Anything but the truth

Toothfairys for a tooth
Easters famous  bunny
Tell Christopher Robbin no delusion
Made Winnie the pooh eating honey

Cause in truth it's funny
The truth ain't that funny
Say the best things in life are
Free and we need no money

Cause everyday is sunny
Who u love will love u back
Family and best friends will
Never never ever stab u in the back

tell me my career wont match
my social status and ill en-devour
the same respect as a rich man
tell me love is forever

And if not it ends without pain
and will tell everyone its mutual...
Tell the ugly duckling that soon.....
soon.....it will be beautiful.....

but the truth is
The truth ***** so I'll pretend
This is just the poems beginning cuz
good things don't come to an end....

...But The truth is....
...the truth *****....
easter is upon us time for lots of joy
easter holidays for every girl and boy
time for easter fun and easter eggs galore
lots of happiness easters here once more

time for chicks to sing there lovely easter tune
happy and content as they begin to croon
time  to share together with friends and family
making easter happy the way its meant to be.
Anais Vionet Feb 2023
Bustling corridors, places to go,
you can’t stand still or move too slow.
Make a plan, plot a course,
there’s an entire campus to traverse.
Other things are good to know,
like the best place for lunch
or where the wi-fi’s slow.

Last year, when there was lots of snow,
the Yale tunnel system was the way to go,
to warmly get from A to B,
when paths were dangerously icy.
This year there hasn’t been any snow
it guess it’s global warming, you know
- or that Pacific weather pattern, El Niño?

I miss the Nor'easters and bomb cyclones
the hazardous weather that made Yale seem like home
those storms were something I took for granted
‘Cause I want snow drifts like they have in Canada.

I left Georgia and now I’m feeling cranky
I want the winters God used to inflict on yankees
I remember when blizzards, up north, were doctrinaire
to stop them now isn’t fair - or something else näm-di-'ger.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Doctrinaire: “an idea stubbornly held onto”

näm-di-'ger (French) = means a pseudonym
FRITZ Aug 2017
a transmitter roughly

                                          feed a rat or pump Mother with a nailgun

               brained easters confetti eyes and shredded vision deserts.

                                                       ­                               frosty spectacular

                          oracular suffocation push & bringing in the changes

                            hyper-faced you got crushed by this crushing rock.

heady aches binding teeth like a calf and its mother frozen in mud....

I have taken your teeth with the seeds of an orange fruit

I am ingesting your breathe like a poisoned candy sweet

I devour your voice into thick and rot

I turn you green and black and blue

you can no longer be the only you.
Poetic T Jul 2018
Seasons greetings go with a cheer, who will be the
Winner of this nights festive fight club, now here.
Starting with Santa the Easter bunny with his
Whipping ear, Santa starts with a hoho... startling
The bunny as he gives him two to the ear.

No rules in this game we come to see, as the Easter
Bunny drops two eggs, does something smell rotten
In here, eyes watering he can hardly see as the whipping
Ear screeches and straight across fathers tummy.

In pain he shouts I'm so jolly, is this the end of Claus,
No as Santa jumps up higher than the bunny can see,
Landing on Easter knocking him cold with his enormous
Belly, with a hoho.. and I feel jolly,
any one for rabbit I'm starving.

Easters out Christmas is in next round
Let it begin, Halloween enters the ring
Chills down the spine the fights about
To begin. Then explosions around guy
Fawkes jumps in will this end with a bang
Or bewitched the fight is about to begin.

Guy goes for a punch but misses his swing,
Less of a BANG more a wet match fizzle, then
Trying to light his powder a flame needed
But none to be found, Halloween does come
Back skeletons grab through the ground, as
Possessed is Fawkes as he jumps up and down
Madness has taken him whispers say around.

This was a match of two but only one is around,
As guy runs with speed and knocks him self
Out a corner post face print seen all around,
Not the explosive finish we were expecting to
See, then like a ghost Halloween reappears
With a ghoulish laughter the round
                                       Won spookily it seems.
I need some healing
That doctors can't find
I need some healing
The supernatural kind

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/13/20

I am so pumped!
I'm voting for Trump!
The great things he's done!
The next 4 yrs will b fun!

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/15/20

People fight
Over TP
Like they
R 3.

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/15/20

People fight
Over TP
Like they r
2 or 3

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/16/20

People fight
Over TP
Like they r
2 & 3

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/15/20

People fight
Over TP
Like they r
Only 3

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/15/20

Don't hate on me
I'll just write poetry
& then u will c
What it's like 2 b me

© From A Poet's ♥️
3/16/20

So u think I'm hot?
What if I think I'm not?
But do not flirt w/ me
Or u'll b history

I will block u
And anyone else too
That flirts w/ me
(Unless u're a girl & want 2 b our #3!)

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/19/20

Dress like a lady!
Fight like a man!

Photo challenge

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/19/20
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=929801960870909&id=150053402179106

We need a
Revival
It's for our
Survival

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/15/20

2 Easters without you
1, 3 & 2
2 Easters without you
What will I do?!

Copyright From A Poet's Heart
4/20/20

I use to stay angry
And was almost always unkind
It really didn't matter
If u were nice or spoke your mind

Now I'm 3 yrs free
Of animosity
Now I can truly b
All that I'm meant to b

I have the best hubby
That God could've given me
He treats me like royalty
And says I'm his queen

We don't live n a castle
Or even a fancy mansion
We live with a friend
Until our credit mends

I won't tell u I'm perfect
Or even that I'm great
But during this journey
I'm learning not to hate

I'm learning God is great
I'm learning He is good
I'm learning to trust Him
Even if He's misunderstood

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/21/20

I don't think we r friends
At least not n e more
I don't think we r friends
Not like we were b4

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/20/20

Social distancing
Stay away from me
Social distancing
We might share cooties

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/22/20

Look out E.T.!
Leave us b!
We want to c
Our family!

But we can't c
Our family
B/c of Covid-19
This is obscene!

Visiting hours
To our planet
Have been locked down
And everything in it

Please come back
Another day
When the cooties
Have gone away

If u do visit
Please wear a mask
So u don't pass cooties
During your next task

Please wear gloves
Protect those u love
Don't pass cooties
When u give hugs

© From A Quarantined Poet's ♥️
4/19/20

That's your bubble
This is mine
I'll put u n time-out
If u get out of line!

© From A Poet's ♥️
4/29/20
See links where noted
Laura May 2018
Quiet Easters awake the spirit
in a shiny April dusk.
Where you call him "Baby"
by Mum's purpled hydrangeas.

Crossing many desolate fields
in hopes of finding cheerful Forget-Me-Nots.
You have found sorrowful stories
of holy ghosts arising,
and then falling.

Spilling out
of passing spring dwellings,
with trees holding far too many rings.
Strong and sturdy,
yet knocked down for a pretty penny.

I wish we could be
milled, burnt, and wrote on.
Growing out of muds
like the words on this paper.

Like mother nature,
I've been fooled into thinking
I was more than I am.
But only until man makes me,
something I am not.
easter time is here easter eggs galore
a childrens paradise is here again once more
lots of smiling faces happy as can be
having lots of fun full of easter glee

a lovely time of year for every girl and boy
filled with lots of fun bringing lots of joy
sun begins to shine sending down his ray
bringing lots of happiness on an easter day
easter is up on us its time celebrate
with chocoate eggs and little chicks
and children just cant wait.

the sun begins to shine making easter bright
birds are singing in the trees bringing such delight
chocolate covered faces that makes you want to smile
children oh so happy that makes it all worthwhile.

easter is a happy time for every girl and boy
so have a happy easter and fill yourself with joy
David Pickell May 2018
Weathering

Yes her walls were grey
Stormslashed shingles
Paint removed in swatches
By the unceasing nor'easters

Weatherscarred wood
Fir with silverashen patina
But built squarely
Once snug
Now winterized
The house on the promontory
Struggles against the vacancy

Once wriggling children played
Chinese checkers
On a rag carpet
Too loudly
And their makers
Tipped glasses in
A gaslit greatroom

Now all's almost winter silence
As on her porch
The tornjeaned transient
With his half-cigarette
Strikes his wood match
On her platinumed fir

Which leaves a curve
Of blushing freshness
A half-heart
Reveals her new wood
Supple
Plangent
Under her disguising
Weathering
Joe Cole Mar 6
You know when I was about eight or nine
A year seemed to last forever
But now I'm the ripe old age of seventy eight
I can hear the devil knocking on my gate
Christmas has gone and Easters nearly here
And in a flash it will be the end of another year
Where did they go those rolling months?
When seventy years ago they lasted forever
Long hot summer days seemed like the norm
Hardly a cloud and rarely a storm
Oh for those long lost childhood days
The innocence in our childish games
But now I'm just a grumpy old sod
Sat in the woods on a half rotten log just writing
About how a month flashes by in a day
And at this juncture I have no more to say
Until tomorrow

J F COLE SIMPLY SIMPLE POETRY
nivek Apr 2020
a poet dies a thousand deaths,
dead for days, weeks, months
waiting for mini Easters,
waiting for spring
waiting for resurrection
waiting to sing
waiting for something to stir
waiting for their muse
waiting to live.
easters coming its nearly here
we have this time every year
chocolate eggs and kids galore
easter chicks are here once more

rolling eggs down the hill
giving children such a thrill
a happy time for girl and boy
easter time is such a joy.

with lots of games for them to play
on this special easter  day.

— The End —