"eliza" poems
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds
See where she sits upon the grassie greene,
(O seemely sight!)
Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,
And ermines white:
Upon her head a Cremosin coronet
With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:
Bay leaves betweene,
And primroses greene,
Embellish the sweete Violet.
Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face
Like Phoebe fayre?
Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?
The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere:
Her modest eye,
Her Majestie,
Where have you seene the like but there?
I see Calliope speede her to the place,
Where my Goddesse shines;
And after her the other Muses trace
With their Violines.
Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare,
All for Elisa in her hand to weare?
So sweetely they play,
And sing all the way,
That it a heaven is to heare.
Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote
To the Instrument:
They dauncen deffly, and singen soote,
In their meriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.
She shal be a Grace,
To fyll the fourth place,
And reigne with the rest in heaven.
Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres;
Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine
Worne of Paramoures:
Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovèd Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,
And the Chevisaunce,
Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.
Now ryse up, Elisa, deckèd as thou art
In royall aray;
And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
Eche one her way.
I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe:
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:
And if you come hether
When Damsines I gether,
I will part them all you among.
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“Top of the Morning to ‘Yuh, Guv’nuh.”
Oh, to be father of a
Cockney flower girl,
To be Eliza Doolittle’s
Dear old Dad,
Alfred P. of that surname.
Oh, to be a cockney dustman,
On this fine day,
Another fine day in
Northern New Mexico, as I
Sell my daughter to
‘Enery Iggins, or
Some equivalent
Princeton poofter.
I am Rhett Butler,
Daring blockade-runner,
Persona –non-grata
For any decent
Family—including my own,
Charleston Carolina.
In time, I crave
Social acceptance for
Bonnie Blue—my ill fated
Would-be equestrian offspring;
I surrender my daughter to the
Upper Class.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
David, like David and Goliath, like the statue
was made in 1501 by Michaelangelo.
A fatherless son, born perfect to the world. Full Grown.
But in Italy, they'll tell you that Michaelangelo
never wanted to be a sculpter;
That he was an artist but that his gift was his curse.
Yet he still managed to create this marvelous marble masterpiece.
Gave the world beauty to call it beautiful and behold it for hundreds of years,
because heaven knows he never would.
But sometimes I feel like you see yourself more like Galatea.
But a rose by any other name might smell more sweet than thee,
My fair, dark lady,
Only to be loved by those of your statue.
I mean, stature.
My fair, dark lady,
who chased me from the light in spite of just wanting to help
the charity case.
My fair, dark lady,
I made you to be a hero,
But a villain you became.
How can one love the name of a rose proud enough
To ***** the finger of tender green thumbs?
Still, its handed a clean slate for the sake of soft petals.
Justified by sweet smells and vibrant colours.
Excused.
Just, if only I could forget the thorns,
I'd have spoken "Love" differently.
I wanted to love you like no other sister would,
but couldn't.
I wanted a savior to stay even when things are okay,
wouldn't you?
When the giants weren't around.
Well, who's hero are you now?
Tell me how a statue saves lives,
rather than turning to stone when the sun rises
And I will eagerly believe.
Or don't.
Strike your pose.
Bask in the spotlight.
It's what you wanted.
It's what you got.
Hear them say "Galatea."
Not marble but ivory,
"Eliza."
"Aphrodite."
And believe them.
"Perfection created."
But I'll call you David;
Never abandoned,
forever alone.
Because humans don't need solution or heroes to depend on.
We need friends.
Well, congratulations, beautiful.
Everyone loves you.
Except, the people who should.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
1
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!
Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower—
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum—
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
3.6k
Who could ever love an Eliza?
Awkwardly a little too tall,
Possessing a dorky laugh,
Silly mannerisms,
And,
Above all,
A dream of love.
An Eliza writes poetry,
Crying to God for answers to life's questions,
Asking for God to provide some form of companionship.
An Eliza,
Is impatient,
Her largest downfalls,
Impatience,
Caring too much.
An Eliza is an Eliza,
But,
Is that a good thing?
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 7:38 AM UTC
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
I found a hole in my bucket list
Like an hourglass
My dream are slipping,
Dripping on my bare floor.
I should be really ******
Because I'll miss
Entering through unknown doors.
I haven't time to fix the hole,
The grains are moving,
And Mammy's calling her babes home.
My favourite just hit the ground,
Like a blood stain,
Or a sewer vein,
It makes not a sound.
Two floats in the air,
Three's on the lip,
Four swirls near a hole,
The remaining dreams
Are caught in the eddy;
The final drop's precariously ready.
Eliza's fix would surely falter,
My bucket list can't hold water.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC
.
Zodiac
Killer Tsuomy
Miyazaki T e d
Bundy Saeed Ha
nuel Robert Pic
ton Robert Mau
dsley Robert Ha
nsen Moses Sith
ole Mary A n n
Cotton J e f f rey
Dahmer Huang
Yong G regorio
Cardenas Herna
Dez Gary Leon Ridgway Eliza
Beth Bart hory Dean Arnold Corli
Pedro Lopez Mary Bell Louis
V a. n S c h o o r
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who, to woman, deny the soul’s future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza! they’d own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
Had their Prophet possess’d half an atom of sense,
He ne’er would have woman from Paradise driven;
Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence,
With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.
Yet, still, to increase your calamities more,
Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!—
With souls you’d dispense; but, this last, who could bear it?
His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands ’tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I can’t contradict, what so oft has been said,
“Though women are angels, yet wedlock’s the devil.”
This terrible truth, even Scripture has told,
Ye Benedicks! hear me, and listen with rapture;
If a glimpse of redemption you wish to behold,
Of ST. MATT.—read the second and twentieth chapter.
’Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex’d,
With wives who eternal confusion are spreading;
“But in Heaven” (so runs the Evangelists’ Text)
“We neither have giving in marriage, or wedding.”
From this we suppose, (as indeed well we may,)
That should Saints after death, with their spouses put up more,
And wives, as in life, aim at absolute sway,
All Heaven would ring with the conjugal uproar.
Distraction and Discord would follow in course,
Nor MATTHEW, nor MARK, nor ST. PAUL, can deny it,
The only expedient is general divorce,
To prevent universal disturbance and riot.
But though husband and wife, shall at length be disjoin’d,
Yet woman and man ne’er were meant to dissever,
Our chains once dissolv’d, and our hearts unconfin’d,
We’ll love without bonds, but we’ll love you for ever.
Though souls are denied you by fools and by rakes,
Should you own it yourselves, I would even then doubt you,
Your nature so much of celestial partakes,
The Garden of Eden would wither without you.
1.8k
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
I only wish to be by your side
I wish for it every single night,
but you didn’t bring me along for the ride,
infact you didn’t take notice until I was out of sight.
Bury me alive,
don’t leave me at the door.
I’ve been stretching this drive
down to the corner store.
I’ve been chain smoking,
and breathing the cold air skies,
I’ll tell you that I’m joking,
and if you cover my ears, I’ll cover your eyes.
I’ve been trying to catch the ocean,
but ended up drowning in her eyes.
I’m stashing away every emotion,
and she accuses my sentiment for lies.
I want to go on a joyride,
I want to drive away but not to hide.
I want to go on a joyride,
but I’m feeling alone and you’re not by my side.
So I’ll turn up the music,
and ignore my pride.
Travelling the dark street
of that old quiet ghost town,
the ferret was very discreet,
but warned of us of the bear and to slow down.
Losing track of time and missing our exit,
with conversations holding a life of their own.
I’ll remind you so you won’t forget it,
now I’ll drive that highway completely alone.
Bury me alive,
oh wait, you made the shallow grave.
I’ve been stretching this drive,
it’s pitch black but I remind you to be brave.
I’ve been listening to our favourite song,
the lyrics I easily memorize.
Eliza Dushku’s turn was wrong,
but if you be my ears, I’ll be your eyes.
I know your measurements; head to toes,
and you’re perfect just the way you are.
You know I love how you look in my clothes
when you sit beside me in my dark car.
And all the streetlights went out
as we silently took a joyride,
it’s not unusual for me but I have my doubt,
that it wasn’t amplified by her by my side.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 4:01 AM UTC
The wharf was busy; it was a Saturday and the sun was high in the sky. Strangely enough, it was hot. She wanted to get to the deYoung in time.
Eliza pulled impatiently on the hand and pulled her toward the circle of people, who were no doubt watching a street urchin or a performer.
“No, honey,” her mother said, “not today.” Eliza didn’t listen and ran up, wedging herself between the bodies of bystanders.
“Look, mommy! It’s a game.”
The man was a con, Marie knew this. She let Eliza gander.
“One dollar a play, ladies and gents,” the man said, “sorry sweetheart, kids aren’t allowed.” Eliza looked up at her mommy and pushed a dollar in to her hand. Not wanting a scene, Marie smiled and put it down.
“Just once, darling,” she said through whitened teeth and a botoxed smile. She didn’t know why she was doing this. It came to her in the moment and so she acted.
The man put a ball in the cup and told her to watch so she did. His hands were swift and mesmerizing. She knew that the ball was under the right one. She pointed. He lifted. It wasn’t there. Eliza wanted to know if she could play and if not why. Her mother told her that it was a big girl game and little girls couldn’t play. Eliza started crying so Marie put down another dollar and let her watch, just to get her to shut up. The man twisted to cups again and she failed. It happened again. And again, and again. The deYoung would close, she knew, but nothing could compare to the feeling of winning. In the end, the man got twenty of her dollars. The museum wasn’t so important.
When they were in the Saint Francis’s elevators, Marie bent down and smiled at Eliza.
“When poppa asks, dear, remember: we went to the museum and had a splendid time.”
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
°
***Eliza's wolf-dog howls to kin Moon
subjected to expertized vagrancy.***
^ ^
.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
My Secret, My Crush, My First,
My Blush, My Tooth Brush, My Ring Pop, My Hershey Almonds, My Gatorade, My Kool Aid, My Mexican Beer, My Pillow, Blanket, My Music, My Thoughts, My Every Move, My Dreams, My Tasty Ice Cream, My Food, My Mood, My Only, My *** My Love, My Drawings, My Songs, My Poems, My Verses, My Lyrics, My Masterpiece, My Missing Piece,
It's you the one I miss...
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
Dear Eliza,
It took me years to gain the courage to write you
In those years I haven't found a person like you
I miss you more every day
I think about you in every way
I think about your beautiful eyes
that pierced into mine,
and your long golden hair
that first made me stare
I remember our first conversation
And our first confirmation
being our first kiss
All of this I miss
I remember when you left for school
and I stayed home to work like a fool
You would call me every night
I regret every yell and every fight
I remember tough times when you got ill
working two jobs to support the bill
I saw you getting worse and I cried
I cried, I cried, I cried, and then you died
I remember recieving the call
Our friends and family in awe
Funeral arangements, more bills, and cries
Years of loneliness and unable to know why
I'm unable to love anyone more than you
I'm unable to stop thinking about you
I see you in my dreams, it gets me wild
I see you even more when I look at our child
You left us, not because you felt the need
but because your body felt weak
However, you had a heart that was strong
And in our hearts you will live on!
With much love,
Your Eternal Lover
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
I will stay at peace
with myself this time.
I will be able to stand
myself and you
after a rough day
when I've played
Cinderella on the
porch swing one
too many times
and sang too many
Eliza Doolittle
songs in the
tape player in my head.
I can put them
back on their
shelves, newly dusted
like a fond, old read
when I'm feeling
particularly thick-skinned
and deflective.
Good riddance and
good morning.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
Stealing kisses from the snow falling from afar,
Observing the abundance of the early morning stars.
My ankles snug, poised in the frozen sand bar,
Humming away the theme of our Creator’s world so bizarre...
Stringing along our existence with His arctic guitar
Surrounded by glistening sheets with energy of which we are.
Infusing the transfer of the layer so crisp with the strength to disregard,
So adequately I begin to absorb the ice-covered reservoir.
Nature’s zephyr left me with a comfortable chill,
Permeated with grace I embrace and stand still -
Intuition fulfilled my own free will,
A sudden thrill sent me up the near by, slippery hill.
Fluttering above the glazed, unexplored grounds so whimsical,
Transcending spiritually to consume the metaphysical,
Flowing along the ice-capped realm this feeling is instilled,
Flawlessly captivated, my mind, body & soul shall never be ill.
At no cost I flew through the mighty clouds into another dimension,
Meticulously guided in a new direction.
Delicately looking down, encouraging my full attention,
The allure of the world sparkled with sheets of passion,
Gleaming like diamonds, the frosty land gripped my connection.
Exquisitely wintry & white, I smiled and knew this was my imagination,
How I adored the absence of gravitation, this was my creation.
I brought along my crystals, surrounded by protection,
“Dear Eliza, The center of the world has sent you an invitation.”
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
A mouse found a beautiful piece of plum cake,
The richest and sweetest that mortal could make;
Twas heavy with citron and fragrant with spice,
and covered with sugar all sparkling as ice.
‘My Stars!” cried the mouse, while his eye beamed with glee,
‘Here’s a treasure I’ve found; what a feast it will be;
But hark! there’a noise, ’tis my brothers at play;
So I’ll hide with the cake, lest they wander this way.
Not a bit shall they have, for I know I can eat,
Every morsel myself, and I’ll have such a treat’
So off went and held the cake fast,
While his hungry young brothers went scampering past.
He nibbled and nibbled, and panted, but still,
he kept gulping it down till he made himself ill;
Yet he swallowed it all, and ’tis easy to guess,
he was soon so unwell that he groaned with distress.
His family heard him, and as he grew worse,
They sent for the doctor, who made him rehearse
How he’s eaten he cake to the very last crumb,
Without giving his playmates and relatives some.
‘Ah me!’ cried the doctor, ‘advice is too late’
You must die before long, so prepare for your fate;
if you had but divided the cake with your brothers,
Twould have done you no harm, and been good for the others.
‘Had you shared it, the treat had been wholesome enough,
But eaten by one, it was dangerous stuff;
So prepare for the worst-’ and the word had scarce fled,
When the doctor turned round and the patient was dead.
No all little people the lesson may take,
and Some large ones may learn from the mouse and the cake;
Not to be over-selfish with what we may gain;
Or the best of our pleasures may turn to pain.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Elizabeth, I,don’t love you,
But perhaps I could grow to,
If one had the confidence to pursue,
You,
Perhaps beautiful connections would bloom,
Perhaps,
I like your name,
And your face,
And your frame,
And your taste in music is at the very least interesting,
But sending that message to kick it all off?
No thank you and I’m sorry,
To my alternate future self in which I married you girl,
Because I have cut myself off,
It always happens,
So, don’t take it personally.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Fiona
a beach ball floated on the waves
it bobbed and rolled and went along
if i was fishing that day i would have seen it
- there on the beach
and above
a hang glider left the grassy cliff
to swing his feet in time with
sea gulls who never tired of laughing,
he saw their white wings and the crests of the waves beneath him,
they were one and they were many
but there was only one beach ball
floating and bobbing along. laughing
in many colours
at the fish in their sea
and the birds who looked like clouds
Angie
a happy face floats in the air
it has a curling ribbon tied to it
i think it is a balloon
a bright red balloon
Eliza
crystal jar - tight sealed lid
full - full as you can be
bursting sometimes with colourful buttons
of all sizes
they are names, and when you call them
they dance
like fireflies scattering into dark places
they light the world with campfires
we are warm, apprehension runs away when you
sow these buttons and
we're all well clothed
with garments so richly fastened
Cassim
a feather brushes the nose
of the giant
will he sneeze
or carry the bird?
Kat
excellent tennis is rare
I think of Wimbledon
the best of the best
the court divided
as are the spectators
they cheer, they sit in silence
they see you serve, they see you lob
they see you backhand a winner
they see the choice of the chosen
and when victorious
you acccept the trophy
and the defeated
Kat - again
ok you’re a bird
then fly
fly above the nets but
don’t stop for trees that
look like antennas
and when you pick through leaves on
the forest floor and
find the king of worms,
eat him slowly
he will feed you forever
Sheridan
the sharp sword cuts sweetly
it leaves a cool incision
knowledge is apprehended and
the red well flows over
fields are rich
strength knocking timbers
builds a house,
we live and eat well,
your house prospers
you are graceful
your love is light
and air is for breathing
MChallis © 2014
www.martinchallis.com
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
There once was a man.
His sole purpose in life was to put antiseptic and bandages on my wounds.
He read me a stories and gave each character a funny voice.
He took me wherever I wanted to go, and also, everywhere he'd ever wanted to show me.
He showed me the past, like
individual bricks on a wall,
and built me up to the roof
of a house.
Staring at stars and constellations and swirling dreams.
We played and conversed like equals,
alternating from being children to grownups, together.
We went to baseball games and aquariums and museums and beaches and parks and forests.
I danced on his toes, and sprouted his curly locks from my own head.
And when he died, I died, too.
There was nothing left for many years, until I held my own child.
My daughter,
who looks so much like my dad,
sometimes it hurts to see
the similarities.
The curl in her hair, the stars in her eyes, the magic in her shadow,
And it almost makes me feel like
Maybe he didn't leave me without love.
Maybe I didn't perish along with him.
Maybe he is still alive in me and in
the funny way my little girl scrunches up her nose when she giggles.
Or her preference of squash to green beans.
Maybe the world didn't end with my dad.
Maybe I would feel even sadder that she won't know him if I wasn't too busy soaking in her every moment like my father did mine.
And, one day I'll tell her,
"Eliza June, I once knew the most incredible man.
And he would have loved
to hear you call him,
'Grand Dad.'"
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
I would love to talk, read your mind
I would spend my last moments with you
I just can't there out to get me
The devil and his followers
Out to persecute and execute
All his gifted children he uplifted
They only drugged me out
Held me down, a system of clowns
Why I never graduated
With my cap and gown
Now no ones around
Everyone celebrated at my fall
However I learned
Although I burned
Made the wrong turn
I'm slowly getting myself
Up on my feet coming back
To take my seat I once had
In college the Phi Theta Kappa
Honor Society President
So I'm sorry if I can't speak
To you my dear
But what I can promise you is
One day we'll reappear
And then disappear
Together, in love forever
It's me against the world baby
Finish what we started
Take charge, I'm too weak
It's up to you now
The world is much too heavy
The Sun & Moon = Eclipse
Eliza James Best Friend
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC