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Martin Narrod Apr 2015
I don't want you to ever have to be alone Elizabeth.
I know too many amazing flower shops for you to have your vases in your cabinets.
I have too many wonderful blankets and even better pillows that you should have any trouble sleeping Elizabeth.
I haven't told anyone that you wrote Frankenstein.
I didn't tell them that Mary Shelley was your grandmother Elizabeth.
There's a creperie on Diversey if it's still there.
Do you like caramel Elizabeth?
I once made caramels in a tin *** on an open flame, it tasted like burnt.
What tastes do you remember Elizabeth?
I know too many fantastic places that your eyes should ever be tired, too many places where trees grow that you should have to keep your feet on the ground.
Electricity couldn't ground you Elizabeth.
Mike Tyson should cut off his ears for you.
The hair on your head is too beautiful that you should never have a reason to go out Elizabeth.
I know the magic that comes out of your mouth, you own silence it should never own you.
I was silence Elizabeth.
I was silence and charade and death and alone.
But then I met you Elizabeth, then I met you.
I would take two bullets for you.
Even if you want to hold the gun.
Joshua Haines May 2015
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.

Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.

Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.

Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.

She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."

The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.

Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
Elizabeth Evans Aug 2013
Oh Elizabeth the faire
sweet as the roses that grow for her
each summer.
That sends her senses
into a whirl of magic
that only beauty such as hers
could think to enhance.

Last spring
thee faire Elizabeth won may queen.
And came with it was a garland of flowers
to crown her pretty golden head.
Almost as if those flowers,
could grow so beautiful
from that perfect head of hair.

Men would look upon her
and dream that she was theirs
for she was a physical goddess in their eyes.
Her loveliness
would inspire poets and story writers
for years to come;
and Elizabeth the faire
spoke not of it.
Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Alas, years went by
And faire Elizabeth
was made to marry a man who
cared not for beauty or purity.
For sweet Elizabeth would have picked a ripe fruit.
But instead, she was handed this rotten apple.
Although, in the eyes of merry England
she was the greatest girl ever to live
but she was still a girl; so thus, she married
him, much against her will.

Spring melted into summer and summer melted into autumn.
Until years went by, and faire Elizabeth
faded into the background, amongst the other ordinary wives.
But she was still fertile and beautiful; and she bore her rotten
husband ten children.
But, alas, one winters morning,
where the land froze over
and frost besides on every bramble bush.
There, on that frozen morning,
lay a once beautiful maiden
dying in her bed.
Her complexion no longer rosey,
but grey and lifeless.
Her golden hair turned limp and thin. Rings around her
beautiful eyes, eyes that once sparkled.
But, a garland of flowers sat in her hands underneath
her eleventh babe, also cold and grey.

So Elizabeth the faire
took her leave of the world without complaint.
And so her name was lost in time.
But that golden may day some years ago,
where the fairest girl ever there was was crowned may queen
shall not be lost. But will live on;
in the human heart.
Angel Monroe Mar 2013
Elizabeth tells me she knows how I feel
She thinks my brain is filled with
Images of a different girl
Laughing and spinning and kissing with
You

Elizabeth says she's fallen in love before
With someone who danced
Just out of her reach
She says my eyes look tired and
My heartbeat is much too slow
I tell her how I've been feeling
Very tired and slow lately
So she nods like she understands

Elizabeth thinks I'm jealous
Of a whisper that glimmers
On the cusp of my universe
She thinks I could - even for a second
- think about anyone but you

Elizabeth thinks I'm mad at the world
She assures me you'd be better off
Laughing and spinning and kissing with
Me

Elizabeth doesn't understand when
I get up angrily
And tell her I'm not mad at anyone
I'm just resigned to
Watching you
Laugh with someone else
And spin around like a carnival ride
And kiss a girl with strawberry lips

Elizabeth believes that two lovers
Should end up together
I believe that
You love who you are
When you are with her
And that's enough for me
Sebastian Perez Jul 2012
When I heard the news all I could do was cry, what a difficult moment to say goodbye.

This can't be true, Elizabeth something like this can't happen to you.  

Elizabeth, the little girl I once knew so beautiful in high school, a chorus voice you sang on my graduation day, such a lovely voice, I'll never forget how you sound so cool.  

Elizabeth a sound wife you display, a person with a drive nothing can't get in the way.

An enthusiast so eager to learn, has a young girl to an amazing woman in what you've done and yearn.  

As time passes in your life you've chosen a beautiful path.

Not for the worse but for the best, you've done well Lizzie a happy life with a new family with joyful moments in life these memories will go with you as you laid to rest.  

Left speechless, I wish I knew what to say, but only God knows this is the only way.

Maintaining my composer keeping my head up high. Though deep down inside, it was to much and all I can do is cry.  

You were sent to put smile in peoples lives, God gave the strength you need until the family arrive.

Just so much to do in such little time at hand, with stories to tell and memories to share, children to love and grandkids to hug, they will miss you as you enter Gods promise land.  

Elizabeth you've lived for all of us to see, how a happy person should be, God took you from the rest, we all know that God has taken the best.  

Elizabeth, God has been near you to let you know he came, He did not take you away in vain,

He has a special place for you above, where family someday will greet you with love.  

Now your journey has begun, family await you in heaven cause life on this earth is done.

Elizabeth your soul is release, goodnight little one and you may rest in peace.
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
The sun sets on dripping blood
Shed for love
And brought out from a gun
Elizabeth is close to death
Drawing final breaths
She was so fine and so young

Pedro runs across the barroom floor
Bursting through the door
On his way to the border by the sea
His hand is still hot from rage
There's nothing left to save
All he can do is flee

Now that heaven can finally breathe
Resting on the sea
While Pedro hides away from law
Elizabeth wore Pedro's golden ring
Along a silver string
Yet she moaned among the farmer's straw

Pedro shed the lonely tears
Of a love lost in years
He made a promise that he kept
As he read aloud the vows she wrote
With the heart she broke
The sun set as he wept
ShowYouLove Dec 2014
The Second Joyful Mystery:
The Visitation: Elizabeth greets Mary: ‘Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb!’


Mary travels miles to see her best friend, and cousin, Elizabeth who was also with child to share with her this great news! When Mary gets to her cousin’s house the two women great each other and Elizabeth’s baby leaps inside her womb in response to being in the presence of the Lord Jesus. Elizabeth is very happy and says to Mary “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” Elizabeth recognizes that Mary is truly blessed to conceive Jesus while still a ****** by the working of the Holy Spirit. Mary also recognizes she is truly blessed to bear the Christ child inside of her. She alone was chosen among women to house the savior and redeemer of the world. What amazing gifts God has given Mary! We pray to God May we, like Mary be blessed. Help us to receive you all the time and, like Elizabeth and her baby, may we give all praise and glory to you now and forever. May we leap for joy whenever we are near to you. Help us also to feel your presence daily. Amen
THE STORY OF MY ALCOLIC GRANDFATHER FATHERING MY DAD



YOU SEE, WHEN ALEXANDER GIMBERT DIED, HE TRIED TO BRING THE FAMILY

TOGETHER, AND FIRST, HE WENT UP TO JUPITER, TO SQUIRT METHANE ALL

OVER BRIAN ALLAN, AND FORCE, MY BROTHER, INTO THINKING THAT DRINKING IS

COOL, AND THEN MADE MY BROTHER ONLY BE HIS OWN PERSON, BECAUSE

I WAS BEING MUCKED WITH BY BIG MENS KIDS WHO WANTED TO DRINK

BEER, AND ALSO, MY DAD, WAS WORRIED, WHY I WAS FIGHTING HIM, BUT

ALEXANDER AND CLARRY JUST WANTED DAD TO GO TO BED, TREATING

BRIAN LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY, NOT CARING HOW I ACTED AT SCHOOL

BECAUSE BRIAN USED A LOT OF ***** MOUTH, ON DAD, AND CLARRY’S

REINCARNATION, WHICH IS RYAN CLARK, THE ACTOR WHO PLAYED SAM MARSHALL

ON HOME AND AWAY, TRYING TO EXPLAIN MY FATHERS MANS KID, BUT

BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE 1990s, THEY HAD TO GET WITH THE MODERN TIMES,

ALEXANDER GIMBERT, IS NOW DAVID CAMPBELL, WHO IS FATHER OF MY DADS

NEW REINCARNATION, ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, YOU SEE, DAVID’S BACKGROUND

MATCHES WHAT ALEXANDER WANTED FOR US, AND THE FACT THAT PATRICK WAS

INTO JIMMY BARNES WHO IS DAVID’S FATHER, YOU SEE, I GO AROUND TELLING

EVERYONE THAT MACAULEY CULKIN WAS CLARRY, BUT WHEN I COME TO THINK OF IT

RYAN CLARK MAKES MORE SENSE, AND, HE IS A PROFFESIONAL LIFEGUARD, WHICH

HE STUCK AT HIS GUNS, TO MAKE A VERY GOOD LIFEGUARD, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IN MY

FAMILY, YOU SEE I AIN’T LIKE THE OTHERS IN MY FAMILY, ONE REASON BECAUSE, I WANT

TO BE A FAMOUS ARTIST AND WRITER, AND I ENTERTAINER ON YOUTUBE, AND ALEXANDER

GETS INTO MY HEAD, TO MAKE ME KEEP SAYING, I LIKE ART AND WRITING, YOU SEE

CLARRY WANTED FOR ALL THAT HAPPENED BEFORE DAD DIED, AS THE DEMONS, USED

ALEXANDER GIMBERTS SOULD TO FORCE ME TO THROW ALL MY BELONGINGS OVER THE BALCONY

AND THEN MAKE ME GO TO HOSPITAL, TO EXPLAIN MY BELIEFS WITH A LOT OF WEIRD CHATTER

AND MADE IT CLEAR TO THEM, THAT I LIKE TELEVISION, ACTUALLY THERE IS A VERY STRANGE

SITUATION HERE, YOU SEE OLGA CHICK, AN OLD LADY BRIAN ALLAN LOVED TO TALK TO AT VINNIES

SUDDENLY DIED AND WAS REINCARNATED AS THE OLDER BOY LEO CAMPBELL, AND LEO IS PROUD

TO BE A BIG BROTHER TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL (DAD) AND WILLIAM CAMPBELL (ROBIN WILLIAMS)

AT PRESENT ALEXANDER AND CLARRY HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH DAD, TO TRY AND BRING FUN

INTO DADS NEXT LIFE, YOU SEE, I GOT A PHOTO FRAME OF PUTTING DADS OLD MAN, THROUGH

THE POWERS OF BUDDHA, REINCANTATE TO ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, AND MY NANNA IS WATCHING OVER

US, AND HER CURRENT EARTH LIFE JOHN ROBERT REMIEL, IS CURRENTLY MUCKING WITH MY BROTHER

WITH MUSIC AND MUCKING WITH ME ON YOUTUBE, AND DAVID CAMPBELL WAS BORN WHEN HIS FATHER

WAS IN COLD CHISEL, MIND YOU DUDES, YOU SEE JIMMY WAS A BUDDHIST, AND ME AS CRONUS

UNDERSTOOD THAT MY ALCOHOLIC GRANDFATHER DIED, BECAME SON OF JIMMY BARNES

AND NOW, FATHER OF MY FATHER, HOPEFULLY WE CAN MAKE THE FIGHTING ALEXANDER USED TO

DO TO MY MUMS MUM, AN OLD FOGIE THING, SO NOW POP IS NOW DADS FATHER, THROUGH THE EYES

OF BUDDHA EVERYONE IS RELATED
Elizabeth Ann Sep 2013
Good morning Elizabeth,
Elizabeth two
Hello, hello
How do you do
Elizabeth Ann
You've grown quite tall
You used to be
Oh, so so small
Just a name
Upon a screen
Just a poem
Rarely seen
But now you're a girl
With a lovely name
With pain in your chest
But love just the same
You're a girl with words
That speak of life
A girl with words
Sharp as a knife
Elizabeth Ann,
Elizabeth two
You used to be me
But now you're a you
Paul Hardwick Dec 2011
Hello Doctor Elizabeth!

Good to see you D o c t o r.
I might ask you how are you?

But that would be just, more work!     For to you.

So I ask how do you, FEEL , is life still work to you?
The sweat and tears for you.

Is it really, good for you?

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. How do you do?
Hello Doctor Elizabeth!
You are young, and I, think love you.


Nobody, ask of my dreams before,             the something,            the maybe.
But that is is just hear say.

The time,.   I spent time living,    These dreams of mine
And the time between.
What will your dream of D o c t o r?

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. How do you do?
Hello Doctor Elizabeth!
You are young, and I, think love you.


My mind is good today,
the clouds are moving away,

You say you like my shirt,
You say you like my hat,
But D o c t o r !

What about me.

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. How do you do?
Hello Doctor Elizabeth!
You are young, and I, think love you.

What about me?
What about me?
What about me?
W h a t  a b o u t  m e ?

Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. How do you do?
Hello Doctor Elizabeth!
You are young, and I, think love you.
Taylor St Onge Nov 2015
1611: Emilia Lanier became the first Englishwoman to publish and collect patronage from her original poetry with the publication of fifteen poems, all about or dedicated to particular women, in her “booke,” titled in Latin, Hail, God, King of the Jews.  She was the fourth woman in England to publish her poetry, but the first to demand payment in return for it.  The first to see herself as equal to the paid male authors of the era.

This was the same year that the King James Bible was first printed.  This was eight years after the death of Queen Elizabeth I.  This was 180 years after nineteen-year-old Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.

                                                               ­      +

The Querelle des Femmes is “the woman question.”
Frenchmen of the early fifteenth century created a literary debate: what is the role and the nature of women?  Is it stemmed within a “classical” model of  human behavior; gnarled and rooted with misogynistic platonic tradition?  Should women actually be allowed into politics, economics, and religion?  There are scholars that say this debate radiated across several European countries for three centuries before finally fizzling out.  

                                                         ­                   But it is still there; has crossed
continents, has crossed oceans, is sizzling, sparking up fires, flaring out
into the night, leeching onto the trees, onto buildings, onto people, onto
anything flammable.  It is burning down monarchs and their thrones.  It is
raking back the blazing coals.  
                                                   Exposing the charred corpses.  
                 Proving their death.  
                                                   Burning and burning and burning them
                                              twice more to prevent the collection of relics.
                 It is chucking the ashes into the Seine River.

Lilith: who was made at the same time, at the same place, from the same earth, from the same soil as Adam, got herself written out of the Bible because she thought herself to be Man’s equal. Because she got bored of the *******.  Because she wanted to be on top during ***.  Lilith was replaced in the book of Genesis with a more-or-less subservient woman that was made from the rib of man instead of the same dirt and dust.  She was replaced with a woman that Adam named “Eve.”  She was replaced with a woman who served as nothing more than the scapegoat for Man’s downfall.
                                       The original Querelle des Femmes.

                                                                     +

1558-1603: Queen Elizabeth I ruled England in what is considered to be a masculine position. Although a woman can take the throne, can wear the crown, can wield the scepter, can run the country, the actual divine task that goes along with being a part of the monarchy, being a god on Earth, is thought to be the duty of a man.

Nicknamed The ****** Queen, Elizabeth never married,
                                                     never found a proper suitor,
                                             never produced a direct Tudor heir,
                                   (but this is not to prove that she was a ******).  
Chastity, especially of women, is a virtue.  ((To assume that she never had ***
simply because she never married
                                                                ­ is another Querelle des Femmes.))

For nearly forty-five years, Queen Elizabeth I did not need a man by her side while she lead England to both relative stability and prosperity; did not need a man by her side while she became the greatest monarch in English history.  
                                                She held the rainbow, the bridge to God, in her
                                                                ­                     own small hands just fine.

                                                          ­           +

Saturday, February 24, 1431: Joan of Arc was interrogated for the third time in her fifteen-part trial in front of Bishop Cauchon and 62 Assessors.  During her six interrogation sessions, she was questioned over charges ranging from heresy to witchcraft to cross-dressing.

At age twelve Joan of Arc began seeing heavenly visions
                                                                ­               of angels and saints and martyrs;
age thirteen she began hearing the Voice of God—was told to
purify France of the English,                          to make Charles the rightful king—
age sixteen she took a vow of chastity as a part of her divine mission.  

When the court asked about the face and eyes
that belonged to the Voice, she responded:
                                                      ­                      There is a saying among children, that
                                                         “Sometimes one is hanged for speaking the truth.”


Joan of Arc was declared guilty and was killed by the orders of a Bishop during a time when men were beginning to question the role and nature of women in society.  They thought women to be deceitful and immoral.  Innately thought Joan of Arc to be deceitful and immoral.  (Perhaps she was one of the catalysts for the Querelle in the first place.)

((The church blamed Eve for the
fall of mankind.  Identified women as
                                                                     temptation:
                                                               the root of all sins.))

Twenty-five years later she was declared innocent and raised to the level of martyrdom.
The Catholic Church stood back,
saw the blood,
                          the ashes,
                                            the thick smoke and stench of burned body that
                                                                ­               covered their hands, their clothes,
                                                                ­                    their neurons, their synapses;
        a filth that couldn’t be washed off by Holy water—
can’t be washed off by Holy water.

Four hundred and seventy-eight years later Joan of Arc was blessed and gained entrance to Heaven.  Four hundred and eighty-nine years later she was canonized as a saint.

                                                         ­            +

Lines 777-780, “Eve’s Apology in Defense of Women,” Emilia Lanier, 1611:
                         But surely Adam can not be excused,
                         Her fault though great, yet he was most to blame;
                         What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,
                         Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame…


Adam, distraught and angered that his first wife, Lilith, had flew off into the air after he had refused to lay beneath her, begged God to bring her back.  God, taking pity on his beloved, manly, creation, sent down three angels who threatened Lilith that if she did not return to Adam, one hundred of her sons would die each day.  

                              (This is where the mother of all Jewish demons
                                         merges with the first wife of Man.)  

She refused, said that this was her purpose: she was
created specifically to harm newborn children.  This legend,
dated back to 3,500 BC Babylonia, describes Lilith as a
                                                                       winged feminine demon that
                                                     kills infants and endangers women in childbirth.

In the Christian Middle Ages, Lilith changed form once more:
she became the personification of licentiousness and lust,
she became more than a demon, she became a sin in herself.  Lilith
and her offspring were seen as succubae, were to blame for the
wet dreams of men.  Taking it a step further, Christian leaders then
                                                                ­                           wed Lilith to Satan;
                                                                ­                              charged her with
                                                                ­               populating the world with evil,
                                                   claimed she gave birth to
one hundred demonic children per day.

Lilith is considered evil in the eyes of the church because she was insubordinate to Adam.  Both she and Eve are considered disobedient; are too willful, too independent in the way that Lilith wanted to be on top and Eve wanted to share a knowledge that Adam could have refused.  They are perceived as a threat to the divinely ordered happenings that men see to be true.

Men wrote the history books because only their interpretation was right.  
Emilia Lanier writes:
                                       Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he took
                                           From Eve's fair hand, as from a learned Book
(807-808).

The Querelle des Femmes is not just a literary debate in the fifteenth century.  It is a way of life.  It is the divine portion of Queen Elizabeth I’s job being fit for men, and men alone.  It is Joan of Arc being a woman and hearing the Voice of God; it is Joan of Arc being burned three times by the same Catholics that revered in Jesus, a man who, too, heard the Voice of God.  It is Lilith being deemed a demon for not wanting to have *** in the *******.  It is Eve having to apologize in the first place for sharing the apple, for sharing knowledge with her partner.  It is women holding positions of power and yet still feeling powerless to men.  

The Querelle des Femmes is wanting to use gender
to keep one group of people above another.  The Querelle des Femmes
is continually thinking that the ***** is greater than, but
never equal to, the ******. The Querelle des Femmes is
                                                       not understanding the difference between
                                                                ­       ***          and          gender
                                                                ­              in the first place.  
The Querelle des Femmes is me,
burning your dinner and telling you to eat it anyway.
This is part of a larger project that I am working on pertaining to the Querelle des Femmes.
Latreece Rose Jan 2015
Chocolate mint
breath cool like gelato
on a wintery spring.

Fly high, Elizabeth!
Blizzard snow like crystals
in caves in earth's core.

Burr, Elizabeth!
Wear a sweater
cotton blue, red, brown.

Shiver underneath
while Jonathon's hands are ice cubes
melting like glaciers as he takes you.

Antarctica!
Don't weep from the frost
that turns your youth to water.

Elizabeth,
sail
as the woman you are.
Terry Collett Nov 2018
Mrs Topdraw's daughter
came to help sort out
her father's funeral
and other matters;
Nellie had been sent
to air the bed
and to make sure
the room was ready.

Edna took Mrs Topdraw's
breakfast up to her.

The daughter, Elizabeth,
came down to the kitchen,
to see Mrs **** the cook.

How do you think
Mother is coping?
She asked.

She hasn't really
got over your brother's death,
Miss Elizabeth,
Mrs **** said,
now this.

Elizabeth nodded:
I will stay here
for a month or so,
and see how she is, then.

She gazed around the kitchen:
have you still got
Edna and Nellie?

Yes, Miss,
Mrs **** replied,
Nellie is sorting
your room now,
and Edna has taken
your mother breakfast.

Elizabeth walked
and gazed out the window
at the garden:
I see Mr Burt is still here
in the garden.

Yes, Miss,
Mrs **** said,
gazing at the gardener
in the garden,
whom she had
a soft spot for.

I shall need to speak
to all staff about the future,
Elizabeth said,
watching Mr Burt the digging.

Yes, Miss,
Mrs **** replied,
wondering if they will
still have jobs,
if things get worse.

She'd been cook
since Miss Elizabeth
was a baby;
would she find similar
employment elsewhere?
She mused.

Elizabeth turned
and smiled:
don't look so worried,
Mrs ****,
I will do what I can
to keep things going.

Mrs **** nodded
and Elizabeth left
to see her mother.

Mrs **** returned
to her work;
wondered how the girls
were doing;
not messing around;
no time now
to shirk.
The daughter's visit in 1924
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

All black virtues and white vices to day
Point to the reality around the British Empire
Or the famous Great Britain
Or the British Commonwealth
If not the English commonwealth
That its next monarch must be an African
Truly an African without streaks of cosmetic Africanity
Deeply black in colour, ***** in race and African in blood,

The monarchy of England should not be confined
To the parochial and Provencal English blood
Falsely named the royal blood
What a misnomer? For science and religion
Has nothing in history like the royal blood
But only brutal probability of genetics
Ever and ever will befall humanity,

The royalty of blood is only a smokescreen for racism
Or inter European apartheid or apartheid in universality,
The empire of British Commonwealth, Gambia included
Is not about the royal blood of charlese, Elizabeth nor Victoria
It is all about world class cultural inclusivity
Of all the pillars of the English culture,

English commonwealth is of culture, language, attitude and geography
This has to be known devoid of racial biase
And this is the great English empire;
It is a billion African English speakers
Its five hundred million American English speakers
It is a million Australian English speakers
It is a hundred million Indian English speakers
These are the bricks that mould the English commonwealth
Not queen Elizabeth and her son the cuckold of Egyptian mangy dog,
It is the nation of Uganda which is hundred percent African,
No Caucasoids nor Asians but its mother tongue is the British English,
Uganda is crazy; its peasants speak English like Cambridge scholars,
It’s the Nigerian Afro -cinema that promotes spoken English
With the muscle only inherent in the stampede of cultural imperialism,

The royal family is not royal at all in the informed understanding
Or else which family is not royal, show one me please
And I will show you folly of the day
Who wants not to be royal, why not all of us,
Crudeness of culture is the pedestal of reserved royalty
Inclusivity is the contrasting mother of cultural strength
Thus, all English speakers are the royal family
Of the British Commonwealth,
They don’t need royal blood
They already have full amour of the royal culture
Of the English linguistic or mental civilisation,
Please Queen Elizabeth listen to me carefully
Listen with your wholesome body and soul to this song
The song of freedom echoing cultural modernity;
Give to us, we your children of the commonwealth our rights
Include us in our hard earned monarchy,
I also want to be the king of England
I want to fill that royal palace with my dark skin
I want to speak and write English poetry inside the palace
The royal palace of England whose
Whose Golden floor and pavement are  s
Reeking the blood of colonialism
The wood and gold in the palace
Was taken from Africa without any pay
During colonial robbery with violence,
Give me my historical rights to be the king of England
Then my four African wifes; Lumbasi Opicho, Namwaya Opicho, Nangila Opicho and Chelangat Opicho, the most beautiful of all from the heroic Kipsigis
Will be the four queens of England, queens of the English commonwealth
Lumbasi for Scotland, Namwaya for England, Nangila for Wales and Chelangat
For the begotten Ireland,
I have all the virtues in my blood to be the English king
If it’s military, shaka the Zulu is my uncle
If it is wisdom, Nelson mandella is my uncle
If it is intellect Kwame Nkrumah is my father
If it is culture Taban Lo Liyong and Okot p’Bitek are my brothers
Whereas Leopold Sedar Senghor is a son of my father from another mother,
If it is beauty Cleopatra the Egyptian whose beauty killed the Roman king is my mother
If it is science my witchcraft is superior in technology to silicon computing
If it is ***, ask your daughter in law princes Diana
Now what am I missing to become the next English monarch?
Cné Aug 2017
A tentative touch unsure
of erotica I've yet to explore.
Her sweet ripe ******* allure
my watering mouth can't ignore.

Tickling teasing touch to ignite us
giggling on our high
Soft soothing caresses in between
wondering why I was so shy...

Our fingers tangled in long blonde hair,
then gently stroking soft warm skin.
Bodies writhing, legs entwining,
where she ends, there I begin.

Oblivious to our thoughts
enambered with desires
Lips of wine in heated passion
soaring pleasures even higher.

Perfumed oil on bodies glistening,
**** laughs and playful fights.
Lace and heels and toys aplenty,
Girl, we'll make this last all night.

By EJ and Cné
A little wine
A little laugh
A little pleasure
For our own behalf

Thank you EJ for such inspiration
https://hellopoetry.com/elizabeth-j-1/
Lizz Baughn Aug 2012
When I was a little girl
My father used to sing this song to me.
It was a made up song
(He used to sing songs for everything).

It went something like
"I love you forever and always,
Even when you're mad to me."

I said that when I was little,
"Mad to me."
My father thought it was funny.

When I was older he said things like
"No matter what you do,
I'll always love you,
Cuz you're my Lizzie Rabbit."

He had this other song,
He sang to me at bedtime.
"Oh Elizabeth, Elizabeth,
My pride and joy.
If I didn't have Elizabeth
I might have had a boy.
But I have my sweet Lilly,
She's sweet and she's silly,
Yes she's the girl for me,
And I never saw a baby
Quite like little Elizabeth Lilli...
Ann."

I don't know how I remember all the words...
Yes I do, because I've been dying
To hear him sing it to me again.

Because I got older,
And I started ******* up.
And then I learned,
There are things I can do
That fall outside the bounds of
"No matter what you do."

Things I can do that make me
NOT his pride and joy.
Things that probably make him wish
I had been a boy.
Things that probably make him glad
There were no other babies quite like
Little Elizabeth Lilli...
Ann.

But what he doesn't understand is,
I love him forever and always.
Even when he's mad to me.
eliza bonnet Feb 2014
elizabeth sydney gill. she was..was..well. she was like a broken piece of glass. like someone threw an empty bottle, and the pieces went flying and those broken pieces..they’re elizabeth. you can try all you want to put them together. but somehow, someway, in the end you’ll be the one who gets cut. thats elizabeth...a fragile, jagged, piece of glass
Poetic T May 2016
It was the children I tell you,

"That was my last moment as a free bird,
"Now I sing behind caged walls.

They were there in the moments of my spiral of despair,
I first heard them, saw them when I took the bottle.
Counting them like sheep,
1 sheep,
2 sheep,
.
.
.
.
.
.
32 sheep more.
Then I stopped momentarily.
The world was a mirage of my thoughts as I threw the
empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. Lets spin the bottle
see where it lands, I watch it rotate on empty odours.
Then it lands base up, I stare into the white emptiness
above my head and see nothing. Fluke of the spin I thought
till my eyes descended down.

"Hi Elizabeth such an old name, for such a young soul,

She must have been no older than ten, OK, the tablets
are making me see things I thought in my mind?

"No Elizabeth there right here,

Partly dissolved white stones linger in her palms, why did
she do that? and how did she know that these were buried
within me. I thought for a moment then asked?

"What do you want from me? why would you save me?
"I was ready to leave this place to sleep in oblivion,

"Were not letting you go yet, we have things for you to do,

"Why would I do anything for you child?

Because I'm not a lone,

"Around, around we go, while were here you'll never go,
"A tablet will never fall, a wrist no blood will kiss the floor,
"You'll hear us whether night or day,
"We'll visit you in slumber and seed your dreams what may,

"Why would you do this,

Then the world became a spin cycle and It was the 90 degree
wash, I woke up sweating, my clothes dishevelled.
I was clasping onto a empty whiskey bottle huddled onto
it like it was a favourite teddy from when I was young.

"Jesus that was one weird whiskey educed dream,

Getting up I noticed what was a jingling sound in the base
of the bottle had I put a ring in the bottle again? I looked,
my skin shuddered and my eyes widened as I saw what
must have been at least forty tablets laying in recesses
of the bottle. I turned  my head to the floor throwing up
what whiskey still lingered in my stomach,. What the hell
had I been thinking?

Footprints so many footprints in a circular dance, and two
more just static in the centre, I looked at my feet I still had
mine on I throw them off in haste, or was it fear? I measured
them in size to mine and they fit like gloves a perfect mould.

"No, no that was just a messed up dream,

"It wasn't our Elizabeth,
"Who the hell ar......,

I wake up again my clothes dishevelled but this time
an added bonus blood, what the hell happened I
thought. I checked myself over and to my amazement
none of it was mine which left me to the more panicking
thought who's was it and where had it come from?

******* I feel sick as I assume that this is one
persons hardened essence now secreted on my being.
I shower and then dry off, I run to the toilet as I *****
multiple times, I cant remember ever eating that?
Where had I been? how long had past in missing time.

I just binned the evidence there was a communal burning
bin. I waited till it was dark, I knew one of the  lights was
temperamental at best so i waited till it failed...

"Come on go out,

I thought aloud, then like a fading star it did the usual.
Flickered and like an ebbing star slowly died out . I ran
like it was a race for life, I'd put lighter fluid in the bag
and threw it in.

"I missed,
"I missed, what the hell,

The light flickered on again I was out of the reach of
its view and noticed another come towards the flickering
embers.

"O' crap o' crap,

Thoughts collapsed like dominos in my head, then he picked
the bag up and all I heard was, "Messy ingrate cant even throw,
Then like in slow motion it glided like a wingless crow in to
the fire. Within moments the bag ignited like a phoenix he lit up.

It was like nothing I had seen before he had stood to close to
the fire when he'd throw it soaked in liquid it went up as well
as him the surprise on his face was intoxicating i watched as
he danced the tango of death.

Then I snapped out of it fumbling to get my phone,  but this
moment passed and he was lifeless smouldering on the ground
I could smell him cooking slowly. I ran inside, grabbed my phone
again to ring the police.

But I looked down and it was still recording.

"What I cant remember pressing that,

"We did it Elizabeth,
"So you could watch your work over and over again,

"Your not real, your a child,

"O'dear elzabeth if that's true then you did this all,

I rewound the video, wait there was more than one?
I watched each of them horror spread like an extinguished
Sun as darkness consumed it. But I felt myself smiling,
I looked in the mirror and they were there all of them.

Counting them like sheep,
1 sheep,
2 sheep,
.
.
.
.
.
.
32 sheep more.
I had closed myself in the bathroom, locked them from view, it
wouldn't be long now. I awoke again, sluggish to my surroundings.
I was again in bed my clothes as the night before, holding a *****
bottle empty and Ii looked slowly and there were 31 pills and a note
on the side.

"We left one in so you could have a good sleep,

I threw the empty bottle and clinging note into the fire, i could
hear that song that I first heard. "Nnoooooooooooo, "No,
I ran for the kitchen for a knife, then I heard a knock at the door?
Within moments it was off its hinges and I was running at them
knife raised, I thought death at last, but instead 10,000 volts I felt.

Awakeing i heard voice not the childrens but others,

"Hello,
"Is anybody there,

A hole opened and two eyes so caring looked inward,

"Hi Elizabeth, your in Hardy Oaks mental asylum,
"We saw your tapes, your a poorly girl it seems,

"It was the children I tell you,
"That was my last moment as a free bird,
"Now I sing behind caged walls.

The hole slides shut and then I'm alone, but
they are here with me I could scream, but I just
watch then encircle me, and sing their endless lullabies.
Chloe Elizabeth Aug 2014
I'm afraid
to go to sleep
because of all the nightmares
in my head

By Chloe Elizabeth
If all the good people were clever,
  And all clever people were good,
The world would be nicer than ever
  We thought that it possibly could.

But somehow 'tis seldom or never
  The two hit it off as they should,
The good are so harsh to the clever,
  The clever, so rude to the good!

So friends, let it be our endeavour
  To make each by each understood;
For few can be good, like the clever,
  Or clever, so well as the good.
Beautiful poem by Elizabeth Wordsworth, thanks to Bucky Fuller - The critical path
Wouldst thou hear what man can say
In a little? Reader, stay.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbor give
To more virtue than doth live.

If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
Th' other let it sleep with death;
Fitter, where it died to tell,
Than that it lived at all. Farewell.

— The End —