"fleming" poems
The Years have passed by,
In the blink of an eye,
Moments of sadness,
And joy have flown by.
People I loved,
Have come and have gone,
But the world never stopped,
And we all carried on.
Life wasn't easy,
And the struggles were there,
Filled with times that it mattered,
Times I just didn't care.
And now as I grow older,
It's become very clear,
Things I once found important,
Were not why I was here.
And how many things,
That I managed to buy,
Were never what made me,
Feel better inside.
And the worries and fears,
That plagued me each day,
In the end of it all,
Would just fade away.
But how much I reached out,
To others when needed,
Would be the true measure,
Of how I succeeded.
And how much I shared,
Of my soul and my heart,
Would ultimately be,
What set me apart.
And what's really important,
Is my opinion of me,
And whether or not,
I'm the best I can be.
And how much more kindness,
And love I can show,
Before the Lord tells me,
It's my time to go.
© Pat A. Fleming
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
They sit atop a low wall kicking heels,
Pyjamas draped in bathrobes pulled-to tight
To ward Antarctic winds — Nearby the squeals
Of blues and twos betray the mortal plight
Of some ill-fated soul — A fog bank peels
Up from their glowing embers, for in spite
Of coughing blood and dragging drips on wheels,
Collective will has long since lost the fight —
And did they think as children at the flicks,
As war was sold with glory, did they think
As Bogart raised a lucifer to his lips
How Tinseltown might guide them to this brink,
And just like Fleming’s catcher tempt them in
With candy coloured cartons and a grin?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Along the banks of Lake Shelbyville
That’s what I think of when it’s your birthday
A camp fire burning on a cool April night
We two drinking hot mauled cider
Or better yet “Hornsby’s Draft Cider”
Talking and laughing
Making up parodies
Parodies of Zeppelin and Floyd songs
Listening to the nightingales and the crickets
And watching fire light
That almost appears to be living
Watching slow rolling clouds, and feeling the whispering wind
Rolling in and out and over and under
The engaging light of the moon and stars
And maybe some of our friends were there
And maybe it was only us
Brother and sister
Best friends forever
Retelling stories of our past
Creating memories for our future
Waxing religion and philosophy
Such philistines, think my parents
And your parents don’t get it
And yes we have separate parents
And yes we have the same parents
(Adoption is a funny thing you see)
You are my funny BIG, BIG, BIG brother
Santa Claus, Sasquatch, Cave Man, and Viking
And I am your little crazy sister
Flower Child and Sacagawea
And it is your birthday
And I love you always
Love, Sarah Jane Gillian Tiffany Michelle Whispering Wind Grider Minks Summers Jonathan George Washington Francis Fleming Greenlee Whiter Liston Hall
Aka Awesome Pagan Goddess
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
161 to 180 of 3251 Poets
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Margaret Kaufman
Photo, Brownie Troop, St. Louis, 1949
Deborah Warren
Marginalia
Regan Huff
Occurrence on Washburn Avenue
Anne Marie Macari
From the Plane
Gerald Fleming
There are no poems by this poet on our website.
Sebastian Matthews
Barbershop Quartet, East Village Grille
Charles Harper Webb
The Animals are Leaving
Zozan Hawez
Self-Portrait
Jose Angel Araguz
Gloves
Russell Libby (1956–2012)
Applied Geometry
Robert Haight
How Is It That the Snow
Early October Snow
Dan Lechay
Ghost Villanelle
James P. Lenfestey
Daughter
Robert Hedin (b. 1949)
The Old Liberators
My Mother's Hats
John Maloney
After Work
Kaelum Poulson
The Crow
Stuart Kestenbaum
Prayer for the Dead
Emmett Tenorio Melendez
My name came from . . .
Gary Dop
Father, Child, Water
On Swearing
Berwyn Moore
Driving to Camp Lend-A-Hand
«78910»
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Jean Bartel, born Jean Bartlemeh;
on October 26, 1923 & died March 6, 2011;
Miss California and Miss America 1943;
She won the talent and swimsuit awards
at the national pageant. At 5 feet 8 inches tall,
Bartel was the tallest winner up to that time;
Jean Bartel was the first college student
to win the title of Miss America & after
visiting her sorority sisters in Kappa Kappa Gamma
around the country, she developed the idea
of awarding scholarships to those who competed;
The Miss America Organization is now
the world's largest provider of scholarships
for women in the world;
Bartel worked for many years on Broadway
and in television, including starring in her own
travel series, It's a Woman's World, as well as
performing for seven months in South America;
She appeared in an episode of The Love Boat
in 1984, w/ Marian McKnight,
Miss America, 1957;
Nancy Fleming,
Miss America, 1961;
& Vanessa Williams,
Miss America, 1984.
Bartel died in Brentwood, California,
on March 6, 2011, aged 87; The Miss America
Organization issuing a statement calling her
"one of our most beloved Miss Americas"
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
When will I understand,
And learn to live and work,
Dear school will you teach me,
In these textbooks I lurk.
While Rosa Parks sat still,
And Fleming found penicillin,
Remember how great they are?
Raise our standards, cross the bar!
Studying twenty-four hours a day,
All work and no play,
Why do we do this only for marks,
There is knowledge, in the dark.
All you make us do,
Is derive this and that,
In the future in my cubicle,
I'll being having पराँठे to get fat.
These egotistical teachers,
They make me cry,
All I hear in the staff room,
Is पुलाव and दाल fry.
You go on with the system,
You go on with the lies,
Why don't you let us think!
Even we have minds.
These benzene rings and oxidation states,
Will never help me with taxes,
Theoretical imaginary waves & motions,
Make me a complete राक्षस!
Five thousand equations to integrate,
But all we do is differentiate,
This religion and that religion,
"It's all in my fate!"
Why don't we do something,
For the ever growing community,
Yes, the same society,
That doesn't let us break free.
Do you ever wonder,
Why our country is so poor,
There's a shortage of lawmakers,
And the government is run by actors.
My whole degree will be,
A complete joke,
No matter how much I study,
I'm just the "fresher" bloke.
I got ninety-seven percent,
In the prestigious class twelve,
Yet my IQ is,
As much as a बैल!
Why do you think eveyone is stupid,
And engineers smart,
I think studying Humanities,
Is a work of art.
These teachers think I'm obnoxious,
Just because I don't talk,
One day I'll prove something,
And on their face I'll walk.
I can't memorize these problems,
Don't forget, I too have a brain,
It isn't a big harddisk,
But at least, it isn't a grain.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
Dylan Klebold (17)... Senior.... September 11, 1981- April 20, 1999
Eric Harris (18)... Senior.... April 9, 1981- April 20, 1999
Cassie Bernall (17)... Senior.... November 6, 1981- April 20, 1999
Lauren Townsend (18)... Senior.... January 17, 1981- April 20, 1999
Rachel Scott (17)... Senior.... August 5, 1981- April 20, 1999
Corey DePooter (17)... Senior.... March 3, 1982- April 20, 1999
Daniel Mauser (15)... Sophy.... June 25, 1983- April 20 1999
Daniel Rhohrbough (15)... Sophy.... March 2, 1984- April 20, 1999
Dave Sanders (47)... Old **** October 22, 1951- April 20, 1999
Kelly Fleming (16)... Junior.... January 6, 1983- April 20, 1999
Steve Curnow (14)... Freshmeat.... August 28, 1984- April 20, 1999
Matt Kechter (16)...Sophy.... February 19, 1983- April 20, 1999
Isaiah Shoels (18)... Senior.... August 4, 1980- April 20, 1999
John Tomlin (16)... Junior.... September 1, 1982- April 20, 1999
Kyle Velasquez (16)... Junior....May 5, 1982- April 20, 1999
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
I am an only child but I have multiple brothers
Cut from the same cloth made with the greatest qualities of others
Bristles from Basquiat's brushes
Film of Fleming's favorite features
Keys from Kerouac's keyboard
Lyrics of luster penned by Lennon
Strings from the most southern side of Hendrix's soul
All rewoven and tightly knit
Our purpose to keep you warm at night
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
It was past 10 pm
Indian Standard Time
And the score was
Two O Five
Klusener was the launcher
Donald was the Duck
Hansie had the fancy
That he will lift the cup
Seconds ticking
One, two, three, four, five…
Damien Fleming’s the bowler
And he’s known as a troller
Windies was the victim
Eight years ago
Steve Waugh!
The man who made Gibbs drop the cup
Stood there
Like a commander
Klusener like a slaughterer
Yorker’s the marker
To stop the nine runs needed
From the Klusener blade
NOW THE LAST OVER
ONE went for a four
TWO went for a four
Tensions flared up
We are on the proverbial Edge-of-the-seat
Steve stood there
No expression on his face
Hansie's in the pavilion
Like a warrior king
THE THIRD BALL
Damien's running like he do
Yes, bang on target
Klusener's couldn't get it off
Like the way in his earlier knocks off
One run needed in three
Just a recap again
Final over
last pair together
nine to get in six *****
player of the tournament on strike
Successive fours from Lance Klusener
and it was one from four *****
Then came the comedy
for South Africa uniquely in the game's annals
the tragedy of a tie.
Moments before it
Steve Waugh was
As cold as an Iceberg
To the Titanic of South Africa
(To be continued in next part)
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
I perused through the catacombs
gliding my fingers along your innumerate spines,
picked you up where you blossomed in my palm
and breathed archaic mysteries into my face.
I felt myself trembling
as I dared enter the hallowed corridors,
opening doors and peeking inside
in hopes to catch a semblance of your touch,
your taste,
your voice.
A fingerprint,
a coffee stain,
clues and the origins of bricolage
that left me breathless
and teary-eyed
as the weight of this sacred place
bore itself entirely upon me.
A part of your soul
encased within each one of your treasures:
I heard your stereo in a jazz history,
heard you ponder within Dostoyevsky,
saw your wry smile and charm within Fleming,
and your humor within Vaudeville--
and as I perused onward,
and the archetype bore itself naked in a holy privilege,
I closed myself within that impalpable bubble
and wept at the gates of Eden.
As I removed my hands from your ribcage,
and withdrew the breath from your nostrils,
walking away with your words and fragments of your soul
I soon realized--
You Are What You Read.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,
Or too regretful;
Be still;
What God hath ordered must be right;
Then find in it Thine own delight,
My will.
Why shouldst Thou fill to-day with sorrow
About tomorrow,
My heart?
One watches all with care most true;
Doubt not that He will give thee too
Thy part.
Only be steadfast; never waver,
Nor seek earth's favor,
But rest:
Thou
Knowest what God wills must be
For all His creatures, so for thee,
The best.
**~From German of Paul Fleming.
Translated by Catherine Winkworth~**
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
We ate Frank Fleming's Tongue Cake
Smoking cigarettes in stone gardens where we're not supposed to
Looking Down Yosemite Valley and yeah we were in that valley
"They moved the piano." I tell you. I don't know where it's gone.
"I guess it was contemporary art."
I say, "You're contemporary art..." "Don't worry death is at the laundromat, not here." and I pull out my best Mona Lisa smile.
It's silent here, the color white seems out of place
Kerry James Marshall is speaking history to us
Renaissance is falling on deaf ears
I tell you I want a Native American cradle if I'm ever a mother
And the kids will have fishbones and legends
instead of Pop Art Princess, barbie
Sally Mann, she left me heartbroken
with silver prints/photocopies of childhood like ghosts
Botero's *Reclining **** looks comfy
And there's a Dali missing.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
- Stay away plagiarizers - (ß?)
and who the **** would want
to plagiarise you?! i'm guessing nobody,
let's become serf-like ignoble,
let's keep this capitalism afloat....
oh, got the feelings awry?
can't mix the Koran
with capitalism... someone's
bound to suffer with, or without
the Royce Rolls...
you better be awake
when testifying for Moroccans
as equivalent of Napoleon
taking a **** on the throne of thrones
and tongue waggle and **** to boot...
as the Led Zeppelin immigrant song,
i just keep conjuring Genghis Khan...
and we're done when the horde erects
a cranium pyramid of skulls at Baghdad....
we didn't come to these islands as *******
we came here as Williams...
the Muslims could teach donkeys a half trot
to what we were establishing,
and it wasn't pretty, we were disgruntled with
expectancy lost along the way...
the Muslims could teach them post-colonialism,
so they agreed, crafting a new India
and prayers for the Hijab preserved...
they teach me one more ************* time
i'll start preaching with agile pursuit, duping
their endeavours for an Ian Fleming novel and why
spies have no regard for a C.V.,
never mind the hope for a person who might provide
me a suicide vest:oh sure i'm tickling
the authorities... i want them to spy on me...
i want them to become paparazzi:
when the two parties mingle we get comparative swoons:
Lucifer and Icarus.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
I strolled out on the lawn and looked at the view
didn't I see Fleming, Steinbeck and Miller too
illustrious company in the fading light
and further, J. P. Donleavy was out of sight
They were commercial, deep, with ****** soliliquy
and down below, J.P. described a strange anomaly
let's write together, fight together like a ghost
when it's done, I'll tell you what I like most
I like Pirsig, Phaedrus with a bit of Zen thrown in
although have to be fresh without being maudlin
now sadness, pathos is a whole new ball game
every time that we write, it was never the same
Sadness for me was alone and different for you
we all agreed to differ as the sky turned indigo blue
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
I have never been an advocate
Of “woman’s right to choose”
because I think an infant’s life
is too precious to lose.
In the case of Marie Fleming,
I might plead for an exception:
This brave Irish woman,
Her body wracked with mortal pain,
Sought surcease from suffering-.
a peaceful rest to gain.
She did not fear that final breath
as the young and healthy do.
She sought a death with dignity-
the same as me and you.
MS was her enemy-
She could not do the deed.
She asked the courts to let friends help
To be there in her need.
Denied of an assisted end,
Marie died yesterday.
I hope that she passed peacefully
and sleeps til Judgment day.
Her wicker casket was borne to church,
She rests there in the yard.
She bore pain unendurable
before she met her God.
We are more merciful to pets
When they face shorter odds
Than the courts were to Marie
Who‘d been dealt the thirteenth card.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
by Jedidiah Fleming
The World is my Kryptonite.
It was delivered by a Canaanite.
It is so very black and white.
Black as black midnight.
White as white starlight.
Hotter than a fist-fight.
Colder than a frostbite.
It tries to lure you to the fight.
Being naturally impolite.
Always swelling with pride and might.
Soaring like a meteorite.
Exploding like dynamite.
O, but it is a parasite!
Warping every human right.
Dealing every man-made fright.
Feeding like a scabie mite.
Destroying like a forest blight.
Yet it craves a ray of Light.
From it, I remain from sight.
It is worse than any stage fright.
A never-ending snakebite.
Seeing without sight.
Hearing without height.
Choking out the sunlight.
The world is my Kryptonite.
But parts of it may turn to Light.
So its pain I will carry on.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
you were always there
sitting in the study
rainy window pane eye sockets
persistently looking past me
like i was just someone who died
a year ago and came back to visit you
from the grave
a spirit you could save
or shove in the right direction
you were always there
presenting the necklace
like it were strung with pearls of air
like someone didnt pay
6 weeks of pay checks on it
just so some men half a world away could
walk on ocean beds
and crack the skulls
of those chattering heads
of the sea.
for each and
every bead
wrapped around your neck
ms. fleming,
you'd do well
to-
...forget that
and all other things
if i could just
have an inch of your time and gaze
i may not be this wicked
astral projection
your aversions
have yielded to my name
no i might be something else
like a guardian angel
who picks up rusty tacks
and puts out your cigarettes
who pulls up your covers
and presses lips to your cheeks
oh i could be this all
if you would for once look when i called
'susan fleming
if you can be a
pleasant host
i can be
a friendly ghost.'
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 9:35 PM UTC
With the special definition of Private Week
for private mathematics, the new INGLES; |
the INGLES, mosaic must be a member of
Yamampukichi's Red Monkey.
To write to the personal seeker,
write NARRRATTTORR MMER 1910 EYKIKI |
19 | | | | | | |
SOCIZES Markus Nell, code of Adolph Hushi Singh,
and Liberty and Olivia wanted to keep
the secret number of 'Emanuel D' of the nation -.
"When I came to
Wood for the action of Kishito" ... Jacob Saccramanto's solution
was a bad relationship with today's Granada and the Ladies
of Paula Killa. "This is red light," he said. . ... but I do not know
life, my friend said that "the first German company,
or those words ..."
and "... Easton pastor, gold, silver and hollow mo' gold" SMagda,
Fleming said 'Uganda, Eug-ra, Uganda , Uganda, Uganda,
Uganda, Uganda, Pierce, Pierce, Uganda - Uganda - The child
is born a father, a banker, 1919 100-100 is not well, said Wasa.
To request a red motor's grace from
the ammunicipator: Provider: A and B Scans, and Gregory,
and John, who are responsible for the work
of the mathematical units
and the most difficult to answer. Participants of Combat,
and the next Lindsay (barking) of Nell Mariner Akiki Sosise 19
and, for example, St. Gregory I Rigita Cornelius and Paul Russelli:
"FSNIO" of Yugen HTML readers of their song "In Pressure" to ...
Great Olivia Larcenaae Milkey Crissorgansen Grenadier,
William the "Red" in Germany, who is in Florence ... "..."
... an image of the summer, Alice Harcouss Keninisate Orophise;
Fleming Sea Zone According to the policy of "The honeys of gold,
two gold and Christians" is a day, "pirosporic ... ", "small"
miracles |
and metabolic yuan, found in time, and they are 100 |
and God PinanIza, Baki SacriAcid's Adult JMA is the first pipipina.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
All are invited to taste-test a French meal, free-of-charge, at the
Table of near west side Chef Louis. The first course will be a
Salade Niçoise, prepared the usual way – vegetables, salad greens
From the Periwinkle family, des oeufs durs et des olives ‒ Flavored with a pinch of myrtle. Those so inclined may have escargots instead. Louis will pop the cork on a vintage vin rouge.
The main course: canard à l’orange, spécialité de la maison.
Known far and wide as the best duck in town, it has a secret sauce
Including the bird’s bone marrow, and is a favorite of Paul Soglin;
Hizzoner has been showing up brandishing a “ditch Walker” sign.
While the cuisine is incomparable, the dinner music, too, is
Délicieuse. In town for only a week is the diva, Renée Fleming,
Accompanied by the virtuoso cellist, Yo-Yo Ma. To forestall the
Entry of hordes of fans, Louis will have the louvers closed.
The wait staff will be in the wings with the *dessert du jour, Crêpes
Suzette* – using the best Orange Curaçao ‒ before a small frigate
Is unmoored for return to the Lesser Antilles to pick up a new
Stash. Louis is a total service restauranteur, and he has vowed to
Let all his guests take a selfie, with him, Yo-Yo and Renée, in the
Private chef’s booth, in just a glimmer of the day’s remaining light.
Though he’s unbearded, Louis uses Brilliantine regularly to help
Him attract the most voluptuous of available dates. *Mais, prenez
Garde, mes demoiselles, Louis est français, après tout….*
© Lewis Bosworth, 7-2017
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
"I WON"T THINK ABOUT IT TODAY. . ."
Rhett Butler & Scarlett O'Hara
are playing Battleships.
Rhett is playing like he
doesn't give a ****
Looks like Scarlett is sunk.
"Ok....5 minutes please!
Principals on set!"
And the game is gone
with the wind.
Mr. Gable and Miss Leigh
assume who they are meant to be
position themselves
where they are meant to be.
"Ok. . .action!"
shouts Mr. Fleming.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Now Fleming told the agency
what was required of me:
that wind might be converted
to electric energy.
"Before the snow flies,
and with all due haste!"
So I packed my sulphur
and I packed my case;
I ascended glassy stairdreams
to the roof of the place,
and I spoke real plain
to the agency man,
saying, "Take a little risk
on my redan plan."
But all that's left of Scotland
is the spiral runes,
so I'm setting up a mission
on a salt embankment,
and I'll build a nice house
on the green, green dunes.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
you were already born
you were already form
you were already you
Not yet, were you them
Not yet were you His.
He was too late it wasn't His fault.
There you stood, ****** still and innocent,
Lead in, unknown, you were in His home
you were already thinking, already grown, already able to contemplate, could already understand, always tried to, already dangerous,
you were not solid wood as the all and only people He already knew.
Why would He not take hammer to you?
Love you as only He knew
Fix all that was wrong inside
Cheerfully plain you of your top layer of skin, strip away imperfection
He didn't know He wasn't god.
Inside his home He was.
One day as he was trying, you were trying, ******* trying to be a chair or a chest of drawers stood there in varnish while He chipped away at the painted or tainted ends of your toes His frustration grows,
Shout.
Not around you
right into you
Shout.
An emotion as never before
hard, cold, inexorable, force, the power of adults.
Into your mouth its forced, fleming, gagging, one day drowning, with haired hands, holding you open, this grey anger, flesh pushed further,
an anxiety un-swalable
you barely understand the shape of his words,
You Are Unlovable.
an almost perfect dot appears.
Its on the new outside skin in the middle of your throat ,
How could you know?
.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC