"gemma" poems
Gemma~: Autres Temps, Autres Vertus~~
A young girl, so innocent, so new,
Cheerful and happy in any place,
Sat alone in her room, beneath the argent glow of the moon
And whispered to the jewels that glittered the sky
“I am beautiful, I am me.”
Now that she's older, the world around her has become colder.
As she sits in her bed, beneath the lunar glare,
Silver turns to red,
While she whispers to her familiar jewels
“Am I beautiful, am I me?”
The moons go by, and her jewels remain ever changeless.
This time she stands on a chair, illuminated by the metallic gleam of the moon she held so dear
With one last breath and one last glance, arms wide open, she whispers
“I want to be beautiful, I want to be you,”
And welcomes death.
The moon continued through its phases, and the stars stayed their course.
He sits alone in her room, in the argent glow of the moon
And whispers to her jewels that glitter the sky
***“To me, you were always beautiful, to me you were always you.
There is no one to blame, but the world who ought to hang her head in shame.”***
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
Audrey, look out the window and see your dreams.
Brydie, lay on the carpet and think of home.
Charlie, stand in the garden and let the rain wash the pain away.
Danielle, shout at the skies for this awful weather.
Ellen, smile as you see a rainbow in the distance.
Fiona, stick out your tongue to soften their fall.
Gemma, pretend there's nothing falling from the sky.
Hannah, dance in the rain in that favourite dress of yours.
Imogen, jump into puddles, one after the other.
Jade, wave to the people going past in their cars.
Keri, open your hands to cup the cold water.
Laura, laugh as the neighbour's umbrella turns inside out.
Molly, hope the grass is better for football tomorrow.
Natasha, sigh as you drive through it all.
Olivia, read a book by the nice warm fire.
Paige, sleep through the hammering of the droplets.
Queenie, scream as you dash through the storm.
Rhianne, fall back onto that squishy armchair inside.
Steph, pray for the sun to come out soon.
Tuula, watch the leaves huddle against the kerb.
Una, listen as they patter patter on the rooftop.
Victoria, take off those sodden shoes.
Whitney, snap another photograph or two.
Xandra, run to get back home to your family.
Yasmeen, follow the trail of the water on the window.
Zara, give up waiting for the rain to stop.
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 7:01 AM UTC
On the sixth day of the month,
Being the fifth one of the year,
We congregate to celebrate
The wedding of the year.
Not a week too late (that was Wills and Kate)
But our own dear Phil and Gemma,
Who, in ceremony, have duly vowed
To be as one forever.
But the two of you may be asking,
On this happiest of days,
"How do we keep romance alive?
O tell us of the ways!"
Well, the secrets of a happy marriage,
They are a secret still.
But these few tips may bring success,
So heed them if you will.
If you fall out in bitter temper
Don't go to bed at night.
It will be far worse come morning,
So just stay up and fight.
A man should keep romance in bloom
With flowers and gifts that gleam,
And also, most importantly,
Keep his internet history clean.
A woman should pay attention
To those little things that matter,
Like vacuuming and ironing,
And when football's on, don't chatter!
And if your husband's eye might stray
Upon a lady passing by,
Why, 'tis only to remind him
That you're much fairer to the eye.
So it is said by those that know,
With certainty undiminished,
That two in love are incomplete,
Until, in marriage, they are finished.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
Mr Parsons made it sound exciting.
But mum told Joan that she was wicked.
She wasn’t allowed her dolls for a week,
a week she spent bemused and resentful
and she refused to poo for three days
until mum relented and gave her Barbie back
– but the rest would have to wait.
It had begun with Mr Parsons at Sunday School
with the story of the blind man and the mud and the spit.
We’d sat on the adult chairs in a circle
Me, Joan, Gemma, Charlie, and the Brown sisters.
knee to knee in a circle in the corner of the hall,
the one with the draft and the stacked chairs reminding us
that we were the remnant of a once thriving community.
He told us how Jesus made a paste of mud and spit
[Charlie thought this hilarious and spat at Gemma,
so he had to stand with his nose on the wall for the rest of the lesson]
and how Jesus slathered it on the man’s eyes and then told him
(unnecessarily we thought) to go wash it off.
It hadn’t worked first time – was that a first for Jesus? we speculated
and the second time the bloke saw people again
but he was told to keep it secret, which made no sense.
So that afternoon, after dinner, Joan got mud from the garden,
and pasted it onto Barbie’s legs which were abnormally long and made her topple over
and on my action man’s face on account of his ****** scar
which I thought looked cool, but was curious to see what happened.
She pasted it on Ken and Sindy too, but not for any specific ailment.
She followed the prescribed method, slather, wash and then repeat
(which I think she enjoyed a little too much to be honest)
but after the second wash there was no sign of any healing,
perhaps because, like mum said, she was so wicked,
unlike Jesus of course.
I’d never seen mum go that colour – she was livid,
she told Joan to go wash the mud stains off her hands
and to put her dress in the wash.
Joan couldn’t be Jesus and it was wrong to think she could.
That sort of thing wasn’t for little girls.
The next Sunday Mr Parsons seemed a little miffed.
He and dad and mum sat in the hall, knee to knee for ages.
I thought we were for the high jump,
but afterwards mum looked like a school girl caught stepping out of line.
Mum was very quiet and at dinner dad said that she had something to say
- to our horror, she apologised in front of all of us
and she told Joan it was okay to try and do what Jesus did.
It was what he would have wanted.
We were so ashamed for my mum
- neither of us tried to be Jesus ever again.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 2:57 PM UTC
Daddy, can you open this jar?
Daddy, don’t forget to make my bed.
Daddy, can you make my dinner now?
Daddy, I’ve hurt my head.
Daddy, I’ve fallen over!
Daddy, I wish I could come too.
Daddy, my tummy hurts today.
Daddy, what would I do without you?
Daddy, I don’t like the doctors!
Daddy, I would like a cup of tea.
Daddy, my clothes need cleaning.
Daddy, thank you for taking care of me.
Gemma, can you open this jar?
Gemma, don’t forget to make my bed.
Gemma, can you make my dinner now?
Gemma, I’ve hurt my head.
Gemma, I’ve fallen over!
Gemma, I wish I could come too.
Gemma, my tummy hurts today.
Gemma, what would I do without you?
Gemma, I don’t like the doctors!
Gemma, I would like a cup of tea.
Gemma, my clothes need cleaning.
Gemma, thank you for taking care of me.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
Si pasce di se il fiume, bruca
serpeggiando
le sue
quasi essiccate sgorature,
visita
le sue
quasi aride pozzanghere,
si trascina ai suoi già putridi ristagni
finche, poco più oltre
un poco lo confortano
misteriosi trasudamenti,
lo irrorano frescure,
umori, vene
dal più profondo
del suo cuore sotterraneo
ed eccolo
rinasce esso dalle secche,
ora, si lascia dietro la sassaia
della sua quasi estinzione
per il suo nuovo cammino -
si muove verso se stesso il fiume,
si sposta dentro il suo cangiante bruco
ed entra, fiume nuovo
uscito dalle sue ceneri
nei luoghi dove opera
la primavera e non c'è
fiore né gemma, non c'è ancora
ma c'è quella radiosa incandescenza
di luce e opacità nel bianco dell'aria,
c'è, ed ecco si diffonde, quella trepidante animula
e quel chiaro sopra la linea degli alberi,
quel già più festoso scintillamento delle acque.
C'è tutto "quello". E c'è
lui fiume,
ne vibra intimamente
il senso. C'è questo, c'è prodigiosamente.
905
Let it break
You'll feel better
You're always near
But gone forever
I don't hear you
Anymore
There's too much noise
Noise
No I can't hear you
In this noise
Far away
You don't need it
Day by day
But you don't mean it
I don't want to hear you
Anymore
Just give me noise
Noise
No, I don't wanna hear you
In this noise
No, I don't wanna hear you
Give me noise -Gemma Hayes
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.
hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas, dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
all those "expectations" mingling with a babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
looks nice, doesn't it?
see how honest other people can become...
that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****
oh sure, i can switch off...
i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
Her hair, beautiful.
Eyes sparkling, lips smiling.
I love this woman.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
Ruba a qualcuno la tua forsennata stanchezza
o gemma che trapassi il suono
col tuo respiro l'ombra che sta ferma
di fronte ad un porto di paura
quel trascendere il mito
come se fosse forzatamente azzurro
o chi senza abbandono
che non sanno che il pianto dei poeti
è solo canto.
Canto rubato al vecchio del portone
rubato al remo del rematore
alla ruota dell'ultimo carro
o pianto di ginestra
dove fioriva l'amatore immoto
dalle turbe angosciose di declino
io sono l'acqua che si genuflette
davanti alla montagna del tuo amore.
633
A picture from the past
That lingers black and white
In my hollow memory
Which loves to forget loves
Hates goodbyes
Sings backwards in time
To Gemma
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC
Two months post break up
you finally admit,
“I’ve never seen you as happy
as you were with him.”
What you didn’t know
is that was everything I both needed
but didn’t want to hear,
so on came the tears.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
Sixty Seven years they were together,
until only death did part.
It is difficult for Him to deal with:
Death rends asunder human hearts.
Until this happened his mind seemed clear
in spite of his advancing years.
Then his daughter got the call
That nearly broke her grieving heart
Her Father asking for her mother’s number-
He’s lost Gemma’s number and needs to talk.
He needs to hear her voice again.
To tell her that his love is true.
Through tears his daughter answers back;
“ I ‘d give you the number if I knew.”
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
I will only give encores to an all female audience.
This is dedicated to all the beautiful women in the world;
Especially those I have had the pleasure of meeting.
Oh my! Maya;
Would you be mine?
I am in love with you truly;
You are the light of my life.
Much love to the beautiful woman with the blonde braids,
To every beautiful face,
To anyone who ever thought I was worthy;
To red hair Rachel from the Surgery.
To Gemma; you are beautiful.
Much love to the Dark Night Girl.
To Vicky you know who,
I will always love you.
To the beautiful redhead who always has a boyfriend;
I’m over you at long last, so let’s just be good friends.
To every gorgeous woman who ever looked twice at me;
For the beautiful black woman, who smiled just for me,
As I turned back a second time, to defy love at first sight.
For Sarah…only thanx for saving my life.
For every woman who I have ever thought beautiful.
I love you all truly; I give you all whatever you wish for.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 6:55 AM UTC
No words can express my love for him, or describe how I feel so sad,
So instead, here are a few words about the things that made him my Dad.
That huge precious smile when you bought him his favourite apple pie,
The fancy golden clip he would use when he wore his smart shirt and tie.
The way he used a bar of soap to slick back the sides of his brown hair,
His warm wholehearted hugs that fully engulfed you in his love and care.
The pure happiness and pride on his face when I received my degree,
And I don’t think I ever heard him turn down a single cup of tea.
The way he would shout out loud to me “Gemma, what’s the Liverpool score?!”
That cute excited face he would pull when visitors came to the door,
“Don’t leave it so long next time” he would state when guests had to say goodbye,
Watching Beauty and the Beast there would always be a tear in his eye.
The way he would sing along to Elvis Presley loudly in the car,
The many different stories he would give to explain that same old scar.
His love for a gammon steak, always swap the pineapple for fried egg,
Showing me he needed the toilet by gently tapping his right leg.
A bacon sandwich every Saturday, lots of butter on his bread,
The way he’d nuzzle into his pillow when I tucked him into bed.
Our TV was so loud you could hear John Wayne at the end of the street,
The way he would dance along to music while still sitting in his seat.
Playing the lottery twice a week, convinced that one day he would win,
How his kind blue eyes would light up alongside his famous cheeky grin.
Good natured and happy, always smiling and rarely grouchy or sad,
There will never be anyone as wonderful as my dear old Dad.
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 3:33 PM UTC
I am sat here by the river on the roots of an old beech tree,
The birds sing, the river flows. The delights of natural beauty.
There is no sun today, there is no warm breeze to comfort me,
but i did see a rabbit letting me know you are watching over me.
What laughs we had, what smiles we made, what wonderful times we knew,
I just wish they were not over, and i did not have to live the rest of my life without you.
Many things i wish but alas they can not be,
My little Gemma your hand print is on my heart for all eternity.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC
Mr Parsons made it sound exciting.
But mum told Joan that it was wicked. She wasn’t allowed her dolls for a week, a week she spent bemused and resentful and she refused to poo for three days until mum relented and gave her Barbie back – but the rest would have to wait.
It had begun with Mr Parsons at Sunday School with the story of the blind man and the mud and the spit.
We’d sat on the grown up chairs. Me, Joan, Gemma, Charlie, and the Brown sisters, knee to knee in a circle in the corner of the hall, the one with the draft and the stacked chairs reminding us that we were the remnant of a once thriving community.
He told us how Jesus made a paste of mud and spit [Charlie thought this hilarious and spat at Gemma, so he had to stand with his nose on the wall for the rest of the lesson] and how Jesus slathered it on the man’s eyes and then told him (unnecessarily we thought) to go wash it off.
It hadn’t worked first time – was that a first for Jesus? we speculated and the second time the man saw people again, but he was told to keep it secret, which made no sense.
So that afternoon, after dinner, Joan got mud from the garden, and pasted it onto barbie’s legs which were abnormally long and made her topple over. She then pasted it on my action man’s face on account of his ****** scar which I thought looked cool, but I was curious to see what happened. She pasted it on Ken and Sindy too, but not for any specific ailment.
She followed the prescribed method: slather, wash and then repeat (which I think she enjoyed a little too much to be honest) but after the second wash there was no sign of any healing, perhaps because, like mum said, she was so wicked, unlike Jesus of course.
I’d never seen mum go that colour – she was livid, she told Joan to go wash the mud stains off her hands and to put her dress in the wash. Joan couldn’t be Jesus and it was wrong to think she could. That sort of thing wasn’t for little girls ...
The next Sunday Mr Parsons seemed a little miffed. He and dad and mum sat in the hall, knee to knee for ages. I thought we were for the high jump, but then I saw that mum looked like a schoolgirl, like she had been caught stepping out of line.
Mum was very quiet at dinner and dad said that she had something to say - to our horror, she apologised in front of all of us and she told Joan it was okay to try and do what Jesus did. It was what he would have wanted.
We were so ashamed for my mum - neither of us tried to be Jesus ever again.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC
A loud siren noise blared through the room. “Ughhh! 5 more minutes!!!”, Addison grunted. “Ria, can you get that?”, Addison said. Soteria was lying at the foot of her bed in the form of a black cat. She just turned away and licked her paw. “Fine.”, Addison said. She sat up and her palm landed on the snooze button. She rolled off the bed and accidentally hit her head on the nightstand. She winced in pain, rubbing her head. Addison heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Addyyy! Breakfast time!!”, someone said in a sing-songy voice. Addy looked at Ria. “Where is HER snooze button! It's 6 am! It should be forbidden to wake up this early”, she thought. “Coming Aunt Gemma!”, she shouted. She quickly got dressed and rushed downstairs.
Gemmaline turned to Addy as she walked downstairs. “I made your favorite! Enchantaberry Waffles!”, she said. “What’s the occasion?”, Addy said, as she put a waffle in her mouth.
“Your first day of high school silly!”, Gemma said in a joyful voice. Addy slumped into a chair. “Was that today?”, she said in a muffled voice. “C,mon Addy. I know you are scared but-”, Gemma said, but was interrupted. “No, I'm not scared. I’m just... not a people person, ya know?”. “Not a people person, huh? What happened to the Addy that used to run around with other kids at the playground pretending to cast spells?”, Gemma said in a smug voice. “Oh, she’s still there. Just deep, deep, deep, deep, DEEEEPPP down.”, Addy replied. “Just- promise me you’ll at least TRY to have a good day”, Gemma said. “Ok, fine. I'll try.”, Addy said. “Thank you.”, Gemma said, as she kissed Addison on the head. Addison smoothed her hair out and walked towards the door. She slumped her bag onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. “Bye Aunt Gemma”. Gemma blew a kiss as Addy walked out the door.
Addison took a deep breath and headed towards the bus stop. She sat on the bench and looked down both ways of the cobblestone road. She pulled out her magic scroll. She started swiping through old pictures of her as a kid. One picture caught her attention. It was a picture of her holding her first wand. It was a basic starter wand, with a safety strap. “Was I really that danger-prone?”, she thought. The next photo was one of her dangling in the air, hanging from her wand. “Nevermind”, she thought.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 7:04 PM UTC
Black girls love new musicians
or a woman or a mother at night
or Africa and Australia. There
are problems with the death
of three Americans at the training center
of Saudi Arabia, chieftain of the month or film camp prisoner
in the mountainous area. Among other things,
driving to robot cooling centers, I think of
China's Asia Williams's simpler and simpler museum.
The system is black. Mörkvin now
opens the wildfire store. Bob was a
blind man on a motorcycle with a
young British motorcycle group,
the Tsunami of Satan; Dark
dark pink order was easy to land
and easy to burn in a ***** glass
behind the bar. Honey Irish Jockey,
Jacques, First, do you consider
a conference a partnership?
Archaeologist from Japan,
Tom Douglas Labs, Kimberly
Gonzales, Europe, USA
has Commitments to Tom
and George, Future comrades,
Listen to hot water,
Chocolate child Wonderful Chocolate
Violent ****** Stella Maria is affecting
midlife. Red women this year as a great
sweet girl, great date for the red light,
friend, shooting story, future, warhead,
change of heart, things, ideas,
Christian recipes, hot yellow
problems with the Russian
Romantic Fence;
The beauty of black
and white girls loves
the lives of musicians
or better musicians
Black women love a woman
and her mother in a musical
star of the city and is nothing
new in a big green nightclub
in Africa and Australia. Local
America is dead where
the skin is thirsty for Christ's sake.
Tomasuku is empty, sun, moon
or something hard. The MVD
Prison shows an animal how
to make an animal buy food.
Latin America, light, another king,
X-Radii's friend, the mountains
of the mountains and the soul
of hell for the children. But read
Saudi Arabia. Drag among other
things, the robot bottle is a bright center.
I remember going that the Asian Museum
of China is simply China. Dark and dark
computer wine opens a wild grunge widespread.
The company girls sit in English
and ride bikes on a motorcycle
with a cycling bike. Deep Jack,
Jack, at the Center of the Prophet
Is it a constitutional sacrifice?
June 10, 2012 Administrator
of the Japanese Susu Run,
Monsters and Tom's
Malignant Cancer Sign Labels
Gemma Labels Medium Floor
Old
Boat Hurricane USA USA
Friendship Friendly Fire
at George on the MM Rocket
Art Mouth of Love Field. The Blind Cat Society has committed no crime. Stella Maria was Halfly
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 6:52 AM UTC
immagine
under this gray sky
warmth in our hearts, Sun our eyes
should we learn to consider in silence once again
on the very high price and the little obtained
maybe we would leave in the middle of the field
the blades the foil, every weapon and sworld
twisted lonely and rusted
like gramigna in the middle of a garden
we leaf and blade of grass
we bud and fruit and flower
we little and all at once
we air, mud rain peace on us
we
air
mud
rain
peace on us
immagina
sotto questo grigio cielo
il calore nei nostri cuori nei nostri occhi il Sole
imparare
imparare a riflettere in silenzio
sul poco ottenuto e il caro prezzo
forse così lasceremmo in mezzo al campo
la spada il fioretto ed ogni arma
arrugginita ritorta e sola
come gramigna in mezzo ad un'aiuola
noi foglia e filo d'erba
noi gemma frutto e fiore
noi poco e tutto al tempo stesso
noi aria terra e pioggia, pace addosso
noi
aria
terra
pioggia
pace addosso
.......................
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 3:36 AM UTC
Going to meet with Gemma!
Did you pack my special pants?
We can pack when I get back!
Don't touch that bag!
See ya later!
Maybe not!
College tomorrow.
I'm so gone.
Oct 5, 2022
Oct 5, 2022 at 9:51 AM UTC