"geneva" poems
287
A Clock stopped—
Not the Mantel’s—
Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing—
That just now dangled still—
An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched, with pain—
Then quivered out of Decimals—
Into Degreeless Noon—
It will not stir for Doctors—
This Pendulum of snow—
This Shopman importunes it—
While cool—concernless No—
Nods from the Gilded pointers—
Nods from the Seconds slim—
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life—
And Him—
8.1k
My bf works in Geneva, Switzerland. I go to school in New Haven. We Facetime a lot - but it’s not ideal.
“I wanted to tell you, that it’s been nice.” I told him somberly.
“What do you mean?” He asked after a moment.
“Well,” I began, “You know how I like to go down to the harbor and watch the ocean?” “Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, I was down there this evening and the sun plunged into the sea and it got dark. I think we’re all going to die.”
“Anais, you’re on the east coast,” he reported. “That’s true,” I confirmed (New York’s on the east coast and it’s 60 miles away).
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” He explained. “ocean sunsets only happen on the west coast.”
“Really?’ I said, flabbergasted, “I never noticed that.”
“Yeah,” he reiterated.
“I have a confession,” I admitted, sighing.
“What’s that?” He enquired.
“I made it up, the sun and sea thing,” I admitted.
“For real?” He followed up. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?” he asked.
“Nothing happens, when you’re not here,” I disclosed, “It’s SO dull, I’m dull, I’m afraid of underwhelming you.”
“We’re going to die someday,” he assured me, consolingly.
.
.
songs for this:
I Can’t Remember Love by Anna Hauss
So In Love by k.d. lang
It’s the End of the world as we know it by REM
The end of the world by Skeeter Davis
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 9:44 PM UTC
Waking up to the city sounds,
I now realize it changed,
That feeling of small town you gave,
With the modern touch I felt.
Sweet, small village,
You had your way to sweeten my stay,
Your corners, the hills, the bench,
Write a story in my head.
I'll visit some day.
To re-live my stay.
I'll close my eyes to feel what I felt.
Sweet feeling is all I can say.
Geneva, please never change.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
The doctor of Geneva stamped the sand
That lay impounding the Pacific swell,
Patted his stove-pipe hat and tugged his shawl.
Lacustrine man had never been assailed
By such long-rolling opulent cataracts,
Unless Racine or Bossuet held the like.
He did not quail. A man who used to plumb
The multifarious heavens felt no awe
Before these visible, voluble delugings,
Which yet found means to set his simmering mind
Spinning and hissing with oracular
Notations of the wild, the ruinous waste,
Until the steeples of his city clanked and sprang
In an unburgherly apocalypse.
The doctor used his handkerchief and sighed.
3k
I hear the world is full of pain,
Flooding, terror, acid rain;
Music, theatre, laughs and art,
Whiskey, coffee, beer and darts,
Rainbows, glaciers, hiking trails;
Rare Pepes and EPIC FAILs,
Overwatch and Pokemon Go;
Donald Trump and Bernie Bros;
Dreams, and Drugs, and Rock n' Roll,
Dharma, Love, and the eternal soul,
The Holy Quran and the Higgs boson
Tajwid in Geneva, QFT in Tehran.
Yet day by day I sit and type
Edit, grep, compile, pipe
All that a system smoothly might run
Ashes to Ashes, Zero to One
'''
npm install; grunt &; restart nginx
docker run -d me/interests; pkill sleep; pkill ***
nice 14 nutrition; rm /etc/cron.daily/exercise
pkill -STOP judgment; scp foodler:'**/{burger,fries}' ~
'''
It's rather ironic that this metal you see,
Seems quite a better multitasker than me
Whereas It stops its world to switch one task for others
My open descriptors always overflow my buffers
Whereas it take new patches with a simple 'apt-get'
My resolve for upgrades I quite often forget
And when its health checks fail, we regrow the ASG
But my self won't reboot. et memento mori.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
I didn't eat for three days
so I could be lovely
like Yolandi Visser who's above me
if I don't eat meat
will there be extra room on my seat?
for adventures- oh
I wanna live like louis
cause you're so aw
and I'm so ew
should be the other way around
but I'm bowin on the ground
you a she-ra
he-ra
no ska
hip-hop double dutch
south paw
fighting like a gang from the hood
grew up on the rough streets
of GV
oh Jeez
so tough
smoke ****
post a pic of my blunt
love to hunt
'cause I'm so cool
be jealous of me
and my shirt that say skee
****** with the fuckbois
guys,
I think I need to grow up
haha
jk
messin with the sub
tellin my mom to shut up
I smell like shtub
ugh
I'm so oppressed right now
white privelage is hard
I'm a smart teen
marred
as an ignorant delinquent
teeth clinquant-
I can be eloquent
but I'm treated like an infant
so frequent
I act like a miscreant
nobody seems to understand
I don't even think I do
get that lotion 'way from me
gotta get tanned-
uh
dya see my abbs
dya see me ***
I'm a piece of meat
rare and raw
with seasoning
dress code
don't tell me otherwise
underneath american skies
it's all about your size
supersize the food
downsize your weight
keep it down
keep it low
till gravity
brings you crashing down
in a geneva gown
close-rubbin-
gap thighs
'cause it's
mcm
wcw
tbt
to when I did fbf
anacronyms
I don't even know how to spell it
what a ****
bathroom wall vandalism
"fat *****
haha
so gangsta
so tough
I have it so rough
middle class white kid
you've got to be kidding me
praise cthulu
giant squid.
meme
2k15
ah
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
Tear gas and fear tactics.
Riot gear and semi-automatics.
Our military industrial complex has come home.
The government wire taps your cell phones.
Spies on you with drones.
While bully cops with billy clubs break your bones.
You know the motto:
serve master's interests,
protect master's property.
The crooked politician is today's slave owner.
Officer his overseer.
That sweet war on drug money armed them up.
Homeland Security bought the armored truck.
Nothing left to do but duck and cover up the evidence before it hits the 6 o' clock media dump.
I stand here today in full protest of toy soldiers in bulletproof vests placing American citizens under house arrest
with evening curfews and death threats.
Until those who are sworn to
uphold the law
begin to
abide by the law,
there will never be peace.
There will never be rest.
The Geneva Convention of 1925 prohibits the use of
asphyxiating and poisonous gases, liquids, and bacteriological
methods of warfare.
The United States has spoken out against countless countries
that have use these tactics on their own people
but has stood idly by as the police use it as a tool to disperse
the peaceful protests of American citizens.
This ******** needs to stop.
No one needs to die.
Not a civilian, not a cop.
America's infatuation with arming itself has come with
zero accountability and a severe lack of responsibility.
A scared nation with fingers on triggers have created
a bigger body count and has widened the gap between
police and community.
Hate and bigotry will never disappear from the human psyche.
It is the responsibility of every individual to
bring positivity into the world.
Ignore the intolerant.
Praise the pacifist.
May future generations reject the appalling actions of their forefathers
and usher in a new age of love and peace based on
tolerance and understanding.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
We can all spit on those tablets of stone,
the trinity's on hiatus,
the devil's alone,
School's out for training
it's raining hell fire and the bishops
are recording the antediluvian choir.
Noah's going to Goa,
A lot safer than here,
they say Indian beer's the best.
With his wood and an axe and
several packs of cool Cobra, he sails
into the wind and ends up in the Gobi.
On the edge of a rainbow
'jump Noah',
'don't go',
two people are shouting,
somebody's outing the sailor.
The choir got wrecked on microdot specks and
suspecting the worst, the bishops in Rome
all spit on the tablets hacked out from rough stone,
it was a quiet day in the Vatican, no miracles pronounced
in Perpignan, no Lady of Lourdes, no shroud of Turin,
only the blessing of Geneva dry gin.
Angels with harps all ****** as farts and
the devil sits alone.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Sunrise was just a red line in the inky void, as Lisa and I reached the harbor decking stairs,
but at once, the brazen slash began widening, like a silent, slow motion explosion,
thin, smoky wisps of cloud, like flammable tissue, prismed the stage light ignition.
bee-de-deep my phone chirped. It was Peter (my bf).
“Hey you,” I pronounced, as Lisa took off her left sneaker and shook it, upside-down.
“How’s the harbor?” Peter asked. I glanced at my watch, it was 5:32 am in New Haven.
Peter must be at lunch (in Geneva) and tracking our morning run with the ‘Find My’ app.
“Beautiful,” I pronounced, “they’re really putting on a show.”
Of course, I meant the universe, the sun, the turns who were already at work, and Long Island Sound.
The gulls, perched on whatever, and grousing at each other, obviously haven’t had their coffee.
I read that AI had decoded bird talk and on a wire, they chittered, “Move over, you’re in my space.”
“Just wanted to say good morning,” Peter confessed, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning,” I wished back, “gotta go,” I replied, Lisa had finished de-pebbling her shoe.
“Yep,” Peter agreed, “Seee ya,” he quipped. “See ya,” I chuckled, smiling.
My watch asked, in my Air Podded ears, “Have you finished your workout?” because I was motionless.
I pressed the crown of my watch and slid the phone back in my pocket, our jogg’s only half done.
We began our harbor exodus, by turning our backs to the haven. It was already beginning to busy with boats.
We slipped on our hats and protective, polarized sunglasses as we began to run directly into the blazing sun.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sail on Sailor by the Beach Boys
Dancing in the moonlight by Toploader
Cold Heart - PNAU Remix by Elton John, Dua Lipa, PNAU
Apr 25, 2024
Apr 25, 2024 at 10:07 AM UTC
Sergeant Blackman
A Royal Marine
Convicted for ******
Sentenced to ten years
He shot an injured insurgent
They came upon him
And were going to
Call in a helicopter
Or had called one in
He told his comrades
Not a word
That is was against
The Geneva Convention
One shot
And the Taliban insurgent
Was dead
Sergeant Blackman
Saw his friends die
The Taliban are ruthless
And evil
I can't even imagine
The hatred one would
Have for them
After fighting them
For that long
I hate them very much
And I've never
Been to Afghanistan
Still, he should have
Had him evacuated
Or shot him from a distance
Before they came upon him
It was a violation
Of the Geneva Convention
Sergeant Blackman will serve
Ten years
American Drone pilots
Who **** innocents
Are not brought to trial
Some people feel as though
He has been made
Into a scapegoat
I understand
Why you did it
Sergeant Blackman
Thank you for your service
I hope you killed many Taliban
During your service there
The Taliban do not respect innocent life
They are evil
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
She tasted like watermelon on a july day
pink and juicy
Mostly liquid (transparent) but full of flavor
a rosebud mouth that inhaled like I did
bitter meals of smoke from tin foil and glass
She laughed like echoes off ancient cave walls
all experience and fire
dangerous arousal from a primitive state
I gave her my greatest possession
sharing with eyes wide open
She fights without going to Geneva
***** with bricks
taking hits like a man
deep breaths of poison and still she trudges on
She smelled like gardenias inside my palms
familiar and hand-picked
infested with seeds
but all that I can recall is her on my lips;
pink and juicy
tasting like watermelon on a july day.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her ***** locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.
Born where the thunder and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.
Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees--
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not--thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.
Rush on--but were there one with me
That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.
1.4k
Charred remains, of jungle burned:
Fire steeped, laotian leaves.
Who we lost, in what we earned;
For the love of ******
Of sweet release.
Korean craters, Mexican invaders, &
The Boxer rebellion.
The sinking of Maine, the panamanian strait;
Meuse–Argonne, inherent freedom
Is there a place, for the peaceable to congregate?
Versailles, Geneva, Nuremberg, Tokyo.
What point to rules are made,
When no one follows them.
Bagram, Mai Lai, Tiananmen, the Chechen genocide
Is it merely in our nature;
To fight, and argue, divide?
We can conquer, but can we conquer
The lust that is
The love of tribe
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 6:43 PM UTC
i.
how can it be that they simply walk by,
while I, in contrast, stand stupid in awe.
cliffs veiled in fog
the lights of Geneva
mountains framing mountains framing valleys.
when did they forget to look?
when did they become accustomed?
ii.
when I'm lonely I stare at the pictures on my wall.
the same faces are repeated often,
and I try to memorize them so that next time I'm lonely
I won't lock myself in my room.
but I can't.
I can picture the faces of people I met yesterday,
but not the faces I've looked upon for years.
iii.
my mind struggles to wrap itself around new grammar,
words,
and pronunciations.
I'm supposed to be learning a new language.
instead it seems as if I'm forgetting two.
iv.
head pounding,
heart racing,
lungs burning,
legs aching.
**** Le Saleve.
v.
cycle of loneliness:
something you see, or hear, or do,
reminds you of something you know, or knew.
thinking of something you know or knew,
especially if it's not there with you,
will make you dream of it a time or two.
which makes you think of things that you
used to see, or hear, or do.
which reminds you of things you know, or knew.
in turn reminding you of him, or her, or them.
and we all know what that means...
chocolate.
vi.
yesterday, a beautiful golden boy sat by my side at dinner.
he smiled at me with his bright blue eyes,
and he winked when he said my name.
today, I hoped that he'd sit there again.
I even left a chair empty. (just in case)
but today, he sat by the girl with the hair.
I always knew I didn't like her.
vii.
together we sit at a bus-stop.
we missed the 10h25, so we'll have to wait an hour.
you gave me your coat because I was shivering.
the sleeves are so long they reach the hem of my skirt.
you rested your head on my shoulder a few minutes ago,
your hair just brushes my cheek.
it smells good and manly, just like your coat.
but all I can think of is that I have to ***
and there is nowhere to go but the woods.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
I love it when Lisa and I take our show out and, on the road,
like this twilight helicopter flight, from New Haven to LaGuardia.
I’m so excited about tonight, it’s possible that I might implode.
The rotor blades started twirling, our luggage had been stowed,
the pilot asked Lisa. “Ready for takeoff?” Lisa grinned saying, “Let's go!”
He gave her a quick and crisp salute and the engine noise started to grow.
As we went wheels-up, the whirly-birds warning lights began to strobe.
Yep, It’s the start of November recess and we’re changing our zip code.
We rise like a balloon, at first, until the harbor comes into view.
The engines were screaming like jets, when the whole world turned askew,
I’ve done numerous take-offs like this, but it still feels like I might spew.
Above the rear cockpit window, there’s an air-speed indicator that looks like a clock.
With a quick turn over Yale’s campus, we’re going 90 as we steak over the docks.
As we ascend into the night, the twinkling lights of New Haven seem to shrink.
We’re swiftly gaining altitude, this quivering contraption, moves faster than you’d think.
As the red numbers settle at 260, the vibrations have all but ceased,
The engine noise is gone as well, as we race up, in the darkness and out over the sea.
I try not to think of the inky black water, how far we would fall and how quickly we’d sink.
Long Island Sound glittered, like fractured glass, under the waxing crescent moon.
The forever-blue sky was hosting a large, fake-star, because Venus was glowing there too.
That dark almost-orbit was prettier than the infinity-of-lights we’ll see on Park Avenue.
We’ll be meeting Peter’s flight from Geneva - a surprise - he doesn’t have a clue.
As the lights of New York become pronounced, so does my excitement that he’ll be around.
I’m sure we’ll get a moment of quiet intimacy at the LaGuardia international arrivals lounge.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 8:55 AM UTC
A single day contained so many Journeys and the Stories
as if they were meant to meet.
And Baltimore,
you were the humble host
of all the Reunions.
Belgium,
Filling our stomachs and the time apart
Memories came to life and we smiled — Together
Sydney,
Talking to random seagulls between our conversations
I found a feather given by a fearsome friend
Geneva,
Learning how to pronounce a foreign word— Affogato
I imagined this is how life should taste
Yokohama,
Making fun of the sushi places hidden in the brick walls
My heart secretly traveled back home
Istanbul,
Discovering the colorful lamps
I thanked for kindnesses sent from different directions
Unexpectedly,
All the journeys took us back to the 5th grade,
picking up our favorites at a candy shop
— and I promised never to follow any strangers!
Baltimore,
You’ve taught me how it feels to grow up.
not being somebody else,
but sowing seeds in our moments,
good days and bad days,
— just like we gave a name and fell in Love
with every single corner of the Town.
Baltimore,
Let’s do it again.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
Yes, it sure does look that way
When it takes 35 years
to capture 50 criminals
in a land
that claims to be FREE
FREE?
Free of what?
Not criminals
There are 50 crime
families on Garibaldi
Avenue in Lodi, New Jersey alone
Please officer
Oh, that's right
One of those crime families
is not like the other
One of those crime families
Rules the cops
and pretends to rule
everyone else
With bullying
And tormenting
And torturing
And acts in violation
of the Geneva Convention
Oh, but we are not at war with crime
Hey it's a free country
You want to practice crime
People have a right to be
Criminal
It's a free country
Okay
But, why can't it be
A crime family free
Country
Is ****** arson, strong arm assaults, blackmail, grand theft, etc... so glamorous
that a (free?) country
needs them
or even needs to
glorify them in
Movies and Television
Do we need
criminally run Hospitals
criminally controlled courthouses
criminally managed police departments?
I've spoken with
several government
Leaders on this matter
and they all agree
that they will promise
to look into this
as soon as they
can figure out
the economy
I walked down Garibaldi
Ave in Lodi the other
day
The crime families there
are doing quite well
But
They ain't talkin'
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
On the seventh day we paid the rent
and what was meant for food
gave us one more week to brood on inequality and the inferiority of our position.
One condition we stipulate,is not to tempt the hand of fate or providence
and not paying rent would surely dent the image that we try to make
and though it breaks my heart to part with nine and six a week
and even if I know the landlord's got a bleedin' cheek to charge this much
I touch my forelock and say,
'good morning Sir'.
An air of doom and gloom descends it all depends on what next I say,
will I pay this ghastly fee to keep a roof over Marjorie (the wife) the kids and I
or will I look the landlord in the eye and let him know that he's a thieving crook and intimate that he should go and **** himself and take the rent book too
what do I do but lay the nine and six upon the table with the pale blue rent book and do not say, 'go **** anyone'
me and the missus and kids will stay on for another week while seeking out some other place where barefaced robbery is a crime.
In another time the landlord would be shot his houses all forfeit
but today that rotten toff has got it all, it's like a noose tied round my neck,a millstone that drags me by the ***** and puts me down
I ought to push that bad lot in the 'cut' and let the baftard drown,
and I said nothing, not a sound escaped my lips
the class system trips me up and weighs me in and while I drink a bottle of sour milk he drinks Geneva gin.
Poor people and peasants never win
the odds are bent in favour of more rent and that rotten sod will nod and shake his head
I'd wish him dead but that's another sin
and like I said,
poor people and peasants never win.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
People came and went all night, welcomed by the warm evening, the 12-piece jazz band, rich restaurant aromas and the boundless night sky. I hear their enthusiasm as they’re escorted to their tables. These Geneva people seem more Germanic and reserved than the French, although they’ve stolen our language. Maybe they license French or subscribe to it, like Spotify.
Peter (my bf) and I danced, unburdened by tomorrows, on a terrace of frozen-ice like, pale-blue tiles. The spilled star-field glittered like fireworks on a dark canvas of a new-moon, black sky.
The distant, snow-covered Alps seemed to reach for the glistening cosmos, like spilled water rushing across a floor or children grasping at toys. Compared to this celestial gallery, the Geneva skyline looked as sad as an old stage prop.
The air was scented with blooming jasmine, baking bread and coffees. A breeze, in turns warm and cool, wrapped around us, sharing the dance by pressing my dress to me one moment and throwing it away the next.
The dress I picked it up in Paris earlier in the week - a svelte, Chiuri Dior, ‘New Look Silhouette’ in Prussian blue Chiffon and cobalt crepe - felt as lightweight, breathable and cool as workout-mesh.
Peter’s a good dancer. He’s firm yet gentle, guiding me effortlessly, in a lazy, jazz way, from the waist. When we’re in the flow, our choreography’s guided more by the unseen music than a set dance.
Our evening - I think it’s fair to say we owned it - turned into an unhurried night, before easing, unnoticed, into morning - as summer evenings tend to do.
Our words, in hushed tones, were washed away on the breeze and the music, lost to anyone but ourselves. Time never seemed more of an abstract and irrelevant construct - and if there was a world beyond those moments - it went unnoticed.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Lose My Breath (Feat. Charlie Puth) by Stay Kids, Charlie Puth
Stumblin’ In by CRYIL
**** to someone by Clairo
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 1:19 PM UTC
One of my year long sophomore subjects will be physics. At first, physics seems to be a menagerie of big, boring universal ideas and immutable laws rendered practically unimportant by their scale.
Peter, ok, let’s call him my boyfriend - just as a place-holder - is working on his “Doctorate in Applied Physics,” degree. “Will you help me with my physics homework?” I asked, hopefully.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” he assures me, wiggling his eyebrows suspiciously.
Peter got to visit the Hadron Collider, in Geneva, this summer. When I FaceTimed him he was as animated as a girl at drama camp. He was all, “proton collisions, Higgs bosons, top quarks and massive particles, bla, bla, bla..”
“That’s ok, I said, “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
Seriously though, I get it. Physics teaches critical thinking and problem solving. Fluid dynamics and pressure-volume-resistance relationships apply to the circulatory system. Pressure-volume curves can apply to lung function, heat transfer is applicable to frostbite, hypothermia and fevers - nuclear physics applies to nuclear medicine (SPECT, PET scans and radiation therapy and lasers) - yatta, yatta yatta.
But why ME, oh, lord?
Aug 10, 2022
Aug 10, 2022 at 12:41 PM UTC
Geneva
Is a ray of light
Where ferruginous ducks
A million lullaby,
They sing.
And in the dark of night,
I have discovered
A Fragment
Of peace.
And by the lake I've seen
Memories of future,
Joy.
And I have seen
Life
As it should've been.
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 6:19 AM UTC
It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, ******* girls with **** loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of ********
in between us, when I hear the thump.
A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.
Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.
Carlos broke a month later.
Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.
Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.
Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
In a dwelling on Lake Geneva
In a dank and doomy room
The grandiloquent guests did their best
To pass the tedious time of gloom
To excite their thirsty imaginations
Byron suggested all write a story
He specified it must be ghostly
Phantasmal, or gory
So Mary Shelley set to work
A most dutiful and diligent scribe
Scratching marks of Genius
On paper for the reading tribe
Invoking from imagination
She contrived a most appalling creature
But it’s not the one that you’d expect
It was the Dr’s conscience that was the most terrifying feature
The parable of men’s meddling
Is conjured fast as lightning
The potency of Mary’s vision
Is such it’s truly frightening
With tale sublime she renders the creature
A thing of neglect, deserving of pity
Her musings are so fierce, divine,
Her insights so wry and witty
For all his grand creations
Man is next to nature impotent
Only the latter is all-knowing
And omnipotent
Project finished, they gather round
To listen to the others' stories
After the test they decide Mary’s is best
She walks away with all the glory
So that is how our famous fable
Was woven in to existence
It was sublime and transcended time
And stayed in our librarys' persistent
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me
Yes, it hurts me- a little bit, a lot a bit
but I understand.
You are yourself and I am myself-
You will do you, I guess I’ll be me
I still wonder though.
Who am I-
Why not,
What’s so wrong with being a part of me,
my life- who I am?
What’s so bad about me?
Is it because I’m not “pretty” enough
or “cool” enough
or good enough to you, to be a part of me? Associated with me?
Because I won’t just make you happy
I will make myself, my family, those I do- and don’t know happy
I will try and make you as well.
What counts as part of me?
Just that I’m nineteen, female, probably bi
born in Geneva, Illinois, raised in South Elgin, Illinois
but also raised in Westford, Massachusetts
both painfully boring towns; quiet, uneventful.
Does that make me as well? Is part of me South Elgin, Westford?
And then what else- what other parts of me?
That can’t be the only part-
So I’m also creative, loud, spontaneous
the part that makes me different
Is it so bad to be that part?
Part. Of. Me.
it sounds like a bad pop song. Is that why you don’t want to be
part of me-
Why is it that sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me?
Does that mean you won’t speak, look or think about me?
i don’t think that’s possible.
Am I really that much of a stranger?
I’ve known you for quite sometime -
You’ve known me
So can you even not be a part of me?
You can be yourself, as well as
Part of me.
so
yes
You are part of me.
As am I to you,
Just not all of me.
A single piece, maybe, a part,
that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
You can have alone time, but even then that doesn’t mean;
for the time alone, your part of me is gone.
What an illogical statement,
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be part of me.
You already are.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC