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Here is the link to hear my poem "Genevieve of the Deep" in an audio form.

xoxo

https://soundcloud.com/nayokenza/a-visceral-collection-of-thoughts-genevieve-of-the-deep
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o’er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o’er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene’er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story—
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another’s love
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain;
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain;—

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and ****** shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her ***** heaved—she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,
She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.

’Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly ’twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with ****** pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.
A Visceral Collection Of Thoughts: Genevieve of the Deep

24/2/15
10:52

"What if we could be like this forever?"
She asked, right before daylight broke through the window.
Her gaze fixated up on his lips
As they were draped in dawn.
He tried his hardest to answer her
Sincerely
In between yawns
"What if we were willing?" Came out from his mouth
As she anxiously read each word.
"We can't control the winds of time, no more than we can control the depths of the mind.
Just slow down so I can be with you.
The more time we spend the less we save."

She sat up, letting the sheets fall to her navel,
Tears welling up,
Her heart racing with every gulp.
She looked at him
With a glance of which to read he was unable.
"I wonder if you'll miss me as I already miss you."



20/2/15
9:59


On a train
Racing through the night
She feels as if her life is being  
Led in black and white
Monochrome
Distractions
From colourful
Would- bes
Could- bes
Maybes
And disillusions.
Glancing down at her lap
Upon it, the note from him
This is a plunge she's not ready to take
But his is a heart she's not ready to break.

On a train racing through the night
She's distraught
Between a decision concerning wrong and right
Which path to take
Whose heart to break
A union so encouraged
Yet, such a risk to take.
What would she become
If she were to take on his name?
Would her loss be soothed by potential gains?

On a train racing through
The night
Her mind wonders off to the shore outside
Her heart floats along the coast
Ready to set out with the tide

12:12

He longed for her
For reasons he knew not.
He longed for her
For reasons she knew not,
Yet he made her the most
Distraught
She had been in her whole life.
Time escaped her
As he called on her.
Her choices seemed to have been made for her.
Her family's blessing
Her hand to be given away
All for the sake of a name.

He longed for her
For reasons he knew not.
She longed for another
And sure of his feelings she was not.
Was this to be what her life was to become?
Was she to settle with someone else who wasn't the one?


25/2/15
20:00

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity.
She sits,
Staring into the mirror.
Three days prior
To a life changing ceremony
Built upon disparity.

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity.
Her thoughts flood with memories of them.
One she loved for sure
In spite of his heart being unsure
And the one who longed for her
Yet she didn't love him
And of this she was sure.

A single rose
Awaits her
In a vase by the vanity
Dripping in money, name, and social standing.
A rose from a good family,
However many thorns.
A thorn for each month of courtship,
Only 3 at that.
A whirl wind affair,
Her own private hell, dressed up as a grandiose affair.
A realisation that all families have thorns.
However, she was determined to pick and choose.
Thorns can be worth the pain if you let go of that which you hope to lose.
She knew this rose was solely meant to wilt before her eyes and she'd only have thorns.

A single rose
Awaits her in a vase by the vanity.
To her left,
From the balcony,
The ocean calls her name softly.

A single rose
Awaits her in a vase by the vanity.
Suddenly,
She gives into a rush of insanity.


13/3/15
10:11

She ran
Fleeing down the stairs
One after another.
She ran
As if all of her troubles
Were to vanish under the soles of her feet.
Knowing not where she was going
She descended down the spiral staircase.
No time for shoes,
No time for make up
No time for her hair.
She ran
Right out the door
Tired of wondering if there could be more.
She ran and ran
Until she reached the shore,
She could no longer deny the beckoning of the waves anymore.


18/2/15
12:13

Submerged,
Submerged,
Submerged.
She pulled up her dress and walked in
This wouldn't be the last of her
This wouldn't be how it ends
But somehow this wouldn't be the start of anything either
Bubbles of air escaped as she descended deeper and deeper
Visions of the past escaped
And she plunged further and further
Soon the world around her fell to hues black and of gray
As she let the world around her slip away

Submerged,
Submerged,
Submerged.
That's all she had ever been for an age.
Galaxies sprung to life and died around her.
All while Her white dress shimmered akin to the tears of those who knew her
And yet she was still submerged.
She watched as time went by
Forlonging the hand that Life held out to her
Disregarding the embrace Death longed to bestow upon her.
Frozen by her fear
Yet illuminated by her passion.
It was never the right time for her

11:10

"Waste away with me"
She awoke
At the bottom of the sea.
"Waste away with me"
Finally grasping the time she had eluded for an eternity.
She wondered how could anything have remained the same
For those above her on the shore,
For those who hadn't made such brash decisions
Leaving all they knew behind
In order to buy an ungodly amount of time.

"Waste away with me"
She was still submerged
In the arms of Davy Jones.
"Waste away with me"
Could she ever really return home?
Back to the love from which she fled,
Back to the dawn drenched sheets, the one mourning in bed, asking her honest love, one true,
If he were willing to spend a lifetime, no longer as one, but as two.

"Waste away with me"
The voice called to her again.
She rose to her feet,
Looking to the water above her.
Her eyes had never shown as bright
As they did in these depths, this night.
Pulling on her white dress at the sides
She ascended up and out to the tides.
The waves washed away beneath her bare feet in the night.
She breathed in the ocean air
High above the sea
Glancing upon the forgone lights of her city
Balling her hands into fists
As she took in the night air
Howling around her.
"Waste away with me"
The voice called out to her again
As she flew towards the shore.  


25/2/15
12:24

Soaring
Above the town
As the waves beckoned to her
Searching in the night
For the love that had escaped her.
Where would there be any trace?
How much time had passed?
Where had the years gone?

Soaring above the town
As the waves beckoned to her.
She flew as if it were something she easily knew how to do.
Her shimmering white dress fluttered
In the wind.
Her haunting, howling mane swirled around her head.
Her eyes, now blue as the seas, pierced brightly through the night,
Yet she was still unable to find,
The man
That she loved for all this time.

Soaring above the town
As the waves beckoned to her
She caught glimpse of a cemetery
And began her descent down.
A story comprised of poems I wrote in under five minutes or less.
He went ashore with the duty crew
The moment they got their leave,
And headed home for his two by two
And his waiting Genevieve,
He wore his official navy rig
With the medals on his chest,
Had taken pains that his suit was clean
And his blue jean collar pressed.

He followed the crazy paving that
Led up to his cottage door,
Could only see a glimmer of light
A smidgen of light, no more,
A heavy footfall came to the door
And flung it out wide, apace,
While he stood grim, and staring at him
A man with a stranger’s face.

Then Genevieve came breathlessly out
Went breathlessly up to him,
I want you to meet a cousin of mine,
He’s staying with us, meet Jim.
The sailor took a step in the door
And shouldered the man away,
‘I see,’ he said, ‘not seen him before,
I’ll see if your Jim can stay.’

They settled down in the kitchen, sat
Across the table and glared,
While Genevieve had served up a meal
A meal that had been prepared,
‘So who’s your cousin related to,
Your mother’s side, or your Da’s?’
She stopped for a moment then to think
‘It must have been Grandpa’s.’

But he’d grinned over the table then
At Genevieve, this Jim,
And that was the moment the sailor knew
That he’d been suckered in.
‘I don’t think this is your cousin, dear,
But there, I think you knew,
And hit the stranger fair in the face
With a plate of boiling stew.

I think that he scarred the guy for life
For his skin came off in strips,
While Genevieve took a paper towel
And tried to save his lips,
‘Take your mate to the Rose and Crown
And buy him a cooling beer,’
The sailor said, as he cuffed her head
‘For you’ll not be staying here.’

David Lewis Paget
Genevieve Jun 2015
Who was I to think we had something worth keeping?
Certainly not you.

But why.
We played the game.
I thought I understood the rules.
I thought you were trying to break through.

My walls oh so high
They hid the sun from you
And you saw my darkness.

In the dark you found truth.
Unable to understand it, you ran from it's grip.
Too tight around you,
the darkness is unwelcoming.

If only you knew that if you held on a little longer,
the sun was to rise and from truth love were to arise.

But you disengaged.
Saw the truth and convoluted them into lies.

Now nothing.
But a heartbroken metaphor
for I think I miss you more.

You've moved on,
naturally and genuinely.

I sat here,
stupidly.
Graff1980 Oct 2015
She is who she says she is
Perhaps in another time
Her muscles rippled with a mannish gleam
And her labors where of the masculine
Herculean

But now she is feminine
Concealing her strength
Beneath soft garments
Concealing her past
Under a new name

Genevieve
Who was once Gene
Now is free to be
Who she wants to be

The rooster
Becomes a phantom limb
Split and turned in
Sleeping
How freeing
For her outsides
To match how
She feels within

Thick lips strong chin
Broad shoulder
Deep voice
I am fascinated

It never bothered me
In fact I saw it beautifully
Variety in humanity
Why should you be
Bothered
Stanley Wilkin Dec 2017
Gloria was a grump,
delightful Felicity a frump,
Sara a bit of a chore
Liz liked gore,
Azi cried alot
Jill cared not a jot
for anyone, I learned
Cecila's stomach churned,
Roberto enjoyed her food
In public, Edie was rude,
Faizi liked to laugh
Katie liked to ****,
Esmeralda loved to ski
until she broke her knee,
Toni drempt of fame
but ended on the game,
Jen constantly made love
worn out, she resides above,
Queenie liked her drink
spent her days throwing up in a sink,
Julie adored her kids,
both are on the skids,
Siham adored money
was always miserable, never funny,
Frankie cared for wealth
spent a fortune on her health,
Jasmine was dour
more nettle than flower,
Ruby liked to cook,
Cynthia preferred a book,
Fill wanted to marry,
she eventually met Barry,
Aysha had great beauty
and was shrewdly dotty,
Anna was a shrew
which everyone but me knew,
Kath used excessive perfume-
smoking me out of my bedroom,
Pauline constantly showered
while Jackie always glowered
at strangers in the street-
where Carol and I met
on New Years Eve 2011
and for a month I was in heaven,
until my short affair
with nimble Clair,
Toni ate sparingly
lean meat and leaner celery,
Jo ate five times a day,
No one got in her way
of food, while Chris ate
tons of icecream, getting stuck in a gate
one day when off to work,
I took the opportunity, like a ****,
to leave waving goodbye
from my car. Why?
Essie was beside me
and again I needed to be free,
which a month later so did she!
Mitch bought me another
borrowing it off her brother,
who much bigger than me,
once more I was impelled to flee.
Suzanne in France
lead me a dance,
having other men every day
when I was away,
while Adalene
worked on my brain
and Genevieve broke my heart,
briefly, when apart
holidaying in the Alps with Jean
until her curiosity done
she came back and apologised,
and thereafter we thrived,
and would still be together
had not Heather
seduced me one day
when Genevieve was looking the other way
and did not see
Heather kissing me
by the pool
in Dakar, Senegal,
or making love
in rainy Vaduz,
holding hands in Bern
near a milk churn
having a bit of a lover's palava
in Bratislava.
When she found me with Ruth in Moscow
Genevieve told me sharpely to go,
I went. Ruth went off with Jean
and I took the first plane home,
meeting Jess in Heathrow
we took a taxi to Wivenhoe,
living there a year,
where fattened up with calorific beer
dressed now in grandad fashion
I started making a sullen impression
on even those who loved me,
but still, good reader, I needed to be free
so here I am now with Daphne
the final woman for me.

I met Adele in my son's first school
so, reader, I guess I'm just an unstructured fool,
for along came Celeste, Diane and Frick
making me still a colossal p......k.
ghost queen Nov 2019
............ morning

I say this sincerely and from the bottom of my heart, you are incredible, fascinating, and impressive

Ahhh, thanks JC.
I’m flattered you think so because I feel quite ordinary.

You are the most extraordinary and exotic orchid in the jungle

And then you say stuff like that, that makes me wonder what you wrote before is true.

I don’t understand

That is so untrue, that it makes me wonder about your previous sincere comment

It is true in my heart and soul, please never ever doubt it, accept the compliment, deeply and fully !!!



............ next morning

I accept the first one. 

Baby Girl, what I write about you, is inspired by you, it is what i see and feel, please believe and  accept the compliments unconditionally, as I don’t say what is on my heart casually


............ next morning

Good morning Sleeping Beauty, how is the fairest flower in the forest this morning

This flower is wilted.

My flower has awaken, opening, unfolding to the glory of the sun, inspiring the birds and bees that swarm around her, vying for her nectar

Be a good Parisienne girl, and accept and bask in compliment of one of your many male admirers

That’s my fav poem yet.  Hmmm, many male admirers....


............ next morning

A little poem for you this Monday morning

Chère Reine, ouvriez votre coeur, laissez moi secher vos larmes, aimer votre ame.

Baby Girl, be kind your you inner little girl, she needs your attention and love too

Truer were words could not be written today
Reine...isn’t that queen?

Yes, as in you are my Queen

My dearest Queen, open your heart, let me dry your tears, love your soul (sound better in French)

Everything sounds better in French

Did you like the Queen poem
(remember I’m sensitive artistic type of guy )

Yes, I liked it..., sending you a loving kiss


............ next morning

Your baking is always superb, you are my heroine..., call you Chef Girl Genevieve

I don’t post the stuff that goes amok.
I am no chef. That is an earned title and I def do not qualify. I just like to play in the kitchen with sugar

you are a grand chef in my eyes

Faux chef Genevieve

here we go again, am i going to have to write another poem of how great you are

I must have blown some other kind of dust in your eyes

You are like a wickedly delicious ice cream sundae, made up of complex layers of intelligence, wit, charm, and sophistication. And the cherry on top, is your stunning elegance, femininity, and beauty
written from a series of morning text messages
Barton D Smock Aug 2012
umbrae

for Genevieve

your prayers include a terrible notebook, an invalid friend, and a man believing separately that we are here to place turtles upright. when you walk into the ocean you walk into the ocean on your hands. you do this to protect your knees. many think you are magnificent and these many you are on the verge of telling about the Saturdays that bore you and about the spider you repeatedly squash. the resurrected spider that is not a gift. if you could you’d give your youngest son a woman he could either swim through or swoon inside. a woman who could put him to sleep and rock in a chair the boat of her belly so untroubled to be thinking twice about twins. you’d be sad, or sleepy, and get to choose.

before I go to war

     the dark readies in the oven.
my father washes with a wet sock a knee exposed.
my mother

wears one dry sock which she removes
and makes into a puppet. or an oven mitt.

both
silence the hand.

idolatry**

a red wheelbarrow, maybe-

but not
so much
depends

on a poem
about it
Kevin Mar 2017
scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves,
punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the
green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years.

you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew.
so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but,
clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely
overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet.

consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns
between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths
that only lead us where we knew.

through the scales and passed the cords
where drying life would heat our warmth,
nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains
slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing.

you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze.
you sweet maple so never barren or dull.
you flame of northern light.

take me back to the path we passed
where cords are dried to burn
where frogs croak in Côté's creek
where my memories live and yearn
These are the memories I have of my lovely French Canadian Grandparents. My grandfather died when I was three, my only memory of him is collecting sap from maple trees and making maple syrup. The memories of my grandmother are her Crystal Candy jars always full, her yellow teeth stained from cigarettes, going blueberry and raspberry picking barefoot in the summer at our log cabin, her undeniably infectious laugh, and snoring so loud at night it could keep the dead awake.
Grace May 2016
i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.


Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?
Thanks if you made it to the end. This was part of a writing exercise to change the form of a piece. I changed a piece of prose into a kind of poetry prosey thing.
Jessica Head Feb 2014
I'm a nice person to talk to. I respect everyone and everything. May don't like being in a room with three or more people, makes me feel trapped. Got no enemies, just friends, or I don't know if you can even call them friends, their people I know but don't talk to.

I will try tell you people a bit about me and area. I live in Canada, Saskatchewan. In a reserve called James Smith, this is home in this village. Not much to do here. I got both my parents, but my dad wants to run away from us, he's stuck in a old folks home for the old and disabled, my dad aint that old. He needs one of his daughters with him, I'm the only one that's still young and free, the other two sisters of mine they're struggling for a home for their little families. I  love my dad for who he is, don't get to see him much though. My mum, i ran away from her once or more. I'm mum's babygirl, I dont think I will leave her again cause it hurted the both of us. Theres just something different between my mum and I. She knows I love her though, she's just as bored as I am.

My two sisters, they both live in this village, Genevieve is having a rough time with her boyfriend, at least she won't ever leave her two kids, Dante and Danica. Not much to say about Gen, she is the oldest, she's a good sister. She bites sometimes, nibbles on my nerves. Ha!

Cassandra, my sister she has two sons, Jathan and Nickolas, she's going to school. She's trying to move away from our village and get a life, I might seem funny saying it that way" get a life" but foreal people here don't do anything cause most of them quit school and got no carreer, just cheap jobs that's something though.

My little brother Joey, I try look out for him, only bro I got. There's two ways to say Moostoos, there's Moostoos and mostos. Moostoos is my dad's last name, and mostos stands for cow in Cree. I'm 100% Cree, full blooded First Nations Cree Indian. Being native is like we can live on welfare and get a lot free. I'm only living on welfare cause I'm stuck till I graduate so if I want to get out of here I got to finish school, nother two and a half years till then.

My past bothers me a whole lot, but I am managing it, people thought I lost my mind when I went suicidal a few times. I will be ok. I tell everybody to be ok. My family knows I'm shy, I'm not afraid, I'm just not use to being around loud people. I love to laugh and smile a lot, it hides my sadness, depression and all that. I nearly forgot what its like to laugh hard, I got no one to laugh with and be weird, just my sister Gen, but I rarely see her.

My goal is to be around people more often, made that up as I am thinking of random stuff I like about this place. Pp.s I really really have a big heart for animals. I try my hardest to sound like I care about other people, I must seem very nice.

Got to love art, books, and poetry. Only if I was as good as you's at poetry and stuff. So have yourself a good day or night. Take Care out their. Ta ta!
Doug Potter Nov 2016
In less than a year you digested
a Puerto Rican baseball player,
certified horse inseminator,
disc  jockey, your sister’s
father-in-law,  a woman
named  Genevieve
                 and me.

Not much left after the pan
is boiled dry; memories,
residue and grit.
Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow
  Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,
The hunter of the west must go
  In depth of woods to seek the deer.

His rifle on his shoulder placed,
  His stores of death arranged with skill,
His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,--
  Why lingers he beside the hill?

Far, in the dim and doubtful light,
  Where woody slopes a valley leave,
He sees what none but lover might,
  The dwelling of his Genevieve.

And oft he turns his truant eye,
  And pauses oft, and lingers near;
But when he marks the reddening sky,
  He bounds away to hunt the deer.
caroline Dec 2018
aristocratic air
bountiful glory
but don't forget
even beings birthed straight from a supernova
still rot like the least of us.
Steven McNevets Jul 2015
Genevieve
Genevieve
14 hours ago
J.

Funny, what the human mind does to protect itself.

He was broken, as I was
And I thought I could fix him.
No
I thought I could be a solution.

I wanted to be the answer
That the universe whispered in response
To his nights alone in drunken tears.
Wanted to be the perfect fit
To the gaping hole in his chest.

But I was not prepared.
I gave up my heart and soul
before I really knew what that meant.
I gave him my mind and my will;
Everything, anything he wanted that I could give
I gave
I let him take all that he wanted from me
Let him run my soul dry,
and what was left,
What he didn't want
I threw away.

I was too young,
Too naive to understand
The gravity of my choices.
That is,
Until he told me
that it wasn't enough
I wasn't enough.
I was not freedom.
Commitment is not a freedom
And he didn't want any of that.

So there I was, left with only pieces
of myself.
Not enough left to put back together
To make a whole.
Just a hole.
Empty and lost.

I was in love with him,
and to be fair,
He loved me, too
But not for who I was.
But for who I became for him.
When he tired of that,
He found someone knew to sate his interest.
And failed to mention the change.
Coward.

It's so fuzzy now.
Hazy, even.
Like looking through a ***** windshield at twilight.
I can't even remember a twinge of that love.
Not even a pinprick of the agony.
The holes in my soul don't ache anymore,
Not for him.

Funny, what the human mind does to protect itself.
To the man who captivated my thoughts for 2 years, and left me with nothing but scars to show for it. This is not complete yet, I'll be making some changes here soon.
Genevieve knows how to capture a man's heart... help rate this poem for her.. she is telling her true feelings and she is being real here, very real.
SøułSurvivør Aug 2017
Patrick (Lucky Stars) O'Hara set his disabled grandson up on the old horse's back. Contrary to his moniker Paddy was anything but. His luck had run out. His son had just died of leukemia, and his grandson was now fatherless. His "daughter-in-law" had run off long ago. Couldn't handle having such a disabled son, and a sick husband. Paddy had never liked her anyway.

Patty looked at the child's wizened body. The cruelty of scoliosis. The doctors said it would cost vast thousands of dollars to straighten Bobby O'Hara's spine. Money Paddy absolutely did not have.

His sad gaze shifted from the boy to the horse he was sitting upon. Oh what a magnificent creature you were, 8 Ball! His own retired racehorse. What was once a stone black coat was now mottled with white. The figure eight shaped blaze on his forehead had given him his name. Not to mention the way he took off at the Starting Gate. As if someone had goosed him with a cue stick! And he bounced off the turns in the track as if he had a spin on him that was absolutely deadly. 8 Ball loved to run! He was unbeaten in every race that he entered. A real Dark Horse. With no particular lineage whatsoever. 8 ball just had Talent. And the track owners hated it. Most races were rigged. And Paddy O'Hara didn't play the game.

So they set up a race. With a big race horse named Red Rodger. This horse was also unbeaten, and had a promising future. But Red Roger's jockey was told to lay his horse down... Right in front of 8-Ball. So lay down he did. Killing Red Rodger and severely injuring 8-Ball. There was a lot of speculation about the race. Especially how the jockey riding Red Rodger had jumped from the horse just before the accident happened. He said his foot had slipped the stirrup. No one could prove otherwise. So red Rodger was dead, and 8-ball was very effectively out of the game.

8-Ball, being a sweet natured horse, stood stolidly as a little boy patted his withers. He looked back at him with his gentle dark chocolate eyes and nickered with what Paddy could have sworn was tenderness...

He heard a frustrated whinny behind him. Looking back he saw what he expected. The F-tch was back.

Lady Genevieve Summerfield-Fitch looked down her long nose at Paddy. Astride the most magnificent jumper O'Hara had ever seen.

Gentleman Jim was an astonishing animal. The dappled grey of rainclouds on a milk white sky... and his lines were flawless. Not to mention his lineage. His dam was Proud Nelly, and his sire was none other than Seafront View. And The Gent was as good as his name. He wasn't hare- brained like some horses which became ******. This was a well-tempered, almost intellectual horse. He worked WITH his rider. Practically thinking his way through a course. And it was no surprise that Gent won more awards than you could shake a club at!

But Gentleman Jim's rider was anything but his counterpart. She owned him, but she was no lady...

All of a sudden Paddy's gaze shifted again... this time in the far distance to take in an apparition. A small blonde girl... hair the length of her knees! Running like the Hound of the Baskervilles was after her! She closed the distance between them so rapidly O'Hara was almost dumbfounded!

"I... must... buy... your horse", the child panted.

"He's not for sale..."

Suddenly Paddy saw who the youngster was running from. Back in the middle distance was an ugly bald-headed creep. The spider's web tattooed over the left side of his face was enough to change Paddy's mind... he'd give the girl TomTom, though. He was a good, swift horse....

... then, before he knew what happened, his grandson was sitting on a chair by the stables and Blondie was astride 8-Ball!

"Hey! That horse is old and LAME!

"Not anymore." The blonde girl said simply. She pressed something hard into his palm. "And he's now mine".

As 8-Ball wheeled around to go out the gate something... happened. Was it O'Hara's imagination? The Ball's coat got darker! And shiny! His "game" leg seemed to... straighten...

When he made it out to the trail with his small rider he bunched up his flanks and took off Like a bat out of HELL!

The young blonde girl's long hair streamed out behind her like a sail as she took on the seat of a hockey... PERFECT FORM!

Paddy looked down at the hard object the girl had pressed into his hand. It was a classically cut emerald, dark as the hills of Kentucky. And bigger than any Paddy had ever seen...
There are these sections in Gen's brain. Partitioned off by veined red walls, white wooden walls, and metal walls covered in padlocks. Behind each wall is another Gen, essentially. Every room supporting some variation of Genevieve. It's very busy, very cramped.

The Quiet Room
This room is quiet.
Happy?
Sad?
Is there even a Gen in here?
Gen?
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!
GEN!!?

The Blue Room
This room is filled with hazy blue mist.
The Gen blends in.
Nobody seeing the Gen in the blue room.
Like the quiet room, we don't even know if she's in there.
But we can hear her.
Faintly breathing.
Sort of.

The Yellow Room
This room has walls made of music.
The walls sing!
The Gen in the middle of the room smiles!
And sings!
This Gen is heard!
It smells like paper in this room.
Paper, and laundry detergent.
And a little like ink, too.

The Maze
We think this is where the REAL GEN,
The Big Gen,
Got trapped.
There are doors in these maze walls,
Leading to more walls and doors
And rooms.
We haven't found her yet.
She's in here somewhere.
She's probably scared.
Lost,
A little confused.
Miko Jan 2013
Dearest Genevieve
   Come and run away with me
      We can buy the house we occasionally talk about
         And I'll place welcome mats in front of every single door
               Both inside
                              and
                        ­            out,
                       in hopes that a house for me
                                                    could ever be a home,
                                   Like you are for me.
                    I'll fear you  like all the rest because
                               because you are fully an individual
                          Who might decide that I'm not of importance
                                     Or worth a part of you.
                                                   And I will fear us as you decide what is right
                                                           ­  Negligence is arguably one of the greatest horrors
                                            So is the art of not knowing  
                                   But let's fix this utterly
                                                   let's think about this with our hearts
                                           We can shoot dice
                                                       and spend the night in each others arm
                                                             ­       it feels right.
                                                          ­                     Home.
Susan O'Reilly Jan 2014
Genevieve is a frump

a big fat lazy lump

walter decided to dump

she really got the ****

and gave him a mighty thump
poet ninja Aug 2015
Did you know ...
That there is no one in my world besides you with whom I can spend my entire day doing whatever comes along with never a thought for anyone else
Feeling completely satisfied because we are together?

Did you know ...
That there is no one besides you whom I can talk to openly and honestly
Knowing our love will only grow and feeling a need for nothing but our conversation?

Did you know ...
That there is no one more comfortable for me than you
Whom I can enjoy silence with and never have a need to fill space between us
Because there is no space?...

Did you know ...
That no one has ever made me as happy as you have or loved me so completely
Never have I known true intimacy until we grew to where we are?

Did you know ...
That in loving you
I have experienced feelings far beyond any I could have imagined and far better than I believed possible?

-Genevieve Bartels Wichmann
one of my fave reads,to appease the mush in me :)
Israel Ortiz Jr Aug 2014
You are most definitely
no muse to
one of Picasso's
paintings.  

You are most definitely not:
Fernande
Eva
Olga
Marie
Dora
Francoise
Genevieve
or
Jacqueline!

I am most definitely
not a painter
but a
poet 'El Poeta'
Mallory Michaud Sep 2016
She was perusing the linoleum trails when I walked into conoco gas at 6:49. I bought $20 of unleaded at pump three.
"I miss my jeep, but I sure don't miss the gas mileage"
she giggled from behind me with a filmy grocery bag bracleting her wrist. He name was Kiyomi, a Japanese citrus. "When my mom was pregnant with me, that's all she would eat. She joked that she'd give birth to a fruit instead of a baby."
She told me she plucked her shirt from the hamper when I complimented her outfit, and about her "**** neighbors" with whom she shared a complex. I made an excuse for the dirt sponging my shirt and tattooing down my legs. "It's from landscaping", I said as a way to somehow justify it. I felt like I'd known Kiyomi a long time when we said goodbye.  
With a half tank of gas, I started up Genevieve and we rolled off our opposite ways. It was as I walked up and down King Sooper's ribs of commercial aisles that I was so grateful to Kiyomi, the fruit girl. She showed her humanness to me. We hung up our social normalities like jackets, and spoke in the unfabricated way children do. Friday, June 3rd, roughly 6:53 pm, a girl of soil and a girl of fruit collided in connection. Like it was natures very own conversation.
Genevieve Feb 2017
My heart is molding guess I'll make a stew
with that nasty grotesque faux love laying around sloughing off from you,

My Spirit had desirable lust wanting you and faux *** the Love which now I see was your ingredients to place in your cauldron of something to use later on.

My Love was not false and never a fake but you decided to ****** my love and raise some ridiculous stakes! It is no wonder why you cause
so much pain with your own agenda in mind dripping of lies and deceit!

My heart has been molding, my bones in
pain because of you but as you get comfortable ;
Lay down with your eyes asleep a written note
Good bye with less than me saying a peep.

With azzwipe drawn all over your
windshield and with punctured
tires won't get you very far. So take a blunt hint!
admit your fake you weasel cause that's exactly what you are!! And now your hand can do the manipulation so take that disgusting falseness you sale as love for all I care our love has been killed.    

                                             *Genevieve S.
This poem is dedicated to my sisters Loser of a abusive hus. Tim who verbally and physically harms her! Not to mention assisting in deteriorating emotional/mental health is bruised daily PLUS she has MS and this guy viciously calls her and their kids bad names and practices being evil regularly to me this is Faux Love no man who Purely Loves his Wife would Do half the crap he pulls like not celebrating their valentines wedding anniv. nearly evry year intentionally and making it clear to her it is on purpose so to cause her to break. its just so sad. 
AGAINST ALL FORMS OF ABUSE!! 
Emot. Sxual,Phycl,Torquered.Barbaric.silent.
at the time I wrote this I really did not realize that was who I had been writing it about was only really about people who are takers but then it settled in after proof reading my poem a couple x's.  

                                          <3 Hope you liked it <3
I think I'm spinning candy floss or is it raining sunflower seeds?
beads of sweat to make a necklace around my neck which I'm saving
for an abacus but need some more beads yet

I'm drowning in the dandelions which roar into my ears
I'm floating in kaleidoscopes and colouring in my years

But if I gave a **** and I'm sure I don't
I won't be tuning in.

There are keys for locks for clocks and keys to unlock locked up shops

my tongue is getting tired.

It was a random day in a random way when the winning number won
stardom was my Genevieve
I do believe that's true
two bullets in the barrel
One for me and
one for you.
Traci Sims Aug 2020
Hope--despaired.
Constance--cheated.
Faith--no longer believes.
Charity--is stingy.
Prudence--is reckless.
Patience--isn't.

And Genevieve--
Has no business being in this poem.
Dada!
Big Virge May 2020
Ya Know I'm A Man of CONVICTION...
Whose NOT Been In PRISON... !!!!!

Because I Condition My Body And Mind...
To AVOID.................... FOOLISH Fights... !!!!!
That CLEARLY AREN'T Wise... !!!!!

My Conviction In Life...
Is To Use Peaceful Vibes...
To Help Me... LIVE RIGHT... !!!!!

However THAT Line I Think You Will Find...
Is NOT How I Ride When Temperatures RISE... !!!!!

I Am A BIG GUY So... You Should Play NICE... !!!
And Make Me Wear SMILES Cos' FROWNS Are The Guide...
That I'm Getting STRESSED And About To Get VEX... !!!!!!

And TRUST In THIS Text...
ANYTHING Could Come Next... !!!!

But As I First Said...
My Convictions EMBRACE...
A More... " Peaceful Place "...

But When It Comes To... My Wordplay...
My Convictions DISPLAY An ARRAY of Thought Waves...
ANALYTICAL and CRITICAL of How We Live Today... !!!

CONVICTIONS Now CONDITIONED...
To Play... Society's Games...

"DON'T SAY THIS ! DON'T SAY THAT !" ...

"Say THAT AGAIN, You'll Face My GAT !" ...

I'm Sad To Say Such Vibes Are FACT...
With... NOT ENOUGH CONVICTIONS...
That Put THESE FOOLS In PRISON... !!!!!

TOO MANY HOLD Convictions...
With Missions NOT To Listen... ?!?
A Conviction LACKING Wisdom...
And OPEN Minded... Visions...
Allowing For MORE THINKING.................

And Thought That's...

.............. NOT CONDITIONED............. !!!!!!

Like THOSE Who Stay... "IMPRISONED".... !?!
Within A World That's....... " sinking "........ !!!!

Like Ships On Television...
Or Cinema BIG SCREENS...

Do You See What I Mean... ???

My Convictions... LEAN...
To CONNECTABLE Seams... !!!!!
While SOME It Seems NOW LEAN With Teams...
Where Thoughts NOW RECEDE...
From THEOLOGICAL Themes...

Like... " Adam and Eve ".... ?!?

What Am I SEEING... ?!?

" Genevieve and Eve And Adam and Steve "... !?!

Well Virge DON'T Sway My Game's STILL STRAIGHT...
When It Comes To *** GAMES And Talk About Race... !!!

It Seems SOME... "hide positions"...
Where Racism's CONDITIONED... !!!!!

While OTHERS HOLD Opinions...
That Racism's NOW Slippin'........................... .................
Like DRIPPING In A Kitchen.... ?!!!?

So DOESN'T NEED To Be Spoken About... !?!
Tell THAT To The Fam' of MICHAEL BROWN... !!!!

A Young Man GUNNED DOWN By Police Who HOUND...
Young Blacks in Towns... Like They've ALWAYS DONE... !!!!

So...
What They Gonna Say NOW... !?!?!

THESE... CONDITIONED Mouths...
Who DON'T FACE Police Guns... !!!!!

What They CLAIM Is Like Saying...

RACISM Will Die... !?!
And CHAUVINISM ISN'T Part of Life... ?

Which IS... Just ANOTHER LIE... !!!!!

If THAT's What They Be Thinking...
Their ***** NEED ***** To Lick Em'... !!!!!
While Women Do... **** LICKIN'... !!!!!

These Lyrics I'm Now KICKIN'...
PROVE That I'm NOT Conditioned...
To ACCEPT Societies' Ways... !!!!!

IF Gay Folks Are THE SAME...
As EVERY OTHER Human Face... ?!?
CAN'T They TAKE LYRICISM...
That Gives Out CRITICISM...
of How They NOW Be Living...
IN FRONT of Peoples' Vision... ?!?

And Words From THOSE Now Quizzing...
From Muslim Crews To... Christians... ?!?

Whose FORMAT of... " Religion "...
Takes The STANCE of WOMAN and MAN...
As The FAMILY PLAN By Which They STAND... !???!

Which Can Be CONFIRMED... " HISTORICALLY "... !!!!

That's EQUALITY To ME...
That STANDS FIRM and TALL...
EQUALITY... For ONE And ALL... !!!!!

NOT Something That LEANS...
When Traditions FALL... !?!

It's Just A Simple QUESTION...
So DON'T You Start... " Suggesting "...

That... " Virge Holds HATE ! "...

WITHIN My Brain... I'm Merely Saying...
That CONVICTIONS Have CHANGED... !?!

Like Maybe They Could And Probably SHOULD... !!!
When It Comes To The Names Who RUN The State...
of Nations NOW CONDITIONED To HINDER Peoples' Living...

In... NATURAL Human Ways... !!!
Because Nowadays Technology REIGNS... !!!
But What Have We GAINED Are We MORE HUMANE... ?!?

Or... CONDITIONED And Lame... !!?!!
When It Comes To CONFRONTING...
THOSE Pushing and SHUVVING...
Like Feds'... Using TRUNCHEON... !!!!!!

It's Time For MORE LOVING...
And MUCH LESS Gun Clutching... !!!!!!!!

So....
Here's Some Last Thoughts...

CONDITIONED Minds Tend To Be Blind...
To What They SEE So... " Live In Dreams "...

And CERTAIN Conditions...
DO NEED INQUISITIONS... !!!!!

Before Their ADDITION Becomes A DOMINION...
Where People STOP Building And Become THE VILLAIN...
of Human Submission To Simply... NOT THINKING... !!?!!

I Now See My Life's MISSION As Seeking TRUE WISDOM...
So Just Like The Visions That... Big Virge Has Written...

These Things I Now Do...
With PURPOSE and......

..... " CONVICTION ".....
As humans continue to re-invent themselves, and change, one has to wonder, what certain human convictions, will end up becoming ........
Big Virge Nov 2020
So Is it... Uni Or College... ?
That Gives Someone KNOWLEDGE.... ?

Or Is It Just A... FACADE... ?
To Teach People NONSENSE... !!!!!!!!!!

Knowledge Is CONSTANT...
And... EVER Evolving...
And CONSTANTLY Spinning....
WITHOUT.... “ Poli-Tricking “...

Which Gets Me To THINKING....
Is Knowledge In Books...
Or In Your... Outlook... ?!?

Do Books You Peruse... ?
Give Knowledge To You... ?

Or Do They POLLUTE... !?!
Your Mind With... " UNTRUTHS “... ?!?

Is Knowledge WISDOM... ?
If You DO NOT Listen... ?!?
Or ACKNOWLEDGE Visions...
That Guide You To Living...
In Ways MORE Fulfilling....

Than Those That Teach...
...... KILLING...... !!!!!!

It’s NOW My Life’s MISSION... !!!
To Let Knowledge GLISTEN...
In Words That I’ve Written...

Because What They Share...
Is KNOWLEDGE... LAID BARE... !!!!!

From Things That I’ve Been Through...
To Things That I’ve VIEWED...

Where Knowledge Is PROVED...
NOT Skewed To Breed FOOLS... !!!!!

Who THINK They’re WELL SCHOOLED...

Schooled To Be... USED...
And ABUSED Like GUN TOOLS... !!!!!!!!

Knowledge In THEM...
Is Causing PROBLEMS... !!!!!!!

Because What They’ve LEARNT...
DOESN’T Deal In GOOD Turns... !!!

It Deals In MUCH WORSE...
Than... MILITANT Verse... !!!

It Gives People KNOWLEDGE...
of HEARSES And Churches.... !!!

Knowledge That HURTS... !!!
And Makes People CURSE... !!!

When They HAVE TO LEARN.... !!!
To Face... Ashes in Urns... !!!!!

A Knowledge That Life...
Can NEVER DENY... !!!!!!
When Life Says GOODBYE...
Because People DIE... !!!!!!!!

But Then There Are Times...
When It’s CLEAR The MOST HIGH...
Sends... Spiritual Signs...

To Those STILL ALIVE...
That Everything’s FINE... !!!
DON’T Grieve And DON’T Cry....

REJOICE In The Knowledge...
That BODIES May Die...
But SPIRITS... FLY HIGH...  !!!!!

So ALWAYS REMEMBER...
To Look Back And SMILE... !!!!!
And THINK of Your LOVED ONES...

When LOVE Was What SHINED... !!!!!!

When I Think of Mine...
I KNOW That She’s Fine... !!!
Because I Have Knowledge...
of Her... PAIN and STRIFE... !!!!!!

And How NOT ONE College... !!!
Or Uni  ... Could Find...

A CURE For The Ailments...
That Fuelled Her DERAILMENT...
From Ageing In... “ STYLE “... !!!

But What Was PROFILED....
Was KNOWLEDGE That Adults...
ARE INDEED... TWICE A CHILD... !!!

In PAIN... There Is Knowledge...
That HITS Like A Stoppage...
In... HEAVYWEIGHT Boxing... !!!!!

TOO VAST For A Sonnet...
Where WIT Is The Object... !!!

It’s DEPTH Is JAW DROPPING...
And STRONG Like Scotch Bonnet... !!!!!

Or Like... **** Stockings...
On A Girl You’ve Been Clocking...

You See Knowledge Is FREE... !!!
Well I Think It Should Be... !!!!!

Government FEES.....
Are For WHAT... EXACTLY... ?!?

... Tuition For Students...
That’s REALLY NOT Prudent... !!!
It’s CLEAR That Most Schooling...

Is NEEDING IMPROVEMENT... !!!!!

From Teachers They’re Using...
Who KEEP ON ABUSING... !!!!!
To Subjects They’re Choosing...
Now SPREADING Confusion... ?!?

Genevieve And EVE... ?!!!?
And... Adam And STEVE... ?!!!?

Their Knowledge KEEPS Changing... !!!
Like Commuters In Stations... !!!

ALL It is That I’m STATING...
Is Knowledge Is Simple...
And NATURAL Like... MATING... !!!

But Bears NO RELATION...
To MUCH Now CREATED... !!!

From MAN MADE Ideals... !!!

Knowledge Is REAL.....
Like.... REALITY.... !!!!!

We NEED TO Feed MORE...
On Knowledge That’s RAW... !!!

Instead of The Knowledge...
That’s CLEARLY NOT Pure... !!!

THIS Subject Is Something...
We NEED To Explore... !!!

To Find DEEPER Meanings...
For... School Corridors... !!!!!

Where It Seems That NEW Teachers...
Are REALLY... Quite Poor... !!!!!

So HERE IS The Score... !!!

NO Losers or Draws... !!!
Just THESE FINAL Thoughts...

Knowledge SURROUNDS US...
And That Is FOR SURE... !!!!!

We Need To Be BOUNDLESS.... !!!
But STICK To The CORE... !!!

It’s Levels Are COUNTLESS...
So WE MUST... ENSURE... !!!

That We Use it WISELY... !!!
BOTH DAILY And NIGHTLY... !!!!!!

Nature PROVIDES...

That’s A Word To The WISE...

Who RECOGNISE LOGIC...
And COMMON SENSE Topics... !!!!!

As The BEST GUIDE We Have...
To... Passing On....

..... “ Knowledge “.....
We all need some ...
Tiger Striped Feb 2021
Eugene sits caddy corner
to the girl in the library.
He doodles in the margins of
library books,
and sips quiet rebellion.
Every so often, they make eye contact
for a split second,
and spill a hundred thoughts
across breathless space.
Eugene listens to her music,
loud enough in her little earbuds
to silence her thoughts.
He knows she's left-handed,
smells like coconut and sea salt,
and takes her coffee black,
but doesn't quite know her name.
Today she might be Jolie,
tomorrow Jasmine,
yesterday Genevieve.
They are just lonely enough
to never speak,
to starve on crumbs of
stolen glances and
shared songs.

— The End —