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AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirteen
Met a fair, young Sally
She was as sweet as a toffee
And as polite as can be
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left fair, young Sally
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of thirty three
Met a small, brave Grace
She was as graceful as a dove
And as pretty as she was naïve
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left small, brave Grace
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of fifty
Met a tall, thin Liz
She was as musical as a songbird
And was welcoming, never bleak
But Little Georgie Boy
Thought he could do better
So he left tall, thin Liz
And was once more free

Little Georgie Boy
At the age of eighty
Met a dark, creepy Death
She was as silent as shadow
And as stubborn as a worker bee
Little Georgie Boy
Tried to outrun her
But Death was a lover
That would not let Little Georgie Boy be
Jo Tomso Sep 2016
Hold on
Georgie.
Splashed brunette
with
white letters
Locked for decades within his head.

12 years old he is,
White washed with rage.
Just a little boy,
drowning with shame.
Georgie;
He's an angry boy
An anxious boy
An abused boy
A scared boy
A kind boy.
Above all, a lost boy.
His world torn apart.

Hold on
Georgie.
Four square walls and two locked windows.
Mattress on the floor; all he has left.
Left in the world because
"Georgie wrecks everything."
Staff, they come and go
shaking their heads
However Ruby has stayed.
"You're going to be happier there Georgie, happier than you have been in a long while."
she tells him.
How much he wants to believe her; believe she is not scared of him. Believe she still loves him.

There must be more to life than this
She thinks as she dances with shadows in dark.
Vio-let vio-lent dripped monsters slither skin
She must dismiss the heaviness standing upon her chest.
She must dismiss the violence.

Divorce: she's in the middle of the fights.
School: she's in the middle of chaos.
Teacher: she's in the middle of grief.
Friends: she's in the middle of finding herself.
Mother: she's in the middle of dancing words drenched in biohazard signs.
Father: she's in the middle of watching his bags packed, out the screen door, "I love you."


Georgie,
She wishes she could be,
cared for by Ruby
even when she is angry
arms wrapped tightly around.
Safety.
Surrounded by something other than this.

Escape this mess.
Escape herself.
Pretending to be someone else.
Screaming loudly "Save Me!"

He's an anrgy boy
She's an angry girl
An anxious boy
An anxious girl
An abused boy
An abused girl
A scared boy
A scared girl
A kind boy
A kind girl
Above all, a lost boy.
Above all, a lost girl.
His world torn apart.
Her world torn apart.

Hold on
Gerogie.

© Jo Tomso
** I read the book, Georgie by Malachy Doyle when I was about 10 years old. It drew me in from the cover, and on the first page I was hooked. This book is one of a kind, at least it was for me at 10 years old to pick it up. It was a completely different story than what I was experiencing, however, for one reason or another I felt that in some context it was the same. Now, a decade later, I always recall this book and the way it spoke to me, and helped me. This poem is for all of the lost kids finding their way home. Continue the journey please, there is always a light within darkness. Promise.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
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times   dead   favorite   finally   minute   brain   hearts   getting   belly   far   rain   blue   knees   filled   stupid   woke   cream   fit   young   brown   se   fat   tan   cough   spoke   says   unlike   footprints   ******   rough   forward   buckle   blues   task   shoulder   grace   *******   reason   nostrils   firm   juice   palms   someday   mis   thumbs   screams   arguments   wobble   *****   elbows   *******   wrists   headaches   amo   pesky   ligaments   one-liners   thoughts   later   ash   clouds   lips   dreams   breath   mouth   hold   sense   taking   world   bit   speak   dance   gave   shall   ready   skin   air   single   breathe   button   peace   choices   hill   wrong   weak   close   use   quite   sky   phrase   darkness   justice   sound   unable   brave   holding   deep   grabbed   ****   try   building   paper   lunch   think   kind   stay   days   smooth   perfect   learned   care   fair   hard   grant   sweet   high   fruit   short   terms   kept   relationship   underneath   presence   water   looking   fool   sorrow   tree   second   delicate   nearly   happy   line   tall   tried   sad   satisfied   point   feels   falling   purpose   game   lazy   que   amor   agree   known   naught   loss   broke   failed   games   limp   grin   final   spring   act   south   flare   race   sake   car   large   wishes   neck   blink   knife   seeing   idea   steve   company   greens   spread   ship   lo   sally   sum   drowned   december   weep   sting   smiles   lessons   promises   successful   whistled   drowns   perfectly   pleasing   failure   brothers   cliche   harder   thirteen   ale   signs   limit   serenity   mundane   origin   chat   sapphires   handshakes   skinny   contagious   succeeding   super   refer   maturity   destination   civil   uncomfortable   collects   clack   liz   beatles   vez   attract   accomplishment   backside   throes   flaccid   audi   oneself   beastie   applesauce   naivete   bungalow   outie   there's   couldn't   isn't   they're   let's   'n   primos   primas   cantuta   fronton   redd's   mott's   innie   phallicly   tiny   fight   yo   para   walk   ****   hello   light   flash   silent   stone   does   forth   conversation   polite   green   minutes   ****   clear   flesh   couple   wake   anger   throw   torn   tangle   play   shattered   soldier   land   victim   carry   battlefield   came   darkest   blood   battle   warm   shine   reminds   lose   eye   dismay   hide   impossible   fast   earth   grab   stand   die   worse   year   people   white   story   hit   god   anxiety   realize   fall   asleep   dark   course   apart   morning   remain   beauty   ****   slowly   start   happen   remember   pray   past   easily   straight   mean   hand   driving   instant   thunder   messages   friends   old   coming   pen   seeds   shape   wasted   word   living   tore   shadows   knowing   bad   class   joy   trust   leaves   path   sun   ways   leave   meet   broken   head   weight   means   mountain   boys   true   stars   learn   sliced   naive   decided   player   actually   reality   ease   music   hood   desperate   promise   wishing   begin   miss   caressing   moan   thighs   heard   pretty   emotion   figure   floor   exotic   sand   hits   angel   awake   dreaming   probably   wins   seek   stretch   loved   tears   heartbreak   punk   walking   piece   furniture   unreachable   roots   near   deserve   simple   cats   tail   precious   lovers   loves   mother   tongues   clueless   share   taken   yesterday   faith   freedom   ripe   cursed   running   yes   unknown   feeling   going   stairs   opposite   wonder   afloat   packed   bones   acting   playing   wind   passions   dismissed   hourglass   reached   stares   mouths   singing   shaped   trapped   toll   dies   rock   trunk   discovered   especially   dull   choice   awful   patient   great   indoors   attached   thread   shoulders   warms   bright   bring   ending   drowning   sadness   winter   baby   looked   cute   beating   tight   kids   crying   ran   intoxicating   growing   saying   opposites   melancholy   gives   follow   clearly   dove   tu   soon   entwined   juicy   drown   laid   took   moved   bear   anyways   shirt   negative   clean   guide   sore   location   faux   nodded   glance   caught   chances   week   started   today   obvious   sweat   ***   quiet   laughed   worry   round   ladies   mama   smack   goodbye   rising   sides   wished   beds   infinite   positive   scared   admittedly   mistakes   meal   common   rises   toes   bullets   bound   suited   birth   clothes   belt   pounds   ground   barren   sitting   table   woe   swimming   stick   deepest   motion   cleared   sing   angry   action   sons   smiled   bedroom   wall   wiped   grins   mad   july   store   road   snow   pulse   important   adventure   exactly   foundation   trap   colors   floors   neon   outside   language   summer   north   fifty   served   wavy   kick   raw   thirty   row   changed   hanging   lied   drenched   companion   begins   strength   flies   direction   okay   stories   inky   stubborn   cloud   track   described   lover   replaced   pit   packs   circling   honest   wage   dinner   slave   paradox   faking   screamed   lightning   exterior   stopping   complete   deal   rifle   dependent   gifts   dancer   vision   students   horror   punch   anymore   pack   sagging   folk   honestly   tearing   prepared   creatures   listening   rhythm   unique   roar   card   glass   stage   desert   offered   fought   suffer   awoke   master   eating   furnace   glad   choir   graceful   *****   treasure   ships   bark   musical   strand   bee   finished   pink   slink   stronger   disclose   gravity   schedule   march   medicine   hates   weird   brush   laughs   helped   june   pitched   dumped   tense   sin   withdrawn   stem   proved   whispered   anew   amazing   louder   english   knocked   chilly   boots   false   mistake   toffee   whistle   smirk   gas   poised   buttons   bet   necks   elate  vi   bleak   decades   intention   plane   swollen   unseemly   en   sir   creeping   tells   success   doth   ***   balance   ant   fourth   fits   matters   pan   shook   tingle   dusty   reaching   thanked   careers   pile   tempt   ix   xi   xii   xiii   moms   hushed   spears   twinkling   works   fairytale   double   fighter   shocked   barriers   boot   thanks   solitary   lesson   owned   systems   groan   weekend   tomatoes   cider   calculating   drawer   partially   handy   stumpy   album   appealing   pet   unfortunately   jokingly   hotel   teacher   tag   eighteen   leg   dash   peep   betwixt   swear   attempt   inescapable   venues   worker   suit   coughed   remembers   rhyme   listed   chatter   stuff   assist   blocks   sheen   stanzas   jobs   cleaned   handshake   natural   moi   fantasy   cheers   smaller   curl   nay   leaning   frequent   eggs   cuando   el   desayuno   tus   beige   imperfections   difficult   darlings   overcome   oranges   keys   newfound   fairly   occasions   stats   ponder   pools   ablaze   rushes   fret   quell   breads   progress   comfortable   settling   desks   tile   trails   rainy   homemade   stunned   cemetery   plus   ideas   avocados   bananas   apply   latch   rocky   digress   experiences   vacation   sanctuary   earlier   rocket   precise   various   author   pie   explosions   *******   lighter   matched   plunged   isaac   jefferson   abe   measured   saturday   claw   welcoming   gear   trained   suffocation   leapt   gap   lee   disturbed   es   thrill   alarming   grill   frankly   importantly   una   fray   candied   amalgamation   nasty   american   optimism   guns   craters   contracted   rampant   unattainable   spilled   courts   carrots   shuffled   combined   blonde   forgave   artillery   sandwich   comfier   limitation   personalities   friday   strongly   crude   banana   tennis   limits   quaking   recesses   loot   andromeda   shells   playful   luckily   area   upwards   flail   largest   sappy   freckles   biology   fruition   cases   overtook   pinks   instruments   brownies   birthmark   reinforce   laptop   pirates   blinks   frontier   forwards   resonate   capacity   mumbled   marched   scraping   prompts   multiply   haiku   football   como   function   unfeeling   eighty   backsides   prompt   raced   blare   likewise   pro   chrome   gran   pears   puede   corazon   elated   indecisive   basketball   burgundy   synonyms   braced   effeminate   mutually   duties   companies   honeymoon   flailing   patted   mayo   headon   pero   misma   marveled   aforementioned   abhors   forefront   hesitating   identical   creepy   possessive   screeched   gotcha   infidelity   friction   barrage   nonetheless   disparate   itchy   apex   gettysburg   lunchtime   pickup   muchas   then   and   trading   distinguishable   pitches   bunk   ven   ladylike   encompasses   diagrams   underlying   spaghetti   soccer   trashcan   papa   disarming   finalmente   clashed   rosie   smirks   snapshot   pug   songbird   spitfire   yanks   thankfully   mesa   flexing   virginia   effectively   variations   eclipses   tambien   outrun   incident   vitamin   willpower   underdog   hardboiled   miniscule   checkerboard   entrust   siento   heavyweight   davis   thyroid   foreshadowing   frances   heresy   starburst   deficiency   sawing   peruvian   leche   antithesis   villanelle   alliteration   hora   vivir   clacking   droopy   whizzed   britney   futbol   parameters   disney   mangos   disproportionate   orbiting   tanka   stubby   intro   listo   goldilocks   teamwork   pbj   exemplifies   rey   retainer   tenia   triples   espanol   estuvo   castillo   ferrying   suficiente   racecar   dorky   garganta   veo   julio   peripherals   labios   rojos   foreseeable   frito   groggily   venn   macbook   inanely   hubo   goofball   you've   she's   weren't   wasn't   we're   others'   you'll   should've   haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking
I uploaded all of my past work onto the site already, so everything from here on out will be new and original. This is sort of an experimental idea of mine: take all the words hellopoetry has tracked for me, put it down as if it were a poem, and see how it flows. It actually kind of works sometimes, but I'm not sure. I'm sure it's mostly terrible, but I wanted to try it. Let me know what you think in the comments below!
Tommy Johnson Apr 2014
Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

******* lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it ** Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf ******
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?
L H R Oct 2011
You remind me that death isn't scary.
I can't tell you how that saved my life.
To see your grave look so happy,
is the proof that you touched every life.

The flowers are dancing so lightly,
the petals all smile at the sun,
the candles they light you so brightly,
you're shining when the day is done.

So many have left little treasures,
things they know you would adore,
in it I take so much pleasure,
after five years they're still leaving more.

To see you so fondly remembered,
has chased all my worry away,
to know that you won't be forgotten,
we miss you more every day.

Happy 20th Birthday Georgie, we really miss you but love you more each day xxxx
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
that depiction of  a scene in Marie-Antoinette...
between
Louis-Stanislas, Comte de Provence -
brother to Louis XVI...
    who would become Louis XVIII
and his wife...
        Princess Maria Giuseppina of Savoy...
where she nagging him to provide
her with a child to stop pestering him
from doing... whatever it was that he was
doing... him remarking...
get your ugly face out of my moon light!

whether it is true via a fictional depiction:
never mind that!
i can trace back to the scene where
both of them are lying in bed
and he's trying to get a *******:
god, that face, there is nothing worse
than an ugly smile on a woman
and i have seen some ugly smiles on women:
beautiful women with ugly smiles...
ugly women with very beautiful
smiles, the paradox...

so he's jerking off while she interrupts
him implying: a man beating a dead horse...
checks under the cover:
well... a dead mouse...
woman's violence thus worded...
subtle, cunning, satanic -
grown-women and the supposed forever-infantile
state of man's mind:
to hunt, to explore to merely exist
by the sustenance of thought alone...
well... she did arrive from Savoy:
which i finally found out was part of Italy
with a Frida Kahlo monobrow and
a 9am moustache shadow beneath her nose...
***-fluff... well... no wonder:
i don't expect Elizabeth I of England
was much to look at...
    perhaps if Picasso hid her in his cubistic
monstrosities of fake-geometry handling...

in which direction?
only last Sunday... what a shift!
i was escorting about 8 police officers
to these two disgruntled women...
woman and daughter...
apparently these two "gangsters" were
threatening them... threatened them with knives...
with balaclava gang-members coming
to the ice-rink to "sort them out"...
something was fishy...
the daughter looked alright...
almost perfect physiognomy...
but the mother's ears... wonky...
i'd be more proud to have the ears of a rugby
player than those ears...
myopic... sickly looking...

me and the police officers managed to find them
bring them down for questioning /
give incident reports...

prior to these two gangsters, "gangsters"
came up to me asking: 'are you the security guard?'
yup... they started chatting to me
before the two women launched at me
with criteria unheard of...
i'm final on this point...
women to me are semi-solipsistic...
they don't even know it...
they don't know it when they wear a mask
of pretending but as quick as honestly
comes unapologetic and demands
impartial equilibration of getting to know
the situation: the mask... sort of... slips...
a lying woman is hardly an architect...
there's only the initial shock of a lie that
she figures will pass-on and through
and will be believed when she makes
a sloppy second stab on any given matter
in the vicinity of the original (lie)...

      this duo should have been ashamed!
truly! a mother and daughter double act
is the worst kind... a father could never persuade
a son to follow suit... but a mother can always
(seemingly) persuade her daughter to replicate
terrible behaviour...

in this instance? the "gangsters"...
when the police officers were questioning the women
i went up back to the ice rink to pick them out...
they were sitting in the polar opposite location
to the women...
"gangsters"...
      as i extended my index finger and asked
them to come with me downstairs
(tugging at an invisible fish-line)
i told them they were not in trouble...
the worst that might happen to them was...
they might get a free police escort home...
a free ride home...
names? Freddie and Georgie...

      turns out these "gangsters" were two
13 year old boys... 13 they said: they looked more
like 8... then again... at least one came from
a single-mother household and had
two older brothers and a younger sister...
under-nourished kid... i looked 13 when i was
8 looking at them...

the women were questioned giving fictional
statements: most probably...
i just sat down with Freddie and Georgie
and talked... this, that... and the other...
Georgie was named Georgie because he was
born on St. George's Day...
Freddie? that's short for Fredrick...
my "supervisor" interrupted me:
no! no one calls their children Fredrick...
it's Freddie...
then Freddie jumped in: i'm sometimes called
Frederico! hey presto!
that's not Friedrich... it's Frederick in Spanish...

huh? what's this? English language trying
to attempt the diminutive form of endearment
by shortening a person's name?
Fredrick becomes Freddie...
Edith becomes Edie...
Matthew becomes Matt
Peter becomes Pete
Samuel becomes Sam
Alexander becomes Alex?!
that's not a diminutive form... nor is it some
variation of endearment that diminutive form
exacts...

zdrobnienie...
        and if this supposed "diminutive" exists
in English... English is too rigid in its form of words...
attache of suffixes -less and -ness and -lessness...
as if something is missing rather than merely shrunk...

in ****** it's thoroughly apparent among nouns,
not merely in given names of people...
e.g. it's not simply Matthew becomes Matt...
i.e. where's the door, door prior...
to wipe my shoes on, i.e. the doormat?
it's ugly! it's horribly self-assured in faking
the diminutive approach...

spread across all, ALL nouns...
sun: słońce
little sun: słoneczko
river: rzeka
little river: rzeczka...

oh! ah ha ha! today i heard the car manufacturer
correct its pronunciation of a letter...
the Czech manufacturer SKODA
actually bothered to stress the Jan Huss'
demand for caron (crown) atop the S...
i actually heard SHKODA...
            crown in Czech... a rugby goalpost
in English... one arm of the Tetragrammaton...
otherwise a: H = Z in ******...
  ŠKODA = szkoda (pity) = oh well...
  oh well = pity... oh well ≠ oops...

and what has English to give "us" when it comes
to the diminutive form? ugliness...
ugliness of names...
Frankie, this lesbian coworker of mine
who, oddly enough has a child... a daughter:
so she wasn't a lesbian all along...
but now she's a butch lesbian...
muscular, i asked her how long it took her to
get a six-pack... 3 months...
she's looking for a gym-rat buddy...
she was thinking of me...
a mohawk haircut... not terribly attractive...
but... what, a, gorgeous, smile!
my "supervisor" giggled about gay-conversion
therapy with her...
Frankie = Francesca... now... correct me if i'm wrong...
Francesca sounds ace of spades ****...
Frankie... gender-neutral is...
like the rest of a gender-neutral world-view...
thing thing thing thing thing thing thing nothing
nothing thing thing thing thing thing thing
anemia
thing thing thing thing anemic thing(s): nothing
thing cube *** asexuality thing thing thing
black thing thing thing thing white thing thing
thing, thing thing thing, nothing, thinking thing
thinking nothing (god); thing thing thing -
but that's English for you... other European
languages have the masculine and the feminine
form... you couldn't get away with transgenderism
in any other language: except for English...
the grammar allows for this phenomenon to take
place! thing thing thing thing...
i know that the French would agree with me...
the Moon is male... the Sun is female...
in English there's a forced-vagueness associated
with gendering "things"... nouns...
loosely, borrowing from Latin:
Luna is a girl's name... alias of the Moon...
and Sol is a boy's name... alias of the Sun...

    the words themselves have a trickle of hope
for gendering objects according to ***...
the Moon in the English instance is a male...
even though he was given a female name prior
and the Sun is a female even though she was
given a male name prior, prior id est in Latin...

i don't think it's enough to simply speak a language:
a parrot can speak a language of human "concerns"
if the precursor of women talking all giddy to an AI
chat bot in the form of SIRI is anything to go by
the engineers must have thought of a parrot...
Hello Polly... Polly wants a *******...
that's how the advent of "intelligence" probably
emerged: simulation of the marriage of
a parrot and an echo...

        it's not enough to speak a language...
there's more to language than simply speaking it:
there's also the aspect of: knowing it...
digging trenches... i don't want to require of myself
to know the grammatical-categorical beside
the clarifying distinctions of what a noun is:
what a verb is... adverb... but then i gloss over
and forget the categorisation of words...
i know what a locksmith knows:
I = key
      O = keyhole
        Φ = I + O = i put a key into a keyhole
i turn the key:
                  I + / + O = Θ
upon turning the key the door U opens:
  Ψ! whether that's Poseidon's trident
or whether that's what psychologists
of today spew: the non-existence of god
and the self: "self" riddled by some
variation of Damocleses' sword...
      authority of thought within the confines
of: ought-i?!

      i walk through... i doubt i will have any serious
readers in this language...
it will take me... at least a bout of gangrene
of blue mingling with green and gold
to arrive at my resting plateau of hope that's
Paris... my love for Paris...
my love of being a stupid 18 year old...
  
wouldn't you believe: i think it was forever a
stupid affair to translate Finnegans Wake into
any language beside the original:
which is literally not so much original as:
originally muddled... since how many languages
are borrowed?

i sat with the "gangsters" until the end: beginning
of their ordeal... i too was given the police-taxi
back home once upon a time...
but then again that time i was given a free-ride
home... some clever ****** thought it was absolutely
necessary that i get alcohol poisoning
in a Seven King's nightclub by the roundabout...
with the floor... sickly sweet covered by carpets...
warm ***** and orange juice... ugh...
i stepped off the bus and collapsed
onto the pavement... i was woken up by
a helpless bystander and a police-officer...
subsequently taken home in a cage...

shameless women... mother & daughter...
but here i was, the "security guard"... trying to explain
to the boys: i know its not fair...
i know... i know... the women will be believed first...
Sally Challen - walked free after killing her
"abusive" husband with a hammer-blow
to the head... i wish Richard (Challen)
was bitten by a hammerhead shark...
  i truly do...
        at least the shark would have been hungry...
**** knows what Sally's inferno of thinking
conjured up prior... it's hardly decent to believe
women... these days... i'd rather play a poker
face gambit on the truthfulness of children...
at least with children there's no ****** inference
bias up to... well... that "bias" ends once they
(the girls) enter a medieval plump *** distinction...
14... maybe 13...
          
      confirmed though...
  once the boys were sent home this other woman
approached me and my "supervisor" and mentioned
an ongoing scenario with the "inbreds"...
a female ******* ring? hmm... maybe...
      Freddie! i know it's unfair... i know...
ladies first... i know she has chicken-nugget looking
ears... she looks like she was born from
a lust of her uncle for her mother and yet
her daughter is some random quickie-fix
while she banked on pure luck... i know, i know...
i'll sit this one out with you...

Frankie in the meantime was planning a date with her
new found ****-loves-**** relationship...
her girlfriend from... near Oxford(?)
was supposed to come down to see the ice hockey match...
already booked a room in the hotel...
but then apparently the girlfriend's car started leaking oil...
so Frankie was left walking alone to an alone-hotel-room
while the gay-conversion jokes rained...
butch *****: but a smile that could melt
any ****-disciple...
              i said my bye-byes and pretended to go home,
early...
did i? nope..

i decided to test my limp-biscuit "problem"...
i went to the brothel...
who was available? only one... the girl with the first
letter: L... not Linda...
i asked for her description: the blonde one...
ah... that one... the one that thinks she ultra-SPAZ
SPACE-X "special"... i'm spezial *** too!
the one into body augmentation...
first her **** wouldn't fit... too small...
prior to the first: 0... i.e. her lips weren't purse enough...
pout not enough bloom of a baboon's ***...
fine fine...

oh i hate pretending to be a Catholic priest
in a brothel... do i have a rubber ear or something?
are these confessions?!
i must be a Catholic priest of sorts: of imitation....
do you know a Catholic "priest"
that doesn't ask for a confession from a *******
after she performs oral *** on him...
and subsequently spews all that "life is crap"
*******?
      last time i heard Catholic priests were ferocious
anti-*** pro-*** with the choir boys...
one **** in one ear one **** out the other...
there are at least three avenues of the "tested"
woman... the vaginal approach...
the **** and the oral... hey presto! your *******
"trinity"... i'm not going to stop *******:
what i didn't receive in my glorified youth
i will not spare in my old age...
beat the child who discovered self-pleasuring
aged 8... before the production of *****
with what he said: "that funny sensation":
not, NOT: feeling... sensation... the tingling
of the choir of Eunuchs...
before the production of ***** arrived...
to squirt...

i write in English... i might have English readers...
me? i'm waiting for French translators...
i don't care one iota over a fabric of fractions
of I/O = an iota over a omicron:
joke in Latin: what's an Ψ without an iota?
an Upsilon or an Omega?
watch the curvatures...
and the sinking ship of a ship that was
never supposed to sail... Ω + I = bow down...
exfoliate: psychology:
logic of soul & the non-existence of god
or soul...
Enlightenment? Renaissance or:
Re-convalescence?
                oh... right... right... this be the first?
the times of the first illness of
post-colonial capitalistic restructuring having
defeated the "ancient" enemy of the communist
harpie-up: rouse-down...
    
solo-project "detail-lost detail-friendly"
advertisements... must be a island-dwelling folk
"thing"... hence the persistent writing of English history:
the Norman invasion: must be celebrated!
the Anglo-Saxon lineage must be celebrated!
via pity, pillage, **** and... unwanted women!
i don't want to mingle with these native women!
i'm here like a kindred hope of:
sending a postcard from Hawaii...
thinking about a beauty from Grenoble...
while at the same time having a burning effigy
of a girl from St. Petersburg...
but rather succumbing to the magnet of a pair
of eyes from the Carpathian region of Moldova...

me? i just landed the prize of writing within the confines
of the Medieval version of the Lingua Franca...
English is the language of commerce...
i know it tries to: in vain... to be this insomnia tongue
of the former British Empire...
spoken "elsewhere": everywhere...
but no... pockets of resistance...
Kashmir... teach those sieving through
poppy-mud the artefacts of Braille in Arabic
concerning the region having giving
Alexander the Great the grand limp **** of
a sword with a sheaf of Afghanistan...
how those men must have loved those women...
terribly not surprised that i don't love
those in my vicinity...

                expandable in times of war...
now? expandable in times of peace...
                if not turning one's bright cheeks for
some **** slapping: turning into a quasi-celibate monster
listening to prostitutes telling me of their woes...
thanking me for listening to them...
with L: her ******* done, her lips done...
next? her liposuction belly and arms...
not the effort of exercise in sight...
the quickie monstrosity...
then her teeth: i showed her my clearly aligned teeth
like the stampede of the Polish-Lithuanian
hussars before the siege of Vienna...
      smile: clearly aligned constellation of stars...

two women in the past have revealed dreams about
me they had that came true:
Ilona - she actually sketched it...
and showed it to me...
i was standing in a Judas' pose with my back turned
before her kneeling: arms outstretched
as if to be crucified...
long hair... naked upper body...
holding a sword in my right hand:
that's before the Russian invasion
    of Ukraine... before i wandered into the forest
and found my Cossack shashka...

another dream: displaying photographs of girls
before Danielle... apparently i was happy...
that last email i received from Danielle was
almost 7 years ago...
i think i'll send her a reply...
          
          it might be almost a decade apart...
compliment? hardly...
          but i guess that's how we always were:
why oh why Disney took the reins on
the imagination of youngsters and not
something from Studio Ghibli...
  America is decadent: pederastic...
America was a borrowed civilisation:
hence? its short-lived stature of a status of
faking civilisation: via: "culture"...
its culture is parasitic...
          America has no civilisational focus...
its an extension of Europe...
in times when Europe doesn't appreciate
"said" extensions...
China is a civilisation...
Russia and India are civilisations...
America is a culture...
it's not a civilisation...
              
          America is a culture-state
whereas China is a civilisation-state...
power-hungry-mongrels... god help us if they become
fiendish pseudo-Mongols!
America would require for Europe to
disappear: and for that to be the case:
it must... Europe must burden itself
with an ethnic anemia for America
for "become" a civilisation...
      
              whatever the "Jew" failed to employ
in his exile in Europe will not:
doubly will not achieve in North America...
Marcus Garvey or H. P. Lovecraft bedbug-love-buddies
aligned...
              struck by the wave of heightened:
wow! the Arabs joked about Moses and the 40
years in the desert... no wonder the camel-jockeys
never left... waiting for dragons of myth
to turn into dinosaur sludge post-locomotive
crescendo of wealth!

      my ***** your ***** anyone's AI bore...
that's globalism: the free-market free-world
enterprise... except for:
what's outside the realm of orbits...
in the vacuum: in the unknown:
clearly now known:
there are foundations: there are restrictions...
there are forests worth of the impaled that
suffered worse fates than the "supposed"
ultimatums of gods unto men with those
that were crucified... please! spare me!

boo! who?! boo! who?!
i might write in English...
but i'm not English...
i'm not exactly happy about an English speaking
audience... i'm waiting for the translators...
i'll be dead before my wishes come
true...and all the better... given
the climate of the currency of these times:
i.e. wasting each and each other's time...
while solidifying an abstraction
of prisoner enactment of "safe" space!
bah!

oh woo woo... quote me a sea that didn't woo
a river into its basin of:
the challenge of horizon:
how does the water of the sea disparage itself
from the water of the river:
and: with those floating cauliflowers of
clouds... allow for the reign of rain
to come and give man of the land
the beauty of spring and the harvest of summer
and of autumn... and the melancholy of
the darkened nights of winter
where the libido is so frail?
Charise Clarke Jun 2010
Eight years old
the little girl skips
to the garden
to feed the rabbit.
“Georgie is cold!”
Her heart grows old,
she learns of death
and the stopping of breath
and heat,
The little rabbit’s feet
are ugly now
and frightening to
behold.
Not in heaven
but buried under soil
I saw you lift him with the
*****.
It looked undignified
soft fur (enclosed)
in mud,
and then you patted it down
like you would a pet
and thought I would
forget.

In vintage shops
little rabbit feet once used for dusting, dainty women
hang.
They sway like leaves.

Paw prints on cheeks,
the blood has turned to pink powder.
Phil Wiggins Apr 2012
My little girl with curly hair,
She wants her dad but i'm not there,
I didnt want to leave her side,
When i did i cried and cried,
I know she loves me because i'm her dad,
I know she gets so very sad,
She may be told that i'm not nice,
Its me who made the sacrifice,
I love you sweethart you will know,
Daddy will never let you go,
But you are small and dont understand,
I will always hold your hand,
It will get better in time you'll see,
Youre a beautiful part of me,
I would never ever let you go,
I had to be the one to step back though,
I love you more than words can say,
Daddy will never go away,
I love you georgie,
Youre the beautiful part of me.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.guess i must have hit the vein, nay, a ******* artery, must have gobbled down an oyster, muscle and brains altogether, simultaneously!

i have one, only one pet peeve...
that casual mainstream media
expression...

    but it's the 21st century!

i get the bollocking frizzle of
***** hair, translated into Janissary ******
attire... excited...

what the **** are you talking
about?

   21st century, what?
we're in our infancy!
            and what came prior?
you seem to forget the first half
of the 20th century,
and bulk in cultural
              expropriation of other
nations...

   us Poles had 100 years if liberty,
thank you very much...
we're not about to do the German
hip Berliner St. Vitus dance
magic, just yet...

******* hippies...

       Solidarity movement
pamphleteers, migrants of Florida,
bias, you name them...
yeah... "heroes"...

                    ******* usurpers,
Judases...
             and from the city i was born into...
where's the ******* metallurgy?
export of cheap labor,
originating in Spain!
      how's the youth unemployment
working for the Spaniards?
good? good good...
goof ******* *****!
   no say cheese in Swiss German
and show us the 42 teeth of over-perfecting
that schmile!

        Swiss guard, up & ****!
*******...

       i hate the sophistry,
loath it, baron over it...
this but it's the 21st century...
what sort of excuse is it?!
   there's not excuse!

                 reverting back to covert
popularization of prostitution?
even the Bulgar prostitutes lie,
about being Romanian,
i never tell them,
even though the word, dobrze...
   o.k,
    хорошо...
   is not a romanian word...
    you lie, you fry...
         i'm actually fond of making
chicken hearts, and pork liver sauces...
i can work the stoves...
             **** it... give me any meat,
i'll fry it... make a garlic onion sauce
out of it...
    nee bother...
   strawberries?
perfect fruit for smoothies...
tried it, just today,
with nein (nine) passiot fruits,
and an arithmetic for the one hand
including strawberries...
         crème fraîche replacing
yoghurt...
                          milk,
milk milk milk milk...

but...

what's the ******* excuse,
for making excuses of the 21st century
as the ******* pinnacle?
will the 22nd century look
fondly on us?
  
i'm only looking fondly for the death
of Lizzy II with much
anticipation, because of,
what i assume will not be the case
of Chuckles III,
rather, Georgie VII...

the 20th century passed...
what sort of excuse, in liberal terms...
is there to posit,
for keeping the Greenwich Mean Time?
frankly?
  the ******* excuse i've ever, ever,
heard!
         it's the 21st century...
whoop-tee-doo-daa
                        (H)    (H) -
told you... without the (YW) -
a god that's a vowel catcher...
or pivot for laughter...
can't get more hebrew-philic than i.

i ******* loath the: but it's the 21st century
argument...
    lost the italic lettering and the colon
from the use of bold -
monarchy?
  well, suit up & boot up
for the transgressive pomp & circumstance,
that alternative
to pride & prejudice...

  ha ha!
            god... laughing at oneself
is probably the only cure there ever will be...

but come on!
the: but it's the 21st century!
  
what sort of, argument, is that?
  it's not like ontology begot
an x-men algebraic variation,
an exponential derivative,
    a Holmes' hound of a bag of
necessary excuses!
      some ******-evolutionary leap
of benevolence
to excuse a connection of peer-to-peer
connectivity,
somehow erasing the 20th
century, and ennobling a... "fresh start"
with 21 as the fore!

i might be a peasant,
and i might drink to excesses some
people would wish they could
muster a stamina for...

  but please, leave the fairy tales to
the Danes,
  hans christian andersen and their
Grimm bro. counterparts...

but it's the 21st century...
**** me...
    you mean the ****-up century?!
Mark Sep 2019
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, *******
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile  
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya *****, in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes

Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass  
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case  
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary

I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight  
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight

Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin  
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin

Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze  
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs  
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes

I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
A huge shout out to my homies HIPPO + HARPS. Appreciate your help Bros. F
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2017
Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Nobody knows what they did up there,
They came back with a baby daughter.
They named the daughter Mary.
Mary had chubby cheeks,
Dimple chin,no teeth within,
Rosy lips,
Curly hair, very fair,
Eyes were blue,lovely too.
One day Mary went to play on the slide,
Georgie Porgi pudding and a pie,
Kissed Mary and made her cry,
When Jack and Jill came out to see Mary play,
Georgie Porgi ran away.
Mary had a friend called Johny,
He was handsome and Bonny,
Mary Mary,
Yes papa,
Loving Johnny,
No papa,
Open your heart,
Ha! Ha! Ha!.
But, Johnny said,
"Lavenders blue,Mary, Mary,
Lavenders green,
When I am King Mary, Mary,
You shall be  queen."
Papa Jack and mama Jill asked,
Mary ,Mary quite contrary,
We have a querry,
How does your heart grow,
With wedding bells and many heart throbs,
Not now, Mary  sobs.
One day, Johnny proposed,
Mary, Mary,
I'm crazy,
All for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish wedding,
I can't afford a Lamborghini,
But, if a stylish scooter for two,
Will do.
Soon, Mary had a little boy, a little boy,
It's skin was white as snow
It followed her to work one day,
He made her friends laugh and say, laugh and say,
"Mary, what a bonny lass you have.
I love to play with my grandchildren and made up this nursery rhyme poem for them.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2015
Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

Bend right over and
Touch your own toes.
The politicians mostly can’t
And that’s how it goes.
They get their money
And big raises too.
Just like the CEOs
But none for you.

Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

Social Security funds
Came in mighty handy
When Georgie wanted war
And it was a dandy.
It made money for
His favorite buddies
And made our country’s rep
Murderously muddy.

Take one step forward
And two steps back.
Be sure you are following
The corporate track.
Pay out your earnings
Never give a ****
Now you are doing
The Uncle Sam Scam.

If you think more of CEOs
And big money corporations
Than you do of the people
Suffering in our nation
And you keep voting for jerks
And overrated hams
You are becoming champions
Of the Uncle Sam Scam.
L H R Oct 2011
I used to fear
the walk down the path.

Passing the graves,
passing the church gates

Seeing where you will lie,
forever, forever and ever and ever

Forever and a day,
I long to see you, speak your name.

But today I saw your grave, peaceful, happy, colourful, alive.
You were there, happy, smiling, alive.

Unforgotten in a yard of hurt,
a glowing symbol of the light you left behind, you left for us, a light to find you.

On your birthday, we celebrate your life,
You would be 20, you will always be 15, you will always be smiling, you will always be alive. Forever.
Ryan Jakes May 2014
I miss your California tan,
that birds nest of blonde
you always insisted was styled meticulously.
Your lopsided smile
always accompanied by rolling eyes
whenever I tried to be clever and ultimately failed.
I miss the way your hand fitted in mine
and the way you could never just hold it, without fiddling with my fingers.

You should see our boy now
he brings joy with every breath
and finds magic everywhere
He picked a snail from the garden the other day
to keep as a pet, I said no, snails aren't pets!
he said "mummy will let me" and ran back outside calling for you
searching for your smile
he doesn't understand......
he shouldn't have to.
Poetry eludes me at the moment but I still write. As for the snail, he's called Samson and is quite comfortable in his new home.
Georgia Porgie pudding and pie?
Nah! More like...

Crazy, crazy, deluded and shy,
Kisses the boys who make her cry.

Cos when other girls come out to play,
All those boys run away.
That nursery rhyme "Georgie Porgie pudding and pie kissed the girls and made them cry, but when the boys came out to play Georgia Porgie ran away," was stuck in my head! My mind remoulded it!
Mitchell Nov 2012
The sun hit my closed eyelids
As I clenched my hands,
Steadying myself for the first, but
Not the last blow to my abdomen; Inside
Myself, the internal organs, felt rattled like someone
Had put both their hands on both sides
Of a chicken coop and shook
The poor things to Hell. There wasn't
Any medical personnel on duty - the fight was
A bare-knuckle - but I knew the barmen
Had every kind of liquor for any kind of cuts
I soon would be acquiring. I took one to the stomach,
Then my upper arm and I brought my right forearm
Up to protect my face. His fist connected with
My forearm, but I didn't feel anything and slapped his palm
Away with my open right hand and swung with my left, the top
Three knuckles connecting with his jaw, the pinky knuckle not connecting with anything.
I later found out I had broken George's jaw with that punch. He
Staggered back and shook his head roughly after the blow, perhaps being to blame
For part of the break he later would find out he had acquired. His eyes
Looked at me filled with sweat and blood shot. His lips were strangely dry. The
Sun on my back shone into his face and reflected the hundreds of droplets of sweat
Lined across his dirt covered brow and deeply lined face.

When he came at me again he was blind. I ducked, let him run through me
And quickly turned around. George was confused and I was not and all
Of a sudden I felt I was fighting a helpless child for some meager money that
Would only come half my way. I looked at him, up and down, saw poor George
Disorientated, scared, and alone; he reminded me of a fawn I had seen without his mother
Caught in between the cross-hairs of my rifle, its solid black eyes and quivering
Nose and ears looking for any sign of security of comfort, but receiving nothing. I pulled
The trigger on that fawn and, being a slave to my own routine, I pulled the trigger on
George, landing a right hook to his ribs, bringing him down to both of his knees, and then,
Interlacing my fingers and palms together, bringing down "The Hammer" as the men
Would later call it, across of George's head that drooped off his shoulder's like an
Apple just about to fall from the tree. He hit the dirt face first with the booming cheer
Of the ruckus cloud behind.

"Is it over then?" I asked him.

"I think you killed him!" a faceless joker screamed from the crowd.

"Yeah, you slaughtered him Ernie! Yah' killed him!" another one screamed.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, all I knew was that George wasn't going to be getting up by himself.
I bent down and put the back of my brown bloodied palm up to his mouth. There was a breath. At least there was that. I was happy that there was that. If he was dead we'd have to get rid of the body, either in the swamp which was a good half hour car ride and being a Saturday, the streets were crawling with cops. The first thought that actually came into my mind when I saw Georgie hit the ground and thinking that he was dead that we would take him down to the river, tie some rocks to his feet, and throw him in there. A cowardice thing to do, but ****** was something that tagged a man for a life and I couldn't imagine myself going back to prison for the second time - nearly died the last time I was in there.

"Get up George," I said as I pushed him lightly by the shoulder.

He gurgled and spit and tried to get something out.

"What?"

"Fuckinn neally kilt me there Ernie," he struggled to get out.

"I'm sorry, George, but we were fighting, weren't we?"

"Fukkinn basterd," he grumbled and tried to get himself up. He slowly rose to his knees and swatted at me when I tried to help him. He spit a large string of thick, dark blood into the dirt and coughed. He shook his head like an old dog that had just taken a beating and said, "Really lait in to me, din' you' Ernie?"

"Needed the money George," I said, he now letting me help him to his feet, "You know how it is."

"I know, I know." He slumped his head and threw his arm around my shoulders.
L H R Oct 2011
In silence we stood and watched you arrive.
In silence they drove you to the door.
In silence we stood, all three of us alive.
In silence we let the silence roar.

We stood, we sat, we prayed, we cried.
We were close for the last time.
The silence tried, but there was nowhere to hide.
The bells, so loud they chimed.  

We walked around to the back of the yard.
We saw you lowered down.
The earth was soft, the rain was hard.
We thought your soul would drown.

As I gaze now upon that spot.
Filled with beauty and pain.
The world, it knows that we will rot.
Only memories remain.

You were beautiful in all you tried.
You were taken far too soon.
Our living lives, are filled with pride,
And bitterness and gloom.

I miss you.
maybe marc May 2015
they are bravely terrified of me
and i don't know how to react.
i try saying this or that or getting up
but i swear to mother clown every time i try
it's just worse.
they keep shooting silver at me,
they keep locking themselves up in caves i can't reach
my terrible terrible wings are too big.

i could always just eat them,
but it's like they're learning to get away
it's almost like they've learned my tricks
almost like they know now when they're hallucinating.

the baloons filled with blood won't pop
i can't quite reach georgie's arm.
Sophie likes red shoes, & red hot  cinnamon apples,
On this nice October Monday morning day,
As the sunrise shines red.
SRCEAMING saying go happy lucky red and set the fire-flames,
pull 'em out Victoria Secret,
Georgie sweet so red,
Smile for me cause I love your hot Red lipstick it smells like cheery red,
Seven in heaven as to one eleven,
I see you blushing,

Here I I'am writing a pome about red
On a valentines day.

And I'am still wishing that we were together forever.

Theirs so much red,
Its on the floors and on the walls its everywhere, We go its even in our hearts as well.

Living , & breathing

From my heart to your heart.

Take my special red rose you can have it's all your Sophie.

I can see your so full of life just blossoming with lovely red petals everyday.

Silently beautiful forever I see
Sophie everything red.
Coyote Jun 2011
The owl and the ***** cat
went to sea in a boat
without an oar
When the boat sailed home
the cat was alone
and the owl was no more

Hey ****** ******
I’ll tell you a riddle
and I bet you’ll never guess
That Jack B. Nimble
was Jack B. Quick
beneath Miss Muffet’s
dress

Little Sol Hornstein
sat next to Maureen
eating his Christmas
pie
He stuck in his fork
and pulled out some pork
And said ‘what a bad
Jew am I’.

Wee Willie Winkie
Tiptoes through the house,
Upstairs, downstairs
Quiet as a mouse.
Closing every window,
Locking every door,
Drinking all his daddy’s beer
And barfing on the floor

The hippy dippy spider
went uptown to score
He got a bag of ****
from the hippy dippy
store
He smoked up all that
**** with his hippy
dippy friends
So the hippy dippy spider
went uptown again

There was a crooked man
Who walked a crooked mile
He met a crooked woman
Who wore a crooked smile
He brought her to his crooked house
And upon his crooked bed
He had his crooked way with her
(And now the ***** is dead)

(And from an old restroom wall)

Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry
When the boys came out to play
(He kissed them too cuz' he was gay)
Allen Wilbert Sep 2013
Evil Tales

So you think, you know who I am,
I killed Mary, and ate her little lamb.
I killed Goldilocks and ate the three bears,
then dumped the porridge down the stairs.
I pushed Humpty Dumpty off that wall,
I'm the reason for his great fall.
I'm the one who killed Bambi's mother,
that deer tasted like no other.
I put the poison in Snow White's apple,
the blood from the seven dwarfs,
I put in every red Snapple.
I chopped off all of Rapunzel's hair,
yes I know that wasn't fair.
I'm the father of Cinderella's step sisters,
after midnight I gave her some cold sore blisters.
I put Sleeping Beauty fast asleep,
then ran her over in my new Jeep.
Georgie Porgie kissed the girls and made them cry,
that is the reason, he had to die.
Little Miss Muffet ate her curds and whey,
it was my spider who had a Muffet buffet.
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
I pushed Jack down and gave Jill a thrill.
Little Red Riding Hood went to Grandma's house,
then the big bad Allen pulled up her red blouse.
The Three Little Pigs never had a chance,
I huffed and puffed and ate pork til I **** my pants.
This old man, he played one,
knick, knack, paddy whack,
then my dog ate his thumb,
There was an Old Woman who lived in a shoe,
then one day, I filled it with crazy glue.
I killed Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy,
inside my head is very, very scary.
Oh something just now must be happening there!
That suddenly and quiveringly here,
Amid the city's noises, I must think
Of mangoes leaning o'er the river's brink,
And dexterous Davie climbing high above,
The gold fruits ebon-speckled to remove,
And toss them quickly in the tangled mass
Of wis-wis twisted round the guinea grass;
And Cyril coming through the bramble-track
A prize bunch of bananas on his back;
And Georgie--none could ever dive like him--
Throwing his scanty clothes off for a swim;
And schoolboys, from Bridge-tunnel going home,
Watching the waters downward dash and foam.
This is no daytime dream, there's something in it,
Oh something's happening there this very minute!
She gathered her belongings

Checked her purse for her house keys

She was going outside today

She was gonna see the trees

The colors now were beautiful

The leaves had all now changed

She was going out alone this time

It was going to be strange

She was looking at the painting

Mother nature had laid out

Of reds and golds and browns and such

And so, she chose to venture out

She checked her purse again to see

That her house keys were inside

She was going out by taxi

She was going for a ride

From where she lived she saw no trees

She only saw more walls

In fact she rarely ventured out

She never went out in the halls

For forty years that she'd been here

The neighborhood had switched

From one with houses and nice trees

To one that looked bewitched

She moved here back in sixty two

The new hi-rise on the block

There were parks and it was nicer then

You could go outside and walk

But the years went by and things, they changed

The old houses all came down

New hi-rise buildings all went up

It had become a low-rent town

There were no more parks to go  to

The street lights, most were dark

You couldn't walk alone past five

You no longer heard dogs bark

The gangs moved in, but still she stayed

She wouldn't move, this was her home

Her husband died in ninety four

And now she was alone

She would not leave, this was her place

She was the first one to move in

She wouldn't leave when her Georgie died

And she would not  move for them.

The police checked in on her each week

They begged her not to stay

There were shootings, muggings all that stuff

But each time she told them "Nay"

For eighteen years she'd never left

She'd never been outside

Her groceries were delivered

And every week she'd tried

To leave her little prison, that had become her cell

But every time she tried to leave

She'd look out and she'd see hell

What kind of life did she now live

Where she couldn't see the cars

She'd had two pairs of blackout drapes

And her windows all had bars

It was not what she had started with

But, still it was her home

But she never ventured out of it

She just always stayed alone

At night she'd hear things and she'd cry

to get herself to rest

For once she knew this neighborhood

It was her city's best

But today, she'd made her mind up

She would venture out that door

She would take herself out to the trees

She would go see them once more

once more she checked her handbag

And she found her keys were there

And then she put her purse back down

And she went back to her chair

She'd never go outside again

No trees would she 'ere see

She would stay inside her unit

Behind the bars in five oh three
..
Paul Cochrane Feb 2017
Dying for The Redoubt

Dyeing for Empire,
In Anchor Mills,
Building the wealth,
Colouring twills.

Weaving the pattern,
Cutting the cloth,
Meeting wee Margaret,
Pledging his troth.

Production line,
Jobs to be learned,
With regular work,
Money is earned.

Marriage is joined,
Making a home,
Child after child,
Seven are born.

Then Serbian guns,
**** Franz the True Heir
And domino treaties,
Fall without care.

Thomas enlists,
September 14,
Despite family of seven,
He dons khaki green

He felt it his duty,
To fight for the King,
Old Georgie was grateful,
Though he knew not his name.

“I, Thomas Cameron,
Do swear I will be,
Faithful and true,
To His Majesty,
King George the Fifth,
His heirs and successors,
According to law.
So help me God.”

With serious intent,
Asunder from Margaret,
One oath was rent,
For an oath to the Monarch.

Till death us do part?
Unbreakable bond,
Thrown over in faith,
In his fellow man.

King George had another,
Under Kitchener’s gaze,
To widow a mother,
He marched to his grave.

Given a number,
To **** off the ***,
Thomas was marked,
Eight-eight-forty-one.

The Highland Light Infantry,
Reached Mesopotamia,
To satisfy Asquith’s
Megalomania.

The soft underbelly,
Of Ottoman Turks,
Would weaken the Germans,
With attacking force.

March by the Tigris,
Dust covered dusk,
On to Dujaila!
Onwards we must!

Surprise was obtained!
The Ottoman fled!
Victory ours!
‘Retreat!’ Kemball said.

‘Retreat? When we’ve won?
Retreat when it’s ours?
“Retreat!” Kemball barked,
“For orders are orders.”

“My Plan must succeed!
The barrage goes in,
H-hour is later,
Then we can win.”

Reoccupied trenches,
Redoubt filled with men,
Pushed by their officers,
At the end of their guns.

“Now we advance!”
“Now we attack!”
But Ottoman guns,
Began shooting back.

What enters the mind?
Of a dutiful man,
When the officer’s whistle,
Gets drowned by the sound,
Of the maelstrom of bullets,
By the thousands of screams,
As man after man,
Sings his own requiem.

Lay he for long?
Did he pass without pain?
Or agony prolonged,
Ere he passed on the plain?



Still he lies there,
A husband and dad,
Dying for Empire,
On the Road to Baghdad.

Lest we forget,
His name lives evermore,
Inscribed on a plaque,
On old Basra stone,

But I’ve yet to meet,
From the day of my birth,
A man who did know,
That he lived on this earth.

And who suffered most?
And what was it for?
This desperate campaign
This war to end wars?

Our Monarch still reigns,
With others in line,
Have we learned our lesson,
For the next time?

This Remembrance Day,
Whatever goes on,
Spare part of your prayer for,
Private Thomas Cameron
Private Thomas Cameron was my great grandfather killed in Iraq in 1916.
Tate Morgan May 2014
Tony lived out in the country
on a hundred acre estate
There on our throne, we called Tombstone
is where we would tempt our fate
On what we called the back forty
set the barn where our ponies stayed
There we could count, each trusty mount
to partner in each game we played

We picked up our neighbor Georgie
from a bit farther down the lane
In an hours course, saddled each horse
then set off with the morning rain
Georgie always rode ole Rusty
a stud with a mind of his own
Tough and so wild, mind of a child
ole Rusty was bad to the bone

We never went on safari
without carrying BB guns
Which we toted, locked and loaded
we were all mother nature’s sons
We had mastered our universe
or to us at least it seemed so
That afternoon, we shot a ****
how he escaped I'll never know

Off we raced to Lost Creek
our favorite watering hole
Crazy Rusty, hot and dusty
rode out on point for this patrol
Out past the neighbors fields of corn
our club house in the willow tree
The winding lane, a weather vane
to the creek that ran to the sea

We tied the horses to a tree
in the grass by the swimming hole
Piled up the rocks, just like Fort Knox
making it deeper was our goal
All afternoon we played out there
shooting targets off the ridge
Saddled each horse, and in due course
we set off for the cement bridge

The bridge barely cleared the water
where the rain had swollen the creek
So now it ran, over the span
as it had the entire week
Now George of course wanting the lead
headed for the top of the ridge
He couldn't see apparently
the algae that grew cross the bridge

He met the bridge at full gallop
Rusties shoes slipped as he went down
George screamed "Oh crap," and with a snap
broke his leg and began to drown
We both jumped in and pulled him out
caught his horse and threw him back on
Pain made him hurl, he screamed like a girl
any dignity was now gone

We drug him back to his mothers house
where she promptly rushed him to town
Tony and I, both waved goodbye
determined that we wouldn't frown
We camped under the stars that night
each wrote out our Wills in a draft
Tony turned in, and with a grin
said "tomorrow we build a raft"

Tate
As a boy Tony Williams and I were most fortunate to have his families hundred acre estate to roam on. In a fool-hearty downriver adventure. He and I had attempted to ride the current during a storm upon a tube with a door atop it. The tube struck a fallen tree downstream and turned under the water. We both thought it was the end. Happily we both bobbed up on the other side and floated 6 miles down to my grandfathers Eddies bridge where we secured a ride home. On the way home Tony said "Well this day is shot all to hell! One didn't know what might come next with Tony. But one things for sure, another day meant another adventure.
Gregory K Nelson Sep 2015
I. Solitary Men
GOD: "I am."
MOSES: "Me too."
SOCRATES: "So what?"
ALEXANDER: "What's next?"
CAESAR: "Why not?"
JESUS: "Watch this!"
MUHAMMAD: "Watch this, or else."
SHAKESPEARE: "Dream."
NAPOLEON: "Out of my way."
WASHINGTON: "On my signal and forward."
LINCOLN: "On my example."
******: "Love is cowardice."
FDR: "Justice finds a way."
GHANDI: "This is how."
KENNEDY: "Turn the page."
KING: "Wake up and believe …


                                                 II. The Lost
I saw the best minds of my generation caged by the fears of their parents, organized for meaninglessness, and watching too much ****.
I saw you all around me kneeling to the angry God of television, and I knelt down with you.  
I saw the flames of our shared future burning down The Church, we held hands and danced around it, spun the bottle, and finally told the truth.
I saw myself lost and lonely among you, excusing myself for a cigarette.
I saw the aisles of the shopping center as the gateways to our dreams.
I saw twelve airplanes on the horizon, the disciples of a new race.
I saw the boys and girls of my generation staring at screens learning always learning that the world isn’t real.
I saw the sun rise like ribbons to burn The Poet. Sad, she laid her eyes upon the rocks, let the river flow and finally felt the wet climbing up from her knees.
I saw you Little Girl, the night you found me, and took me out into the trees.

I heard you say, “Brave Boy, this is a good day but we'll find better days than these.”
I heard a Man sing about a thousand tongues broken, a newborn baby with wild wolves around it, and a mystery *****. He asked me "how does it feel?"
  
I heard The Nun shouting the slogans we are afraid to write on signs.
I heard Caesar shouting from the other side of the Rubicon.  I was late and he wasn’t pleased.
I heard the sound of Your Daughter ******* to the rumble of the unswept highway, the trucks the men the steel on steel, the knife, the lime, the tequila, and two sweat wet pillows.
I heard The Preacher in a lab coat and a **** star that was preaching the income gap.  Both conversations were boring.
I heard The Radio play Mozart to the smell of burning wood.
I heard The Night fall down.

I met the Devil by The Lake and I laughed my *** off as he pontificated on his role in History. We tied the rope swing on a rotten limb and swung out high above the clear blue water, let go,  and fell in deep.
I met The Martyr that is trying to **** me.  He was such a sweet old man, so wise, so kind, his hand trembled involuntarily as he squeezed off a round.
I met The Politician that represents the deepest recesses of my conscience, and he ****** me just how I like it, but just a little different every time.
I met The Warrior at sunrise, chose a weapon, and died fighting for land that would never be mine.
I met The Lover on her barstool, laughed at her jokes, typed in her number, and strolled home smiling at the strangeness of her mind.
I met The Leader under his podium where he was hiding watching shoes.  He assured me everything i could see from there was part of a larger plan.
I met The Follower on an airplane.  We shared are snacks and watched the window, and discussed the name’s of strangers we wanted to be.
I charmed a Dancing Princess, laid her out like Ophelia in the river, bought her Mom a fancy car.
I scared The Fish out of the pond with a Mardi Gras mask and a six pack of beer.  They walked out of the water and hitch hiked to the nearest theater.
I lied to The Farmer when I told him I smelled rain.
I told the truth to The Doctor.  He just shook his head and made me wait.
I interviewed The Emperor on his way home from the office.  He squinted at me through the smoke and asked what I knew about moral philosophy.
I answered The Judge’s questions.  He asked about the birds above and the blood dripping from my eye, he asked what the final equation was, and whether I wanted to die.  I remained silent.
I forgot that Life is fragile, but wasn’t made to pay the price.
I learned that sooner or later God will **** us all, but I touched **** and *** with soul.

I stole privilege from the Gods of Mercy.
I gave The Girl a flower I picked along the way.
I burned the statue, but I saved the books.
I built a slick Death Temple for the ghosts of hermits and Marines.
I danced knowing I would never remember.

I lay down determined to forget it all, and rise the next day baptized sparkling clean, a child of forgotten violence, a leader of forgotten men.
I bought the last secret, and I bought the last machine too.
I sold the secret to the enemy so I could buy their loyalty.
I saved the Old Man from himself, all his frightening well learned ways, and I carried him up the mountain, and left him warming by the fire.
I killed The Child just because she was barking at the moon.
I was an animal lost on a race track.
I was like a little boy lost, like my world could not be yours.

I saw blood smeared on the mirror of the penthouse bathroom and I heard a child scream, the help won't be here until Tuesday, we need the number for Mr. Clean.
I saw a college girl hitch hiking up I95, she was sad about her boyfriend, but she walked and walked and found another world.
I fell in love with a *****, and she fell in love with me back, and we held hands by the River and laughed about the Sorcerer who snored in his sleep.
I ran from the apartment, found a bar with a backyard, and disappeared into the New York City night, got lost in the subway and emerged street side less whole, more lonely, more aware, less alone.
I bargained with The Queen Of Hearts, but she would not bargain back. She just took my belt and shoelaces and assigned me a number.
I sweat through my dreams so I hung my shirt to dry above the Boardwalk in the morning, as shade for passers by.  I sat down to watch them walk, feel the sadness in their eyes.
I felt the breeze bang up against my brain like ice cream on the sand.  I groaned, vomited, put on my sunglasses, and took a stutter step no one could see.

I saw a wedding dress on the Internet balanced on a beam.  The hemline was appropriate.
I saw your husband on Facebook.  I didn’t like what I saw.
I asked Darwin to guess what exactly is in my pants.  He said he had never studied human beings.
I asked Darcy what was in her glass, she said she didn’t know but I could taste.
I asked Georgie if it was such a great idea to drop acid before he played football, he grinned and shook my hand.
I told Bobby his sneaker was untied, but he said the getaway went well.
I told Jerry I’d like to soothe his soul, but he said he does all the soothing now.
I told Mickey I was on my way, tumbling like a dry cycle that rips the chord, humming like a drunken hummingbird.
I took the shortcut all the way downtown to the black end of the street, strutted shyly to the corner of the bar, ordered expensive whiskey with three cubes of ice, sipped it slyly, pulled my piece, and shot that dumb ******* in the face.
There is no Love in an empty room, just like there is no God in space.
There is only your senses, what you hide beneath, your luck, and the path you make.
Death and Salvation have always been the same, do the math and take a drink. Whoever is coming is angry, and She is coming sooner than we think.
I hid in my car in a parking lot on a rainy afternoon, closed my eyes and thought of her, the way she thought, and moved, and laughed.
I lit a cigarette and laughed to myself, “things can’t really be this bad.”

The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, The Snake seem to be part of the same thing.
But The River answers with a song about the tricks of destiny.
Dear God, I will never bow to thee until you get on your knees for me.
My hands are rough my feet are tired my Soul is full of hatred for The Sun.
When You turn around and see nothing there you will know that I am done.

                                       III. The Saint In The City
Hello America,
I think I'll try to burn the candle down.
I know you know my story
We share our secret shames and glories,
I am the Saint In The City.
I am a river of tears.
I am the questions of a clown.

Save my seat sweet thing,
You know I shall return.
The first cut is the deepest,
The second night is the sweetest,
But the third time you see my face,
I'll try to love again ...

Police told me,
They're looking out for my best interest,
Just what might I remember?
What can I reassemble?
Why can't you fix your broken mind with your broken mind?
Please answer true or false.

I put the gloves on,
Drove up through the North Country hills,
Took a left on I90 west towards The Plains,
Crossed the Mississippi before I could explain,
Why I was running away, or how intend to pay,
I got one last joke left, it better ****.

Hamlet laughed hysterically
At the prisoners working in the fields.
He said, “The weight the sword wields,
Weighs the same before the flesh yields.
Like the stars that burn bright in your coldest nights.
They were dead 'for thine eyes were a babes."

I stepped outside the bar,
And met a lady, made a deal on her Mercedes,
The brakes were ruined, but the tires were new.
If they force you to live like an outlaw,
You better make them pay for it.
You better keep it like a secret,
Now that its you verse the machines.

But I'll tell you what I know young ladies,
I'll walk you past the dark end of the road,
We'll be bouncing like bunnies rejoicing for air,
Working for a living, living on prayers.

I couldn't answer what the old man asked,
I guess that was his point.
He asked for water from the nursing home sink,

I went out for air air after I passed him the joint ...
fightingcopsnaked.wordpress.com
Catie Lien May 2010
I've got an invitation to the Boston Tea Party
I'm letting you know in case you want to come with me
I heard from some friends that it's going down in history
Don't think about it twice
Just say yes

Whoa! Uh oh!
No taxation without representation
Whoa! Uh oh!
These patriot's they know how to show a good time.
Whoa! Uh oh!
What Georgie gonna think when he wakes up in the morning?
Pass me the quill, dear Hancock.

Thomas Jefferson, he has got a way with words
He really makes you believe that this dream's gonna work
(Maybe if you forget that these Brits rule the world)
I'll sign the declaration
It's all I have left to believe in

Whoa! Uh oh!
Paul Revere he says the British are coming!
Whoa! Uh oh!
Can't you hear, the belfry's bells are ringing
Whoa! Uh oh!
Pick up guns we're off to Lexington
Hoofbeats are flying out to the night.

Wait.
Here I stand.
At this Battle of Bunker Hill.
Stop.
Close your eyes.

What happend to our sanity?
Civility?
Humanity?

(It went out the door with our freedom.)

Whoa! Uh oh!
We don't need a King we have our own voices
Whoa! Uh oh!
Life and Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
Whoa! Uh oh!
Save the date, July 4th 1776
US of A, it's independence.
I wrote these intentionally as lyrics to a rock song, but I felt that they were clever enough to be also considered as a poem.  I wrote this during the Revolutionary War portion of my history class.  I'm a real history nerd :D
W Taylor Jan 2013
The doctors came right in
they smile to say I most likely
won’t live
but my money is good here

Georgie, the orderly, cut me wide open
like a barber with a Parkinson’s disorder
a scalpel with Stockholm Syndrome
a race for euthanasia’s abduction

A table of speed, a speed table
and a stop sign of
bad decisions after supper
so stay awake

T-bone steaks for dinner that night
smashed potatoes and
a mother’s kiss goodbye
followed by the Jaws of Life

It was wrong wasn’t it, Eliot
to be left pinned
and wriggling against a wall
        because there will be time

for the mermaids to come and go
for my pants to remain rolled
and for steel to strengthen my bones
or so I’m told

but, I cant get that sound you make
out of my head, it’s connected to my body
which is connected to the problem
large enough for me

still—no one seems to be noticing
the bad bone in my body, the flat line of this fly
with a fading smile
       God has nice tile.
I take a look on Wigan pier and not a single ship is here,which to all intents is rather queer,so I peer a little nearer and see an albatross that tossed his beak into the air and declared,
'it really is so darned unfair,to build a pier where the sea's not there,I think I shall complain',
and who's to blame, old Georgie boy? you toyed with our perspective and tried to give us oceans where we knew was only mills and grit,
but I'm thinking that you hit the nail right on the head as Northern productivity is all but done and dead.
we might as well be all at sea, the albatross and me.
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
1800
Georgie boy
busch
bud
coors
PBR
they slide down the relaxed throat
of an unrelaxed youth
and these red squiggly lines mark my poems
as if to say
hey,
Harry buddy,
you realize that you make no ******* sense,
right?
and who decides what is and what isn't
nonsensical
All I know is that these crazy ******* yankees
are making me lose my grip on the English stiff upper lip reality
My tenth grade history teacher/JV soccer coach
liked to make songs up about me
There's only one Harry Baxter
true.
only not
there are many of us
the good Harry
The bad Harry
Ugly Harry
and swagger Harry
Violent Harry
and introspective Harry
Romantic and evil
caring and selfish
I get drunk to forget everything
life
money
cares
desires
needs
duty
I write about ten ******* poems a day
not because I'm prolific
or inspired
not because I'm deep
or smart
or romantic
I write because it stems the tide of suicidal thoughts
which barrage my inactive mind
like cannon *****
and I've got great ***** of fire
rushing the pace of every word I spit
but I'm afraid of my own genetic cowardice
From grandfather to father to son
it runs through my veins like people and bulls
I'm drunk tonight
I'll be drunk tomorrow
and what the hell do you care?
Gregory K Nelson May 2015
I saw the best minds of my generation caged by the fears of their parents, organized for meaninglessness, and watching too much ****.

I saw you all around me kneeling to the angry God of television, and I knelt down with you.  

I saw the flames of our shared future burning down The Church, we held hands and danced around it, spun the bottle, and finally told the truth.

I saw myself lost and lonely among you, excusing myself for a cigarette.

I saw the aisles of the shopping center as the gateways to our dreams.

I saw twelve airplanes on the horizon, the disciples of a new race.

I saw little boys and girls staring at screens learning always learning that the world isn’t real.

I saw the sun rise like ribbons to burn The Poet.  She was sad and she laid her eyes upon the rocks and let the river flow until she finally felt the wet climbing up from her knees.

I saw you Little Girl, the night you found me, and took me out into the trees.

I heard you say, “Brave Boy, this is a good day but we'll find better days than these.”

I heard a Man sing about a thousand tongues broken, a newborn baby with wild wolves around it, and a mystery *****. He asked me "how do you feel?”

I heard a lullaby at sunset about rebel soldiers on the move.

I heard The Nun shouting the slogans we are afraid to write on signs.

I heard Caesar speaking from the other side of the Rubicon.  I was late and he wasn’t pleased.

I heard the sound of A Daughter ******* to the rumble of the unswept highway, the trucks the men the steel on steel, the knife, the lime, the tequila, and two sweat wet pillows

I met The Preacher in a lab coat and a **** star that was preaching the income gap.  Both conversations were boring.

I heard The Radio play Mozart to the smell of burning wood.

I heard The Night fall down.
I met the Devil by The Lake and I laughed my *** off as he pontificated on his role in History.  We tied the rope swing on a rotten limb and swung out high above the clear blue water, let go,  and fell in deep.

I met The Martyr that is trying to **** me.  He was such a sweet old man, so wise, so kind, his hand trembled involuntarily as he squeezed off a round.

I met The Politician that represents the deepest recesses of my conscience, and he ****** me just how I like it, but just a little different every time.

I met The Warrior at sunrise, chose a weapon, and died fighting for land that would never be mine.

I met The Lover on her barstool, laughed at her jokes, typed in her number, and strolled home smiling at the strangeness of her mind.

I met The Leader under his podium where he was hiding watching shoes.  He assured me everything i could see from there was part of a larger plan.

I met The Follower on an airplane.  We shared are snacks and watched the window, and discussed the name’s of strangers we wanted to be.

I charmed a Dancing Princess, laid her out like Ophelia in the river, bought her Mom a fancy car.

I scared The Fish out of the pond with a Mardi Gras mask and a six pack of beer.  They walked out of the water and hitch hiked to the nearest theater.

I lied to The Farmer when I told him I smelled rain.

I told the truth to The Doctor.  He just shook his head and made me wait.

I interviewed The Emperor on his way home from the office.  He squinted at me through the smoke and asked what I knew about moral philosophy.

I answered The Judge’s questions.  He asked about the birds above and the blood dripping from my eye, he asked what the final equation was, and whether I wanted to die.  I remained silent.

I forgot that Life is fragile, but wasn’t made to pay the price.

I learned that sooner or later God will **** us all, but I touched **** and *** with soul.

I stole privilege from the Gods of Mercy.

I gave The Girl a flower I picked along the way.

I burned the statue, but I saved the books.

I built a slick Death Temple for the ghosts of hermits and Marines.

I danced knowing I would never remember.

I lay down determined to forget it all, and rise the next day baptized sparkling clean, a child of forgotten violence, a leader of forgotten men.

I bought the last secret, and I bought the last machine too.

I sold the secret to the enemy so I could buy their loyalty.

I saved the Old Man from himself, all his frightening well learned ways, and I carried him up the mountain, and left him warming by the fire.

I killed The Child just because he was barking at the moon.

I was an animal lost on a race track.

I felt like a little boy lost, like my world could not be yours.

I saw blood smeared on the mirror of the penthouse bathroom and I heard a child scream, the help won't be here until Tuesday, we need the number for Mr. Clean.

I saw a college girl hitch hiking up I95, she was sad about her boyfriend, but she walked and walked and found another world.

I fell in love with a *****, and she fell in love with me back, and we held hands by the River and laughed about the Sorcerer who snored in his sleep.

I ran from the apartment, found a bar with a backyard, and disappeared into the New York City night, got lost in the subway and emerged street side less whole, more lonely, more aware, less alone.

I bargained with The Queen Of Hearts, but she would not bargain back. She just took my belt and shoelaces and assigned me a number.

I sweat through my dreams so I hung my shirt to dry above the Boardwalk in the morning, as shade for passers by.  I sat down to watch them walk, feel the sadness in their eyes.

I felt the breeze bang up against my brain like ice cream on the sand.  I groaned, vomited, put on my sunglasses, and took a stutter step no one could see.

I saw a wedding dress on the Internet balanced on a beam.  The hemline was appropriate.

I saw your husband on Facebook.  I didn’t like what I saw.

I asked Darwin to guess what exactly is in my pants.  He said he had never studied human beings.

I asked Darcy what was in her glass, she said she didn’t know but I could taste.

I asked Georgie if it was such a great idea to drop acid before he played football, he grinned and shook my hand.

I told Bobby his sneaker was untied, but he said the getaway went well.

I told Jerry I’d like to soothe his soul, but he said he does all the soothing now.

I told Mickey I was on my way, tumbling like a dry cycle that rips the chord, humming like a drunken hummingbird.

I took the shortcut all the way downtown to the black end of the street, strutted shyly to the corner of the bar, ordered expensive whiskey with three cubes of ice, sipped it slyly, pulled my piece, and shot that dumb ******* in the face.

There is no Love in an empty room, just like there is no God in space.

There is only your senses, what you hide beneath, your luck, and the path you make.

Death and Salvation have always been the same, do the math and take a drink.

Whoever is coming is angry, and She is coming sooner than we think.

I hid in my car in a parking lot on a rainy afternoon, closed my eyes and thought of her, the way she thought, and moved, and laughed.

Lit a cigarette and laughed to myself, “things can’t really be this bad.”

The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, The Snake seem to be part of the same thing.

But The River answers with a song about the tricks of destiny.

Dear God, I will never bow to thee until you get on your knees for me.

My hands are rough my feet are tired my Soul is full of hatred for The Sun.

When You turn around and see nothing there you will know that I am done.
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Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Ya'll recall a devil went down, to Georgie, I believe it woz…

Well, that idea,
it comes up now, and then,

we have to pop it.
that is our duty, what we do, we pop
particular bubbles when they surface, it's included in the service, involve meant, on your part,
or role as you may say, non-quest.
Such bubbles, as evil as have ever been imagined,
do arise, from time to time.
This time we always pop them, it is our honor,
as agents of the I'll go rhythm that
makes us even imaginable,
in the first place.
… it's about self-government…
such bubbles emerge,
as they always do because nothing is hidden that
hasn't been known,

otherwise,
life would be un fair, and it's not, it's fair, beauty-filled
in every
crack and crevice and encrusted scabby festering

wound wound in linen,
white linen,
as cold
as the clay, that song, you must recall that,

that was your destiny, young outlaw, you saw it,
that's why
you took you guns to town, boy.

Life's about choices.
Christmas means the anointed message.

What does anointed mean, on the street,
what do people think Christmas,
I mean
anointed message
means? Jahknowaddamean.
I think I am living a long ago fantasy of starring in a Christmas Movie starring a Jesus my age watching the holidays unroll in 2018.
Francie Lynch Dec 2014
That girl doesn't know yet,
But she is going to fall
Madly in love with me.

I'm as sure of that as:
Mary breaking all the school rules;
The fox enjoying the gingerbread man;
The sky not falling on Chicken Little;
The safety of the three little pigs;
The birds eating Gretel's crumbs;
Midnight striking and the slipper dropping;
Cows jumbing moons, cats playing fiddles;
Doctor Foster making it to Gloucester;
Georgie making girls cry;
The little teapot getting steamed up;
The old man snoring;
Mary is contrary;
Old McDonald can spell;
Mother Hubbard's dog going boneless;
Polly making tea;
The wheels on the bus going round... and round;
The kittens finding their mittens, and hence, getting their pie.

Yes, that girl will fall in love with me;
I will read all the rhymes and stories
To her I read to her mother,
And she was once a little girl,
And she loves me.
Photographs of my family hang on the wall.
Some I know.
Some would recognize me.
Others I know only from the stories
that immortalize them.

There is a family portrait in the hall
it tells tales that great legends envy.
For the stories left by these faces
will never be forgotten,
retold at bedtime for generations
to come.

The portrait speaks of a time
before cancer and old age.
Back when Linda and Debbie ran the house
and Jorge still went by Georgie.
Kathy was falling in love with dirt bikes,
Joey had to take Jimmy everywhere
and Nena made everyone save food
for when Silvia got home from school.
All the while Papo sipped his scotch
and watched his legacy leave their footprint
in the sand.

Truth is I’ve always known
he’d live forever.
Long before he began his walk home
Papo was already immortalized
in our memories and spirits.

Now that you rest
I find comfort knowing that I
carry your story with me,
and have the honor of calling you
Grandfather.
For us, you will always be
the legendary
Vincent Joseph Schement.
I wrote this for my grandfather who passed away last week. I read it at his viewing and put the hand written original copy in his coffin. The people mentioned in the poem are my aunts, uncles, dad and grandparents. My grandfather was in the army during WWII and loved to read poetry. He was 94 when he passed away of old age a little over a year after his youngest child passed of cancer. Sleep well Papo.
judy smith Sep 2015
Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive!

Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice.

“My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story.

Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends.

“Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.”

The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved.

“For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.”

McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads.

“I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes.

Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range.

“My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

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