"goer" poems
I'm surprised we're having a picnic on the east wing!
Our company almost never gives us anything!
Underpaid with no benefits makes this picnic even better
To think I was going to give in my resignation letter
With so many hamburgers, hot dogs, and more,
It's a fast food restaurant galore!
A table packed full with yummies.
Today, a lot of beef will be in tummies.
People reaching for their plates
The caterers come out of their waits
One by one, they serve each voracious goer
For a pay that probably couldn't get any lower
Janice comes, with her broken polish and nails
And a scream a joy echos out like whales
She's so drunk, oh my god haha she's so wired
It's the unpaid overtime or another threat of being fired
Poor thing... we finish our girl talk
and problems on my mind, I begin to walk
Feeling my appetite begin to poke me,
I bite into my hamburger with resounding glee
Nipping the bread, it's fluff presses against my lips
I close my eyes, as my senses go in dips
The precious aroma of divine baked bread
As my tongue and bun are set to wed.
Each bud met with delicious waters of steak
The ketchup creating a dreamy, saucy lake
Scrumptious, delicious
Incredible, nutritious...?
It doesn't matter, I've met my goal
And the taste, goodness it makes my mind roll
Forgetting everything while I finish the rest
Golly, this food is the best
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
I lie awake.
The half moon,
whose soft white shine
invades my room
and makes the tears that rest on my cheeks sparkle;
illuminates half of my face
so that the moon and I
can become a whole.
Only me
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside goes the party-goer
-knackered and filled with a portion of fresh memories
that won't be found in the morning-
to his rest.
Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside stumbles the drunkard
-with repressed thoughts and events
that he couldn't erase out of his memory by a bottle-
to his end.
Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside staggers the broken one
-with blood that’s drowning in wine and as red as the lips of the woman he tries to forget-
to his death.
Only he
and the silence of 2 AM.
L.T.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
Bridget the ******
the dwarf who loves *******
Bridget the ******
she comes when she's *******
She'll open her short legs
for a tenner or so,
and if you pay less
she'll still have a go.
She loves a good *******
both active and passive;
Believe me, her botty
-hole is quite massive.
Bridget's a goer,
always ready for more;
She's a fat ugly ******
and a little fat *****
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
283
A Mien to move a Queen—
Half Child—Half Heroine—
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear—
Its frequent Visitor—
A Bonnet like a Duke—
And yet a Wren’s Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by—
And Hands—so slight—
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment—
A Voice that Alters—Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow—
Or shift supreme—
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem—
Too small—to fear—
Too distant—to endear—
And so Men Compromise
And just—revere—
2.6k
Forgiving heart, precious gift from our father God
Image of the lord, can you be like your father God
Image of the lord, forgiving one another is your health in this world.
Painful heart, source of devil words, what a cruel world.
Please, please, learn to forgive and stay away from the devil.
I tend to think long and snoring nights are caused by this devil.
Are you a brethren or a church goer where is your forgiving heart?
Are you a child of God or child of the devil where is your forgiving heart?
Many people give a smile with a lot of grudges.
What a beautiful church with a lot of church goers?
Truth and forgiving one another is something of the past.
Please teacher, evangelist, nurse teach them about grudges.
Man of God, can you pray for grudges to minimize church goers?
Why truth and forgiving one another is something of the past?
-Written By: The Senior
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.
You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.
You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.
You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter
You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.
You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.
You were a cancer fighter.
You were my first call.
You still are.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
I’m straining my arms and I’m pulling my shoulders,
from pushing each line and carrying our shared boulders.
And my hands are burned and skin’s scraped,
knuckles cracked and broken fingertips,
a few careless words escaped
and I wished to push them back behind my lips.
I’ve got the motor warm and running,
and the waves have settled as they should,
I write down just how I find you stunning,
I would voice it if I only could.
You ask if I’m confident and I tell you I don’t know,
can I make an impossible jump,
oh holy Holly, I don’t think so.
I’m no Henry, no Fonz, no Winkler,
I’m not a stunt performer on T.V,
I barely run through the sprinkler,
I sure as hell will find death in the sea.
The rope’s as tight as a fresh noose,
and my ski’s barely fit my bottom soles,
my hands are clenched just too loose,
I would prefer to be sleeping on coals.
The crowd’s cheers become a lashing,
blood dissolved into the water and salt,
an angry tail’s now thrashing,
my situation is entirely my own fault.
I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
desperation has never stood so stark.
I’ve glimpsed shadowed empty sets
and walked among great ruins,
I’m tired of swimming in regrets,
pretty please, can I hide in your flesh wounds?
I’ve been taking theatre classes
to act like I’m not terribly bothered,
but every beach goer casually passes,
my body that’s been brutally slaughtered.
I want to feel the water the way that I once did,
with carefree wonder like when I was a kid.
But I always hated the sand, and the way that it encased my toes,
but they’re calling me to set to stand, to see how this final shot goes.
The hoop is placed ontop of a mild wave,
I wish that they engulfed it first in flame,
they praise me for being so brave
but it’s I, not the shark, that is tame.
They’re calling out the term “action”
and I look for my highlighted script,
I only read a small fraction
before I thought it best to rip.
I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
cut camera and roll credits in the dark.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
I have the word jealousy plastered on the walls of my mind
I do not announce it
After all
I am much too proud for that
But I think it
A lot
Run it back and forth through my head like a car on a track
Envious is engrained in my genetic makeup
So I make up reasons why I shouldn't be
Cover myself with thick layers of false confidence
Draped over my insecurity
She
Is prettier than me
She is tall
And
Skinny
Natural blonde hair that falls over her shoulders
Wears her smile like she is just happy to have had woken up this morning
I
Am bitter
Often overthinking the reality that life is
Plagued by my inability to hold onto happiness
Not to mention
Short
And what my mother would call
Curvy
I am not like her
We do not have similarities
The only time she is on her knees is when she is praying
I do not pray
Instead
Beg my sorrows away to alcohol and other unholy sins
I have never been able to believe
In things that cannot be seen
But she
Is different
She on the otherhand
Probably doesn't need to be touched
To believe
That you love her
Your word is probably enough
But see I've learned not to trust
For I have been let down too many times
And I constantly find ways
To build myself back up
So I call her a stripper
Although she is an avid church goer and I myself have never been
I say she dresses too mature
And although she is only a few years younger
I say she is too young for you
To make myself feel better
Let me be the first to admit
I am jealous
I am envious
I am everything that most people would probably never guess
I am all of these things
Not because I want to be her
But because
She probably makes you happier
Than I ever did
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
who will read aloud
my poems
when I'm gone?
that old unfriended thot,
a nagging merry query
was for awhile forgot,
put on the back of an upper shelf,
where dust motes and mites
fear to trend
thoughts,
that I thought
I had dispensed with,
letting time
build illusionary wry walls,
fooling World Trade Center tall
morose forlorn,
pensiveness of
red ant armies,
incapable of
black marker redaction,
there is always one
a lingering malingerer
a sole fado singer,
playing woeful jazz in
the Quarter
on an empty emoty street,
dressed and guised
as the soul of a solitary
cancerous cell
"survivor"
cur overlooked,
biding time,
the surgeons gone,
the drugs flushed,
radiation burning
no more
begins then
the unholy
trilogy cycle
worn out, overused...
invasive categorically relentless
maybes,
what ifs,
then
oh goddamnnotagain
because believed, on knee,
I oathed that
loathed, raven nevermore,
ought
that
cracked door would be open
yet like the
New Orleans levee aged locks
hurricane succumbed
overflowed, overcome,
keyholed, infiltrated,
falllen to the enemy,
mes enfilade,
rumps up the black flag of
surrender
brain sneers
periodically,
like every other
minute, ok,
second,
coyly asking
penny for your
worthless thoughts?
just when you believed
"no mas"
was a prayer that had been heard,
teeth kicked in,
body snatching
hordes and boors
bad boys and ******
sitting high in the
saddle again,
grinning torturous
tarty smiles
at who,
at you, fool!
you're as alone in that place
as insufficiently as that
impoverished overused
word can ere convey
the nagging realization
that when asking
no one answers
when your thinkings
perish you
your cutesy sweatshirt reads
last standing poet alive,
stabbed ded by awful-truths,
you failed and
all the black cats,
have fled the neighborhood,
just when need was greatest
who will read aloud
my poems when I'm gone,
has been silently answered
by silent applause,
the last theater goer
shuffles out, and turns
and extends his middle finger
his review leaves a
singular impression,
he looks familiar,
gauntly ghost,
he has accompanied me always
and his finger is his
triumphal parting shot
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
You know as well as I do
that internet dating can have its ups
and downs
and thus, after so many futile meetings
and tragic misadventures
in a domestic UK situation,
I decided to spread my wings
and so I logged on to an Australian website
for lonely kangaroo lovers
yes it was www.blackstump-legover.com.au
where no holes were barred.
And I soon struck up a promising friendship
with someone who sounded like
a real goer, a total slapper,
with no morals whatsover
judging from the photo she posted
taken with a mobile phone
up her skirt
which showed her **muffin *****
as well as what she had eaten
for breakfast yesterday,
poking its head out.
We finally agreed to meet
behind the old dunny
in the park where the abos go
to exchange their social security vouchers
for crack *******
or a bottle of Castlemain XXXX
or a quick one up each others' bots
in spite of the pong
on a sunny arvo.
You can imagine how effing disappointed
I was when she arrived
on a trailer attached to her grandson's ute
strapped to a battered gurney
(and almost insensate)
but still ready for a bit of backdoor action
but not from me, no sirree,
thank you very much mate:
I might be desperate, but
I would have had to have
clipped my nose shut with a clothes peg
to get anywhere near her
and my gag reflex simply couldn't cope.
So I bravely dragged the gurney
over to the convenient gap
in the fence overlooking the mighty ravine
and with a gentle shove
I sent her to that sweet place
where peace can be found
and I can still hear her scream
as she bounced off the rocks
accusing me of being illegitimate
before silence reigned
and I smiled in joy.
It only goes to show, O my friends,
that there are female dogs
of the most hideous kind
on every sodding continent
on this dear planet of ours;
and I may as well stick to
a handful of Nivea cream
and a Kleenex, at least the odour
is wholesome.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Tell me, are you a library, full of stories?
Are you a collection of fiction and fact that no arms could contain or no minds that could grasp?
I look into your eyes and I get a glimpse of the catalogs and genres which you keep within you.
You must have had your fair share of history; that is one textbook I want to study and memorize by heart.
Do you think I can be the one to take care of you?
I want to keep you a classic and as a monument in this era of advancing technology.
I will clear the dusty parts of your heart and wipe the slippery surface of your crying face.
I will caress every page you own and help restore the words you've been trying to preserve.
I may not be the one who found you first but I will be the one to stay by your side, until the day either of us crumbles.
So let me check your books out and let me return to you so very often.
Let me call you my favorite place and my second home.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
Fighting for mirrored memories fast while fornicating fools swear in deep swear they've never fallen in love?
When will the world remember that love is no diamond, no word, no expensive dinner or pair shiny shoes!
What has happened to the smell of a rose, it has been dipped in stinking ****
The voices that echo in eternity do not recall themselves serenading nakedly with Hallmark cards or memorable dunches!
There was blood in the streets, soldiers blister punching the backs of heads, and happy church goer's clutching their burning crosses in blasphemy!
Generations of the hip divine rebelling for hope on the TV sets, internet in love and met, forgetting that the moments in nature are the only true ones
Hilarity at the thought of many that think it is easy to live again!
Sad pouring mountains with rubble stained back packs lick their centimeter gashes as perplexed cooks spill oil on their $2 shoes and smile
Shame on the masters of war that pour themselves in books getting their vote, with white smiles, waving hands and blue shiny suits that Elvis wore all the better, at least the Mississippi could move and groove like a human being with a crying blues soul
Not a thing to be proud about when the sales are shot, the days are run about, and friends fiend for the next big thing
Make more, make this, make a squeal in the middle of the night and see if a soul outside hears a thing
Smile at the postman and he'll **** in your mailbox
Make an effort in a line of millions and see if the mirror smiles back in the night or the early morning
So sad and soft are the eyes that I see in my dreams unborn
First that goes, a glow glimmering in a the shine before World War II
Teach these manic's the meaning of absence of soul to see how far the world can fall
Won't be here to hear, in the back, listening to the sounds of yesteryear
Forgive no one, remember nothing, look to the stars for guidance and in due haste, due haste, DUE HASTE, for soon they may be a fog of forlorn memory
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
The big kid stood
by the garden shed
with others kids and you
the horticultural teacher
was down by the beds
with some other kids
whom he was showing
how to dig
and the big kid said
I had her
back there
up in those woods
at the end
of the playing field
the other kids
moved in closer
to get a better grip
on the tale told
you stood on
the perimeter
of the crowd
one eye
on the big kid
the other on the teacher
bent over a kid
showing him how
to hold a *****
and you know what?
the big kid said
she was some goer
the other kids
looked at him
then at each other
some plump kid
with spots laughed
you looked over
towards the woods
by the playing field
a quaint woodland
over by the fence
and near the road
and you know
what it’s like? Huh?
the big kid said
the kids nodded
you noticed
their eyes large
and their tongues
at the corner
of mouths
it was like slipping
into a warm bed
the big kid said
on a cold night
the teacher made
his way towards
you and the kids
by the shed
the big kid
made gestures
with his hand
and the boys sniggered
half catching on
to the gesture’s tale
the big kid’s hands
went into pockets
out of sight
the other kids
moved towards
the teacher’s
calling voice
you followed
unwillingly
having little choice.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
He was constant.
She was unpredictable.
He was rational.
She was emotional.
He was a dreamer.
She was a believer.
He was a talker.
She was a listener.
He was a critical thinker.
She was an avid reader.
He spoke in a bottomline manner.
She wrote in a metaphorical way.
He was a mechanic.
She was an artist.
He assembled guns.
She crafted poems.
He was a bike rider.
She was a composer.
He was skillful with his engines.
She was passionate with her songs.
He was an entertainer.
She was a public speaker.
He had tenacity.
She had authority.
He was firm.
She was flexible.
He was honest.
She was open.
He was a risk-taker.
She was adventurous.
He was a planner.
She was a goer.
He was happy-go-lucky.
She was often uneasy.
He was drink-and-be-merry.
She was live-life-and-be-happy.
Both responsible in their chosen field.
Both loud, but would sometimes prefer the solitary.
Both travellers, jokers, and crowd-pleasers.
Parallel, but not entirely the same.
Opposites, but not completely contradicting.
Complementary, but not dependent to each other.
Most importantly, loving, but not demanding.
He and She.
You and Me.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
How does it feel to be alone?
Just like a leaf does when autumn comes,
Just like a little bird does when time comes to fly away,
Just like a heavy cloud to separate from the waters it holds,
Just like a broken heart which had been in love!
How does it feel to fail?
Just like a toddler crawling for first time on his toes,
Just like a young swan flapping its wings but unable to fly ashore,
Just like a hungry beggar not able to earn,
And just like a little school goer unable to score!
How does it feel to be unheard?
Just like the lava of a volcano,
Just like the silence before a storm,
Just like the sound of burning flames,
Just like the ignored beggar on across your home!
How does it feel to be positive though?
Just like the same bird which now has learnt to fly,
Just like the old fellow who now scores high,
Just like the fulfilled man to have received food,
And just like the lil’ toddler who now runs and smiles.
How does it feel to be happy now?
Just like the sight of rebirth of green leaves in spring,
Just like the now-old bird who has found companions to rely,
Just like the drops of fresh rains and a farmer’s joy,
Just like a heartbroken person learns again how to love and enjoy!
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
I just wanted you to know
Who I am
I am:up till 3
allergic to dariy
A space case sometimes
Obsessed with the color yellow
In love with music
Living near trains
Someone who dances grocery store
loud
And quiet
a social butterfly
And extremely shy
So passionate
Sorry for my smelly feet
Always wearing yellow rain boots
bad at shaving my legs
unorganized
A sleep talker
A church goer
In love with God
Sometimes selfish
Someone who usually has good intentions
Going to tell you what you need to hear
The dork who sing along to songs in musicals
A natural blond.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
You disappeared as quickly as you came
And I mean that in a ***** way
But I never told anyone that
Quick comer and faster goer
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
so listening to Sondheim talking
art, composition and
inspiration,
he says something that so astounds me, my core shaken.
hundreds of songs composed,
but only one,
only one!
autobiographical.
ashamed. I am ashamed.
99% of what is scribble-scribe, about myself,
so I flunk my very own poem exam.
worse, I knew it true
but would not say it lest,
my shame public pronounced,
till now.
his target market was the theater-goer,
the public, you.
mine, myself.
you invited into voyeur~voyage,
to peer into me
peering into me
but I have an oath modest taken,
from know-now on,
I will write
About You,
For you,
Less-on me,
Lessons of us....
Jan. 25th 2014.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
THE BRAVE
( “Love sets the heart a-dreaming.”)
God hasn’t(as yet)
finished
making the world
just…the…gist of it.
He makes “the place
where the mountains live”
and had still to sketch in
the actual landscape.
So that the mountains
Just float in mid-air
as if upheld
by mist only.
He is listening intently
on his headphones
to music yet to be
created.
He digs Gabor Szabo’s
“Half The Day Is Night.”
I don’t know where He
gets His slang from!
He also had not got around to
making people.
So that the earth
was empty
The mountains
looked like gigantic beasts
that had somehow fallen
asleep…frozen into place.
One day the mountains
will come alive.
I tiptoe past
their sleeping…just in case.
“Well..?” asked God
unsure of Himself.
“Whatdoya think
is it a goer?”
I emmm and hawww
“Yeah…it’s…something else!”
He beamed from ear to ear
“But might need a tweak?”
“So what is it going to be called?”
I obsequiously enquired
knowing he had invented me
Just to agree with Him.
The Big Guy smirked:
“I’m thinking of calling it
THE BRAVE
or perhaps
SCOTLAND!”
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
tetris patterned-shirt
weird, life-is-a-creamy-dream feeling every ever
I spend here
in
Downtown Vancouver.
is it the thought of the chilli-pepper eyed parrot
grazing on the street soul from the corner of Davie
and Granville?
is it a birth trauma coma slam
considering the fact that my
passport
says I awoke here
for the very first time?
is it the caffeine pulsing through my sweat like blood
the triple-sweater sandwich I call my chest
the passing of my dear old Auntie Debbie
the alien faces of a city-gone city goer
the warm freeze of 15 dollars in my pocket
wallet
crunch
perhaps it's the red pants
the folded skinny's
the overalls
the great validation of Shakespeare's scream:
"All the worlds a stage/ and all the men and women merely players."
Did he mean John Players?
Each and every all of us to be smoked
in the soaking rain
pretending that we
each
have brains?
- - -
I know
I'm not as intriguing
as most of these Greek-God's and Goddesses
But I still wonder
if man and women gaze to me
like I'm bless-ed.
- - -
could that explain the dream feel?
the creamy steamy dream feel?
my lack of validation
in this crowd-work calling card?
- - -
it's just about time
that I mention the women
whom gazed
from the train
that traverses the
clouds.
East Indian I assume
I the troubadour
I gazed right back into her eyes.
We played this game
until 'screech' went the train
and I moved on in space and in time.
She exited there
at the same place I glared
to the tiling below my unfit and soaked
sigh's.
As to why that I raced
so that she couldn't chase
and speak words that would open the
light
I'm unsure
but I wanted to
even as I
slipped from sight
into Vancouver's day bright of a night.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 9:31 PM UTC
sliver me timbers and
take the class again.
write me up to Beverley
Hills and sick the dog on
merrit, god **** hoops,
whoops, whom, how, thou,
slack-jawed stupidity, deserted
lava lamp of masochism as u
watch the club-goer swing
illegally and pass a chance
like you pass a test.. you
will be k again.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
Thoughts like twisted metal
Decayed and rust pitted
Remnants from a forgotten world
Where gild was the norm
A world that has moved on
But not forgotten the sickness which
Lay beneath the veneer of normalcy
So, what is normal?
Worker Bee?
Family man?
Taxpayer?
Citizen?
Church goer?
The artifacts of that lost civilization
Tells us normal is chaos
Normal is war
Normal is stalking the hunted prey
Normal is vivisected torsos and
Entrails in my sand box
The monster is alive and gnashing
With ferocity against the
Dovetailed timbers of
His prison
No need to do push-ups for this one
He is insidious and ever lurking
Bowie knife at the ready
Slashing his own throat and
Strengthend from every self ******
He waits and dreams
Of devious schemes
In which I give him back the key
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
You were much more than a church-goer,
Much of your history floated under my nose,
But I realize now and am honored to have known you.
You served in the Navy,
At the Bay of Pigs in 1963.
I also read through the names of people
Who loved you and continue to hold your name in high regard, in faith.
You were a loyal, local church attendee,
You were always willing to volunteer during liturgies.
The fact that you would talk to my parents each week
And, in future years, also becoming my friend,
Showed how much you loved my family,
Which made you family, regardless of the sporadic times my family and I saw you.
I’d always round the right
To walk into the vestibule.
There you’d be, not intending to harass,
But to make me laugh and see
Sundays as a celebration of community
Rather than a somber type of solemn atmosphere.
To me, you are an insignia of St. Leo church
Being one of the first figures I’d link to the parish title.
I also cannot forget how,
When I began wearing ties to church,
You’d wrap the tongue of my tie(s) in your grasp:
“Let’s have a tie party,” you’d chuckle
As I tried mutely laughing back in the sacristy
Where silence was enforced, but you challenged the norm
And went against the tide of rules, remaining true
To your person, being an example for me
As I struggle to, like you, remain true to who I am.
May the halls of everlasting peace
Welcome you, Dan Desmond.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC