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Cyrus Gold Apr 2016
Mindlessly minding my day
Finding comfort with a glass of Bailey’s
I think her name was Hayley, goodness
Long and beautiful hair, very difficult not to stare
Had me thinking of sinful things while I’m munching on chicken wings

Her smile was illuminating, her style rejuvenating
Gave my friends that extra reason to stick around for a while
We were planning a collision course, gaining an endorsement
Eye contact initiated, very little forcing, and well

I come closer to her, our eyes were meeting
Dropping some bad jokes, thinking "what a terrible greeting'"
But she giggled, liked the attempt; that caught me off guard
Grabbing my arm, took me away and felt a sense of satisfaction

The two of us secluded and I felt the attraction
Her body was a temple you couldn’t help but admire
She had a silky dark skintight dress causing a fire
Walking on those black leather boots - a dame I desired
Running from harder times, escaping to the abyss
She told me it’s hard to find an honest man who assists
Hoping that things would change and searching for honest assistance
I promise her a better future with a man who listens

With a feeling of inspiration, end up leaving the club
Rewarded for my instigation, Hayley's squeezing a hug
Within minutes we make our way across the popular pubs
Reaching my place also with haste, kicked off the shoes on the rug

Speak the language of the mental, hunger reaches my head
Stroking her hair, gasping for air while laying on my bed
Her body screamed for attention; did I forget to mention
My ability to keep her guessing made her want to kiss me
And wish to mission it to Hawaii? God I loved her body.

Exhausted, our love-making was tremendously physical
Suddenly, one-night stand broken, damage is critical
Liquor leaks on the mental window, pleasure is minimal

The next morning rises, we're falling apart
Hayley regrets while getting dressed, not knowing where to start
She's thanking me and quite thankfully wants to see me again
But under different circumstances, so I fall where I stand

It ain’t a story for the faint of heart but mine was fainting
Broken heart, I wrote the part hoping that she was waiting patiently
But she came and went, the world is evil again
Just like a *** left in the cold, unbearable to withstand

Think I'm grateful? Meaningless love, eerily painful.
Victim of the curse: caring too much.
Victim of the curse: sharing too much.
JJ Hutton Apr 2014
Hayley Fienne scattered herself a year ago today. A hammer. A trigger. I sent flowers to a funeral home in Chandler, OK. I called. Said, "I can't imagine what you are going through" and something about how time turns the past into a form of fiction. DeLillo wrote that, I think.

Her mom said, "That's not true. That's not true."

And I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't known Hayley like I knew Hayley. She used to do these oil paintings on the nights she knew she wasn't going to class in the morning. I've a layman's knowledge of visual art but even I could tell her work was real. As opposed to what? I don't know. You just felt it. It kicked you in the gut, left you spinning around the room, asking every ******* in tweed, "Can I get some water?"

There was one large canvas in particular that stuck out. She called it "Dissolution."

The work depicted a seemingly amorphous spiral of headlight blues and star whites against the murky black of space. In the dead center of the piece she painted the face of a young man, broken into quadrants. The face was nothing more than a faint veil. If you scanned the canvas, you'd miss it.

When she showed the piece at a gallery event, featuring the work of outgoing seniors, I asked her who the man was.

"It's Jesus."

"You gave him a shave."

"It's actual Jesus. It's 'I'm thinking of converting to Buddhism' Jesus. It's lonely, masturbatory Jesus. It's the Jesus who stares at a ceiling fan wondering why Peter won't text him back," she said. "And above all, it's the Jesus God asks a little too much of, the Jesus that calls in sick."

I said I was unaware such a Jesus existed.

"Exists. Dealing with impossible quotas, he has to shave."

"I think your Jesus looks like you."

"He is."

Now it's a year later. I find comfort in the painting, allowing the erratic brush strokes, both fleeing and advancing, to lull me to--what? Just lull, I grant, aimless and asking answerless questions.

I think about her at the end, at her end-- but not the violence of it all. No, I think of the release.

No intended romance. I simply wonder how she would have wanted that final let-go in life's calendar marked by letting-goes to wrap. I imagine her body separating from her mind, her mind separating from her memories, her memories separating from her name. I think of her matter fractured and dispersed, directed where the universe, in its imperialistic expanse, requires.

I call her mom. Say, "I can't believe it's been a year" and something about how outer space makes me think of Hayley.

Her mom says, "I don't understand."

After I hang up I look at the painting. I look at Hayley's Jesus. And I think in memories, memories that may or may not have happened, I think of them in my chest--not my head. I think about mercy. I think about the infinite. And is there a place where they intersect?
Luke Colbert Jan 2013
Someday I wanna stack neon cowboy boots til they reach the solar system. I wrote Leslie today and she said, "Hey, love is what I got. Remember that." Pennies are x’d out. Cut me Sally. Only 1 apple-tooth *****. But now I realize that that didn’t make any sense. Tell Christina that I work at Arby’s. She told popcorn that we are a portrait of an American toad. Sorry. She won’t talk to me. She hates me now. I know it all. World will end for me under a fallen tree. Confusing is love. Serious, sadly enough Christ is dead *****. That’s my boyfriend! Sad Sad Sad Sad Sad Sad. Let me down. 2288 is a strange………………… number to sell a video for. I smoked *******. RATS, SCROTUMS, YOU’RE A *****! Scoot over you ***** ***. I don’t even know you or *******. Hayley, now that I think of it, is a tight, beautiful, powerful…… I hate her. She has blonde hair and I look way too much. I’ll go shopping now. Tina will hate me for lusting Hayley. So I’ll go on to Mr. G himself. Shazaam! He is in a boy prison where the boys are molested. I cry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Watch out, I do this to everyone. I love myself only and can drop you without hurting. But I love Christyn. Despite Christina’s rage she is still just a rat in a cage. She does it all! It’s her! She, her, she. Hershey. I love you Christyn and my mom is my dream. I stay alive, maybe rooting for the Green Bay Packers. I want to **** in Grayson’s face. I have to go, my milk is over there. He has lice, but it doesn’t matter cuz he takes his hair off anyway. Colon cleansing for sale! And I got a new girlfriend, she looks a lot like you dear. They pass me up. And if they don’t it’s only cuz I smoke acid(that’s funny). Or I don’t want to have ***. I hate ***. It’s Casie’s fault. I thought it was OURS! I ****** HER, SHE WAS MINE!!!!

Hello ******. My gums are bleeding everywhere cuz I play so much. Why can’t Hayley like me? Why is Christyn faking? Why go home? says Eddie. James is in prison for **** he did. Robert is in prison for stabbing this dude. It’s a good thing that my new cats are gone cuz I’d get hell. Black man is funnier and prettier. I eat Arby’s stacked in my trashcan. Why do they laugh? I’ll just stop now. I’ll **** myself cuz of you. I saw Rachel walking today. She’s sooooo pretty. Untrendy cuz I love her so. No rap, just Beastie Boys and marijuana. I take showers with Stephanie on the side, so don’t be surprised. She cuts underneath her legs. I want to hold her for lifetimes on a mattress of air. This is good ****. Please help. Aye Davinita. I’m not happy without your dreads, Docs, and beautiful…… But Hayley is too. Tell her that. She’ll **** me. I’ll never be enough for her. I’m white. What?! How do I not blow up?! Gotta go **** a monkey. So ****** me soon. Sleep sleep. Hayley, Rachel, Casie, Michelle, I rest in peace now.
Wrote this on LSD back in 1996
Paul Hardwick Feb 2017
Black and White crossing
at the back of hall 9
door 9.1
working all day with Haley
into the night
stepping only on the white lines
talking surreal thoughts
business men bring white business cards
and talk words of breakdowns
there was a crooked man
walking the crooked mile from the car parks
we help him all we can
he thanks us and is on his way
spends his day behind doors
on the inside of hall 9
after entering at door 9.1
leaving us with his smiles and thanks
the day slows down
we have some breaks
we get board
Hayley's mind falls down the rabbit hole
the next thing I know
is Hayley encourages me
to walk towards the light
and man the sun was so bright
come towards the light
and of Hayley only a silhouette
snow starts to fall around me in the air
cold sweeps over me
boredom bits at my heels
soon breakdown starts.
My day this day 9,2,2017
Thanks, Hayley Regards P@ul.






































Still must I hear?—shall hoarse FITZGERALD bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my Muse?
Prepare for rhyme—I’ll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song.

  Oh! Nature’s noblest gift—my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoomed to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with Verse or Prose;
Though Nymphs forsake, and Critics may deride,
The Lover’s solace, and the Author’s pride.
What Wits! what Poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemned at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which ’twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet’s shall be free;
Though spurned by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar to-day; no common theme,
No Eastern vision, no distempered dream
Inspires—our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

  When Vice triumphant holds her sov’reign sway,
Obey’d by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every Clime;
When knaves and fools combined o’er all prevail,
And weigh their Justice in a Golden Scale;
E’en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of Shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe,
And shrink from Ridicule, though not from Law.

  Such is the force of Wit! I but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.
Still there are follies, e’en for me to chase,
And yield at least amusement in the race:
Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame,
The cry is up, and scribblers are my game:
Speed, Pegasus!—ye strains of great and small,
Ode! Epic! Elegy!—have at you all!
I, too, can scrawl, and once upon a time
I poured along the town a flood of rhyme,
A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame;
I printed—older children do the same.
’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print;
A Book’s a Book, altho’ there’s nothing in’t.
Not that a Title’s sounding charm can save
Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave:
This LAMB must own, since his patrician name
Failed to preserve the spurious Farce from shame.
No matter, GEORGE continues still to write,
Tho’ now the name is veiled from public sight.
Moved by the great example, I pursue
The self-same road, but make my own review:
Not seek great JEFFREY’S, yet like him will be
Self-constituted Judge of Poesy.

  A man must serve his time to every trade
Save Censure—Critics all are ready made.
Take hackneyed jokes from MILLER, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote;
A man well skilled to find, or forge a fault;
A turn for punning—call it Attic salt;
To JEFFREY go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet:
Fear not to lie,’twill seem a sharper hit;
Shrink not from blasphemy, ’twill pass for wit;
Care not for feeling—pass your proper jest,
And stand a Critic, hated yet caress’d.

And shall we own such judgment? no—as soon
Seek roses in December—ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff,
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that’s false, before
You trust in Critics, who themselves are sore;
Or yield one single thought to be misled
By JEFFREY’S heart, or LAMB’S Boeotian head.
To these young tyrants, by themselves misplaced,
Combined usurpers on the Throne of Taste;
To these, when Authors bend in humble awe,
And hail their voice as Truth, their word as Law;
While these are Censors, ’twould be sin to spare;
While such are Critics, why should I forbear?
But yet, so near all modern worthies run,
’Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun;
Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike,
Our Bards and Censors are so much alike.
Then should you ask me, why I venture o’er
The path which POPE and GIFFORD trod before;
If not yet sickened, you can still proceed;
Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read.
“But hold!” exclaims a friend,—”here’s some neglect:
This—that—and t’other line seem incorrect.”
What then? the self-same blunder Pope has got,
And careless Dryden—”Aye, but Pye has not:”—
Indeed!—’tis granted, faith!—but what care I?
Better to err with POPE, than shine with PYE.

  Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days
Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise,
When Sense and Wit with Poesy allied,
No fabled Graces, flourished side by side,
From the same fount their inspiration drew,
And, reared by Taste, bloomed fairer as they grew.
Then, in this happy Isle, a POPE’S pure strain
Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;
A polished nation’s praise aspired to claim,
And raised the people’s, as the poet’s fame.
Like him great DRYDEN poured the tide of song,
In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong.
Then CONGREVE’S scenes could cheer, or OTWAY’S melt;
For Nature then an English audience felt—
But why these names, or greater still, retrace,
When all to feebler Bards resign their place?
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast,
When taste and reason with those times are past.
Now look around, and turn each trifling page,
Survey the precious works that please the age;
This truth at least let Satire’s self allow,
No dearth of Bards can be complained of now.
The loaded Press beneath her labour groans,
And Printers’ devils shake their weary bones;
While SOUTHEY’S Epics cram the creaking shelves,
And LITTLE’S Lyrics shine in hot-pressed twelves.
Thus saith the Preacher: “Nought beneath the sun
Is new,” yet still from change to change we run.
What varied wonders tempt us as they pass!
The Cow-pox, Tractors, Galvanism, and Gas,
In turns appear, to make the ****** stare,
Till the swoln bubble bursts—and all is air!
Nor less new schools of Poetry arise,
Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize:
O’er Taste awhile these Pseudo-bards prevail;
Each country Book-club bows the knee to Baal,
And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne,
Erects a shrine and idol of its own;
Some leaden calf—but whom it matters not,
From soaring SOUTHEY, down to groveling STOTT.

  Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew,
For notice eager, pass in long review:
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace,
And Rhyme and Blank maintain an equal race;
Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode;
And Tales of Terror jostle on the road;
Immeasurable measures move along;
For simpering Folly loves a varied song,
To strange, mysterious Dulness still the friend,
Admires the strain she cannot comprehend.
Thus Lays of Minstrels—may they be the last!—
On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast.
While mountain spirits prate to river sprites,
That dames may listen to the sound at nights;
And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner’s brood
Decoy young Border-nobles through the wood,
And skip at every step, Lord knows how high,
And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why;
While high-born ladies in their magic cell,
Forbidding Knights to read who cannot spell,
Despatch a courier to a wizard’s grave,
And fight with honest men to shield a knave.

  Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan,
The golden-crested haughty Marmion,
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight,
Not quite a Felon, yet but half a Knight.
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace;
A mighty mixture of the great and base.
And think’st thou, SCOTT! by vain conceit perchance,
On public taste to foist thy stale romance,
Though MURRAY with his MILLER may combine
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line?
No! when the sons of song descend to trade,
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade,
Let such forego the poet’s sacred name,
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame:
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain!
And sadly gaze on Gold they cannot gain!
Such be their meed, such still the just reward
Of prostituted Muse and hireling bard!
For this we spurn Apollo’s venal son,
And bid a long “good night to Marmion.”

  These are the themes that claim our plaudits now;
These are the Bards to whom the Muse must bow;
While MILTON, DRYDEN, POPE, alike forgot,
Resign their hallowed Bays to WALTER SCOTT.

  The time has been, when yet the Muse was young,
When HOMER swept the lyre, and MARO sung,
An Epic scarce ten centuries could claim,
While awe-struck nations hailed the magic name:
The work of each immortal Bard appears
The single wonder of a thousand years.
Empires have mouldered from the face of earth,
Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth,
Without the glory such a strain can give,
As even in ruin bids the language live.
Not so with us, though minor Bards, content,
On one great work a life of labour spent:
With eagle pinion soaring to the skies,
Behold the Ballad-monger SOUTHEY rise!
To him let CAMOËNS, MILTON, TASSO yield,
Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field.
First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance,
The scourge of England and the boast of France!
Though burnt by wicked BEDFORD for a witch,
Behold her statue placed in Glory’s niche;
Her fetters burst, and just released from prison,
A ****** Phoenix from her ashes risen.
Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,
Arabia’s monstrous, wild, and wond’rous son;
Domdaniel’s dread destroyer, who o’erthrew
More mad magicians than the world e’er knew.
Immortal Hero! all thy foes o’ercome,
For ever reign—the rival of Tom Thumb!
Since startled Metre fled before thy face,
Well wert thou doomed the last of all thy race!
Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence,
Illustrious conqueror of common sense!
Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails,
Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales;
Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do,
More old than Mandeville’s, and not so true.
Oh, SOUTHEY! SOUTHEY! cease thy varied song!
A bard may chaunt too often and too long:
As thou art strong in verse, in mercy, spare!
A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear.
But if, in spite of all the world can say,
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way;
If still in Berkeley-Ballads most uncivil,
Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,
The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue:
“God help thee,” SOUTHEY, and thy readers too.

  Next comes the dull disciple of thy school,
That mild apostate from poetic rule,
The simple WORDSWORTH, framer of a lay
As soft as evening in his favourite May,
Who warns his friend “to shake off toil and trouble,
And quit his books, for fear of growing double;”
Who, both by precept and example, shows
That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose;
Convincing all, by demonstration plain,
Poetic souls delight in prose insane;
And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme
Contain the essence of the true sublime.
Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,
The idiot mother of “an idiot Boy;”
A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way,
And, like his bard, confounded night with day
So close on each pathetic part he dwells,
And each adventure so sublimely tells,
That all who view the “idiot in his glory”
Conceive the Bard the hero of the story.

  Shall gentle COLERIDGE pass unnoticed here,
To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear?
Though themes of innocence amuse him best,
Yet still Obscurity’s a welcome guest.
If Inspiration should her aid refuse
To him who takes a Pixy for a muse,
Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass
The bard who soars to elegize an ***:
So well the subject suits his noble mind,
He brays, the Laureate of the long-eared kind.

Oh! wonder-working LEWIS! Monk, or Bard,
Who fain would make Parnassus a church-yard!
Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow,
Thy Muse a Sprite, Apollo’s sexton thou!
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak’st thy stand,
By gibb’ring spectres hailed, thy kindred band;
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,
To please the females of our modest age;
All hail, M.P.! from whose infernal brain
Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;
At whose command “grim women” throng in crowds,
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,
With “small grey men,”—”wild yagers,” and what not,
To crown with honour thee and WALTER SCOTT:
Again, all hail! if tales like thine may please,
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease:
Even Satan’s self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper Hell.

Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir
Of virgins melting, not to Vesta’s fire,
With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushed
Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hushed?
’Tis LITTLE! young Catullus of his day,
As sweet, but as immoral, in his Lay!
Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just,
Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.
Pure is the flame which o’er her altar burns;
From grosser incense with disgust she turns
Yet kind to youth, this expiation o’er,
She bids thee “mend thy line, and sin no more.”

For thee, translator of the tinsel song,
To whom such glittering ornaments belong,
Hibernian STRANGFORD! with thine eyes of blue,
And boasted locks of red or auburn hue,
Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires,
And o’er harmonious fustian half expires,
Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author’s sense,
Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.
Think’st thou to gain thy verse a higher place,
By dressing Camoëns in a suit of lace?
Mend, STRANGFORD! mend thy morals and thy taste;
Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste:
Cease to deceive; thy pilfered harp restore,
Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy MOORE.

Behold—Ye Tarts!—one moment spare the text!—
HAYLEY’S last work, and worst—until his next;
Whether he spin poor couplets into plays,
Or **** the dead with purgatorial praise,
His style in youth or age is still the same,
For ever feeble and for ever tame.
Triumphant first see “Temper’s Triumphs” shine!
At least I’m sure they triumphed over mine.
Of “Music’s Triumphs,” all who read may swear
That luckless Music never triumph’d there.

Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward
On dull devotion—Lo! the Sabbath Bard,
Sepulchral GRAHAME, pours his notes sublime
In mangled prose, nor e’en aspires to rhyme;
Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,
And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch;
And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms,
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.

  Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings”
A thousand visions of a thousand things,
And shows, still whimpering thro’ threescore of years,
The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers.
And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles!
Thou first, great oracle of tender souls?
Whether them sing’st with equal ease, and grief,
The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf;
Whether thy muse most lamentably tells
What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells,
Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend
In every chime that jingled from Ostend;
Ah! how much juster were thy Muse’s hap,
If to thy bells thou would’st but add a cap!
Delightful BOWLES! still blessing and still blest,
All love thy strain, but children like it best.
’Tis thine, with gentle LITTLE’S moral song,
To soothe the mania of the amorous throng!
With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears,
Ere Miss as yet completes her infant years:
But in her teens thy whining powers are vain;
She quits poor BOWLES for LITTLE’S purer strain.
Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine
The lofty numbers of a harp like thine;
“Awake a louder and a loftier strain,”
Such as none heard before, or will again!
Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood,
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,
By more or less, are sung in every book,
From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook.
Nor this alone—but, pausing on the road,
The Bard sighs forth a gentle episode,
And gravely tells—attend, each beauteous Miss!—
When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.
Bowles! in thy memory let this precept dwell,
Stick to thy Sonnets, Man!—at least they sell.
But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe,
Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe:
If ‘chance some bard, though once by dunces feared,
Now, prone in dust, can only be revered;
If Pope, whose fame and genius, from the first,
Have foiled the best of critics, needs the worst,
Do thou essay: each fault, each failing scan;
The first of poets
Now when I think of Hayley it gives me
that vision of my future
nearly three years since we first met
never did we realize
how deep our love and commitment
with her I am content.

Together we have a truly special love
being friends for so long
but realizing our interests matched
drew us ever closer
always there by my side for support
my heart firmly caught.

Temporally apart we are getting engaged
a ring on your finger will place
on a warm sunny beach our love to seal
a dancer beautiful and kind
working so hard to achieve the dream
to be a ballerina supreme.

Our special song I Will Always Love you
and forever I will be true.

The Foureyed Poet.
Love has blossomed for the young couple now the commitment they desire. The Foureyed Poet.
bon scott plays up a VOLCANO IN GUATEMALA

you see i start a partying in the night today

we are rocking and a rolling, yeah party, yeah

ya see we bring that volcano down to gualamala

yeah it’s about as cool as eating a banana

rock, ****** rock this volcano made ‘em rock

bring this party to the other end and rock

guatemala, is rocking tonight with malt and lava

is a rocking all night long

you see the house is a rocking, don’t bother knocking

yeah we will party, party we shall

rock this volcano, wreck the old life, WOW

i am going to get my spirit, and shake it down there

make all the people guatemala grin and ****** bare

and now i welcome slim dusty, i would love to have a beer with him

we drink in moderation dude, but our future, looks quite dim

yeah, we’ll drink in the town and country dudes

the people of guatemala feel distraught

cause we sent a big volcano, dude, from jupiter moon, that’s right

you see now we bring robert palmer in

how can it be permissible, oh yeah

this volcano in guatemala is unstoppable, ha

i wish there were ways to end it yeah

i would grab a methane and top it on ya, yeaH

It’s a strange occurrence first, it’s ****** hot, oh yer

it really destroys guatemala, dude the volcano is simply unstoppable

the walls are are shaking, the floor is melting

ya see, yeah we are covered in lava, and feel like ya melting

then i get up and look around, and i look up and see a volcano thrashing guatemala

ya see the volcano shook this town all night long

we’ll party on all night long

and then i get down and look around, to see if nobody has tipped methane on slim

you are hayley from bratayley

you are cool, the coolest dude around

i get up, and we’ll party down, we’ll drink ‘em down

then the old old man let’s out a big big frown

and i see barry allan as he walks past, i said come in bas boy, party on

and i tip a methane smoothie on barry, which shook the town of guatemala all night long

the methane shook it all night long

then slim dusty said, i will get a baked potato baked potato toast and jam

jupiter shook the guatemala volcano all night long, my dear

slim then said, watch bratayley, for me with new families, peter sergeant from canberra and ivy gimbert

and ivy and peter walked in and said, would you stop singing it up here

cause we need some COOL, for earth

baked potato baked potato, uhhhh baked potato

and then bon scott came up and said, PARTY PARTY,

and rock guatemala, while your at it, OK

AND we’ll keep this party rolling guatemala volcano malt and lava
Waverly Jan 2014
you look so good
like a goddess
where's the courage to tell you?

I know the right words?

An innocence of love like
a bird in the sky,
in its cerulean heaven,
all its purity

all the painters in the world
using all their colors
like ravens and vultures,
and the advertisers
using maroon and crimson
like doves and love,
they just don't know.

How you look in a snapshot,
is better than a mural.

I hate that we can't talk any more,
seems decrepit, I'm so poor,
spoiled by the gift of your lost love,
like a pearl in my mouth,
every gulp of the sea
is a tearjerker.

All I want is love and affection
from the eden of your love,
the juice of your apple
a knowledge
only concerning to gods.

The seed of your body,
a peachtree paradise,
each pod dropping to the body of my death,
like the shroud of renewal.

Each new picture of you:
the destruction of your youth,
and the eruption of your wonderland,
is another nail,
another regretful wish
that I'd seen and understood
everything beautiful about you.

Even in the moontide hours,
when the dawn brawled
and your teeth crawled against the loose skin of my earlobes
as you gripped with pearly whites
my lying flesh,
and my lips touched every truth you'd never known.

Only god could ever know the pain of now.
Only I could ever wish I knew your heaven.
Ariel Knowels Apr 2014
I'm angry
It always takes me a while to realize this
I'm angry
At the fact that I can't get over this guy
I'm angry
That he's all I think about
I'm angry
That no other guy makes me feel this way
I'm angry
That I know that nothing will happen
I'm angry
That I'm wasting my time
I'm angry
That I'm getting depressed
I'm angry
That my sadness is beginning to consume me
I'm angry
That no one will notice
I'm angry
Because I won't tell anyone
I'm angry
That the only person that did listen is gone now
I'm angry
That I don't want to share my feelings
I'm angry
That I'm writing a poem about it
I'm just really angry
Paul Hardwick Jan 2012
Hayley struck a match, THEN.
Became a comment, passing Mars.
the argument of the universe, ends the life of youtube sensation, caleb

in the great saturn club rings on thursday october 1 2015m peter sargent and ted bundy

had a very strong argument which really was beginning to turn nasty, first ted ******* paul berenyi

and snatched greame thorne and adam walsh, making their earth bodies really shook up

you see greame thorne is me, brian allan from canberra and adam walsh is some young man who was

killed by the parramatta terrorist and peter sargent came up to ted bundy, and said, stop this, i mean

you should stop this, and ted said, i am slowing the earth down, so you will be good to mind your own business

but peter said, neh, i don’t want to let you win, you see my earth body is a cool boy, never to be killed, you

will never get us ted bundy, ted bundy grabbed peter by the arm saying, watch what you say, buddy, but peter

really wanted to slow down teds reign, because this is weird what the world has been going through since you died

first you made brian allan a crazy person by making him tie himself up in a toilet in mitchell, and can’t you see he is suffering

too much from that stupid mistake your ghost made him do and it was awful to push his next door neighbour brendan down as well,

brian really liked him, and me, you made me **** myself when i was having problems that you caused, and ted said, but you are

enjoying being a cool boy now, don’t jeopardise it, dude, but peter kept on yelling blaming him for all the suicides that happened like

anthony, the mentally ill christian, and barry loughton as well as mark jones, and i know these deaths were normal, but you are the reason why

they are dead, ted, and i hate what you are doing to brian allan from canberra lately, he likes watching his grandmas next life annie be with slim dusty

who is hayley, and me who is caleb, but you are trying to **** him, by making his old school chin patrick enright, in his mind, tease him in his mind

treating him like his family, by making him lose interest in things, and peter told ted, he hates what you are putting in brian’s mind, by killing off all the

old fogies one by one, you see brian’s aunty pam developed a cancer of the lung, giving her no energy, she never smokes, and peter told ted that

he hates dads dellusional ghost trying to make brian write and think evil things about his father, and peter said, you will never get my current earth body

he plays baseball and really enjoys being a youtube sensation, peter said to ted bundy, you see what you are doing is destroying the world, including

my beloved canberra, where i met brian and chris allan, who played cricket with me, and i hate how you are making brian tease his dad with the poor people

i know he doesn’t want to be a rich ****, but some of the situations were very dodgy, and i want you to let brian allan be a man, ya know, i know he still likes

cricket despite of what he tells people, and ted bundy, at about 7 on the 1st october, struck caleb from bratayley down, by grabbing his cool kid, and tying him up

on the sun with paul berenyi and adam walsh and greame thorne, and the way he did this, was grab peter sargent by the arm and say, you are no longer a youtube sensation

by grabbing you, i **** off your youtube sensation life caleb, and burn your cool kid in the sun, you see peter, there is no heaven, and there is no hell, you see if you are a

nice kid, i will, put you on the sun, ready to suffer in your next life, you’ll never know, peter, i might bring you back to hole in the wall canberra, in a poor neighbourhood

you see peter, i am destroying the life of crocus’s current earth body, by giving him sore feet, and keeping the cool kids away from him, like brattayley, i know that brian’s

grandmother on his mothers side is there as annie, and slim dusty is hayley, and if they return after the funeral of caleb, i have powers to take the cool kid off

these kids, ted bundy said, because, what i was doing on earth, was turning people off, showing the world their fresh legs, peter said, let us go, ted bundy, please let us go

i will never lose my reign, and your next life will certainly know it, peter sargent, peter said, i will make sure, you suffer, and ted said, think about it, brian allan wants to be famous and living in adelaide

but money is keeping him here in canberra ok, so you will never get what you want, while you have to understand, even the rich people who are seldom getting what they want

in theory, are being bashed or murdered, or maybe even both, this world isn’t good, and that is because of me, ted bundy said and caleb is suffering, as he doesn’t want to be *******

to the sun, he wants to be with bratayley, to live to be old, and ted bundy said heh heh heh heh we will make4 brian allan suffer as he wants to give greame thorne is wish of being famous

trying to beat ted bundy forcing his old mate patrick’s teasing voice out of his head forever, but what is happening ted is saying, let’s make brian’s school friends watch the professionals

and laugh at brian, yeah this sounds radically awesome said ted, granny is with slim dusty through annie and hayley, but because of caleb being snatched from there to be tied to the sun

will bratayley return, or will ted bundy get what he wants, no technology for young people, and this is a hard battle, but we all must stop the ghost of ted bundy, by doing what we want to do

as long as it is good, and realise if we do things that is bad, it’s ted bundy that is enforcing it
Slim dusty got a bunny and frisbee was it's name and it has a little harness tied to his back
Slim carries it around through sick and well
The bunny is so cute can't you tell
You see this is part of slim's next life which is looking after bunny rabbit named frisbee
The bunny has three K9 siblings named piper and Winnie and gg and each day the dogs will get aqquainted with it
And slim dusty says to the bunny I want to play with you
Yeah dumpity Doo Doo Doo
Slim dusty remembers singing when the pub had no beer and he sang looking forward looking back and he sang Duncan about a man who likes beer
Now slim is hayley in a band called flair and more
Slim dusty has a bunny and frisbee was it's name
He picks it up and says I think you are the best bunny by far
Slim dusty has a bunny and frisbee was it's name
*** pa pa *** pa pa
Cute little bunny rabbit
I love to cuddle the bunny
He is very cute
I feel great saying to the bunny
Cutey cutey cute cute cute
We party in our house with the 2 dogs watching on
He is a cute little bunny
Easter is coming soon for frisbee
Aaron McDaniel Oct 2012
Clear glass bottles are gathering by my bedside
My throat’s a drain, washing away the stains on my gullet
I’m poisoned
.08% is easily surpassable as long as the problems keep on coming
I’m running
I’m stumbling
Everything’s blurring
I’m home
I challenged myself to write a poem for anyone and everyone of my friends that retweeted a tweet on my twitter. This is one of them.
Sarah Michelle Apr 2017
Traveller, scuba-diver
Sailor swearing wherever she goes
But never in front of a crowd
No, if you want to
apologize for something
you've said,
better find out where she's hiding.

Look where it's darkest,
but bring a flashlight;
she wears black
to hide from spiders and snakes.
Hayley Jan 2015
Sitting all alone in my basement
With less than an hour til 2015

Lying to myself by making

Still, I tell myself
I will be a better person

Happy new years!
Ex Dec 2011
Give me a sign.

A thought.

A glance.

Let me know what's on your mind.

Do you think of me?

When I look at you.

I'm lost.


Utterly wrecked.

My heart.

Has been torn out and thrown in front of an audience.

To look at and laugh.

At the ignorance and stupidity.

Of adolescent infatuation.

But it hurts.

It hurts to think you'll never know.

It hurts to think you'll never care.

It hurts when you talk about him.

I want to scream, tear my hair out, cry.

Cause a scene, throw a tantrum, let them all hear me.

Hear me loud and clear

I want you.
I need you.

I love you.
Just a short poem I wrote a while back. Thoughts?

hayley Mar 2014
I wish i had a daddy .
I wish i was the little princess of a daddy.
I wish i had a daddy to take me shoping
I wish i had a daddy to come in my bedroom why im
laying in my bed in tell funny storys then cover me up in give me a good night kiss on the check. Their was this one man how i realy look up to as my daddy he treated me like i was his own in like a princess in would sit in listen to how i felt in everthing eles he was the only man how i have ever look up to as my daddy in now i wont ever get to see him ever again he loved me as his daughter he would alwhys say how he more then a daddy then what jay is cause he dose more for me then what that jay guy has ever did 4 me . in his name was rohn he was gonna be my step dad in 2 moths but my mom in him brooke up now i am never ever oloud to see im again now so i am sad but maybe one day i will get to him again sincarly love me hayley >3
The days grow long and the nights grow short
Emotions and thoughts have become hard to sort
There wasn't meant to be any sorrow
But I feel Your love I can no longer borrow

Though the path we have chosen has come to an end
There are brighter pastures for us around the bend
We'll remember the good times along with bad
And neither of us will forget what we had

But there was a fork in the road that we both had to face
Knowing there would come an end to our loves embrace
Soon we will find ourselves happier than before
Hopefully walking for never more.
You won’t remember this
but that time we sat
on the steps of your cousin’s place
in Brooklyn, Hewes St., one October night,
where we stayed out
and talked till three A.M.,
our fingers chapped,
our noses tinged crimson.
I remember it because
you were cold and I gave you
my jacket, the black one
I’d only just bought the day before
and you said wow, look at those goosebumps
popping up along your arms,
but sorry, I’m colder, I’m wearing this now.
We’d been to see a concert
at Madison Square Garden,
and they were all there,
Billy, Dave, Hayley,
to celebrate your birthday five days early.
They knew, you knew
every single word,
hurling them at the band
like verbal snowballs,
your hair a brunette blur,
strobe lights in our eyes.
We left with headaches
bursting open as flowers,
sweat trapped in my fringe.
Dave was into you,
did I ever mention that?
He’s been to see you
and sometimes speaks
but he finds it difficult.
We all do if I’m honest.
Anyway, we took the F
and then the J.
By 11.56 we were tired
but not quite tired enough.
I was going to walk you home
but we never left those steps.
We looked up and down the street,
said what cars we liked and why.
A Honda HRV, avocado-green
stood out to you, a hulking skeleton of metal
I said looked ugly.
You were lonely then.
Any attention was guzzled up, I could tell.
I rambled on so much
it stopped sounding English
but there was giggling, smiling,
puffs of breath whirling away from us.
You told me your only friend
was your reflection in store windows.
Surely not true.
We all said that.
Hayley told you to snap out of it
but you didn’t know how to snap out.
And when you rang on Friday morning
we all should have listened,
clutching our phones
making sense of it all.
Now you won’t remember
and there’s blood on my wrist.
that came from someone else.
Written: July 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, deliberately kept quite simple. Not as good as I wanted it to be. Not based on real events - locations are used fictitiously. The names stem from Billie Joe Armstrong (lead singer of Green Day), Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters) and Hayley Williams (Paramore).
All feedback welcome. Please see my home page on HP for a link to my Facebook writing page.
NOTE: Many older poems will be removed from HP in the coming months.
briano alliance performing at two moons jupiter

hi dudes, here is our first song, titled i am not a hooligan i am yeah mate yeah kid

you see dudes, i don’t want to fight, i am not a cool kid to that

and i definatley ain’t a cool kid to dad

i know i had problems, but i know what i am

i am a yeah mate yeah kid, cause yeah mate yeah kids, don’t sit around like little cool kids do

like sitting there too shy to go home, i don’t do that, well, i did, but i was trying to be cool

but i am a yeah mate yeah kid, who doesn’t wanna fight, no ****** fear

i am never the type to say oh ****** dear

i get the itchy feeling because i used to be an adult

no mate no hooligan for me, and i am no geek, unless you talk about an internet geek

u am cool, i’m cool, the coolest dude i am cool, to a family person’s point of view

i don’t believe in talking tough to people i don’t **** people off, no dude

u want people to say to me, your still a family person, brian

instead of letting out a really old misery guts frown

you see i liked dad, he protected me, good, but he died, and i have to understand, he can’t protect me anymore

and dad was trying to protect me, even if to my mind he looked like a hooligan

i know dad wasn’t being a hooligan, he was a great big old fogie

and i don’t want to be a young dude, because i hate to fight

i don’t want to be a girl, cause, i hate cat fights and i never want to be treated like a koomarri man just to muck around with, yeah

and i hear my best mate saying, that he is a bigger boy than me

you see he is like little peter brady, but he doesn’t think so, but i cvan tell you one thing, i ain’t little peter brady, i am like sam marshall formerly from home and away

i don’t want to hear voices, when i speak the truth like that

you see, i liked how sam acted, and i don’t agree with that ya got to be tough to be a cool kid, crap

i think if you leave them alone, they will leave you alone

i like watching footy, and i played footy in my front yard

but i don’t like being treated like a hooligan, no that isn’t what i like at all, at ****** all

hi dudes, here is another song called kidnap brian and kidnap brendan, just a song

kidnap brian and kidnap brendad keep brian and brendan in their cages

we need to keep them both *******, keep them both *******

keep brian and brendan ******* gracefully, keep them both in their cages

help let me out of this cage, says brian and brendan in their cages

oh yeah mate yeah, keep them both ******* gracefully

you see, this tune really worried dad, and triggered off a lot of hooligan voices

you see, it gives someone coming into my house, putting a hand on my chest and up to my mouth

saying, your still a cool kid, briany

you see people stick their fingers up at me, saying, i am stupid, i don’t appreciate that, one little bit

i want to be treated like a cool adult, i am not a kid, no i think any adult who tries to be a kid is stupid

i am a cool adult, i am a cool adult, i am a cool adult, who sleeps on the couch, like a *****

everyone goes to bed, while i sleep on the couch

cause i am scared of fighting, it’s only natural ya know

people who go to bed are nerds, and i am no nerd, so leave me alone

you see my circle of life, is walk around, get grabbed and tied to poles, and being forced to be in horrifying situations, I HATE THAT

so kidnap brian and kidnap brendan, keep brian and brendan in their cages

hi dudes, my next song is if your happy and you know it, have a party

if your happy and you know it, have a party

if your happy and you know it have a party

if you are happy and you know it, and you will party every night yeah

if you are happy and you know it have a party

3  6   9  the goose drank wine

sam kinison chewed tobacco up on cloud 9

my dad choked after trying an artichoke

and everyone reincarnates whether they like it or not

you see slim dusty played duncan, ya see

saying my earth life is hayley from brattayley fame

dad said, come on slim do ya stuff

and smoke your cigarette getting it out in 1 big huff, like my son

3 6  9, the goose drank wine

sam kinison chewed tobacco up on cloud 9

my dad choked after trying an artichoke

come on dudes, if your happy and you know it, have a party

whether you are, have a party

if your happy and you know it, and want a way to show it

if your happy and know it, have a party

hi dudes, here is another song called duncan

i would love to have a methane with duncan

we love to have a methane with dunc

we drink in such a way, man

to improve the quality of our life

we drink in all the planets, and the atmosphere is great

i would love to have a methane with duncan

cause he is our mate

i would love to have a methane with patrick

yeah i love to drink methane with him

we drink in moderation, and improve the quality of our life

we drink in the planets oh yeah, where the atmosphere is great

i would love to have a methane with patrick cause he is a great mate

i want people to help me with wireless

yeah the methane is all over me then

yeah, ya see if people helped me, i will understand

why people aren’t listening to mr

i know i ain’t a hooligan, i hate being treated like that, not great

i want people to help me with wireless, dude

so, they can be a great mate

to be a great mate, oh yeah

i would love to have methane with anyone including my dad

you see to rid his old timer, i will tip the methane all ****** over poor old him

you see, the methane burns him right down, to betty, yeah that’s great

i would love to throw methane on my dad, yeah

cause he was a good mate

ok dudes, that is it, of spilling my guts and pouring bad stuff out of my brain, bobye, bob
John F McCullagh Apr 2015
At Seventeen, a girl might buy a dress and look towards her prom;
music and dancing through the night with a Beau upon her arm.
At Seventeen the night might end in a gentle tender kiss
As couples watch the Sun rise as it gives the waves the slip.
At Seventeen, a girl might think of college and career.
She might listen to loud music and maybe sneak a beer.

For a victim of progeria, life holds no such charms;
At Seventeen, her time is short, too soon she will be gone.
At Seventeen, in human terms, this girl was ninety-five;
every day a battle in the struggle to survive.
Like a comet burning brightly coming too close to the Sun
Hayley, wiser than her years, burned brightly and was done.
A young woman of seventeen named Hayley has died of old age due to a terrible genetic disease known as Progeria
Vampyre Kato May 2016
Happy Your Excited
Fourth Of July Type Climate
With Every Key
Your Frequency Will Be Climbing
Your So Grateful
It's Delicious To The Eyes
Inside Tasteful
Youve Awoke My Inner Hero
I Found My Cape
Im So Glad Your Here To Stay
Please I Won't Beg
Just Don't Walk Away No Matter What Okay
Each & Every Day
Im On A Ship Sinking
Stranded Like The Cay When I Awake
I Spread These Shreaded Wings & Sing , Fly To Bay
Paint Make Em Silver From Grey
We Are Sunsihine & Rain
Am I Dreaming
**** I Mean It
You Came Into My Life
I Feel I'm Dreaming
I Feel Alive , Ready To Die
Smothered In Vines
Ready For Flight
Consious **** Pit
Possesive Progressive Honest
I Crave Love Like A Dove I Got It
I Feel So Cleansed
The Lense I Sense Are Rotten
Hayley You Won't Be For Gotten
Cherished Memormies
Remember Me
I Am An Ember Leaf
In December
Fire Place Far Away
Cold Weather Trees
Sunset Escapes
I Hug The Stars
In Every Way
Especially On An 8th
Amanita Psylosibin
Moon Rays I Feel Inside My Poetic Page
In Your Eyes I Gaze
I Get Wrapped Up In All I Crave
I'm Too Deep In My Roots & Trees
Please Don't Be Afraid
My Speech Ain't Always Sweet But Hayley
You Mean What Words Can't Repeat
Really Close To Me
Like A Coat How Your Suppose To Be
No Boundries Is A Rare Ground See
I Apologize If My Tone Changes When No Ones Around Me
Darrell Howland Aug 2022
I guess it’s true what they say
about blondes having more fun
If you’re sad & feel grey
then she’ll liven you up
Make you smile when you’re starting to frown
pick you up, when the World brings you down

Like a Christmas Angel at the top of the tree
she shines like a rainbow in the air that I breathe
Innocent like fresh falls of snow
don’t ever let your innocence go

Hayley Powell
can you show me how
Not to take life too seriously
because I want to laugh not scowl

When a favour’s in question, it’s hard to say no!
you can’t help but save her from the perils of woe
She could charm the birds right out of the trees
unite the World with her laughter & peace

Hayley Powell
can you show me how
Not to sink in misery
because I want to float not drown

She don’t get out the wrong side of bed
she resembles Phoebe from the comedy Friends
Like the Moon that glows when all else is dark
she’s the happiness I lack in my heart
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
oh man... do i have to? do i have to buy
into this: "last resort"
atheistic, secular, religiosity nuanced,
genes first 21st arrival at Darwinism
                                     no, i don't thank you...
i have eclectic tastes, sometimes the odd
"thing" happens, and i'm not bound to reading
a book and listening to music...
         fear of death... sure...
isn't that an ontological prerequisite?
the fear of dying alone...
         wait...  don't have a twin brother /
      i learned to play on my own...
once i caught myself self-conscious,
with plastic figurines of superheroes...
  thinking to myself...
you sure there's a +13 label attached to
these things?
hayley quinn videos... dating...
what, like the speed way to date?
you her £110 pounds and you **** for
an hour?
         what's this poker brigade... eating...
drinking, getting to know each
other *******?!
whenever i watch this sort of video
i become... peckish...
   i start to think about what the ****
i will cook tomorrow for dinner...
luckily i already know what i will
cook for dinner tomorrow...
but what i don't know is what i will make
for lunch...
          dating... that's a western thing,
                  i've been on maybe two
            one included walking out
of the cinema early...
which was fun...
  and the other, having already ******
and slept a night together:
going to a seafood restaurant...
and being on student loan money...
paying for the whole thing...
  fun fun fun...
     desperate people looking for
more desperate people...
i become desperate when someone
robs me or a blank canvas outlet...
borrowing from Dumas:
the best advice, is to give no advice...
sometimes i'll become heretical
on this pointer...
but Athos was right, or rather:
Dumas included:
             to give advice,
is as bad as not challenging an opinion...
there, i "said" it...
        to give advice,
is as bad as not challenging an opinion...
   the whole monstrosity of schadenfreude...
and these people "thought" they
were fighting "the Germans"...
they were fighting themselves...
it's a Germanic trait of characterization...
  perhaps somehow unorthodox...
some of us Slavs...
do what can be best done in such situations...
****... what the **** is it that we do?
whatever the collective does...
i've found that...
    neither pity nor shaming nor
poking fun suffices to encompass
an empathetic observation...
        to be sympathetic is to also be
in the same position of observation,
as also being observed...
empathy can only be, what it has become,
an amnesia, a desentized "conundrum"
of postscriptum feelings...
empathy has become a theater of apathy...
there's nothing apathetic about it
beside the delayed feeling of guilt...
but there is everything much ado
                               concerning... the theatrical.
Hayley Schultz Nov 2018
you can't just give up on someone because the situation isn't ideal. Great relationships aren't great because they have no problems. The great because both people care enough about the other person to find a way to make it work
hi dudes and dudettes and welcome to Saturn club rings, where we are celebrating

the life of peter macnamara who was a famous aussie tennis player, and my nanna jean allan

whose new earth body is Aydan Calafiore, who was a great singer on the voice, anyhow his last life jean alan was a great

tennis fan and i have jean allan with me now to welcome peter to the afterlife

as we bring him to helping the world in his next life and here is slim dusty to start the welcoming party


hi everyone and welcome to the great tennis player peter macnamara, here is this little piece

oh yeah, i would love to have a beer with peter

his backhand was pretty ace

and now this great player joins us in outta space

he joined up with mcnamee in doubles oh yeah

and in 1982 he was number 3 in the world

in 1980 he made it good in our grand slams

winning aussie open in 1979

and then won wimbledon in 1980 and 1982

and now, i want to see if he could carry his love for tennis or whatever to the kids of today

is he going to a future pro, like he coached a lot of greats

and hoping in his next life, he can inherit his great tennis styles

he is now the greatest, welcome to Saturn as perform this show, WELCOME peter to the great show

and now as yo look over our greats, what are you going to do

celebrate your life dude, here is jean who was your great fan

and now here is jean to read a poem, to say WELCOME

jean’s poem

welcome pete welcome pete

it will be great to see you here

your backhand and your coaching skills

really showed us how to play

i didn’t see the earth as jean this century

but i saw a lot of you

you made me want to sit on my couch watch the tennis and enjoy it yeseree

congratulations to peter, you were the greatest, yes you were

i saw players you beat, and players who you lost too

yes, and you were great

as i sat closing my legs on my couch

i loved to see you play

and i have reincarnated into a very talented kid

i think you will as well

whether you will play tennis, or anything else you see

congratulations mcnamara you were the best i can see

we have a few great future players, and australia hasn’t very many good men

but ash barty is playing well for the women, maybe your spirit can help you through

aussie aussie aussie oi oi oi

i hope you will be happy in your future lives, i know i am
Sage Marler May 2015
Just like the song that we sang on the top of our lungs together.    
"And just maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me".
And at the end you really did save me, you were the net to my fall.
I know I saved you as well, you use to say that you didn't feel so small.
But that's not all.

On your saddest days when there was no hope to be found.
I reminded you that I would always stick around.
I told you that you had an artist style.
That always make you smile.
But that took a while.

Although you called me your best friend.
You treated me like I was dead.
It was as if the softest silk was suddenly sand paper.
I didn't understand what you wanted me to do.
I cared the most of all the people you knew.

But when I skipped school on Monday.
Because I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it.
That very night I wrote the letter.
The letter that took until 1am because I kept crying on the paper.
The letter that broke our friendship apart.

Tuesday, April 21. Our friendship was over.
I handed you the letter and I walked away.
I regretted the moment I did so.
I wanted to walk back and say sorry.
I'm sorry, Wonderwall.

It's been over a month since we've talked.
I heard you haven't been your best.
I hope you know you can always come to me.
But you probably hate me anyways.
I hope you find peace Hayley, I'm sorry.
JidosReality Sep 2015
I can’t wait till I can hold you in my arms all night and watch your smile and feel your heart beating against mine.

I will always be your mum and your best mate, you will always be the reason I smile every day.

When you need someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on, when you need a cuddle when you find things are hard.

You the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life and I thank you for this, I will make sure you will always get your every wish.

From today and tomorrow and for the rest of our life’s, Me and S.J will always be by your side, we would like to thank you for all the love you have brought into our life’s.

See this smile is a memory we both treasure all the time, our happiness is a dream come true because of you.

So till we see you smile and beautiful sparkle in your eye’s I’ll keep you warm and safe, in that special place were life is made.

Wrote this poem for “Hayley & S.J”

Jidos Reality 17.7.12
Terry Collett Nov 2014
And Reynard said
why is that ****
always looking out
for you
lunch breaks?

we were going out
after lunch
in the school

the sun was out
the field packed
with kids
mostly in groups
girls sitting
on the grass

boys playing
a ball game
or tag games
one or two
chatting up
the older girls

I guess
she likes me
I said

I'm off
to kick ball
you coming?
he said

no I’ll see
what she wants
and meet after
I said

Yiska was
by the fence
arms folded
staring at me

thought you
weren't coming
she said
been waiting ages

had lunch
and got talking
with my friend
I said

she raised her brows
what's he like?
she asked
nodding towards
departing back

he's ok
he's funny
I said

we walked up
the field
looks moody
she said



no he's ok

she yakked
about her mother
and her mother's
bad moods
and how she'd
rowed with her
before school

what about?
I asked

don't ask

I already have

she sighed
usual stuff
my untidy room
my having
my record player
too loud
playing Elvis
instead of her
classical stuff

we reached
the far end
of the field
and looked back
towards school

I dreamed of you
last night
I said

did you?

you wouldn't
let me

she giggled
no really?

I nodded

what did we do?
did we kiss
and such?

no not
over much

(I hadn't dreamed
of her at all
I dreamed
of Hayley Mills
and some
desert island
and fish cooking
over an open fire)

what then?
she said

I woke up
and you
had gone

she frowned
and took my hand
and walked back
towards school

her warm hand
in mine
her pulse
tickling me
as we walked

and then
she spoilt it all
and talked.
Terry Collett Apr 2014
What names
shall we give
our children
when we get older?

Judy asked
as we walked
through the woods
behind the house

towards the lake
(as she called
the pond
in the woods)

I’m no good
with names
I said
you must

have some idea
what names to call
your children
I haven't got children

not yet but when
we're older you will
she said
the trees were

coming into leaf
the sun was straight overhead
birds were flying
from branch to branch

what if it's a girl?
she asked
I thought about
the middle spread picture

of the sports car
in the Eagle comic
I’d just pinned
to my bedroom wall

the parts number
and labelled

you must have
a girl's name?
she asked

I said
what kind of name
is that?
she said

I think it's in
that Beethoven opera
Miss Graham
made us listen to

during lessons
I said
I don't like it
Judy said

the car picture
was just one
of many I had
on my bedroom walls

I had one photograph
of Hayley Mills
in a frame
by my bed

I got it
from a magazine
on move-stars
what about Ruth?

she said
or Rebecca?
the path through the woods
was windy

there were bramble
on each side
how about Jezebel
I said

it has a certain
ring to it
don't like it
she said

gives off
a bad scene
we reached the fence
around the lake

and climbed over
she had on
that peasant
looking dress

flowered red and yellow
I caught a glimpse
of thigh
as she went over

you're not
taking it
she said

as we walked down
the grass towards
the water
sure I am

I said
I think Judy’s
a fine name
for a daughter.
Hayley Schiete Feb 2014
I had a dream where I faced someone I had complications with, I was looking at God. He told me he would tell me anything I wanted to know, know about myself. Squinting my eyes I spoke, "Who is my soulmate?" That's when the floor cracked and I saw into your living room from above, you were asleep on the couch, I wasn't shocked. I shook my head in disbelief and said, "God, if we were really soulmates, how come he left a scar on my soul rather than completing my half empty persona?" He scanned my body and told me, "Hayley, sometimes these things are difficult. Your doubt and uncertainty is much like what you have about me. You let people in just to take a part of you, a part of you that you may not be willing to share. This man has a part of you, and he hasn't let it go, he hasn't let you go. He doesn't want to. If his body was filled with red, you would be the sea blue standing out, alive and bright." That's when God tore my skin, and revealed my muscles and joints. He revealed my blue body and pointed at the red. That's when I made it my mission to get my blue back, and to give your red back. That's when I decided to make purple fluidly, and not have our souls separate like oil and water.
Jules Leblanc
The sweetest girl ever
Oh, Dearest Jules
You are my only friend
You are lovely as a sister
You are the bestest sister to Hayley

Jules Leblanc
The amazing girl ever
Who is kind, caring and friendly
You are the best person I have know
In my entire life since I was 13

Jules Leblanc
I love you so
Jules, My Dear Jules
You are one of the best
Jules Leblanc

— The End —