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Terry Collett Apr 2014
Reynard and I
held back
after biology
while the other kids

had gone
and we walked up
the corridor
I could have scored that goal

lunchtime
if Goldfinch
hadn't got
in my way

he's always
where you don't
want him to be
Reynard said

I saw Jeanette
walking ahead of us
with her blonde friend Angela
Jeanette had class

I thought
her friend
was a short
mouthy girl

but Jeanette
was quite reserved
and looked at you
as if you had stepped

in her sunshine
but I liked her
and that quick kiss
I snatched the other day

still felt stuck
on my lips
Angela had short tight
blonde curls

Jeanette had long
dark hair reaching
her shoulders
I gazed

at her thin figure
her arms by her side
the satchel
over her shoulder

Reynard was still talking
about the football lunchtime
I was looking
at Jeanette’s sway

of hips almost unseen
yet visible
to the trained eye
the way her legs

came down
to her well heeled shoes
the white ankle socks
think we ought

to try get Frazer
on our side
he'd be great in goal
better than Dunton

the prat
he couldn't save a goal
if the ball
was as big as he was

Reynard said
yes we must get Frazer
I said
wondering how I’d get

that kiss
that Jeanette promised
the lips tempting
and her cheek

just visible
the place my lips
touched
the other day

and the kiss
just stayed there
and wouldn't
go away.
BOY AND GIRL IN 1962 AFTER BIOLOGY CLASS.
Terry Collett May 2014
I stood next to Jeanette
on the sports field
it was sports day
and she was in

her gym skirt and top
and I was in
black sports shorts
and a white shirt

what are you in?
I asked  
she looked at me
100yards run

and a relay
she said quietly
are you any good?
I asked

I can run ok
her friend Angela
next to her
a blonde haired girl said

she's fast
is she now?
I said
yes

Angela said
she'll get us house points
that's for sure
what are you in then?

Jeanette asked
I’m down for the 100 yards
that's all
and that was a mistake

as I didn't mean to run
as fast in the trials
but the other kids
were so slow

she nodded her head
and said
but at least
you'll get your house

some points
I couldn't careless
about house points
I said

she looked away
a race was about to start
girls were lined up
at the lower end

it's being apart of a team
Jeanette said
doing one's best
if I was in your house

I'd run every race
I said
but you're not
she said

no that's why
I don't give a ****
the girls were off
down the track

a lean tall girl
was ahead of them
a lone tubby girl
brought up the rear

there was cheering ons
and shouts
of COME ON
RUN RUN

from the crowds
I looked at Jeanette
beside me
she was calling out softly

moving her hands
she was thin
and her legs were long
but more shapely

than I’d thought
she looked along
the other end
where the lean girl

came in first
come on
Angela said
and taking Jeanette

by the hand
they ran down
to the line
for the next race

I watched them go
the girl Angela
dumpy and blonde
and Jeanette

thin and tall
with a lovely sway
which I thought
capturing it

in my mind
with my camera eye
would stay with me
all day.
SCHOOL SPORTS DAY IN 1962  AND A BOY AND GIRLS.
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Birkenau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Terry Collett Jan 2014
You guessed Jeanette
liked that kind of music
viewing her from behind
(at the back of class

sitting next to Reynard)
her head would move
with the music
the Beethoven piece

had her in thrall
or so seemed
seeing her
narrow body frame

slowly move
from side to side
like some
skinny snake

(titless Reynard said
she was)
to some charmer's flute  
her head

often times
was recline
to some Chopin
Miss Graham placed

upon the record player
(how old she looked
even then)
and closed her eyes

if you saw her
undressed
Reynard said
(Jeanette

not the teacher)
be like some pencil
thin and shapeless
but there was more

to her to you
something deeper
a certain something
beyond the cloth

of cardigan and skirt
and white blouse
and ankle socks
something of soul

or maybe undefined
that aspect
hanging there
in your 14 year old mind

Reynard whispered
when's this crap
going to end
give me rock

and roll any time
but Jeanette
seemed content
to sit and listen

and move her head
and frame
or wave her thin finger
in the air

as if an invisible
orchestra was there
you viewed her
from the back of class

her dark hair
shoulder length
resting on her back
and narrow frame

the slightly pointed nose
and thin lips
when viewed from profile
when she turned

but secret
like some slow fire
a deeper passion
within you burned.
BOYS AND GIRL IN SCHOOL IN 1962.
Patricia Drake Apr 2013
I am Jeanette
I am a mother
A redhead
A wife and a daughter
A teacher
A sister
A friend

I am a graduate
A sinner
A master
An artist
A narcissist
A debitor

I am a liar
A creator
A linguist
A learner
I am a killer
An amateur
A model
A protector

I am Jeanette
I am a dragon
I am a devil
I am a woman
I am a mystery

I am Jeanette
I am a poet
Terry Collett Jan 2014
Jeanette sits
in the class
music's played

Beethoven
sonata
Miss Graham

the teacher
at a grand
piano

thin wire framed
spectacles
her grey hair

in a bun
aged fingers
touching keys

many kids
in the class
sit bemused

others bored
out of brains
smile or smirk

but to her
sitting there
beside blonde

Angela
is transfixed
a new world

opens up
pretty much
like that kiss

stolen quick
by that boy
Benedict

on the field
after lunch
as she sat

all alone
Angela
had gone to

the crapper
(the wrong week
to sort out)

no reasons
were given
just that kiss

on her cheek
soft and damp
then he'd gone

leaving her
as one stung
by a bee

and she watched
as he went
towards school

and she sat
between worlds
old and new

balancing
her hormones
steering clear

of all those
dangerous
hidden rocks

Jeanette moves
to music
around her

her fingers
on the desk
like keyboard

pushing thoughts
of the kiss
from her mind

closing eyes
matching up
Benedict

inwardly
with passion
like one blind.
GIRL, BOY, SCHOOL, MUSIC, KISS, 1962
Terry Collett Mar 2014
Jeanette looked
back at me in class
I was at the back
with Reynard

focusing
on the history lesson
as best we could
the text books open

before us
some colour picture
of a cave man
with a spear

and dressed in fur
and some cave girl
standing beside
looking **** ugly

Reynard said
in whispered breath
Jeanette’s eyes
were focused on me

dark looking
her hair long
and dark
thin hands

and frame
she looked away again
her narrow shoulders
full to view

the teacher
was chalking words
upon the board
sentence

after sentence
in a measured script
I thought about
the quick peck

on Jeanette's cheek
at lunch recess
just so
quick in and out

before she had time
to say or breathe
or feel the affects
to make her swoon

or sick or both
I scribbled
on the exercise page  
in untidy scrawl

Reynard muttering
comments
about the cave girl's ****
about hair

under her arms
but I was focused
on Jeanette’s line
of curve

the way her
narrow waist
went in and out
so narrow

I’d get my arms
all about
dark hair
on her shoulders

smooth
well brushed
or combed
the head

at an angle
as if to scrutinize
the writing
on the board

take in the words
and sense
and write it down
in her (I imagined

far finer hand
than mine
going by the smooth
movement

of her fingers and pen)
maybe I could
kiss her again
I thought

some place
some when.
BOY AND GIRL IN SCHOOL IN 1962.
Nigel Morgan Apr 2013
As he walked through the maze of streets from the tube station he wondered just how long it had been since he had last visited this tall red-bricked house. For so many years it had been for him a pied à terre. Those years when the care of infant children dominated his days, when coming up to London for 48 hours seemed such a relief, an escape from the daily round that small people demand. Since his first visits twenty years ago the area bristled with new enterprise. An abandoned Victorian hospital had been turned into expensive apartments; small enterprising businesses had taken over what had been residential property of the pre-war years. Looking up he was conscious of imaginative conversions of roof and loft spaces. What had seemed a wide-ranging community of ages and incomes appeared to have disappeared. Only the Middle Eastern corner shops and restaurants gave back to the area something of its former character: a place where people worked and lived.

It was a tall thin house on four floors. Two rooms at most of each floor, but of a good-size. The ground floor was her London workshop, but as always the blinds were down. In fact, he realised, he’d never been invited into her working space. Over the years she’d come to the door a few times, but like many artists and craftspeople he knew, she fiercely guarded her working space. The door to her studio was never left open as he passed through the hallway to climb the three flights of stairs to her husband’s domain. There was never a chance of the barest peek inside.

Today, she was in New York, and from outside the front door he could hear her husband descend from his fourth floor eyrie. The door was flung open and they greeted each other with the fervour of a long absence of friends. It had been a long time, really too long. Their lives had changed inexplicably. One, living almost permanently in that Italian marvel of waterways and sea-reflected light, the other, still in the drab West Yorkshire city from where their first acquaintance had begun from an email correspondence.

They had far too much to say to one another - on a hundred subjects. Of course the current project dominated, but as coffee (and a bowl of figs and mandarin oranges) was arranged, and they had moved almost immediately he arrived in the attic studio to the minimalist kitchen two floors below, questions were thrown out about partners and children, his activities, and sadly, his recent illness (the stairs had seemed much steeper than he remembered and he was a little breathless when he reached the top). As a guest he answered with a brevity that surprised him. Usually he found such questions needed roundabout answers to feel satisfactory - but he was learning to answer more directly, and being brief, suddenly thought of her and her always-direct questions. She wanted to know something, get something straight, so she asked  - straight - with no ‘going about things’ first. He wanted to get on with the business at hand, the business that preoccupied him, almost to the exclusion of everything else, for the last two days.

When they were settled in what was J’s working space ten years ago now he was immediately conscious that although the custom-made furniture had remained the Yamaha MIDI grand piano and the rack of samplers were elsewhere, along with most of the scores and books. The vast collection of CDs was still there, and so too the pictures and photographs. But there was one painting that was new to this attic room, a Cézanne. He was taken aback for a moment because it looked so like the real thing he’d seen in a museum just weeks before. He thought of the film Notting Hill when William Thacker questions the provenance of the Chagall ‘violin-playing goat’. The size of this Cézanne seemed accurate and it was placed in a similar rather ornate frame to what he knew had framed the museum original. It was placed on right-hand wall as he had entered the room, but some way from the pair of windows that ran almost the length of this studio. The view across the rooftops took in the Tower of London, a mile or so distant. If he turned the office chair in which he was sitting just slightly he could see it easily whilst still paying attention to J. The painting’s play of colours and composition compelled him to stare, as if he had never seen the painting before. But he had, and he remembered that his first sight of it had marked his memory.

He had been alone. He had arrived at the gallery just 15 minutes before it was due to close for the day.  He’d been told about this wonderful must-see octagonal room where around the walls you could view a particularly fine and comprehensive collection of Impressionist paintings. All the great artists were represented. One of Van Gogh’s many Olive Trees, two studies of domestic interiors by Vuillard, some dancing Degas, two magnificent Gaugins, a Seurat field of flowers, a Singer-Sergeant portrait, two Monets - one of a pair of haystacks in a blaze of high-summer light. He had been able to stay in that room just 10 minutes before he was politely asked to leave by an overweight attendant, but afterwards it was as if he knew the contents intimately. But of all these treasures it was Les Grands Arbres by Cézanne that had captured his imagination. He was to find it later and inevitably on the Internet and had it printed and pinned to his notice board. He consulted his own book of Cézanne’s letters and discovered it was a late work and one of several of the same scene. This version, it was said, was unfinished. He disagreed. Those unpainted patches he’d interpreted as pools of dappled light, and no expert was going to convince him otherwise! And here it was again. In an attic studio J. only frequented occasionally when necessity brought him to London.

When the coffee and fruit had been consumed it was time to eat more substantially, for he knew they would work late into the night, despite a whole day tomorrow to be given over to their discussions. J. was full of nervous energy and during the walk to a nearby Iraqi restaurant didn’t waver in his flow of conversation about the project. It was as though he knew he must eat, but no longer had the patience to take the kind of necessary break having a meal offered. His guest, his old friend, his now-being-consulted expert and former associate, was beginning to reel from the overload of ‘difficulties’ that were being put before him. In fact, he was already close to suggesting that it would be in J’s interest if, when they returned to the attic studio, they agreed to draw up an agenda for tomorrow so there could be some semblance of order to their discussions. He found himself wishing for her presence at the meal, her calm lovely smile he knew would charm J. out of his focused self and lighten the rush and tension that infused their current dialogue. But she was elsewhere, at home with her children and her own and many preoccupations, though it was easy to imagine how much, at least for a little while, she might enjoy meeting someone new, someone she’d heard much about, someone really rather exotic and (it must be said) commanding and handsome. He would probably charm her as much as he knew she would charm J.

J. was all and more beyond his guest’s thought-description. He had an intensity and a confidence that came from being in company with intense, confident and, it had to be said, very wealthy individuals. His origins, his beginnings his guest and old friend could only guess at, because they’d never discussed it. The time was probably past for such questions. But his guest had his own ideas, he surmised from a chanced remark that his roots were not amongst the affluent. He had been a free-jazz musician from Poland who’d made waves in the German jazz scene and married the daughter of an arts journalist who happened to be the wife of the CEO of a seriously significant media empire. This happy association enabled him to get off the road and devote himself to educating himself as a composer of avant-garde art music - which he desired and which he had achieved. His guest remembered J’s passion for the music of Luigi Nono (curiously, a former resident of the city in which J. now lived) and Helmut Lachenmann, then hardly known in the UK. J. was already composing, and with an infinite slowness and care that his guest marvelled at. He was painstakingly creating intricate and timbrally experimental string quartets as well as devising music for theatre and experimental film. But over the past fifteen years J. had become increasingly more obsessed with devising software from which his musical ideas might emanate. And it had been to his guest that, all that time ago, J. had turned to find a generous guide into this world of algorithms and complex mathematics, a composer himself who had already been seduced by the promise of new musical fields of possibility that desktop computer technology offered.

In so many ways, when it came to the hard edge of devising solutions to the digital generation of music, J. was now leagues ahead of his former tutor, whose skills in this area were once in the ascendant but had declined in inverse proportion to J’s, as he wished to spend more time composing and less time investigating the means through which he might compose. So the guest was acting now as a kind of Devil’s Advocate, able to ask those awkward disarming questions creative people don’t wish to hear too loudly and too often.

And so it turned out during the next few hours as J. got out some expensive cigars and brandy, which his guest, inhabiting a different body seemingly, now declined in favour of bottled water and dry biscuits. His guest, who had been up since 5.0am, finally suggested that, if he was to be any use on the morrow, bed was necessary. But when he got in amongst the Egyptian cotton sheets and the goose down duvet, sleep was impossible. He tried thinking of her, their last walk together by the sea, breakfast à deux before he left, other things that seemed beautiful and tender by turn . . . But it was no good. He wouldn’t sleep.

The house could have been as silent as the excellent double-glazing allowed. Only the windows of the attic studio next door to his bedroom were open to the night, to clear the room of the smoke of several cigars. He was conscious of that continuous flow of traffic and machine noise that he knew would only subside for a brief hour or so around 4.0am. So he went into the studio and pulled up a chair in front of the painting by Cézanne, in front of this painting of a woodland scene. There were two intertwining arboreal forms, trees of course, but their trunks and branches appeared to suggest the kind of cubist shapes he recognized from Braque. These two forms pulled the viewer towards a single slim and more distant tree backlit by sunlight of a late afternoon. There was a suggestion, in the further distance, of the shapes of the hills and mountains that had so preoccupied the artist. But in the foreground, there on the floor of this woodland glade, were all the colours of autumn set against the still greens of summer. It seemed wholly wrong, yet wholly right. It was as comforting and restful a painting as he could ever remember viewing. Even if he shut his eyes he could wander about the picture in sheer delight. And now he focused on the play of brush strokes of this painting in oils, the way the edge and border of one colour touched against another. Surprisingly, imagined sounds of this woodland scene entered his reverie - a late afternoon in a late summer not yet autumn. He was Olivier Messiaen en vacances with his perpetual notebook recording the magical birdsong in this luminous place. Here, even in this reproduction, lay the joy of entering into a painting. Jeanette Winterson’s plea to look at length at paintings, and then look again passed through his thoughts. How right that seemed. How very difficult to achieve. But that night he sat comfortably in J’s attic and let Cézanne deliver the artist’s promise of a world beyond nature, a world that is not about constant change and tension, but rests in a stillness all its own.
Terry Collett Apr 2014
Jeanette was by
the wire fence
leaning against it
her hands

in front of her
resting one
on the other
she watched me

as I came out
of the school door
leading from the side
onto the sports field

her friend Angela
the blonde girl
had gone home
for lunch

why did you kiss me
like that?
she asked
as I went by her

your cheek
was tempting me
I said
so I kissed it

you should have
at least asked
she said
I will next time

I said
looking at her
taking in
her thin frame

and arms
what makes you think
there will be
a next time?

she said
her eyes were dark
like small currents
in cream dishes

I feel lucky
I said smiling
she didn’t smile back
you hang around

with that Rolland boy
don't you?
she said
yes he's a friend

I said
I don't like him
she said
he doesn't like you

much either
I said
he says
you're a titless wonder

she blushed
and looked away
but I like you
I think you have

a certain class
I mean the way you
sit there listening
to all that classical stuff

Miss Graham plays
to us in lessons
while we
are bored brainless

you sit there
in another world
actually enjoying it
she looked at me

I love Beethoven
she said
his music moves me
her eyes settled on me

she played with her fingers
but you ought
to have asked
before kissing

she said
have you told anyone
I kissed you?
no of course not

she said
shame it might do
some good
I said

in what way?
she said
other kids might not
think you so stuffy

and snobbish
I said
she looked
at her well heeled shoes

and white socks
it was only a peck
she said
not a real kiss

it was lips
on cheek skin
I said
wet and warm

she said shyly
there you go
I said
BENNY

Rolland called out
from the sports field
COME ON FOOTIE
best go

I said
see you in class
and I ran off
towards Rolland

and other boys
kicking a ball
maybe a kiss tomorrow
she had said

as I went off
up on the grass
I nodded
and turned away

the sky had brightened
blue skies
had moved off
the dull of grey.
A BOY AND GIRL IN SCHOOL IN 1962.
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
1
 
Here’s a sunny card to cheer up your hospital room.
Kate’s Flowers c. 1936 by Winifred Nicholson
So glad you’ve got your own room
And can therefore do a bit more of what you want to.
Take it easy though!

 
This painting is not what it seems.
Taking the long long look
that Jeanette Winterson recommends
there’s this abundance of orange
and its close friend yellow:
plenty and laughter
joining hands with
wisdom and calm.
Sometimes known as Kate’s Bunch
It’s an oil on plywood,
painted in Paris.
Two vases, daffodils and lilies,
the latter’s petals fallen on
a polished table, mahogany possibly,
and spread about by a gust of wind,
or perhaps a passing child. Kate
her first born, her miracle child
just seven when this painting was made.
 
2
 
There, sitting in front of us
in the stalls in the Town Hall,
was Stockhausen himself,
resplendent in the orange jumper
he always seemed to wear
in the last years of his life.

Because he invariably wore
white shirts and white jeans
an orange jumper, scarf
and jacket seemed sensible
garb for an angel from Sirius,
particularly when working in his garden.
At a concert he’d been known
to sport a purple scarf.
Orange and purple:
two colours that defy rhyme
but clearly not the reason
of this genius from another planet.
  
3
 
This Orange is Ecstatic.
Its theme of six quick notes,
almost never leaves the music.

Composer Michael Torke
slows it down, smooths it out,
it’s so quick and catchy
momentum builds up quickly;
it simply sounds (almost) unstoppable.
It sure is! Such fun,
and so good to listen to
because you never loose the thread.
Ok, the tune cycles round your head
but the instruments change
and there’s lots of extra tunes
playing away like good buddies.
This is music you can’t help smiling to.
It’s Ecstatic and Orange.

4
 
Did you know there’s a Music of Colour?
It is so new that few people,
except those who are creating it,
are aware that it exists.

At all.
 
Colour has seven degrees
of depth intensity.
With Orange it's
Alabaster
Apricot
Fire
Fox
Copper
Tobacco
Black coffee
 
Colour has seven degrees
between the shade of its hue
to its neutralization.
With orange it's
flame
sand
ochre
bistre
fawn
dun
mud
 
Oh Winifred, have you any idea
of the song your colours sing?
How orange and yellow
and blue and white
and almost purple
with a little green
make music become a picture.
 
5
 
I bought some orange tights! X
Oh Gosh! X
I’m not wearing them though . . . X
There’s a time and place for orange tights . . .
wait for (poetic) instructions please . . . X
Curiouser and curiouser . . . X

 
You see I bought this frock
in a charity shop.
Folly green and Pointing white
it was pleasantly patterned,
though a small fourteen,
and knowing he’d like it
I put it on one night
before we went to bed.
And he said:
‘You know it would be just right
with a pair of orange tights.’
And so it is.
Just right.

6

Dearest,
don’t let me touch you
yet, above the knee
where this warm colour
flows towards that centre
of your movements’ grace,
where lower limbs join
to kiss and stroke each inner thigh,
those quiet smooth planes of softest skin
that inviting so the caress of a hand,
daring so the intimate touch of a cheek.
Let orange keep you close to the possibility of passion
to the glow of your beauty’s length and line
where the firmness of your standing self
will shine out and speak of purpose
and of love’s sweet gift.
Composers often use quotation and/or sampling. In these six poems I've used short extracts variously from a get well card, a newspaper article, an Internet review, an essay by an artist and a text exchange. These extracts are always marked in italics.
Brycical Apr 2012
I don't understand
why more people aren't following,
fanning, stalking, whatever word
they use here on HP.

Your words are sharp,
titanium thorns
made out of the edge.

I admire your work,
and the courageousness
echoing behind.....  . ..   .   .  . .  .  .     .     .

You're a lot more optimistic than you think you are.
Don't be afraid to let that shine through..... ... .. . . .   .  .  .  .  .    .   .      .
From a pretty
big fan,
~The Bryce Post
Karijinbba Jun 2019
Just like Goddess Kali
I am feared when not
understood
my enemies know my loving passion are my kids
those demons slander me
fearing the mother
goddess in me
I gave life and inadvertedly heartbroken waived it
I give life
birthed my children
against all adds
motherhood apeaces me
injustice enrages my dance
I am Goddess Kali Karijin
~~
Precious daughters
Elena Rose Jeanette fear not
I save I protect I write
it's my frenzied dance
surounded by demons ferocious
you and me won many a
gruesome wars
to protect you three your
children alike my light
I have deamed
Remember Mother Kali
I love you miss you
more and more
and for you my life I lay
~~~.
The goddess mother
(excerpt)
~estranged from kids ~
~~~~~~
"The stars are blotted out,
    The clouds are covering clouds,
It is darkness vibrant, sonant.
    In the roaring, whirling wind
Are the souls of a million lunatics
    Just loose from the prison-house,
Wrenching trees by the roots,
    Sweeping all from the path...
The sea has joined the fray,
    And swirls up mountain-waves,
To reach the pitchy sky.
    The flash of lurid light
Reveals on every side
    A thousand,
thousand shades
Of Death begrimed and black."

love & motherhood apeace me.
~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
inspired
by Hindi ink Durga-Kali
Shiva Lord's Wife
revised 06-5-19
~~~~
the poem shows how the whole universe is a stage for the goddess's terrible and frenzied protector dance.
only motherhood
apeaces the mother in me
estranged motherhood ends me.
thats why childless foe slander me
~~
my grown children imagine
their enemy's darkness in me.
~~
Durga is Kali Lord Shivas wife
represent good & bad apeaced
by being Loved cherished
and motherhood instict
RH O negative Mothers like me
may abort on medical evil advice
if no Rhogam vaccine is
affordable by Mother to be.
not that we ****** child to be.
Hi everyone and welcome to brumbies night live snd this is going to be an exciting match against the might of the NSW Waratahs where if the brumbies win a bonus point and win they will be on top of the Australian conference and now here is Tom with a jingle

Jingle jangle party on
Go the brumbies go brumbies go
We need to win this exciting match
To be the best in Australia yeah
Come on brumbies
Come on brumbies
Win win win
Put the pressure on the Waratahs
Keep them down
Come on brumbies
Let’s cheer them on
Come on brumbies
Party on
Jingle jangle jingle jangle
Party on brumbies beat the tahs

Thank you Tom and now here is Peter

Row row row the ball
Up and down the field
Beat the tahs beat the tahs
Come on brumbies
Row row row the ball
And we will cheer them on
Go the mighty brumbies
Be the best in Australia

Thanks Peter and now here is the match go brumbies beat the tahs

Hi everyone and what a great lead the mighty brumbies have got at the half time break the score is brumbies 28 NSW 3 and it looks like the brumbies have what it takes to be the best in Australia in 2019 and here is Harry with his jingle

Go the brumbies go the brumbies
Go the mighty brumbies mate
We are up by 25 points
Go the brumbies yeseree
We need to win this match my friend
To be the best in oz
And despite those 3 points from Waratahs being the first points
Nothing can drag ACT down
All we need to do is this
Play the best we could
Keep the tahs under pressure mate
Forever que Sara Sara
Go the brumbies kick some ******* ***
Go the brumbies show some ******* class and keep the tahs from scoring
Go brumbies go
Win tonight at bank west

Thank you Harry and now here is Jeanette with her jingle

They said we will never make it
At the start of the year
But we stuck it out all guns blazing
And put pressure on the tahs
You say we are piling pressure on them
Leading 28 to 3
And hopefully we will keep this lead
Go the mighty brumbies
Go the mighty team
Fight hard to make us keep
The lead so it is good for us
Go brumbies go

Thanks Jeanette and now over to the second half go brumbies

Hi everyone and what a win for the brumbies over the Waratahs 35 points to 24 and despite the last try and conversion being from the Waratahs the brumbies still won the Australian conference and now here is Yvonne with her jingle

Go the brumbies
Come on brumbies
We won this great match
It was a great finish for the tahs yeah
But the brumbies played so well
To keep themselves still in the hunt
What a great win
You see the better team won
Oh yeah bow bow
Go the brumbies team
The tahs played alright
But we were the better team
It will ****** seem
Go the brumbies

Thanks Yvonne and now here is ken with his jingle

I am a jingle jangle brumby
With a flippy floppy hat
We scored a great number of points
And showed the tahs who is boss
I am a happy go lucky brumby team
Happier than the other team
We will fight pile on the pressure
Yes yes yes
Jingle jangle brumby playing so well
Better than the other Aussie’s
Playing today
Go brumbies

Thank you ken and this match was a beauty of a match and now here is Joel with a jingle

Waratahs are losers losers losers
Waratahs are losers in the best version of the word
The brumbies played too good too good too good
The brumbies played too good
Too good oh yeah
Yes we will go further further further
Hopefully we will go further
But it might be ****** hard
Waratahs are losers losers losers
They are mighty losers
In the best version of the word
Go brumbies

Thank you Joel and I know it is great to see the brumbies win but the tahs played alright but just weren’t good enough and now we draw the final curtain go brumbies

And now we draw the final curtain
The brumbies won oh yeah
The Waratahs weren’t good enough
But who cares about that
The brumbies are the champions yes they are the champions of the Comp
Go the mighty brumbies go
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
I had a sister once
She had sunshine in her smile
She was everybody’s friend
For you she’d gladly walk a mile

When I see her in my mind’s eye
Jeanette’s forever young
When we lost her to the monster
She was only 41.

So that is why tomorrow
I’ll be racing for the cure.
With caregiver’s and survivors
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if my step should falter
As I am no longer young
Her ghost will run beside me
Until my race is run.

Perhaps you have a sister too,
Or someone that you love
Perhaps she’s a survivor
Of a battle bravely won

We must celebrate the victories
Each year there are still more
Until what was a feeble cheer
Becomes a mighty roar

So that is why tomorrow
You’ll be racing for the cure.
With caregiver’s and survivors
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if your step should falter
For you are no longer young
Your survivor friend will pace you,
Until this race is won.

Gather at the starting line
Young and old together
The sisters and the daughters
And survivors feeling better
There may be 20,000 here
The organizers say
They fail to count the shadows
Who will run with us today.


So that is why today we’re here
All  racing for the cure.
Family , friends and lovers
We will beat the beast for sure.
And if our steps should falter
For we are no longer young
Our dead will bear us forward,
Until their race is done.
Dedicated to the memory of Jeanette Garafola, proof that the good die young. the world grew a bit coarser and colder when she passed. This is my poor tribute to a dear friend.
Karijinbba Feb 2021
{In CA, USA -1982- present}
Elizabeth WG, Henry R W his nurse sociopath child sadomizers baby trasher is Susan WRat
Commercial/ residential burglaries, life insurance fraud (which includes ****** for hire for profit cases.
Billing and Medical Services fraud.

Inventing surgeries not authorized
cutting mother's privates up out of malice jealousy greed.
You aren't above the law
buying fraudulent birth certificates from human trafficking serial poisoners Is a malignant crime
to drug young beautiful intelligent gifted brides mothers, without them knowing for years is a crime!
You aren't above the law.
drugging lying cursing a victims mom trashing their hero mother
maligning damaging my childrens brains giving them psychotropics, hallucinogenics and methamphetamin
my grown daughter's nightmare
its against the law
This is the USA
my daughter's if you want to live follow this lead
  Take Taxi cob to Wilshire Blvd to The FBI offices ask for political assilum for you your sisters
your children Angel Mom backs you up.Elenita Rosita. Jeanette: Evil Susan W. Raitano bought you from Charalambos Mantalozis a poisoner serial killer urMom escaped from 1982 from Farron 58 Kalamata Messinia Greece
Arthur Susan Rat ano bought you for a fee
and it's human trafficking.
Susan Word Arthur Rat-ano
you are the **** of Earth
****** cows ****** bulls
you aren't above the law!
I am dismanteling your team of murderers and thieves.
LA and Washinghton
FBI have been informed
you snakes in my childrens paradise
human predators sterile sociopaths
you all wolves with pea size brains
you needed going to sadistic unprovoqued enemy to help you sadomize my family and continue trashing this hero Mom
this purple heart hero Mom
cowards

To all my enemies I am  
vomiting you here to public shame
to your team of ***** wolves
Jeff  A, John CH, shame on you!
Blind deaf mute cacaroach size brains
you need to go to Greece to pile more trash on a battered mother in law
a survivor wounded by the hand of that human predator deadly enemy.
My daughters
Rose Eleni & Jeanette M Wk I love you you adore you uaren't guilty of any wrong doing I believe in you.
You are my children you are being tortured trashed to the eleven winds because they convinced you
to trash me to the four winds.
you trashed Mom to the wolves 
out of fear be strong the more they trash you and Mom know they are your deadly enemies evidence of Mom's innocence
My reputation marred by poisonous snakes matters nothing, my character is impeccable can't be tinted
You allow them to befriend you,
But I do not blame your treason and cruelty to your only Angel mom on Earth
Those maggots narcissists you may think are mother like, are not they only have
selfish agendas very dangerous malignant,
a poison to your mind
and your childrens buy cheap phone write a letter to FBI call police from neighbor tell them not to tell make videos tell all criminal abuse take taxi put cell on airplane mode ditch car it's got tracking too call or  do not call friends they are in it too go market borrow phone call taxi get your kids go to FBI Wilshire Blvd LA tell how you have been suffering deprived
of liberty .
Mom will back you up.
Remember this
"A house divided by itself cannot stand it will utterly be destroyed"
i am your first home my children
and i am giver of life
your lover of life
boved Mom
I can't allow you 3 to trash me to my deadly unprovoqued enemy
so i deprive myself of your presence so the enemy you call friend and family can not plicate me in
macabre agendas
they are ****** for hire
and life insurances
You are always in my heart my mind
you are my baby girls and I will ways side with you don't admit to being mentally ill do not go to any Jeff's phychiatrist to force you to give your parental right

Sociopath Arthur Raitano your evil sterile Medusa Susan W.
Elizabeth W, Gzon stop calling my childrens extended family and cursing them then giving my name to them.
don't you have a name?

To my childrens deadly
two face enemies
Satan doesn't want you in hell
and God wont open gates of heaven
for you I curse the day your great grandparent
were born for all eternity
I bind to you all my pain
my childrens suffering too
soon you'll pay Karma and your many deadly enemies will be hunting you hundred fold as you do into others
I only seek an eye for an eye.
Elizabeth W G i loved Henry one split second because u
didn't understand love neither
Henry R Welonek
  you all tried murdering me by turning me to his satanic sadistic jealous ex girl friend
the evil nurse from hell.
your partner in hate crimes
i am a human being
not a dog ******* My children aren't dogs either to be drugged and forced to call criminals parents
to fill your empty cradle
God and his wise universe
did leave you sterile
for a reason
So let go of my kids
get a dogs to pet as vicious
as you all are.
~~~~~
By: karijinbba
purple heart Mom
A repost:1977- 2021.
To all your team of organized crime Go to hell
Nigel Morgan Sep 2013
Free Writing

How curious to be told
to write freely,
to ‘do’ free writing,
and then be given a subject!
That’s unfreeing my freedom.

Thank you, but
I don’t want to think
about this time last year.
As September was
September is,
brim-full of wondrous light
now flowing ‘cross this table
as I write – as freely as I can.

Nobody is going to tell me
to write freely and then
give me a subject, tell me
to write for two minutes
then give me five.


The Memorial Hall

There was a continuity of safeness
in these grounds that frame
this unfortunate building.
Memorable and unforgettable,
the ‘Mem’ Hall was a travesty
by Clough William Ellis.
All balustrades and pineapples,
his signature touch, chosen
it’s said (this architect that is)
because he designed the Bath Club pool
whose famous cup this swimming school
inevitably won year upon year.


Walking with Alice

Grey day this Sunday
And a morning walk
Through the estate
To the edge of fields,

You here to collect
The season’s fruits,
Not to eat,
But for the dyer’s vat.

And I, just to crunch
My boot on stubble
And cross the wide acres
Ready for the plough.


For Jeanette

Her last day in Amsterdam
and a brief break from the Powerbook;
she was playing the flâneur.
In the late afternoon
she came across this painting
in a window, in a gallery
at Van Ostadestraat 294.

She was transfixed.
The painting demanded her attention
and her time. After an hour
(and it was by then nearly dark)
she returned to her hotel
and cancelled her flight home.

For the next three days
she went back to the painting
in a window, in a gallery
in Van Ostadestraat 294.

She had begun to learn to look,
not glance, but look, to stand still
for an hour or more - and look.

She was rewarded by a world of detail
no glance could have brought forth.
She was transfixed.
She was transformed.


Red Point

Leaving the fishing station
to the cows on the beach
through each kissing gate
we passed, we kissed.
The steep road ahead
with the horse and the boy
hid our cabin home.
The sea channel,
the red sand,
the distant rain
glanced us by.


To my children**

You’re out there
Living famously
All the way down
And back again.
I do think of you
As birthdays pass
And Christmas letters
Demand attention.
You’re out there
To represent my way
Of baking bread,
Sailing the boat,
Walking too fast,
Winning at Go.
Whether in Qatar,
Kansas City or Deptford
You’re me in disguise.
I went to my first poetry workshop and wrote six poems. Here they are. Thanks to Ann and Peter of the Poetry Business.
The day had been rather stormy when
I walked in the garden gate,
With lighting flashing around me,
It was dark, and getting late.
I tried the key in the old front door
But found that it didn’t fit,
And had to pound on the knocker so
That Kate would answer it.

It took a minute or so before
I heard her steps on the floor,
She probably wondered who it was
Before she opened the door,
She stared at me with the strangest look
On her face that I’d ever seen,
But stood there blocking the door, I said,
‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’

She stood aside in a moment then
And I walked in through the door,
She said, ‘And what’s the occasion then?
You’ve not called here before.’
I thought she must have been joking then
And gave her a sickly smile,
She said, ‘you’d better believe it, you
Have not been here for a while.’

I tried to give her a kiss, but she
Pulled back, and turned away,
‘The time for that was an age ago,
That was another day.’
I asked her what she had meant, for she
Had been my wife for years,
‘Not since you married my sister, and
You turned my world to tears.’

I said that I didn’t follow her,
And must have looked confused,
She said that I’d turned my back on her
And left her feeling used,
‘You broke off from our engagement, when
The date had just been set,
And went and married my sister then,
You’re married to Jeanette.’

I thought I was going crazy, though
Perhaps, I thought, it’s Kate,
Having a mid-life crisis, but she
Looked at me with hate.
She said to go to her sister’s place
Just further down the street,
So thinking that I would humour her
I went, through hail and sleet.

I tried my key in Jeanette’s front door
And that gave me a shock,
The key had fitted it perfectly
As then the door unlocked,
I wandered into the kitchen where
Jeanette was making tea
For a man at the kitchen table,
But I swear the man was me!

David Lewis Paget
Llahi Fuego Nov 2013
My muse, my muse,
She’s here right now
She just took a shower and her hair is still wet.
She's wearing a bathrobe, she walks up to the bed and sits
When she crosses one leg over the other I catch a flash of her thighs
Inviting thighs, long legs
She has pretty feet
And pretty ankles,
I always look at feet.
She has delicate wrists
She has long thumbs, here she is
Now leafing through a magazine
With those long thumbs,
Long fingernails.
Her shoes are on the floor, shoes that she wore last night
They've fallen over on the carpet,
My eyes find my way back to her
She seems to have found something interesting in the magazine
Here she is, concentrated on it, her back is straight
In this light, this natural light,
Without make up,
She looks impossibly lovely,
Renoir would paint her.

I get out of bed and walk into the shower.

There’s something strangely intimate
About taking a shower in a girl’s bathroom,
Shampoo bottles and hair conditioners all around me
Water cascading down my bare chest
Recollecting and replaying scenes from the night before:
Unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them off
Seeing her Hello Kitty underwear
And laughing, and thinking it was cute
And saying, umm… so how old are you again?
Humour always works, yes, humour always works.

I love ******* this girl.
It seems as though I'm always ******* her.
At night in the living room, on the sofa
Unfastening her stockings and slowly rolling them off,
Next her skirt, then her underwear…
Sweet parting flesh
I begin thinking of how it’ll be, how it’ll go down

She's always in something classy,
But man, it seems as though I'm always ******* her.
Sometimes I strip everything off her body,
But I ask her to leave her earrings and heels on; they confirm her nakedness
Hoop earrings
Red lipstick
Red heels
I lie in the middle of the bed, lights are dim, she climbs onto the bed
Curls up between my legs, begins by kissing on my stomach...
Great lovers lie in hell, the poet says.
Great lovers lie in hell.

I'm falling asleep afterwards, but not her
*** invigorates me, she says, tying her hair in a ponytail
This girl, she has the effect of lighting a matchstick in the dark.
She lays beside me and begins to read Jeanette Winterson
And just before I succumb to a deep slumber I remember something and tell her,
*Baby, baby, baby, your Morse code interferes with my heartbeat.
Jeanette Jun 2019
There was a lady from Eiffel
Who went to her date on a cycle
The Cycle it broke
And her eyes they got poked
Now she has a blind date with Michael

©Jeanette
27Jun2019
As the title suggests just tried my hand at Limerick.
Repost: true story appeal.

A mothers plee: Let my children go.
and come to me.
USA FBI ( RDDBBA)
Appeal to the powerful wealthiest.
Save my children and grandkids
Our enemies noone is above the law
The evil doer criminals hide their crimes
Assassination of character their banners.
Dear daughters anyone who lies about mother
Pin it on them they are the culprit.
~~~
Destroying enemies of my grown kids
Protection prayer for the crown jewels
of heroic amazing Moms
Fir a lifetime Mom BBA victim of hate crime in LA by a group of racist haters.
Prayer for justice and freedom against
false friends who lie divide to Maine to **** covertly so.
Assassinating heroic Mom's character and her lovely
Offspring; Ellen Ch,
Rose Abrecht Jeanette Moreen W
(in LA CA( Illinois TJ.Mexico
~~
Destruction of impostor mothers wannabees
Who Maine hurt play with babies lives newborn and hunt down stalk years and years
To pin their evil doing on their
amazing successful heroic survivor
Mother, grandmother (BBA®DD-jpc-AA)

The unprovoqued enemies of my motherhood
© God of my praise, don’t remain silent,®
for the wicked have opened their devilish mouth of deceit against us.
They have spoken to my family with a lying tongue.
They have also surrounded me with words of hatred, they use harrass my young grown children.
continually fightt against me without a cause
.

In return for my love my silence, my enemies
are my adversaries;
but I am in prayer.
They have rewarded me evil for good,
and hatred for my motherly triumphant love.
Set a wicked man over them who falsely accuse me human traffickers i had escaped from.

Let an adversary stand at his their right hand.
When he/she is judged, let our enemies come out guilty.
Let my kid's false friends their prayer
be turned into sin and medical tampering
malignant medical frauds turn on against them all.
Let our deadly enemies days be few.
Let another take their twisted offices.
Let the enemy's  children also be stolen and become fatherless,
and the false mothers, evil wives suddenly be a widow.

Let his children be wandering beggars.
Let them be hunted down from their ruins.
Let the creditor seize all our enemies have illegitimatedly acquired.
Let strangers plunder the fruit of all their twisted labor.
Let there be no one to extend kindness to any of them,
neither let there be anyone to have pity on his fatherless children.
Let his posterity be cut off.
In the generation following let their name be blotted out.
Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered by the LORD.
Don’t let the sin of his mother be blotted out.
Let them be before the LORD continually,
that he may cut off their memory from the earth;
because they didn’t remember to show any kindness no mercy,
but persecuted the poor and needy mother struggling to survive all alone,
broken in heart, to **** her.
Yes, they loved cursing, and it came to them.
They didn’t delight in blessing, and it was far from them
They clothed themselves also with cursing as with their only garment.
Evil came into his inward parts like water,
like oil into his bones.
Let it be to them as the clothing with which they cover himself,
for the belt that is always around them.
This is the reward of and to my adversaries from the LORD omnipresent,
of those who speak evil against our soul.
~
But deal with me, GOD the Lord,† for your name’s sake,
because your loving kindness is good, deliver me;
Deliver my children and grandkids hide us from the evil doer in medical uniforms
They maime ****** make it look like accident
Not to avert the authority
of our impending death they trash our medical records.

Lord almighty I am poor and needy God Jesus.
My heart is wounded within me.
I fade away like an evening shadow.
I am shaken off like a locus
My heart is wounded within me have mercy I'm innocent.
I fade away like an evening shadow I been victimized by those who cover their many crines against me.
I am shaken off like a locust.
My knees are weak through fasting.lbI am a sage lord.

My body is thin and lacks fat.
I have also become a reproach to them.
When they see me, they shake their head, feed and inject my family poisons.
Help me, LORD, my God.
Save us according to your loving kindness;
that they may know that this is only your hand;
that you, LORD, have done it.
They may curse, but you bless.
When they arise, they will be shamed,
but your servant shall rejoice.
Let my adversaries be clothed with their own dishonor.
Let them cover themselves with their own shameful sins as with a robe.
I will give great thanks to the LORD with my mouth.
Yes, I will praise him among the multitude.
For he will stand at the right hand of the needy,
to save us from those who judge our humble loving soul.
~~~~
A repost:Biblical truth
All Rights on the personal notation
By: Mr and Mrs Andrews
for and and with Karijinbba
~
https://youtu.be/mufNKaBMNJY

~~~~
My enemy tried to ****** my new born children and later contacted my enemies after divorce to sell them my grandkids lie to my daughters to favour them i did not contact DA again because i feared for my kids life..
The situation must end and wicked receive their rewards by God's hands and the universe cause and effect
Susan and Arthur raitano, Elizabeth Gummeson kiriaki Mandalozis Piraeus Greece with 12 othersl criminals cruel poisoner's
I survived them all! John Christianson blind foolish son in law from hell has been assimilated by the gang if blue collar criminals:
Jeff Albrecht.henry Robert Welonek his wicked ex girl friend nurse killed Ng in the medical field in usa attempted ****** ling me a pregnant young Mom evil nurse.in Athens Medea to Charalambos Mandalozis ***** donor serial killer his evil racist mother father
Jeff's psychiatrists in LA twisted blind family counselor from hell i use this Curse with God's imprint against my kids evil doers. My enemies hunt us down in the medical field may all you do against me and my family who you appropriated bought from ancient trafficants all should turn against you all.
SweetCindy May 2014
I AM STRONG  
     I have learned the meaning.    
         Of love.         Of heartache.       Of loss.  
I've grown.  Shed dead leaves of sorrow  & pain.
   My branches                have borne                      heavy loads,    
Enjoyed the pleasure of young children swinging, climbing, laughing
Names carved into my heart: "I was here."  "Cindy <3 'So & So' 4-eva"
But over the years........the bark expands.........the names slowly fade
My outer skin.   of bark grows.    thicker,    harder to leave your mark
      My purpose & appeal         *      *         have changed.    
    I have done               **              my very best  
     To ward off                   the "termites" 
   That      eat me up        inside.  
My core, my limbs
Are solid
my roots
run deep
Nourishing
waters
Of truth
in my veins
Holding dear
only The most
important
Ones in my life
Mom                            Dad
Michael -      my brother                Jeanette -    my sister
Naomi.      Lisa.         Micaela.      Marina.          Abby.       Caleb.
MY   TRUEST                                    &                                GREATEST LOVE
MY.                   BEST.              FRIEND.               JEHOVAH.               GOD.
Julia Lane Oct 2013
I'm a half broke horse,
like the ones Jeanette Walls wrote about.
Half tamed: Half the trouble
But half of me's still spirited and independent,
Obdurate.
I do me, and I don't do rules.

I don't know what shaped me
Maybe the fact I had life
Come at me too early.
Dealing with endless hate
between my family,
Scars to deep on a 14 year old.

Or maybe it's because
every time I get myself into
some terrible ****,
it always turns out better than
expect.
Maybe cause I'm secretly
Lucky,
I secretly rebel, but always half good.
Always half attentive and abiding.
James Rives Apr 2019
Emeralds and diamonds,
Affairs of State.
We didn’t build our bridges
simply to avoid walking
on water.
A bridge is a meeting place.
Neutral, casual.
A bridge is a possibility,
a metaphor of chances.
For the traffix in whispered
goods, where else but a bridge
in the night?
A philosophical people,
conversant with greed and desire,
holding hands with the Devil and God.
This living bridge is tempting,
you may lose your soul
or find it here.

*an erasure poem
An erasure poem after a page from Jeanette Winteron's The Queen of Spades.
Arcassin B Jul 2015
By Arcassin Burnham


How do you make light of bad situation
Evolving sexuality?
Wanna go back to the way it use to be,
I'm not appalled in the slightest,
I thought that we'd elevate the highest,
There's no one else I rather love but you,
You made my life a reality,
My hair was short,
Cut like a man,
And even though I didn't like lesbians,
I didn't fully understand,
But the difference in you,
Made it all worth while,
You never fathemed your face,
But I worshipped your smile,
Kissing you was like heaven,
Something I didn't believe,
Until that night at the lake,
When you came out to me,
Couldn't explain what we had going on,
Somethings wrong,
Putting muscle on my emotions love,
it was strong,
I think of us on a daily basis
Whenever your gone,
I see the room is very spacious,
Whenever I hit the ****,
Going to school with this smile on my face,
You're the epitome for a better human race,
Butterflies
When you asked me to stay,
Have no reasons for a depressing day,
When I see you,
I realize it will be okay,
Thinking this was all just another phase,
But little did we know the worst was coming our way....

Someone knew
About our little affair,
Told the whole school,
I just couldn't bare,
You stayed home
While I went there,
Holding up their camera phones,
Wait hold up!
**** your ignorant childish laughter,
So what !? I kissed a girl,
Shes my everything
And I promise I would give her the world,
And further more,
I walk with a demon by my side baby,
Swear you can't deny baby,
Popular girls are cheap *****
And *****,
Memories are a little slurry,
Feeling like Jeanette McCurdy,
If I don't get out of here,
Gonna act like a different person,
I was never a quiet person,
I just never took no mercy,
I was born with several burdens,
Strong,so that you'll never hurt me,

took me by surprise,
I didn't realize,
I could have went to you,
why did you do it,
why did you do this to me,
they found you hung on a ceiling fan,
I didn't know it affected that bad,
I miss your smile,
everything about you,
love.
Lesbian love is real ..
Terry Collett May 2014
I sense the touch
of boy's eyes upon
me, said Jeanette,
the touch inches

beneath my skin,
moves along my
veins, ****** at my
heart. I sit and see

the other girls remote,
untouched as I, their
voices gathered like
hens at feed, pecking

their order of who
and must; I hear the
words giggled: kiss
and tell, and touch

and feel, and who did
what to whom, echoing
around the room in
whispers spoken, hid

by hands, eyes betraying
what their voices are saying.
A girl talks of ******
climes, of ***** deeds,

with him, but who is he
for no one tells, just a
lover of girls. I wash
each night to cleanse me

from their touch of words,
their deeds half buried
in my mind's hold; I bathe
and sit and scrub, sensing

the day's grime wash clear
away, hair,arms, hands,
neck and *******, where
they say(and laugh) their

*** boys play. I hear their
words as I sit in class,
whispering, whispering,
who did what to whom

and where and were you
there?  I wonder at their
lives, their way of walk
and do and deeds, the want

of love or need of keeping
something back, virginity
not saved not cared for such
as seems when they speak

and sprout it all comes out.
I bathe in water warm and
soapy, scrub my skin to
cleanse them off, the night

spread before me like a dark
gown, the stars blinking eyes,
the moon a ghostly ship on a
dreary sea. I don't think boys

will want of me. I dress as
neat and tight and show no
part that should not be be
seen, I am as yet untouched,

unfingered, unkissed, a
flower in a gloomy meadow,
a blossom in a city site, a
gem(says mother) in a heap

of *****. I sense the touch of
boy's eyes upon my skin, it
bites at me, ****** at nerves
and heart, I want to be undone,
not left alone and torn apart.
A GIRL WANTING TO BE LONG BUT AT WHAT COST.
judy smith Jan 2016
Lee and Drilona Perry got married at Newark register office late on Saturday afternoon.

They headed to the adjacent Newark Castle after to take photos but, in the meantime, register office staff went home and the gates were locked.

They were rescued along with their 50 guests after an hour and the council has now apologised.

'Wedding to remember'

Mr Perry, from Newark, Nottinghamshire, said he thought it was a joke at first.

"You plan a nice, beautiful wedding that you expect to be the most wonderful day of your life....only to find you get locked in," he said.

"As it started to get dark and the rain started to come down we thought let's wrap this up and get to the function, but the gates were locked."

He said they had been given no explanation as to how it had happened but "it will be a wedding to remember".

"We can laugh about it now. It could've been a lot worse," added Mr Perry.

Jeanette Hall, registration area manager at Nottinghamshire County Council, said they appreciated it "must have been frustrating for all involved".

She said: "Newark and Sherwood District Council lock these gates at around dusk and unfortunately we should have alerted the couple to the possibility that the gates may be locked when they went into the grounds."

She said they were trying to contact the couple to investigate what happened.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/orange-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/pink-formal-dresses
Danielle C May 2013
outside the ocean waves roared, and Jeanette heard their melody from her bedside.
the clock ticked a quarter to seven, but she’s was already late for work. water dripped off of Richard’s dresser. the bouquet of crimson roses fell over, but the vase wasn’t broken. “I’m leaving you,” was all he said as he packed his final bag.

the roar wasn’t the door slam, but the shatter of the glass frame on the nightstand. it  
was a photograph taken the first time she laid eyes on the horizon of the kite  beach. it wasn’t long after she remembered saying, “let’s just not go back,” a line she’d recite at her wedding reception.

she thought her dream of living in Cabarete with the love of her life left with the roar
of his plane. that was about sixteen years ago, but she’s still in love. her love was not the one she traveled to paradise with, but paradise itself.

— The End —