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Paul Stevens Jan 2014
She is ours, part of the family to be loved and cherished and later to play with, my connected love, now we were two cuties, my sister and me, you always had time for me, explaining, sharing, helping and learning, what discussions we had! Stories related, retold time and time again.
Little man off to school, you and the babies close behind, be brave, through the tears I played shop, I smelled old milk and cheesy feet, lots of  kindness and felt understanding, but I had to go again!
Music and drama, fainting and headache more like, fresh air and playing seemed like the answer, big gates, streams of parents and kids all in my way, wait at the crossing, mad rush to get across.
Home with Jacques Cousteau and underwater swimming, the reading adventure began, to swim like a fish with just the bubbles for company amongst the depths was my daydream, Tea time already, how time flies in dreamland, everyone’s there except dad, easy time!
Bath time for me imagination overdrives submarines and divers, how long can I hold my breath? Dark outside, my siblings breathing and the background hum of the downstairs TV is all I hear. lights off, time to find the torch and read under the covers, a few pages before the creak on the stairs.
Torch off, pretend to be asleep as the door opens and dad checks we are all “dead to the world”, sometimes I manage to stay awake and find my place, often I wake up, rub my eye, its  daytime already!
My brothers and I shared a room, bunk beds for them near the window, me opposite the door. Little privacy, but fun nevertheless, occasionally difficult sometimes interesting, but mostly annoying.
A largish family sharing a small space, the art of compromise often stretched to breaking point, We children grew, vying for position and fighting for existence and recognition such is our roles.
Protected me from harm, allowed me to grow even when I was being stifled by others, convinced me that Policemen were there to help and not there to be afraid of, but respected, understood my concerns and provided solutions to my childish concerns and worries.
Stroked my fevered brow and rubbed tired muscles, supported me through conflict and disappointment, you taught me to understand both sides of the argument; you taught me empathy and compassion.
You taught me to stand my ground when threatened, to show strength in the face of adversity, how intelligence is a path to knowledge, that intelligence wasn’t everything, but learning is!
People are human whatever the colour of their skin, or their religious beliefs, fairness ruled, whenever I needed you, you were/are always there for me, always ready to provide a shoulder to cry on, some advice for me to consider, away from all the madness, a sanctuary from the world.
All this you do for me because I am your son, your blood, the product of biological creation of you, I  give you worry and concern, interspersed with pride of an achievement at some splendid thing.
Oh mother of mine, understand my sadness and my darkness even, the light is still burning deep within  my soul,  however small, the flame still smoulders, awaiting the breath that fans it to burn brightly again.
My quietness may seem austere, but I mean no malice, it’s my way to deal with the disappointment. never forget, my love for you is deep, adorned with gratitude and respect for all that you give me.
Robert C Howard Oct 2013
In the year I discovered baseball
I stumbled on my brother's marbles.
I begged Jim out of a few and he
showed me how to make my thumb a trigger.

Soon I was checking out at Woolworths
with my pockets a couple of quarters lighter
but otherwise enriched by
several "purey's", a pair of "cat's eyes",
a largish agate as black as anthracite
and a pull string carry sack.

At home I lined them up in rows
admiring their reflections
on the glass top table.
I held my favorite cat's eye" to the light
(The diadem of my molded treasure trove)
However  did that orange swirl get inside?

Whistling through the playground
I joined a group of older kids
haunched around a circle
etched in the summer dust
with marbles clustered in the center.

Not to be left out I said,
"I've got marbles."
Before I had a chance to question why,
My orange diadem was in the center

Then WHACK, another marble sent it
flying out beyond the rim
and the shooter stuffed it in his sack.

I yelled,"Hey, that's my marble"
"Not no more, kid, the game is 'keeps'".
"What's 'keeps' I asked?"
"It means you lose"
and everyone laughed but me.

I scooped up the balance of my treasury
and left the circle quick -
(I dared not show my ***** tears).

So I left the cruelty of that dusty circle
sadder but just a little wiser
and never played for keeps again!

Well, not in marbles anyway.

October, 2013
Robert C Howard Aug 2013
It was like a dream -
a paradise of intoxicating scents,
the heat of passionate caresses
then the moaning, convulsive
transfer of genetic information.

Rolling on top she declared her love.
Still panting, he combed
his fingers through her hair and
whispered, “Make me a dad some day, ”
“Good as done, she said”
and clicked her ring to his.

With head thrown back
he said the word again,
“Dad”
It had a solid ring to it,
“Dad”

“Dad, Dad.

WAKE UP, DAD! ”

Searching his way
through the pastel haze,
he saw the visage
of a largish boy-man
hovering over the couch.
spoken sounds gradually coalesced
into familiar vocal code –

    “The car keys…”
        “To the mall…”
            “You promised…”
                “Tux for the prom…”

Propping his head on his hands
he surfaced in the land of now.

“You OK Dad? ”
“Sure son and so are you.”
He drew a ring of jingling metal
from his pocket and gave it over -
pointing with his free hand
like a cue for the clarinets,

“Drive carefully son.
Always drive carefully.”

*December, 2006
Terry Collett Jun 2015
We'd got half way up
the Downs she talking
of certain flowers and
butterflies that had

passed us fluttering by
and we rested by the
large hollow tree and
she said shall we go

inside it's large enough
for us and more? I said
ok and we did we climbed
inside the big hollow

tree and it was like a
largish room a hole in
the side of the tree acted
as  a door and a small hole

acted as a window nature's
little lodgings she said and  
we sat back on the inner
parts of the tree and there

was a little ledge like a seat
for  two and we sat there
and she said I think it's
lovely this yes it is I said

-and was glad Lizbeth never
knew of this or she'd have
drawn me in and wanted
somehow to have said

about having ***- Jane
was content to just be there
sharing a bit of nature and
being with me and she said

Daddy showed me this
when I was little and I was
amazed and thought fairies
came here and hollowed it

out I smiled and thought
Lizbeth would never have
thought that and I doubted
her father would have bothered

to show her anything makes
it so homely Jane said fancy
living here and coming back
here after a day's work and

having no place to wash or
bath and she laughed and I
loved that aspect of her that
innocence that being part of

what was natural and I wanted
to kiss her and hug her but I
didn't we just sat there sharing
the hollow tree just Jane and me.
A BOY AND GIRL INSIDE A HOLLOW TREE IN 1961.
DJ Thomas Jun 2010
A largish pet dog
Average American
Four-by-four L V
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
twas a very nippy morn
a largish frost did cover
our tiny township's lawns
Luke Jul 2017
I’d been standing underneath the sun for hours in the heat,
When I came upon a largish piece of quartz between my feet,
I sunk my pickaxe deep inside the rock which shone with all,
The pretty colours trapped within a gorgeous crystal ball,
The axe swung down a hundred times, the rock stayed the same shape,
And in my own frustration all that I could do was gape,
The colours of the magic quartz were hypnotizing me,
I’d noticed others resting underneath the nearby tree,
But determined, covered in cold sweat I continued my work,
To try to find the treasures which inside the rock may lurk,
When twenty days had passed I realized I had not eaten,
But by a piece of stone I was so sure I’d not be beaten,
I’d had no sleep, was miserable and fearful of the creatures,
Alone and in the dark now I could recognize their features,
But instead of marching home I bent and carried on my chore,
Beating away forever like the sea upon the shore,
A year had passed, I knew deep down I’d made no actual progress,
But I told myself the rock was smaller so as to defeat stress,
I looked around and noticed I’d been on my own some time,
The hammering of the pickaxe like some old forgotten rhyme,
And as I slaved on foolishly with rusty worn out tool,
I wondered why on earth I had been doing this at all?
Potahtto Jan 2019
I cannot help but stop and look at bleeding scratches.
Do scratches make you shiver?
Do they?

I cannot help but stop and look at the permanent disfiguration.
Never forget the unending and indissoluble imperfection.
Do mistakes become forgotten?
Do they?

I don't believe that scars are small
Scars are big beyond belief.
Scars are capacious. Scars are largish.
Do scars last forever?
Do they?
My terrifyingly-terrifical reality warps under therapies psychiatrical
& psychedelical like no Atlantic tuna fisherman's scale pentatonical
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his global-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
“I'm a no-good, good-for-nothing!” The largish woman cried. “I'm
300 pounds & I've lost my hair & teeth!” She cried even louder.
“I have a criminal record & my family has disowned me.”
   “There, there,” I said in a comforting way & from a safe
distance of 15 feet, “you must be good for something?” I
said. “Say,” I queried {but not so much as I did before
the rupture} “have you ever been to Cannibal Island?”
✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪
My terrifyingly-terrifical reality warps under therapies psychiatrical
& psychedelical like no Atlantic tuna fisherman's scale pentatonical
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor
before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber
whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper
twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his "global"-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
I don't puke anymore like I used to once in awhile never always did
'cause I gave up stinking diarrhea-sponsored rotten octopus & squid
that I inhaled like ******* on reduced food stamps when I was a kid
thrilling to vicious Johnny Rotten caterwauling over the bass of Sid
long before biddin' on the corpse of Jimmy Carter with a sealed bid
that I put under my fat folds where the fatty **** was that I often hid
so cops couldn't cop 4 fingers of ganjah rope that made for 1 *** lid
before I ride a homosexy unicorn that ain't by no *** queen been rid
Never have I wanted to scoop up the reekin' **** of an ill, zoo rhino
while I'm happy I wasn't born an easily-sun-burnt, pink-eyed albino
or a back-alley ***** in love with a stinking, Hillary-screwin' wino
whose drunken state makes him reply to cake, "Yes" & to pie, "No"
whilst he pees on California droughted pines from pine A to pine O
Look at me, I'm half stupid from being unlooped so long from here,
like someone unable to revive dead Sonny or disengage harlot Cher
from her lezzy-*** intrigues that Salvatore & Gregory couldn't bear
at the grimy Pittsburgh ****** for which sickly Cher did not prepare
for oozin' vaginal rifts that her gynecologist had to surgically repair
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his global-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber
Some women like to be tucked in at night like a puppy warmed by a building leveled by an Earthquake... Symbolism is a powerful weapon in the fight against international communism or terrorism. One replaces the other, the other replaces this one, the mother, the son, the moon by a largish metallic object. In the spray of Niagara falling, the sound of the mail men ******* about higher stamp prices & the stock market not jerking us off, the “newspapers” emerge as a source of integrity. Their unyielding promise of honesty & giving during govt. teevee beg-a-thons is an inspiration to all of us. Government pronouncement: this time we're really heading to the moon instead of Nevada. {I'm going to Canada, please don't restrain me!}
You & your tawny twin circle-**** me westwardly from my purely-
bred piety & righteousness as I tug my tug boat to Alaska to raise 2 largish women from penury & doubt into God's whoredom of clout
The cream cheese factory blew up & there's cream cheese everywhere. Our horses are up passed their hocks, bikini models can't be reasoned with, they refuse to enter into contracts as lurking perverts must be identified for what they are & covered in cream cheese. How & with what ease did Nazis order people around, as ****** settled himself into an extended family, hoping to align with the British king & country.
   God rests on large pillows as He's one who appreciates Saturdays off & sultry days pool-side, along with a bottle to enjoy all life's offers. “Bang your drums hurriedly! O largish negress, bangeth my tom-toms with Herculean resolve! Polish me off on wild butters & unguents. Enthrall me with what wit & wisdom was possessed by Mark Twain, the type of which tended to stultify & confuse whacked women as he dangled his Langhorn, whatever that was. I can't dangle it for more than 2 hours for some reason.”
  On the the paths of righteous men, hobble the malformed and leery ones, tracing their lineage to ancestral cripples who, in turn, descended from the most ancient citizens of crippleton. “Ask and receive,” Jesus said, in one of His jovial moods, before turning spiteful, as He was equipped {& eclipsed} by Holy God.
   Some day there'll be someone brighter than a thousand me's, he'll have crowd-control tactics, huge wire-nuts, and a million chicks he couldn't possibly keep track of {nor tabs on}. His skills will include electrical wiring: 120 & 240 v. Men will admire him distantly, women {under 27} will take advantage of his generous nature.
   How strange the day is when it snows. How many Puerto
Ricans are confused by it all? How many false memories
must we report to hypnotists before our minds are made free?
   To be able, yet unwilling, must squeeze the tramps from baseball. A natural death is analyzed by reformers & given sanction. A fairly-weathered friend will meet you in Free Port but not in Union Town. He'll infect your sister but give nothing to charity. A flame burns brightest as it's being fed.
   “Well, say what you want as it's no **** off my ***!”
   “No **** off my ***? That's a new one?”
   “Yes, I just made it up.”
   “Hey, it's Greaser Day at the orphanage, whereat Americans
are encouraged to stop by & kick a ****'s kid.”
   “Do you mean pick an Italian child?”
   “Oh my God, I've bought new boots for nothing!”

— The End —