"laurie" poems
Last Christmas grandmother told anyone who would listen that she quit the wine. She said it once as my father cracked open a bottle of *** She said it again serving the ham; mentioned it in passing while gramps polished off a bottle of Malbec;
she said that last summer in the hot-tub at Laurie’s she had a bit too much Sangria and got out and fell on the pavement, cutting up her knees real bad ---
she said that she couldn’t even believe it was happening, she couldn’t believe that she drank so much. I could believe it.
Gram had always been a bit of a drinker; her sober stinging words caught you good enough even when she was on her best behavior. Imagine when she was unhinged! Talking while her teeth were all red was like getting sucker punched by a kangaroo; Gramps got all loose and loud, Gram got all hot and bothered and mean.
Don’t get me wrong. If I could, I’d drown in a pool of whiskey, choke on the amber stream from the tap.
But I don’t lie about it! I don’t talk about it; I don’t lie about it.
I’ve been sneaking sips since I was 14,
and I’ve been drinking pools of the stuff since I was 17 and if you asked anyone they might not believe you.
I wonder if punching people in the face and choke holding them into doing what you want them to do is a past-time. Most people drink to get nice.
People like her drink to get mean.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
That day I met her at the Shelter
She said, “My name is Dora",
While hanging upside down, off kilter,
“I’m Dora the Explorer!”
Balanced on the armoire door
Beckoning me to help her retrieve
Hanging high above the floor
A ballet that I couldn’t believe...
Up on one toe she dangled
As she demanded I help her reach
Some toys she longed to wrangle
Until we heard a commanding screech!
“Get down from there! Wash your hands!
Asia, it’s almost time for dinner!"
Dora leapt-trusting- she lands
Her high-flying act a sure winner!
Oh, Dora, who is Asia?
She said, “I don’t like that name-sorry!
Later let's play a new game?
After dinner my name is Laurie!”
Since she answered to that name
I schooled her in her name’s history
But Dora just wouldn’t be tamed
“Not a CONTINENT-I’m a MYSTERY!”
Asia, alias Laurie Dora
After supper, brushed and scrubbed
Gave the best, my airy explorer-
Dora's monumental hug!
She sprang to my arms without warning
Like a monkey from a vine
I wasn’t aware until morning
It was the best hug of all time!
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
you came in from the cold dressed bold
under a black flag like isis on the road
to baghdad in a red ferrari going all john
le carré defecting with the little drummer
girl laurie in a deadly affair expecting
the honourable school boy when i'm used
to being a most wanted man -
now i'm no naïve and sentimental lover, baby
i'm the perfect spy and this ain't a small town
in germany but ich bin ein berliner, fraulein -
you better make this your last call for the dead
- it was (y)our kind of game playing
tinkering tailoring soldiering spying -
doodling smiley's people on the side
acting like absolute friends with fred
the constant gardener at the russia house
and red the tailor of panama
like a ***** with a straw up your nose
in the looking glass war
but if you do it again -
let me tell you a secret, pilgrim
i'll drop you where you lie -
it'll be a ****** of quality, baby
and that's a delicate truth
- you were our kind of traitor
on the blue mesa.
r ~ 11/14/14
i like john le carré
:)
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
Mading relieves Manute from guard duty.
They share a meagre meal of millet porridge before
Manute returns to the refugee nation of southern Sudan.
The noon sun is a harsh sentence for a parched tongue but
they talk not of coffee or juice-laden fruit and
rice and lentils are mountain memories their stomachs can ill afford.
Instead they curse the clear skies that rain only strafing jets and
pray for their dry-breasted wives on pilgrimage to the aid station
carrying children swollen with the promise of death.
They snarl rumours about al-Bashir’s lapdogs
in Khartoum growing fat on food intended for them.
Jason waits, informed by cell phone of Laurie's imminent arrival.
He orders a wheat beer, its earth tone inviting on a silver tray and
its musky sweetness washing away a morning of phone business.
The noon sun is a warm blessing through the picture window but
they talk not of haloed hills or the light-laden river and
recession and retrenchment are market memories their ulcers can ill afford.
Instead they debate '63 cabernet versus '74 chablis and
moan about their reconstructed wives driving halfway across town
carrying children swollen with the promise of private schooling.
They snarl rumours about Key's cabinet
in Wellington while wolfing crayfish and Steak Diane.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Once upon a time
A beautiful sublime,
A girl like a prime
For love,made a crime.
She slowly took the love
Freed it like a dove
From her heart to above
And ruled it like a gov.
But as the time passed by
Her love flew towards sky
With a true flame by his side
Leaving down the coward sly.
A sadly,truly,deeply sorry
Felt this little girl named Laurie
But she takes the gun and chary,
The dearness killed,in silence bury.
She hid her right in his backyard
For Laurie,she a mistress has starred
But she shouldn't being sparred
By the girl with murderer regard.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
Tick tock tick tock.
"When will my breath stop?"
Apparently not appropriate conversation to make at my family gathering.
The chicken is delightful. Would you give me the recipe? (murmurs of agreement around table)
"I wasn't kidding. I avoid pools, yoga and beautiful people that take my breath away so I don't have to deal with slight fluctuations in my oxygen intake!"
The table was set up perfectly by the kids, don't you think? Granted they forgot the wine glasses! (adults chuckle)
"I can't help but imagine those pillowcases in our chests that expand occasionally, as if rotating fans face them. It's an obsession of mine!"
Oh I think Johnny's about to fall asleep! Is there a guest bed room I can let him rest in? (assistance follows)
"Why won't you listen! When I take off my T-shirts, I count down and gulp the air before pulling the fabrics off, out of fear of being found dead, half-naked due to suffocation."
Oh Laurie I really shouldn't have dessert, I'm trying to watch my weight, but let me help you bring it out? (chattering of women on the way to the kitchen)
"Don't you know that I carry both an oxygen tank and an assortment of plants and trees wherever I go. I insert the tubes or the vines into my nose so that even when I'm gone my lungs may never stop rising."
(speaker dies the next day in car crash)
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
Inspired by “The Swing” by Laurie Lipton
Alone allows.
I have permission to find out the plight of my Windex bottle,
cramped into a cabinet, cross-legged and scrunched
into a smaller package than I was ever intended to be.
And I can peek out if I want, spit my tongue at the cat
or let slivers of light slice my face. I can dangle my feet,
pricking with gravitational pull: forward and backward,
high upon a rafter in my bedroom—at least where I used to keep
my bed, now pushed out into the hall
to make room for my ropes and pillows and flight.
A doorbell brings shoes with laces that tangle
and slap me around my ankles; knitting needles
that would surely find an eye socket, and a tea set
with a cracked spout and cold leaves stuck to the bottom
of cups and saucers, round as my words
or the doilies and handkerchief corners—worn to shreds
by the wringing of arthritis and go away.
Please, go away.
Alone allows.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:11 AM UTC
(Skit includes Laurie, Howard, Shari and Matthew).
Laurie wakes up extra early to prepare a gourmet breakfast buffet with Shari and Matthew. As they all arrive to meet each other in the darkness, Laurie trips and falls over Matthew. In an instant, she comes tumbling down on Matthew. Shari ran to turn on the kitchen lights.
LAURIE: Where’s my glasses? I can’t see!
SHARI: Found them mom.
Shari goes to hand mom her reading glasses.
MATTHEW: Well, she’s broken her glasses and broken my back… Time to start the party.
SHARI: I’ll get the recipe book.
MATTHEW: I’ll get the icepack.
LAURIE: Matt, I’m fine; there’s no need to worry.
MATTHEW: Oh, thank God you’re okay! I am so glad; yup… So now there’s ice for only one, right?
Shari laughed from the dining room.
SHARI: Here’s the book. So we can make a simple egg omelet, which may not be the best idea, or pancakes with a side a various fruits. Ooh, that one sounds good, with a side of coffee.
LAURIE: How about eggs and bacon.
SHARI: Umm, that’s a tasteful thought, but dad’s trying to stay off the fatty foods for a while.
LAURIE: Oh, c’mon; it’s Father’s Day. He does so much for us.
SHARI: Alright. One cheese omelet with a side of bacon coming up.
MATTHEW: Ha-ha. Girl, you should be a chef.
LAURIE: A breakfast in bed idea sounds great. Let’s try it.
MATTHEW: Just don’t drop the food.
SHARI: She won’t Matt.
MATTHEW: Just making sure.
Five minutes later, as we all got the ingredients out, we began cooking the eggs. Once they were brown and crispy, we took the first egg out and began cooking a couple more. Shari started on the bacon. Once it was oily and cooked, Matt began making the coffee.
LAURIE: All finished. Good work guys. Lets bring it up to Howard.
SHARI: I’m so excited!
MATTHEW: Thrilled here too!
Laurie, Shari and Matt tiptoed upstairs, being in total darkness again. This wasn’t the brightest idea for them though. They walk into the bedroom still in the dark. Shari quickly turned on the light.
LAURIE, SHARI AND MATTHEW: Happy Father’s Day dad!
Howard awoke abruptly from a nightmare and accidentally knocked the plate that Laurie was carrying, out of her hands. The plate hit her in the nose and she fell backwards, falling on Shari and Matthew again.
HOWARD: Holy crapola… You scared the living daylights out of me at…
Howard looks at the clock
HOWARD: Seven o’clock in the morning!
SHARI: But we have, or had a breakfast in bed for you.
HOWARD: I appreciate this, but there’s cheese on my carpet now! LAURIE; mop!
[End of play]
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Be My Valentine
If the greatest virtue we can aspire to is love
And the greatest follies in our lives are due to love
And we can't cure ourselves of the pain and malady of love
But all the sages exhort us just to love
And pure poison is generated by loss in love
And pure bliss is ours in lovely love
And what about those horrid beings we just can't love
And what about that horrid feeling of being unloved
So what in heaven/hell is love?
There is love that sends you dancing
into romantic lunacy
that feels so right and free
There is love that burns so hot and cold
you never know
quite where you are
There is love that holds a whisper
in the corner of your mind
makes you smile in
that secret special way
makes you want to linger
in a lover's fantasy
makes your day
There is love that hurts and hates
and kills any chance of saving
face or heart
burns the bright flame of your being
into ash
leaves you bleeding, pleading
for any drug or thrill to **** the pain
There is love
indistinguishable from insanity
in any way your twisted mind
will go
There is love that lets you know
you have a soul
because it's growing
magically
Which love are you offering
to me?
I offer you a human love
not constrained to simple prophecies
Part need for another face
in which to see my reflection
Part need for nurturing solace
in uncertain days
Part need to be hero, adored
shining spirit in your eyes
Because you are the adored vision
in mine
You send my boundaries
leaping,
You in my life inspires me
to make that leap, creating
a greater vision of me
encompassing we
Crawling into each other's
place of repose,
breaking borders,
It doesn't matter where
I am
when I'm with you.
The change happens quickly
as in a feature film,
or excruciatingly prolonged,
a soap opera romance
slowly dying
new characters may intercede
archetypal stories may
cross our stars
navigating our lives
in different directions
We grow complacent, calcified,
disinterested
Angry words burn us inside
smoldering
Heat no longer a welcome
participant of romance
Your little ways
My little ways
imps of annoyance
Is there Hope in this
box of pain?
Over and over
yet never over
in the bodies and souls
of humans
experiencing love.
(c) February 14, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
"I had figured out that my eyes were broken long before that. But that day I started to worry that the people in charge couldn't see either."
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Ever wished life was back to a point where you were most happy?
The moment that gave you a sign of hope for a life story,
One you would share to your great grandson or granddaughter Laurie?
I've had moments that I wish would freeze, the moments that mold me to who I am today,
The memories that would rid my pain of yesterday,
The heartbreak that I felt, the moment that I fell,
It's all coming together and becoming a lovely tale,
The happiness, the sadness, the old crying of the eyes...kid,
Have you ever had this feeling of grief that makes you wish you had a belief,
In love and everything that is oh so sweet,
If you had then you would understand, having those moments would make you a man,
The days of childhood are over and it's quite a simple plan,
Time to grow up, but never forget what made you fearlessly stand,
Above the rest and everyone with doubt,
Live to be who you are and remember...only yourself.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Laurie says that in high school
people used to call her ocean
everything she did came in waves
she tells me that she never crashes in the right places
I want to tell her to crash on me
that my heart will be
nothing short of the perfect shore
I know that my beaches are covered in rocks
that have not yet softened to sand
so instead I warn her
I am too afraid to swim
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
a lumpy bumpy proletariat hardness has harnessed, hitched and stitched itself into my abdomen.
with the precision measuring instrument, Eye calculate with my fingers its latitude and longitude, using my belly button (half insy, half outsy) as a reference point.
a few days after Eye quite accidentally encountered said lump (for Eye am not in the habit generally of belly rubbing), a slight discomforting sensation joined in to make sure I was never not going to forget it's
invasive presence.
soon Eye shall do a doctor's visitation, who will ummm and hmmm, before sending me downward and inward to a
"S p e c i a l i s t."
I am sorta quite pleased with new adventure,for it encourages fantasy in the most heart wrenching, delicioso tragic manner.
Then along comes the Sunday NY Times, in a piece entitled "Imagining the Lives of Others" just how difficult it is for someone to truly put themselves in the shoes of someone else.
"There are certain limits, however, to how far we can go. The philosopher Laurie Paul, in her book “Transformative Experience,” argues that it’s impossible to actually imagine what it would be like to have certain deeply significant experiences, such as becoming a parent, changing your religion or fighting a war. The same lack of access applies to our understanding of others. If I can’t know what it would be like for me to fight in a war, how can I expect to understand what it was like for someone else to have fought in a war? If I can’t understand what it would be like to become poor, how can I know what it’s like for someone else to be poor?"
The solution?
"One approach is to go ahead and actually have the experience."
ahh. So I shall, until the certainty of unobtainable uncertainty is formally declared, the mind is free to roam about the cabin of life, imagining various and vainglorious dramatic outcomes.
More strange, if it is the worst, I shall be happily relieved by the knowledge that I can plan around a certain mental scheme...what a gift that is, knowing how to allocate a scarce resource well.
Eye will stop here, until mine eyes can see this clearer; here, until the
*bus stops for the poet...
or the poet's bus stops...*
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
"So tonight I decided that everyday I'd try and write one thing people don't know about me.
It's hard for me to remember my past, so I associate different songs for different memories. Kisses Over Babylon by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros played when I was on my way to confront him that day. It fueled my rage and I remember feeling the surge of adrenaline as my heart picked up pace. Shark Attack by Grouplove played when I had my first magical, starstruck kiss. And Wake Up by Arcade Fire played when I realized I was in love for the first time.
It's extremely easy for me to memorize lines, lyrics, stories, just about anything. I still remember my lines from my first play 5 years ago.
I'm afraid of drowning. I even dislike drinking tall glasses of water or take giant gulps.
I've read more books than I've seen movies! My favorite book is Speak by Laurie Anderson. (Fav. movie is Requiem for a Dream)
Ever since it happened I've felt like I'm always performing. Always putting on a face and that I must always be this perfect, bright, happy, and outgoing girl. Like it would be a sin for me not to smile. I feel if I'm not acting happy and **** and smart and outgoing and cute and funny that they are winning. That the person/people who did everything they could to tare me apart are laughing at my weakness and lack of confidence.
I have depression.
I'm very empathetic, but sad to say, I rarely feel sympathy for someone.
I love a lot more people than I should. That tends to come back to hurt me.
I'm constantly craving food but I have to make myself eat.
I never intended on posting this.. but I'm going to."
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
an inquisitive bird did narrate
his tale of a tryst
regarding Mrs Jean Jameson
and Mr Laurie List
in the forest some four miles
out of Thomas Town
they'd covertly meet on Tuesday
to play hands down
the bird always had his
eye trained on suspect activity
that was happening in
his immediate proximity
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:12 AM UTC
"we held hands when we walked down the ginger-bread path into the forest, blood dripping from our fingers. we danced with witches and kissed monsters. we turned our self into winter-girls"
-Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
My space
Room 32
November 21
Call me WonderWoman
Meet my nurses Laurie, and Nikki
Dr. Jensen
Internal Medicine
My story
I grew up in a log cabin
Didn't have no medicine
Maine woods
Never really sick
Except for with ticks
The oldest of 5
We're all insane
Want fame and a name
Important to me
And then there we're 3
In my family
I love, my love
To travel, read, and write
Stay out of fights
Play the game called Life
My goals by the golden shoals
Write a poetry pose daily
Write a book then maybe
Travel the globe
And grow old with a hottie
Make me some latte
Don't forget my space, my story, my goals
It's important to me
To make lots of noise
Raise some joy
Question about my cares?
Don't I dare?
Where to start?
When to finish?
When can I go home?
Another night
Alone
Another needle
*****
No thank you
I just wanna hold my Nya
It breaks my heart
To be so far
Yet very near
So hold on dear
This too shall pass
When we get to go home
At last.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
An awkward stance, a lopsided walk
leaning to the left-hand side,
most likely a result of supporting a tall and lanky silhouette.
The heftiness of your clumsy steps become louder and louder as you come closer,
and as your head tilts, and your shoulders relax,
I see the reflection of my smitten face in your glasses.
Your hair, ***** blond,
and often resembling a birds nest,
has been ruffled just the way I like it.
Your tired wee eyes,
a bi-product of your constant desire (?) to read,
is my favourite sight to see.
Your baggy jumper
hangs off your skinny frame,
and carries the smell of you.
A hint of Calvin Klein, some musk,
and just the smallest bit of damp (a small chuckle)
but I'd have it no other way.
That smell, jumper, hair, and lopsided walk,
they're safety.
Especially those eyes,
those huge, soft eyes.
They're home for me now.
So make a cup of tea,
and pull up a chair,
because if home be where I lay my hat,
I have laid mine quite certainly.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC
it's saturday night
and we're crowded in a small room
watching her like she's our favorite sad movie.
there are tears pricking our eyes,
there have been for hours,
but we’re not crying.
we’re laughing with each other,
throwing everyone else in the room Looks
to make sure they’re okay,
because that’s how our family is;
we make sure everyone else is okay
before we check on ourselves.
she’s lying in the uncomfortable-looking bed
and she is so small,
smaller than she’s ever been,
even smaller because of the crowded room.
i am sitting on her right
resting my chin on the safety bar
with my hand on hers,
which is too, too warm.
i am watching the way her eyes flicker,
helplessly,
and the way her breath is coming,
so fast,
and aunt shel’s hand on her forehead,
smoothing back her hair.
we are all whispering,
some out loud and others silently,
telling her that it is okay,
she can go,
she doesn’t need to stay.
eventually i am alone with her
and it breaks my ******* heart,
because i know this is the last time
i will hold her hand in mine
and kiss her forehead
and tell her,
in person,
that i love her so much.
i apologize for breaking my promise,
the one i made when i was 8,
and that breaks my heart too,
because maybe she would still be here
if i had kept it.
i know that that’s not true,
papa died and she all but gave up,
and it’s really amazing
that she made it this long
without him.
but still,
it breaks my heart.
when aunt laurie is leaving,
she gives all of us hugs and when
it gets to be my turn,
she whispers in my ear, through her tears,
“you were always my favorite.”
we leave around 8:30 that night,
and we stop at gram’s house
because i need our sally bear
and i need papa’s graduation picture.
it’s only an hour after we get home
that aunt shel is calling mom
to tell her that gram is gone.
i don’t cry.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
I first saw her at the coffee shop;
a pale white girl with long black tresses.
Her legs tucked up beneath her on the chair
wearing one of those fashionable peasant dresses.
I would see her, time and again,
studying out on the Quad on a sun filled autumn day.
She never bronzed burned or tanned;
She was most remarkable in that way.
Her skin was always like new fallen snow
in the glow of a full December moon.
Her voice was comforting, simply lyrical.
As for me; I could barely hold a tune.
“Her name is Laurie” her roommate told me.
“it’s time you introduced yourself,
instead of lurking around like a love sick puppy.”
So I did; and it turned out to be
one of my better decisions.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
Have you met my friend
Her name starts with an
L cause sometimes it Lasts with her other times you Lose her
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name isn’t Lexi
Have you met my friend
Her name ends with an
E cause sometimes it’s forever and Ever other times it Ends
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name isn’t Laurie
Have you met my friend
She breaks hearts
and heals them
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name is Love
Love is trial and error
She’s a knife at a gun fight
There was no way to prepare
She shoots out of nowhere
She could continue
Could be true
could be broken
some will go insane
You probably know
Love
Loves my friend
She’s was my enemy
She beauty and pain
She’s your friend
And your enemy
She hurt me you say
No they hurt you
You hurt them
She is pure
She gives herself away
She puts herself in your hands
You mold her
She gave herself
What about you
Did you share yourself
She doesn’t want you
For her
She wants you for them
Treat them right she says
Don’t hurt them
don’t break them
Treat them right she says
Have you met my friend
She breaks hearts
and heals them
Do you know my friend
Do you know her name
Her name is Love
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC