"liz" poems
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.
She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.
Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.
Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.
There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.
Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.
They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******
29.1k
I say hello
My nametag dangles from my lanyard
"Hello, my name is Liz
Pronouns are kye/kyr"
it says
They see the lanyard
and they laugh.
"Those aren't pronouns!"
they say
"She is messed up."
Shut up.
A 300lb woman
looks into the mirror
she sighs
remembering her peers' words
"You should lose weight."
"You're very overweight."
"Your obeseity is your fault."
A 75lb woman
looks into the mirror
Her anorexia laughs
remembering the 300lb woman she used to be
her peers then tell her
"You need to gain weight."
Shut up. Shut up.
The boy hides his face
Not giving the teacher eye contact
The teacher calls his name
His stomach flips upside-down
She called on him on purpose
he just knows it
In front of the class
expectant, judgemental eyes glaring
Instinct tells him to run
He looks at his notecards
All he sees is chickenscratch
The teacher hangs her head in disappointment
and growls
"Just sit down if you have nothing to say."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
A girl drags hersef through the day
Everything is black and white
Coming home to wild parents
Who hit her constanty
and then claim
"I love you."
Excuses, excuses.
For every welt, mark and bruise
But when she gets one on her face-
She had given one, too.
In fact, she had given many
How generous she was!
The police came and arrest the girl.
All she heard was
"Her mother is dead."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Take a breath
the girl tells herself
She goes to her parents
They stare, wide-eyed
at her dress, eyeliner and nails
they just stare.
She tells them
her new identity
They tell her
"Chris. You aren't a girl.
You're a boy."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
You read a poem
titled "Shut Up"
About the hardships
The unfair, the despair
of living life.
Please know
Opinions don't matter
If you are happy,
who cares what they think?
If they criticize you
Just smile
and say
Shut up.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
He was the life of the party.
At least that’s what we thought.
He kept all of us laughing.
He was full of ***** and ***
He hopped into his car
with Gary, Liz and Fred.
He was the life of the party,
but now all four are dead.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 10:43 AM UTC
Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way
There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd
Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a match
Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there
Chico plays piano and
Harpo with his harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie
You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Lily Kesha Gump
Sittin' on the curb of Bronx and Main Street
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
Sweet little lady, lookin’ grown with a picture of her mama’s stare frozen on her face
Wrists slung through the spaces of her thighs, waiting for a daydream
And she sees me as I’m twirling by in my ruby reds and thigh high leather grace
There you go darlin,
She says to me
Scoring on my indigo smile
She bites men to sleep
With the crevices of her curves
As her voice weakens wicked
she pulls me out of my gloom
There you go darlin,
She says to me
With a time bomb ticking
On my pain pain pain
And the pen is in my hand
Before she even leaves my sight
I love this city
I love these women
I love their shoes
I love their smiles
Cheeky little laughs
Someone once recommended
When I was dancing under the shades of a neon lamp
From Homeless to Harvard
by a woman named Liz or Marie
Or maybe I read the title off of a screen
when I walking with Maryanne on north Peachtree street
And I remember
Lily Kesha Gump
How I wish I could wrap my arms around you
And give you the life some white woman
who doesn’t even know you
Thinks you desire.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
Moonlight, above
Moonlight, the love
Swelling heart, I feel
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Promises of life you knew you’d never keep, re-a-liz-ing light, drowns in the deep,
Finding love you lost, it hurts, you weep,
And the secrets you thought she’d like to steal,
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Walked hand-in-hand our hearts fit like a glove, holding out for the day I’d feel this love,
Hardship and pain chip away at the steel, lotus layers of life you find unpeel,
No matter what you’ll stay finds strange appeal,
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Moonlight, descends
Our life, upends
My heart, a stone
Moonlight tonight my god I feel alone.
Moonlight…tonight
Moonlight…tonight
And all the wounds of life that she can heal,
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Moonlight tonight to see the sights revealed…
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.
Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.
Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.
Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.
She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."
The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.
Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
Andi Balise combined a half page of a short story, “Thanks Going Without Saying” by Liz Balise, with half a page of an essay by Klee, “On Modern Art”, from a book called Modern Artists on Art, 10 Unabridged Essays, edited by Robert L. Herbert. With some small edits and line-breaks comes this miracle of a poem:
Painting a Function Different
I peek out over the railing of reality’s magic
Beyond the porch-floor
Minerva hangs her wash
making the invisible visible
Eighty two and three quarters deaf
she doesn’t notice
But this is, in fact, reality
Has always been this way—
Bent and bird-like existence
Balanced on two twigs—always busy—
Her task, is the *********** of space
Cutting coupons, crushing aluminum cans, ironing
The three phenomena which I must....
Things no one notices—
climbing on the abstract surface of a picture
Switching the curtains
God! I wish from the infinity of space..she wouldn’t…!
It figures that—
Rusty, her cat, is weaving in fortune or misfortune
I try to fix them—
Her ankles now
And she curses at accidental quality
from the corner of her mouth
which has only one form
Clothespin or cigarette?
Long johns and animals and men in heaven
and bureau scarf and sheets—all, non-infinite deities
surround us translucent, contained
I decide what to get for her birthday—
We are good friends
through painting a function different
For me?
Predestined necessity.
Minerva?
forgets her manners
and eats like a survivor—
Thanks going without saying.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
Clarity has claws
Within her pouncing, padding paws
Laps up goat's milk raw
Grapples a teddy bear to songs
Tied to a robe's string
Well, she plays with literally everything-
Her eyes say exactly what she means.
No **** Clarity is a cat I call to come back
I find myself pleading for her return-
With the promise of a salmon snack,
In exchange for lessons learned,
But I only capture glimpses of her white and black
As she flashes by the doorway,
Always only doing things her own way.
Since her trust is hard-earned,
I coax her cleansing burn.
She climbs up my bare leg
With her razor sharp needles,
First thing in the morning without any warning
Clarity,
Why did I beg you to come near? ! don't tear !
I only wished for your soft vibrations in my ear !
It's so impossible to change your nature
I wasn't bleeding before you were here, but your message is pure
You only come running when you're hungry!
&Would you really eat me if I died?
The way you watch with such wild eyes,
(I'm sad to know I shouldn't be surprised)
Your tapping tail compromises your position,
Your crystal clear intention
To play with your prey before you ****** and eat them
Clarity,
embodying the way her name hides and smiles, pounces for a scream
as if she were mean!
Sneaks off to surprise her next unsuspecting victim
-
Tummy full,
Warm purr, a welcome buzz
She comes, she plays with, she eats my ego, she loves, she kneads, she purrs, she leaves, I plead
ah, Clarity
-Hayleo Liz
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
On the day Liz Taylor died,
CNN called Larry King
out of retirement to
eulogize her during
the mornings
breakfast segment.
Tears were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
TEPCO stated that one
of the Fukushima nuclear
reactors was on fire.
Tears of cataclysm
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
government officials warned
that Tokyo's water was
contaminated with
radiation and was not fit
for infants to drink.
Tears of anguish
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the crew of the
USS Ronald Reagan
scrubbed the deck
clean of TEPCO
radiation.
Tears of worry
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Oregonians rushed out to
buy potassium iodine
tablets to counteract
radiation poisoning.
Tears of affliction
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
NATO forces continued
to fire missiles and drop
bombs on Libya.
Tears of agony
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a terrorist bomb exploded
in Jerusalem, killing one
and injuring many.
Tears of vengeance
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the Syrian Army fired on
demonstrators
calling for reforms.
Tears of hostility
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
The USA Today reported
that during the past decade
the population of Detroit
declined by 25%.
Tears of loss
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a dilapidated brownstone
in Philadelphia collapsed;
city officials expect
many more to occur.
Tears of distress
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
President Obama cut
short his Latin American
trip by skipping a tour of
Mayan ruins.
Tears of dismay
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died
the Dow Jones Industrial
Average closed
up 67.39 points.
Tears of joy
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Elton John dedicated the song,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
to the memory of his departed friend.
Tears were shed.
You Tube Music Video:
Elton John,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
Lewes DE
3/23/11
jbm
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Fiona told me that all poems should start
with roses and violets of red and blue.
So: Fiona’s a cool blue to Liz’s flaming red heart.
And I the daisy closely combining the two.
the daisy smiles up at the sun.
to soften the fearless red rose is its goal.
Forever intertwining the daisies and roses roots run.
The violet has such a friendly soul.
Forever laughing you and me.
Broken with companionable silence.
The violet, daisy, and rose create such a scene.
Our life together is such a colorful riot!
Together forever they will grow tall.
So tightly knit are their stems they will never fall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
For Henrietta Swan Leavitt—
Henrietta
dark-eyed darling of the night sky--
A Swan
who sails
the heavens
deaf with lights
that pulse across your mind
In photographic plates
that number
many thousands
You see the differences in light
You swim the curves that grace the arch of heaven
between the cloud and pinwheel galaxies
You measure
their exquisite wakes of distance--
Become the glittering timepiece of the farthest stars--
Bestowed forever in your hands
the clock and keys of all existence
You know the bends of ages
You heard the voices of the light
of the angels
and of man
I hope you've found true happiness
gathered to your love
forgetful of the pond of space and time
and all that hopeless pain and counting
of perfection
and of loneliness
to which you were assigned
that in your hands unravel all....
The secrets of the universe
white and gray in motion...
brilliant beyond all measure
by which you were forgotten
and unvalued by design
Eulogized only--
as loving God
and as being kind
___
*copyright Liz Balise 2019, Use only by permission.
Her colleague Solon I. Bailey wrote in her obituary that "she had the happy faculty of appreciating all that was worthy and lovable in others, and was possessed of a nature so full of sunshine that, to her, all of life became beautiful and full of meaning.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henrietta_Swan_Leavitt
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 6:57 PM UTC
I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
to my Madolyn, Rob , Soliana, Malak, Pinkpearl, Daniel, BJ, Miki, Jules, Willow, Poets Rain, Her, Ashan, Billy, Katelyn, Kirstens, Leah, Emily, Liz, Skyler, HB, Danielle, Robin, Lynnie, Veer, Abigail, and Fawn
We haven't been here long
At all
But your support has been
overwhelming
...to us at least
We haven't written masterpieces
At all
But your responses have been
overpowering
...to us at least
Know we notice you,
Know we recognize you,
and try to get to know you
through the words you present
We could never repay you
At all
But, please, don't forget
we love you
...to say the least
We are honored
We will always work to honor you
Sincerely yours,
A&T (seriously not a ripoff)
P.S.
I can't handle anymore people so you guys are going to have
to help me ****** anyone new coming over. I'll pay.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
Liz Taylor was a fuckpig.
Forbes used to call me and say
"Let's double-team this dumb *****
And we would double-team that dumb *****
Give'er a real goin' ovah.
Sometimes in a limo.
Sometimes on a motorbike.
Really tore that thing up...
.. and today we rededicate this park after
one of Hollywood's finest. Ladies and
gentlemen may I introduce to you "The
Liz Taylor Grand Canyon National Park."
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
On a royal visit by chance
Queen Liz spots a crew who breakdance
She throws down her bag
And cries 'sod one's jet lag'
'Dagnammit, I'm gonna get up n prance!'
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
When Peg laughs like Liz
deep woman-hearted laugh
eating beef jerky on Mesa Verde
the good hearts and smarts of women
come back to me, not guessing
any better than they at the time what love
meant, leaving them behind in sandstone time
going to my own cement, sandstone
or good mountain grave
having seen the sharp-shinned and sparrow
hawk flying and at rest, not at peace,
seeking prey from a ponderosa snag.
I left my woman behind to float
alone down the long canyon for feathers
and signs, she's making camp
the moon half full, the sun half high
sky full of planets birds and stars
I look up from the rocks
elements
housekeeping, thinking
love that's learned to love
from earlier loves
laughs remembered, heard
in the laugh of the woman who is my wife.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
She's smooth as cream and silk
on her skin and in her mind
her touch and movements epic
ever sensual, and perfectly refined
I can still feel her gaze
when I close my weary eyes
exciting every single nerve
she doesn't even, have to try
Sliding in her deepest pool
playing with her moans and sighs
breaking every warning and rule
nibbling, at her breast and thighs
Gentle nibbles, not too much
and fingers moving higher
Tongue and lips in playful touch
stirring our desire
Skin aglow in heated flush
hair wrapped in your fingers
sighs and breaths in gasping rush
a teasing kiss that lingers
Awakening a mutual ache
whispered needs in muted tones
Each in turn to give and take
as words give way to sated moans
As her sweet salty skin
Lay bared to breath
Her bumps of fleshly excitement
Erupting on the scene
Touches, quivering
Vulnerability behold
Let lose your key
Open your soul
A ripple on my skin
and wetness down below
our eyes searching deep within
as we become one in our soul
A touch of burning desire
so warm, melting down my walls
each kiss, closer to the edge
exhilarating, intoxicating, as I fall
A flame of rapt emotion
explosions of such power
a volcano already in motion
oh god, I scream out louder!
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
Liz Taylor once said:
"Pour yourself a drink,
put on some lipstick and
pull yourself together."
I stopped believing in the positive power of alcohol
when I saw the struggle in my
70 year old great uncles bloodshot eyes
the time I caught him at 2 am
reaching for the whiskey in the top shelf of the cabinet
I apply lipstick every day
all crimson scarlet blood pooling on my breath
all dripping cherry popsicle
all lip stains on your neck and pillowcase
all red on red on red
I can't ever seem able to pull myself back together
Like stitches coming undone on a wound
Like egg shells cracking on hardwood floor
I stopped trying after 3 years of puzzle pieces
These days I make sure I never fall together so I never fall apart
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
I never knew where she got the bones
But she spread them out in the grate,
And said to me that the way they fell
Would tell her about my fate.
I’d gone to her for the Tarot Cards,
I’d been told that she was a wiz,
But didn’t know what a wizard was
Till I met this girl called Liz.
She wasn’t a witch, she said to me,
For witches were too mundane,
They only had spells and love potions
And most of them were insane.
But she could look into the future with
The bones of the been and gone,
They helped to focus her visions on
The land of the to and from.
She spoke in riddles and teased my mind
In a language I didn’t know,
I asked her what I was headed for,
She said I had far to go.
She told me about my love, Christine,
And the secret plans she bore,
She wasn’t, as I had thought, pristine,
But had men in tow, by the score.
I asked her about the wedding that
We’d planned for along the track,
She said, I’d never be happy then,
Better get married in black.
She scattered the bones for a second time
And they fell about in the grate,
‘If you go on with your plans,’ she said,
‘You’re in for a dismal fate.’
‘There’s blood,’ she said, ‘and a kitchen knife,
A terrible slashing and cries,
‘I don’t know when, but it’s after then,
And a crazy look in your eyes.
Then someone lies on the kitchen floor
In a horrible pool of blood,
And footprints there, and a tipped up chair
Where somebody walked in mud.’
The wedding went as we’d always planned,
I never gave it a thought,
And Christine put on my wedding band
She didn’t think she’d be caught.
A man came round to the house one day
To say that Christine was his,
I took good note of his muddy boots
And suddenly thought of Liz.
He came at me with a kitchen knife
And said that he’d set her free,
I’d thought the knife had been meant for her,
But no, it was meant for me.
I seized his arm and we struggled then
While Christine stood in the door,
I somehow managed to turn the knife
And he lay dead on the floor.
‘Why did you set him loose on me,’
I cried, ‘the son of a gun,
What was the vow you made to me
That I’d be the only one.’
But Christine cried, and she knelt by him,
Her lover, down on the floor,
‘I told him before he shouldn’t come,
But he said that he loved me more.’
I was acquitted for self-defence
When the case came up for court,
And later I found that Christine went
She wasn’t the loyal sort.
I went again to the Oracle
And I spilled the bones with Liz,
While she laid on me a gentle kiss
And said, ‘It’s what it is!’
David Lewis Paget
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
spend /broke
I am here. I could spend all my days reading your wires. I could spend all my nights writhing writing responsa psalms.
perhaps I do, for after all, I am here
{~for Mara, Denel, Liz B.; Patty~}
I string fences too, bury birds, insects, living sons, tho just out in the back of my ex-mansion brain. want to write simple, effectively, like you guys, and want to live simple ample effectively. cant cursed, cursed canticle Kant cant. so the day commences 2000 plus emails chirping read me and I've just arrived, but I do not, bury them in a mass grave with an effective 'delete all,' not even thinking what might be missed, missed
what happens when u run out of fence, land, good silences, and spending becomes broken? spending, breaking, chicken, egg, simple, too many words, to read, to write, so which will come first?
738am
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
A double entendre,
Two ladies of the night, killed on the Sabbath day, 30/08/1888,
Was an unlucky day for lady Liz,
A drinking wild cat
'Long Liz Stride',
Was the first lady of two to meet her end on this most vile night!
Five feet five, when was alive,
Had grey eyes and a curly mop,
Her vicious murderer did not stop,
Her throat was gouged, ripped and torn,
Maybe was a lycan,
I can only say,
I doubt that very much,
Murderer went on ***** harvest,
Took a kidney,
****** removed,
For 'tis said that her murderer may have got disturbed,
Murdered by Nemesis of such depraved neglect,
Never seen to show regret,
Teased and tormented Scotland Yard,
Long Liz was apparently dishonest in soul it seems,
Swedish by descent, not really very decent,
Tried to con her Swedish Church to get finance from a fib,
Poor Liz, had no understanding of what the bible said,
Sad lady Liz,
Well,did end up dead!
Some said was a dark man, dressed in class attire,
Others said he didn't care!
_____________________________________________________________________
Next Part to Follow!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
I now have a funky heart,
My nurse calls it a ***** heart.
All seemed well,
And I felt swell-
Until I stood, that is.
The funky heart grooved,
The ***** heart moved.
I fell,
Oh hell-
The nurse's name was Liz.
The doctor told me I'd be fine...
But he cannot feel the pain that is mine.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Inspired by Judy Blume, inside Jokes with Liz and the poetry of Alissa Grams (https://alissagrams.wordpress.com/2017/03/06/an-open-letter-to-god-from-an-eighteen-year-old-girl/)
~
God,
it's me--
jade.
I must admit,
I've never read
Judy Blume
or the Bible,
for that matter
(I could never make it
past Genesis).
I am not well-versed
when it comes to scripture--
I am fluent in tragedy
and tragedy alone;
then again,
is there really any difference
between scripture and tragedy?
I was never one
to pay attention in church,
unless the hymns
were of a minor key,
the sermons imbued
with woe and melancholia.
Coincidentally,
as I write this,
it has only just occurred to me
that Lot's Wife
was never given a name
of her own--
it was destroyed with *****
forgotten amongst the
flames and the ash.
God,
you were wrong
to punish her
the way you did.
Have you never felt the
sting of salt
against an open wound?
Have you never watched
as all the familiar intimacies
you once knew
dissolved to cinder?
(I know you have).
Do you not see that,
if home is where the heart is,
then the heart
must surely perish with it?
God,
has anyone ever broken your heart?
(I think you know heartbreak
as well as I do;
it is the very matter
of our existence).
So I guess my real question is
why?
(and, no, this time, it is not rhetorical).
Truly,
I'd like to know why
you would ever think
to hurt your people
the same way
the archangel hurt you.
You say I sin
against you,
but did you not
create me in your image?
(Like father,
like daughter,
I suppose).
god,
I do not think
I believe in you.
At least,
I do not believe in you
like I believe in other things.
I do not
believe in you
the way I believe in
the beauty of
Van Gogh's sunflowers
(his starry nights, too);
or in dog-earing the pages
of my favourite books.
I do not believe in you
the way I believe in magic;
or in the integrity of
polaroids photographs
and listening to vinyl.
I do not believe in you
the way I believed in my love
during the final moments
before his betrayal;
or in the lingering sensation
of my past lives--
Ophelia.
Mary Queen of Scots.
Frida Kahlo.
Sylvia Plath--
and now,
dare I feel it,
dare I say it--
Lot's Wife.
(With her,
I shall share a name).
I do not believe
you are my saviour
because I do not
believe in you
the way I believe
in Poetry.
god,
it's me--
Jade;
this poem is
my hallelujah,
but it does not
belong to you
(not anymore).
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC