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"loos" poems
my subject, mrs. ((brown?)) for this speech is going to be: obesity. ish. you see I remember the article you handed out to us, loos-leafed, fresh-pressed, a dry white piece that told, in simplest terms, the most inarguable & bland facts about !healthy eating & !weight loss! but mrs ((whatever)), I want to tell n and the entire ******* crisp class, that obesity is a load of steaming **** from someone who’s really fucki ng sick (you know how much better it stinks then) that obesity was made to be glorified, I don’t tell you this— I ****** jiggle it to you, grab my santa clause puch and shove it at you-- tick tock we wait for the clock to tell us what s to come, except it makes us guess --see this: a mid-age woman, mother, fat & previously fat, goes in for stabbing pain in the chest, or chronic diarrhea, seeing stars & no energy left. ((this happens)) the doctor says, well let’s weigh you n see if you’ve lost the weight I told you to lose before remember Sharol now Sharol..,,,, sweety….. you weigh 55.62 lbs over the state-set “healthy limit”k, so we’re just gonna give u these diet pills & I promise they work,. all nach-yer-awl u see, none of that waterweight ******** [! excuse my language] and in about 3 months you’ll lose half that overweight, and I promise the starsll go away and you’ll feel right tip top okay now that’ll be $60 & come bac k in a month to tell me how much you’ve lost okay haha but that’s alrightright? she was unhealthy & doctors make you healthy only her brain cancer maybe, or like, colon cancer or literally anything other obesity kills her in about 3 months bc the **** doctor would only pretend that she cared what was wrong with Sharol, sweety…,,, im sharol and so are you and so is your uncle & so is your mother, probably because most of us are “obese” & the only cure for obesity is the cure for the term “obesity” you see
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May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC
Obesity
my subject, mrs. ((brown?)) for this speech is going to be: obesity. ish. you see I remember the article you handed out to us, loos-leafed, fresh-pressed, a dry white piece that told, in simplest terms, the most inarguable & bland facts about !healthy eating & !weight loss! but mrs ((whatever)), I want to tell n and the entire ******* crisp class, that obesity is a load of steaming **** from someone who’s really fucki ng sick (you know how much better it stinks then) that obesity was made to be glorified, I don’t tell you this— I ****** jiggle it to you, grab my santa clause puch and shove it at you-- tick tock we wait for the clock to tell us what s to come, except it makes us guess --see this: a mid-age woman, mother, fat & previously fat, goes in for stabbing pain in the chest, or chronic diarrhea, seeing stars & no energy left. ((this happens)) the doctor says, well let’s weigh you n see if you’ve lost the weight I told you to lose before remember Sharol now Sharol..,,,, sweety….. you weigh 55.62 lbs over the state-set “healthy limit”k, so we’re just gonna give u these diet pills & I promise they work,. all nach-yer-awl u see, none of that waterweight ******** [! excuse my language] and in about 3 months you’ll lose half that overweight, and I promise the starsll go away and you’ll feel right tip top okay now that’ll be $60 & come bac k in a month to tell me how much you’ve lost okay haha but that’s alrightright? she was unhealthy & doctors make you healthy only her brain cancer maybe, or like, colon cancer or literally anything other obesity kills her in about 3 months bc the **** doctor would only pretend that she cared what was wrong with Sharol, sweety…,,, im sharol and so are you and so is your uncle & so is your mother, probably because most of us are “obese” & the only cure for obesity is the cure for the term “obesity” you see
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74
As when a pigeon, loos'd in realms remote, Takes instant wing, and seeks his native cote, So speed my blessings from a barb'rous clime To thee and Providence at Christmas time!
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6.7k
Christmas Blessings
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah. like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid                                                                                       / praise the lord / monster energy should sponsor me. a kickflip over the king’s *** hole & a halfcab for the looky-loos. i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings & see clear from the water tower to the bluffs. gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs, bottlerockets & girly birds. her body brings a swarm of worms. decomp, said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers. not quite the homecoming queen, still wrapped in plastic. look up. see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones? it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr all night and day. new neck tat & cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow. we target practice on a bull skull. wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff in the dry of the roofline as it dumps. there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing in puddles below the streetlamp, & oversized shoes. his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window. [whispers] she’s teaching him magic. lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled herself up, you see men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly, maybe more. & i remember her punch red lips & big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias. the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch. stole her clothes in the middle of the night, & sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists of bra and blouse. i bought ******* from that guy once or twice. harold? howard? guess who showed his face today? josiah, from unit 08. since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen. took a bee line straight for the mailbox. a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes to be seen and deciphered.
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Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
& skullduggery at the fat trout trailer park
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah. like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid                                                                                       / praise the lord / monster energy should sponsor me. a kickflip over the king’s *** hole & a halfcab for the looky-loos. i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings & see clear from the water tower to the bluffs. gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs, bottlerockets & girly birds. her body brings a swarm of worms. decomp, said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers. not quite the homecoming queen, still wrapped in plastic. look up. see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones? it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr all night and day. new neck tat & cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow. we target practice on a bull skull. wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff in the dry of the roofline as it dumps. there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing in puddles below the streetlamp, & oversized shoes. his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window. [whispers] she’s teaching him magic. lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled herself up, you see men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly, maybe more. & i remember her punch red lips & big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias. the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch. stole her clothes in the middle of the night, & sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists of bra and blouse. i bought ******* from that guy once or twice. harold? howard? guess who showed his face today? josiah, from unit 08. since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen. took a bee line straight for the mailbox. a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes to be seen and deciphered.
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47
"Memory is more indelible than ink." —Anita Loos ~ *Europe, after the rain, the sun lending warmth and comfort. fringes come into focus. shadow journal, fiscal dreams, becoming ****** lines on a page; procession bells for young brides, veiled in lace. a touch from her outstretched hands, this honeymoon phase running up the thigh, the holding quite still until she smiles for pendulum. at first light, breakfast in bed, granting pastel wishes on boxing night, then a letting go of the kite string. new fingers in the medicine bottle, tiny geometries inside a house of reciprocal numbers. paradise in mnemonic children: cartwheels and handstands, coloring books of neglected spaces, future ruins. one hundred violins play to isles of ignorance, stray embers settle along the solemn Chemin De Fer (railway). a catalogue of afternoons on the bike path thru propeller seeds and dragonflies. arriving in the haloed flesh: skin dive, the place of couloir descent; **** beach, the place of odd glances; gun chamber, the room of secondary light; all horizon variations. an algebra of darkness, this dense Roman twilight, their exiles unreflected in blind lanterns. our brightness will become refracting silhouettes, a broken yolk in the incendiary sky.* ~
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Aug 29, 2022
Aug 29, 2022 at 12:38 PM UTC
Memoryhouse
In futurity I prophesy see. That the earth from sleep. (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her maker meek: And the desart wild Become a garden mild. In the southern clime, Where the summers prime Never fades away; Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told, She had wandered long. Hearing wild birds song. Sweet sleep come to me Underneath this tree; Do father, mother weep.— “Where can Lyca sleep”. Lost in desert wild Is your little child. How can Lyca sleep. If her mother weep. If her heart does ake. Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep. Frowning, frowning night, O’er this desert bright. Let thy moon arise. While I close my eyes. Sleeping Lyca lay: While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, View’d the maid asleep The kingly lion stood And the ****** view’d: Then he gambolled round O’er the hallowed ground: Leopards, tygers play, Round her as she lay; While the lion old, Bow’d his mane of gold, And her ***** lick, And upon her neck, From his eyes of flame, Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loos’d her slender dress, And naked they convey’d To caves the sleeping maid.
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2.4k
The Little Girl Lost
Godless men wearing back sit within blistering sun. As they carrying their sacred book soaked in an evil not from any GOD.   And they some how get **** **** **** **** for God. As they ironically tell the world that it is blaspheming. Come and join us or be buried alive. Yes come and join us Let us brutalize and castrate your daughter your child. And give your son a gun while we go cut of some heads. As we rip out your heart with blood and violence. And ask you to spit on all love and humanity. As you stand within your shaking bodies you look into the eyes of your wife and only see terror in her heart. You know that you must RUN Thousands of you are swept like the dirt into the sea. Mothers and Fathers crying as children are lost and drowning. Someones baby washed up like drift wood or a log. Cut all with razor wire climbing caged out fences. As a heart cry's I only want a new family home I will polish your shoes wash all your loos. Please they scream we are only human Sorry I don't think anyone is listening.   Westerners wake up lounging on their sofa belly's spilling over their trouser. Stomachs extended inflated from just a little to much extra seconds. Looking on disconnected at those who traveled risked their lives even walked a thousand miles. And some how spill out with their lager down their cheek thieves  ****** and lazy freeloaders. And those who succeed to find a new home some how elegantly find a dignity in being unwanted. And those who failed their perilous path trust in God has left them homeless As they find the west also Godless. As we with a cool glare tell them go back to your guns bombs your not welcome here. Stone face matter of fact immigration explained take your children back. As we try to through them back like babies into a dog or snake pit. SHAME ON US for this frosty reception and cloudy perception I hold out hope for a better conclusion.
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Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
SHAME ON US
Godless men wearing back sit within blistering sun. As they carrying their sacred book soaked in an evil not from any GOD.   And they some how get **** **** **** **** for God. As they ironically tell the world that it is blaspheming. Come and join us or be buried alive. Yes come and join us Let us brutalize and castrate your daughter your child. And give your son a gun while we go cut of some heads. As we rip out your heart with blood and violence. And ask you to spit on all love and humanity. As you stand within your shaking bodies you look into the eyes of your wife and only see terror in her heart. You know that you must RUN Thousands of you are swept like the dirt into the sea. Mothers and Fathers crying as children are lost and drowning. Someones baby washed up like drift wood or a log. Cut all with razor wire climbing caged out fences. As a heart cry's I only want a new family home I will polish your shoes wash all your loos. Please they scream we are only human Sorry I don't think anyone is listening.   Westerners wake up lounging on their sofa belly's spilling over their trouser. Stomachs extended inflated from just a little to much extra seconds. Looking on disconnected at those who traveled risked their lives even walked a thousand miles. And some how spill out with their lager down their cheek thieves  ****** and lazy freeloaders. And those who succeed to find a new home some how elegantly find a dignity in being unwanted. And those who failed their perilous path trust in God has left them homeless As they find the west also Godless. As we with a cool glare tell them go back to your guns bombs your not welcome here. Stone face matter of fact immigration explained take your children back. As we try to through them back like babies into a dog or snake pit. SHAME ON US for this frosty reception and cloudy perception I hold out hope for a better conclusion.
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80
Flashes of lightening in darkness freeze the moment A freight train of thunder rumbles across the night sky I love to sleep with the girl whose love spans the miles Your sleepy voice hello makes my heart beat faster Distant Vienna ballet memories and Loos bar champagne I love to wake with the girl whose cuddles chase the cold   Lost alone in this big bed your comforting arms are absent Together in dreams but our bodies chill with the distance I love to be loved by the girl with the beautiful smile
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Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:12 AM UTC
Thunder and Lightening
Pressure to be pretty in the unearthly hours of the morning Eyes pulled down by bags, bloated and yawning Eyeliner and lipgloss and concealer thick and fast Covering the callouses, praying it'll last looking good and smelling good and in the peak of health Its all an uphill struggle to better your fine self Judged by a jury of unexperienced youths Panicing at lunchtime, retouching in the loos. Hair and eyes and lips and cheeks and clothing and skin Bottle after bottle, empty in the bin Scraping and slathering, plucking and plastering. The never ending problem, thats actually, within.
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Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
Pressure to be Pretty
sun sizzle pop-rock hopscotch round the rowdy block of troubled spots, and iron-lock your dirt-soaked sock to a gumdrop your friend forgot the last time you stopped to watch the lilies bloom in slow motion loop-de-loos. sinking smooth waterloos, darling just look at you! beaming with gooey honey dripping sooloos - woohoo baby! the lazy river bends her neck to spend extra time with the water bed, so shed your excuses and wear your heart on the tippy-top of your head, if it falls, mend it by sending ends of threads spinning fractal patterns round the edge, crafting a hand-patched garden to bake batches of laughter from. latching your fingers, pull and tug those weeds into soot underfoot tearing remnants of long lost looks your lover took and shook off your balcony in a hazy dream. alchemy your bones to seeds and feed them with tears of gold sweet memories. reading poetry from socrates thumb won't translate the sacred humming running through your chest, only you can sing the refrain of broken hymns and lift the soul from the rims of the black hole pit. the universe lives in you, don't forget.
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Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
alchemy
Monochrome buildings pave the way, It's another monotonous day at the office. And so starts my favourite routine The required daily dose of caffeine Sickly sweet sugar supplements Occasional visits to the gents Where in the tranquility I can ponder what I'd like to be... ...Living so high the clouds are the sea, No responsibilities! I don't have to dress, The butler can take care of the mess. Jacuzzis, cruises, friends who I choose, Admiring reflections in gold plated loos', But perhaps I digress... ...Back to reality I guess. If time flies when you're having fun, Then pressing keyboards all day long Makes every second crawl a marathon! But I can multitask a bit. I can breath and walk and talk and sit While simultaneously pressing a button And at the same time doing next to nothing! But even then I can scavenge my mind, And if I'm lucky I will find That little paradise of mine... ...And faster than the eye can see, I am covered in girls in bikinis Whilst crashing Lamborghinis Into modern art reflections, Of my many types of perfection. And I'll roll out, unharmed and afar There's a feast for my eyes like caviar... And if you find that hard to believe, My imagination comes for free! So I understand your private confession That I must have the perfect profession.
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Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
The Perfect Job
the city is pink the clouds are close the sun will sink pubs will flood pavement splattered with tipsy chatter from ****** clubs glass shattered and mornings knackered the strangers that find me strange The heave of an alleyway in a drunken sway movement students cocktails drunken wails pool cues ques for loos beer gardens feeling disheartened potions creating feeling to disobey trust emotions blinded by unnecessary lust addictive needs swift gulps of a remedy morning bleeds and my head is the enemy delaying the night to be over as i wander slow pace the thought of being sober the people and the look of my face the clouds cry as I stare at the sky I turn down to the puddles to untangle my troubles the endless struggle to this puzzle the sky is grey I run to the train panting in dismay at a city full of pain in a happiness debt that the journey might reset I blink I missed my train but the city is in pink I live to love it I make myself think so I head to the bar and I buy a drink
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Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 7:24 PM UTC
Rosé tinted
Color Balloons Oh, to live on top of the highest mountain in a castle of a dark cold love a place I never wanted to be I love summers breeze please let me be free like a balloon Though my sad lonely years holding on too dreams praying to here I will be leaving soon that I have past my test with no regrets It's so noisy at the fair far away from here I love the sound of kids playing around I bite all my old friends are there dancing around given candy kisses to a happy clown little ones holding on to their mother and father not making a fuss of who is around them but if they only known the eyes that is hunting them Oh, to live on the top of a darken mountain I can see a lot from my darken bedroom If only they could see me too Oh, colored balloons of a beautiful moon you see it too There's a girl just down the away losing her way Oh please don't turn to the lying eyes because it will hurt the pains of him will cut deep within your soul please walk away with a smile on your face knowing you said no to the **** let your color balloons loos let them fly high into the midnight sky I pray you had read all my words I had ever written can you hear my tears fall from my bedroom window words of my silence Words of a woman missing Did anyone read the hidden note of me? Oh, to live on top of that cold darken mountain locked away in a darken dream up in a castle praying for true Love to find me to break the spell that was put on me oh, colored balloons fly high away into the midnight sky I want to see freedom even if it is only make believe it is me I know I am underneath the stairs that shine so bright giving back some glares for wishes to be made To the people who never dreams to people who do dream to the people who sleeps in peace Thinking of your freedom like the color balloons You're leaving too soon you want to be alone please hold on to what you have and be glad never look back at your broken down past if you do look back you may not find your way back. Poetic Judy Emery © 1982
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Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Color Balloons
Color Balloons Oh, to live on top of the highest mountain in a castle of a dark cold love a place I never wanted to be I love summers breeze please let me be free like a balloon Though my sad lonely years holding on too dreams praying to here I will be leaving soon that I have past my test with no regrets It's so noisy at the fair far away from here I love the sound of kids playing around I bite all my old friends are there dancing around given candy kisses to a happy clown little ones holding on to their mother and father not making a fuss of who is around them but if they only known the eyes that is hunting them Oh, to live on the top of a darken mountain I can see a lot from my darken bedroom If only they could see me too Oh, colored balloons of a beautiful moon you see it too There's a girl just down the away losing her way Oh please don't turn to the lying eyes because it will hurt the pains of him will cut deep within your soul please walk away with a smile on your face knowing you said no to the **** let your color balloons loos let them fly high into the midnight sky I pray you had read all my words I had ever written can you hear my tears fall from my bedroom window words of my silence Words of a woman missing Did anyone read the hidden note of me? Oh, to live on top of that cold darken mountain locked away in a darken dream up in a castle praying for true Love to find me to break the spell that was put on me oh, colored balloons fly high away into the midnight sky I want to see freedom even if it is only make believe it is me I know I am underneath the stairs that shine so bright giving back some glares for wishes to be made To the people who never dreams to people who do dream to the people who sleeps in peace Thinking of your freedom like the color balloons You're leaving too soon you want to be alone please hold on to what you have and be glad never look back at your broken down past if you do look back you may not find your way back. Poetic Judy Emery © 1982
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*Do not judge But be aware Be observant No need to stare When friends stumble Or loos their way Be ready to listen To what they have to say To themselves They may not admit While in front of them You may sit Releasing feelings Reliving stress To outsiders Just a mess Given time Their pain may ease With sympathy From one who sees*
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Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Resolution
Lookie Loos Hands in my sweater's hole, Life chokes me on mother's words. If I close my eyes, maybe they won't notice. I looked great in photos, Me, Tasha, and Shawn. I dive into broken glass, Oh, this stings, and how do ya like me now? Giving lookie loos something else to chat. Wild birds need air. Papers rolled, no stems, seeds, Just a pencil line separates tragedy from clarity.
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Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
Lookie Loos
I played **** jams and watched the **** cams Without any doubt about dying A waltzing Victorian casually avoiding IEDs Bombs without brand names My eyes grew sleek my fingers black There was so much in my peripheral vision That I hardly cared to look ahead Bright dust motes in swarms of sun and color My internal temperature dropped, my teeth grew At night I slept in a hammock With a cat at my feet If there was a war like the looky-loos say It never felt that way Though I'm sure I did my share My low chuckling at the sight of blood Even from my child's knee Assures me that I did my share.
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Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:40 AM UTC
Wild Man
'I will find you' Sun hate you, why you are so bright.. Moon see you, he lost his moonlight It's your shine n  'Theia' loos her eyesight.. It's secret between Me and you &Promise to keep, I will find you Your coloufull  soul that  flower steal colours It's so enriched mind, that 'Chrysos' begs you gold and dollars Mansoon feel jealous, why just for 'you' rain showers.. It's gossip between me and you & promise to keep, I will find you
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Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 6:31 AM UTC
I will find you
when excavating demons you excessively salivate; and then become self-conscious asking for a hanky to sniff into. a simplicity of language beckons death to be nearing - and if not taking then vainly empowering - lost in a photograph, to no of the two claims' avail - no wolf ****** what the she already does; oh come on, here the man, here the Zeus **** cos' that's what it loos like! ******** the **** of a cow to get the cool. you missing a ******* from the Albert Hall? huh?! ****** let me chisel one into your ******** so i can feel the proper rattle.
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Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
two by two
You did this to me Your the only one I ever trusted Then you cheat on me I've stood for a lot of **** Took beatings for you Stomped *** for you But I have a line And you crossed it I forgive a lot of **** But I don't know If I can forgive this one You went to far this time I will never forget this I hope you know You might loos the best man You will ever find I love you I always will I love your daughter I love her like my own I will never stop doing for her No matter what happens I will do and do for her I love both of you More than anything But I don't know If I can stand for it anymore My body can't take anymore I have no heart because of you It's gone You ripped it out Crushed it And stomped it in the dirt And I still don't know why Please tell me why
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Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
You did it
'Cape Town is not in SA,' she said. My mind darts back to the bus. We sit in an overly-cooled double-decker like sweating bottles in a plastic cooler-box - jerking and clunking and squirming - skin stuck to PVC comfort and upstairs, breezing through the city, taking in the sights. Tourists. I am a tourist in my own country. We all are because we cannot span a hierarchy in one lifespan. For those that doubt - let it be known that our land is rich. It can be noted in our gold which brought the interest of European nations - attracted to the glow of ore and the glint in our river rocks, allowing them to watch our brown-skinned beauties, with clay pots and earthy skins beaded with sweat, sway away only to follow them (not with sight alone) and surrender the crown jewels to enrich our land - a new born culture. They knew our land was fertile. They saw the potential of our fruit. They brought the slaves with them. They gave us coloured children, European red in their veins and now picking white grapes off the vines. They never wanted to leave so they fermented, barreled, corked. They gave us jobs and homes and vaalwyn. They took a lot - our gold, our jewels, our women, our soil - but they introduced diversity. We are rich. But why is he so poor? Don't look now but on your left is a beggar. Coloured, clothes discoloured. Unaware of our presence, he digs through the refuse with a growling stomach. We all stare - a double-decker full of eyes aimed at the oblivious forager - I turn my gaze. How is it that we have so much and so little at the same time? How is it that our president spends our income on Nkandla and not this boy? How is it that Helen and Patricia put up portable loos along the shanty fence but have forgotten to feed this poor soul? How is it possible for me to sit in uncomfortably icy air while my brother burns under the glare of my fellow travelers? He and I, we are of the same land. We are both rich. Yet both of us display a reality that neither of us truly deserves. 'Cape Town is in SA,' I say. We just have no idea. Ignorance is indeed blissful but it is also most wasteful. Our land is rich and our people deserve more than a blind eye.
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Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
We Are Rich
'Cape Town is not in SA,' she said. My mind darts back to the bus. We sit in an overly-cooled double-decker like sweating bottles in a plastic cooler-box - jerking and clunking and squirming - skin stuck to PVC comfort and upstairs, breezing through the city, taking in the sights. Tourists. I am a tourist in my own country. We all are because we cannot span a hierarchy in one lifespan. For those that doubt - let it be known that our land is rich. It can be noted in our gold which brought the interest of European nations - attracted to the glow of ore and the glint in our river rocks, allowing them to watch our brown-skinned beauties, with clay pots and earthy skins beaded with sweat, sway away only to follow them (not with sight alone) and surrender the crown jewels to enrich our land - a new born culture. They knew our land was fertile. They saw the potential of our fruit. They brought the slaves with them. They gave us coloured children, European red in their veins and now picking white grapes off the vines. They never wanted to leave so they fermented, barreled, corked. They gave us jobs and homes and vaalwyn. They took a lot - our gold, our jewels, our women, our soil - but they introduced diversity. We are rich. But why is he so poor? Don't look now but on your left is a beggar. Coloured, clothes discoloured. Unaware of our presence, he digs through the refuse with a growling stomach. We all stare - a double-decker full of eyes aimed at the oblivious forager - I turn my gaze. How is it that we have so much and so little at the same time? How is it that our president spends our income on Nkandla and not this boy? How is it that Helen and Patricia put up portable loos along the shanty fence but have forgotten to feed this poor soul? How is it possible for me to sit in uncomfortably icy air while my brother burns under the glare of my fellow travelers? He and I, we are of the same land. We are both rich. Yet both of us display a reality that neither of us truly deserves. 'Cape Town is in SA,' I say. We just have no idea. Ignorance is indeed blissful but it is also most wasteful. Our land is rich and our people deserve more than a blind eye.
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80
my father is a blind man. heavy drooping lids with even heavier dripping blood. i am his failure that was only good at one thing. swimming past the others. and maybe i'm not the perfect daughter; maybe you weren't expecting the *** or drugs or parties or ****** language, but **** you for acting like it meant i was dead. you do not own me. you will not write my eulogy when i finally succeed after failed attempts. you will not say how i had a beautiful heart and YOUR sense of humor. i will write my own goodbye letter. and yes, maybe every i love you feels like a swallowed, searing coal. and yes, maybe my signature at the bottom of the loos-leaf sheet of blood-stained paper will remind you to acknowledge your two other children, and stop saying that i am your favorite. i am not your favorite. you should be willing to stay for a favorite. so leave me the **** alone to bleed in peace.
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Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
relapse
To my dearest darling Joe I had to let you know of fun that we have had on our latest holiday, I know you would get such a kick out of the tales we have to tell.   It was a last minute all inclusive deal, we set out with Sue and Steve for some late autumn sun to Zante the Greek island of fun. Oh Joe I cannot tell you the colour of the seas,  so clear so blue I can't do them justice, if you could see a picture it may be a start but in theses seas you can see to the bottom and the sand is  white and dark.   No seaweed in sight nor turtles too, it's too late this time of year but olive trees and lemon, lime, oranges and grapefruit are everywhere and handy for a bite, that's right I put my hand up and plucked an orange from the tree, oh Joe your mouth would explode, it tasted so divine. The people are oh so friendly and they make it very clear that the sun in the sky is unusual at this time of year. We hired a car and drove into the mountains and dropped down to a port, hired a boat and they took us to shipwreck cove, where some years ago a boat had shipwrecked and it's cargo cleared the sea, we swam and dived in the clear blue sea underneath clear blue sky, oh and some people were tightroping across the ravine, I'm afraid I didn't have the courage to join them in the sky but I lied down and watched them heroically cross from end to end. We've eaten traditional food and drank traditional ***** and used the traditional loos, do you remember the ones in the south of France that mum and I refused to use, we'll these were exactly the same. We've laughed and cried recanting tales of days goneby. It really has been delightful a holiday to remember, one I wish I could tell you all about, I know you would sit and laugh with me as I retell the fabulous holiday we have had to catch some sun on the Greek island of fun, Zante. I love you Joe **
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Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
A letter to my Dad
To my dearest darling Joe I had to let you know of fun that we have had on our latest holiday, I know you would get such a kick out of the tales we have to tell.   It was a last minute all inclusive deal, we set out with Sue and Steve for some late autumn sun to Zante the Greek island of fun. Oh Joe I cannot tell you the colour of the seas,  so clear so blue I can't do them justice, if you could see a picture it may be a start but in theses seas you can see to the bottom and the sand is  white and dark.   No seaweed in sight nor turtles too, it's too late this time of year but olive trees and lemon, lime, oranges and grapefruit are everywhere and handy for a bite, that's right I put my hand up and plucked an orange from the tree, oh Joe your mouth would explode, it tasted so divine. The people are oh so friendly and they make it very clear that the sun in the sky is unusual at this time of year. We hired a car and drove into the mountains and dropped down to a port, hired a boat and they took us to shipwreck cove, where some years ago a boat had shipwrecked and it's cargo cleared the sea, we swam and dived in the clear blue sea underneath clear blue sky, oh and some people were tightroping across the ravine, I'm afraid I didn't have the courage to join them in the sky but I lied down and watched them heroically cross from end to end. We've eaten traditional food and drank traditional ***** and used the traditional loos, do you remember the ones in the south of France that mum and I refused to use, we'll these were exactly the same. We've laughed and cried recanting tales of days goneby. It really has been delightful a holiday to remember, one I wish I could tell you all about, I know you would sit and laugh with me as I retell the fabulous holiday we have had to catch some sun on the Greek island of fun, Zante. I love you Joe **
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Have you ever seen a moon as thee look at how it shines like there are no pains in life I had never seen such a thing like this, Look ! over there a castle standing strong deep into Septembers air in the dark of a nasty storm you could hear the tears fall from Moonlights room , Look! ships are out upon the sea moving along like a sad song silence while the wind blows quiet and Liston to the sounds the wind whispers pains of yesterdays cries that hunts the night , Oh, have you ever seen eyes like his dark with yellow and some red almost as ****** as moon On the sea is many dreams but nothing as painful as this , The winds are moving holding much angry pushing the waves along like a rhyme of the night holding on to fright voices speaking out from far in a unknown tongue that would put you on the run , Darken dreams that will make you scream and put in in a world of darkness a place you never want to go a place you will never miss you can see many things in the dark that will cut away at your heart, you will loos your mind if you let it death is the frost of all men glimmer lights that shine so bright up into the tallest room way up high is Moonlight, Up in the castle is her window with a candle lite Up in that cold darken room you could see Moonlight crying because Dark Angel broken her wings He is so mean , she wants to be free but he has cast a spell on her she is so weak but she could no longer fly deep into the sky, she is locked away in darken dreams No one could ever hear her screams, whispers of the night brings on fright no love ever comes to her but the pains and rain comes every day like a thief in the night chills and dampness is in her room . Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
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Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
MOONLIGHT
Have you ever seen a moon as thee look at how it shines like there are no pains in life I had never seen such a thing like this, Look ! over there a castle standing strong deep into Septembers air in the dark of a nasty storm you could hear the tears fall from Moonlights room , Look! ships are out upon the sea moving along like a sad song silence while the wind blows quiet and Liston to the sounds the wind whispers pains of yesterdays cries that hunts the night , Oh, have you ever seen eyes like his dark with yellow and some red almost as ****** as moon On the sea is many dreams but nothing as painful as this , The winds are moving holding much angry pushing the waves along like a rhyme of the night holding on to fright voices speaking out from far in a unknown tongue that would put you on the run , Darken dreams that will make you scream and put in in a world of darkness a place you never want to go a place you will never miss you can see many things in the dark that will cut away at your heart, you will loos your mind if you let it death is the frost of all men glimmer lights that shine so bright up into the tallest room way up high is Moonlight, Up in the castle is her window with a candle lite Up in that cold darken room you could see Moonlight crying because Dark Angel broken her wings He is so mean , she wants to be free but he has cast a spell on her she is so weak but she could no longer fly deep into the sky, she is locked away in darken dreams No one could ever hear her screams, whispers of the night brings on fright no love ever comes to her but the pains and rain comes every day like a thief in the night chills and dampness is in her room . Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
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63
The lights are out in this darken old town the cats are hungry the rooms are cold and lonely , In the kitchen all the dishes are ***** the icebox is empty just like the old house with lots of rats the old cats loves to eat them , I have my dreams but my dreams are taken over me so I try so hard not to sleep so I write down my thoughts in my own blood stain Ink , the roof makes so much sounds when the wind blows around town the trees loos their leaves upstairs is many rooms but each door that becomes open has a new pain of dreams , The lights are out in this old town you can see the clown getting beat down the street Dark Angel is making his rounds gathering up the clowns that around around this old town . Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
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Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
This Old Town