"louisa" poems
I am one to have my emotions under control.
Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.
I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.
Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.
I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.
Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.
I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Beware the ugly woman who thirsts for admiration;
She's apt to take up the violin with zeal,
Or keep a parrot as a sign of independence.
Her envious heart makes treacherous her words
To pretty women with their petty self-idolatry.
Did Marie Currie suffer meekly the debutante?
Was "Little Women" a Louisa May ambiguity?
The ugly woman burns monopoly on praise,
Like coals shimmering in a furnace,
A night without neon unthinkable.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Infidel and traitors to Christ!
Dreaming of a utopia with Pope Frank
and the devil.
Mocking individualism,
and parading around with indians
for liberation.
You don’t make sense.
Organized religion now dead;
due to your deeds to now.
Idealists still not satisfied in hell.
New thought, new thought, new thought.
Here is another one, tired of the same ole one.
Divine science.
Look for the self & God
Do you see it?
Hail Nathaniel Hawthorne
And Edgar Allan Poe!
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do........
boy! That Cadillac was one hell of a piece of engineering.
Burned a long time, like it enjoyed the pain of the flames.
He smiled at the thought.
Handmade by union men the way it should always be.
Not those ******* up ***** like Jimmy Hoffa either.
That ******* probably a ****** like hoover.
The image of him in a basque stuck.
Made him angry, but he soon reined it in.
Lecter was never angry. Not in the books.
He prefered the books, no change-the -ending for the mass appeal.
******* movies.
He was cautious now, the fake i.d. for the rental would fool most.
He was pushing things, her blood in the trunk even burnt black worried him. Next time will be better.
In Daisy's book was a circled name with hearts drawn around it.
Louisa. Her address as well. Nice and easy. 200 miles to go.
Make like Rutger in The Hitcher, move west....
The VW Rabbit was a ****** car after the Caddy.
The two kid's didn't want to give it up easy, but they did in the end.
They looked so silly, tied back-to-back in the rear seat, legs broke to squeeze them in.
Made him smile all through the night.
No blood this time, not yet anyway. Playing Slipknot to **** him off, little *****
Well write a song for these two, clown boy.
He had looked on their lap-top at the poetry site.
Saw the latest post from the pub landlord. He was a little confused, this poem didn't seem to be telling him his next move.
He dragged them out into a ditch before dawn, stood on their necks to **** them, like the coyote trappers did, cruel ********
No blood, just **** all over each other as they died.
Maybe he'd get a reward poem for doing it, in the meantime finding Louisa would keep him occupied.
The vw had a cheap sat nav, hope she's home.....
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
Questa canzone è su di te
To you
Mother Courage
I extend a cigarette
of shy anticipation
I want you to ****** me
to implement your closure
on the monotone
Duet For One
Raid my loneliness
in a hotel on Naked Street
Walk The Proud Land
of maple leaf melancholy
as you would the violated daughter
of New York Confidential
I'll diffuse the wind
of my depression
for your mourning candle
and undo the changing of
your name
No longer need you be
The Girl In Black Stockings
unless of course you want to be
Yes I want you to ****** me
but not to bear the burden
of a Miracle Worker
steady as you've been
on that unenviable pedestal
In the dictum of my
infinite malaise you define
The Last Frontier
Let me light your cigarette
Louisa
with which you would illuminate
the fog of my unbridled
Silent Movie
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
He was parked up a hundred yards from her house
imagining Louisa
not too picky, judging from the run-down old houses
several were boarded up.
He was becoming quite absorbed with one of those.
A bad place. Soon to be notorious, a good house for a woman to be afraid in......
He had dug through all the Metal tapes in the vw.
Found Pride and Glory. Played Harvester of Pain over.
Till he was ready.
I'll show her hearts and love, god he was mad.
Hope Daisy gets to watch, wow that excited him.
The light came on early.
He waited until dusk, then walked around the back of her house.
Then in.
****
**** she had a cat.
Old as well, would it starve?
Then he saw her in the chair.
Jesus! Older than the cat.
And smiling at him.
He drove away an hour later.
Felt like hell inside. Forgetful old ***** thought he was her home help.
So he made her a coffee, fed the cat.
Sanctimonious cow gave him money.
Her husbands photograph was on the wall faded brown like she was.
Died in the war, drowned practising for D-Day.
So he spared her, for that and for the sake of the cat.
He stole an old bottle of whisky on his way out.
No sobriety test on the road to hell.
Six hours later he kicked a teenage ********** to death.
Dressed like that, you can't have a mother or a mirror.
Left the old ladies money on her corpse,this one's for Her.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 1:13 AM UTC
Little Lou,
Picks up a ***** and bucket,
Sand dusting her lips.
Small nose, freckles spreading along pudgy cheekbones,
She's a summer baby.
A lady of the sun.
Lou!
Chases ***** with guys.
Lou has scraped knees and a ponytail up high.
Lou is twelve years old.
Loulou is a prissy thing,
Pale arms, skinny and lean.
Laughing to herself.
Hair falls in waves
Shimmering in sunlight.
Louisa, oh Louisa.
She's breaking hearts,
Her tan is from hard work.
She fetches a frisbee from a tree,
Manicured hands,
Gloves for Little Lou's tiny digits.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
He woke in the vw.
Things were getting out of hand
there was nothing but silence from the Landlord
no comments on his work
maybe he was getting to obscure for his own good
might start to think he was nothing but a *** criminal
That's not right, his ethics preclude that.
Love no *** no just killing and causing ******* pain.
That put a smile back on his face.
Over to his right dogs were barking
mad like they were afraid.
He followed the noise, down into the concrete flood channel.
Dogs were ok Judy wrote that poem about their honesty
They don't ***** you over
Or let you down.
He found the dogs. Three barking at something red.
something gutted like a fish.
Spread out.
He bent over, started to move bits, then frowned.
Louisa..
Slowly turning around he scanned the area.
Then left to check
Cat on the porch a worried woman in the window
Glad for the cat.
Someone was playing a game
He liked games.
Went to an internet cafe
logged on
saw there was a Poem from a new poet
Serial Roadkill
read it got it
time to get into character
We'll see how good you are boy
I'm no old lady
He cast a circle around the motel bed that night
had to hit the kid tied up in the bathroom real hard till she shut up
distracting him
He said the words slow. under his breath
If I find a way back to you through the dark and dawn I'll take it
a thousand circles in blood for the boy who doesn't live anymore
maybe this is what is meant to be, one final test..
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 8:59 AM UTC
The Pit River soaked the Alturas earth, beneath the light of the hospital a woman giving birth
Inside the local bar was a man drinking gin, the church of the sacred heart full of repenting sins
All of those places are lost on me; I keep walking the Alturas streets, kicking the scorched earth, with my naked feet
Just dancing along North West Street
They’re making it harder for me to live; I’ve got nothing more to give
I got a job, what money I make, the government fat cats take and take
One day, I took up traveling, one day I ran away
In a bar in Nevada I found Louisa, and with me she came
We were the modern day Bonnie & Clyde
Her hair more red than any autumn leaf, or those fires from hell,
we spent so long together, we got on real well
Found ourselves in Bodie, where we danced with those ghosts
Headed down to Manzanar, slept beneath the heavens stars it was her laugh, I loved the most
Made love beneath the Klamath Mountains, where my soul, Bonnie Stole
Washed our feet in the Klamath River, packed our bags and carried on
Soon we had no money, something had to be done
When it looked like it was all over, Bonnie showed me her gun
Should have been easy, just a hold up, no one had to get hurt
Bonnie ran the tip of the revolver along her lips then slipped it into her skirt
We walked for days, until we came to Hornbrook where a man on his porch
Caught us rustling in his trash can, in the light of his torch
Bonnie got so mad that she panicked, grabbed the old man and pushed him down
Placed her arms around the grey hairs that grace his neck, took a look around
Forced him through the wooden doors of his home, and said “give us all you got”
The old man he had nothing, her shaking hands pulled the trigger, the grey haired man, she shot
I just stood there and sighed "Louisa, what have you done"
Faster than the bullet that pressed it’s self into the stranger’s chest, Louisa started to Run
Shortly after, the sirens rang out; I was left standing in the porch
Watching the silhouette of my Louisa in the light of the law enforcement torch
I see her reach that smoking revolver her arms straight towards the local cop’s car
Hear the shots run out, her silhouette falls to the ground, her lifeless body beneath the stars
Spent some months, on the run didn’t hang around
But I still dream of my Bonny Louisa, and the warmth in those cold nights we found
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
and at the end of this session, i'm going to gorge on homemade banana cake, and a glass of milk; hmm, so that's that.
hannah hallysem, chloe vevrier, rosalia verne, dakota skye, nadine jansen, milena d., katrina jade, alison tyler, sasha foxxx, noelle easton, shay fox, kourtney kane, aletta ocean, lexi belle, aria giovanni, maritza mendez, silvia loret, laura lion, ashley graham, latex lucy, alexis texas, dana dearmond, abella danger, karmen karma, jezebelle bond, keisha grey, karmen grey, jelena jensen, carmen croft, aneta buena, ines cudna, ewa sonnet, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, karolina pliskova, emma green, louisa marie, ivy nedkova, rooney mara, claire forlani, kelley scarlett, malina may, amirah adara, phoenix marie, foxy di., kenya lust, kiera winters, christy mack, paige delight, faith nelson, darya klishina, sand morris, alysha newman, silvia saint, adele stephens, deven davis, ewa wyrwal, tanya song, synn wagner, christina lucci, hunter leigh, lynda leigh, gemma atkinson, mulani rivera, sarah harding...
all those "expectations" mingling with a babuska...
gotta have a babuska after a list like that...
looks nice, doesn't it?
see how honest other people can become...
that's as honest as you're going to get:
i'm hardly an out-of-the-closet gay / intellectual...
and this is hardly the most desireds genetical "encyclopedia"
worth reciting...
but at least there's no closet,
and certainly no skeleton in it...
to be honest, i'd love to see a compendium of
a woman's favourite *****
oh sure, i can switch off...
i just start thinking about cow *******
and milk sacks; not that hard;
ugh... furr... itchy... stroking a cow is like
scratching your skin after the barbers...
milking a cow: ah... another subject
of investigation...
why do men not bother being
breast-fed, to out-compete the babe?
seems a shame to leave a vacuum for
capitalism to not investigate, don't you think?
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
Family Gravestones, 2012
I search for ancient paths
Deep rutted, hidden by catbriars and laurels
Washed by rain, trodden by my mother, invisible others,
Grandmothers and aunts carving tortuous trails
Dug deeper by custom and love,
Red veined tendrils
Under history’s tangled growth.
I follow their tears, the strings,
The scattered household debris
Of women’s work—cast iron pots,
Old *** blades, treadles, rusted with disuse,
String quilts and melted firewood.
You, Vera, Louisa, Catherine, Prudence, Elizabeth
And names now invisible,
I’m coming with my shears and blades,
My crosscut saws made strong by other seekers.
We snip, we cut, we tear at the weeds of illusion
That hide your deep and righteous trails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
In and old abandoned corn shed
Where men calve lumps of stone
Sitting in some old abandoned corner
Young Johnny sits all alone
See Johnny's wife, she left him
For some Sacramento stud
Now his tears they hit the corn shed floor
While the stones wash in his blood
In a down town whisky bar
Where the drinks will bring you down
Make you feel like you've won the fight
But there's no one else around
Sit's a beautiful woman who has no place to go
But a thousand down town men that want to take her home
But a village by the name of Palmetto
Where the lanes are named the same
Lived beautiful young Louisa
Who made my heart beat lame
And for all the worlds riches now seem worthless
Like nothing could ever rise above this
But when she stands there waiting with those shot-gun lips
My eyes they travel from her jawbone to her hips
She asks me to come in and make a sacrifice
Leave my heart on the doorstep to paradise
Soft kisses in the night, softly and with such despair in those eyes
whispers stay here with me tonight, stay with me at least until sunrise
So i carry the cross of David
For all those worshipers tonight
For all the children with no food to share
or those who've just lost sight
As we walk up those stairs i made a promise to keep her safe
Now i'm covered in her beauty but simply lost in all of her faith
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
We were in the same lesson
And i don't know if you knew
I'd sit at the back of our old classroom
Watching the way the sun shone
Straight through your hair
And the way his hand held yours
I'd whisper this life is so unfair
Did you not notice the way
My hand shook when i picked up those books that your dropped
Thinking you did that on purpose
Just to make me stop
But those days seem so long ago now
And all i remember is
Old papers and school books
Your name calved in some tree's
My god please take me back
To nineteen sixty three
And i found you one day
Please tell me you atleast remember that
You were sitting with your hair messed up
Looking beautiful on the grass
But your face wasn't a happy one
So i sat beside you
All i remember of that day my love
Was the smell of your perfume
Rendering me quite simply
Unable to move
Do you remember i held out my hand
But thought you'd push it back
Instead you placed it on the space between your pretty cotton skirt
And your feet rested on the grass
Those days seem so long ago now
And it's easy to forget
But i could never forget you my love
You are always in my head
And those memories of
Old papers and school books
Your name calved in some tree's
My god please take me back
To nineteen sixty three
Then it finally happened one day
I placed all my bets on you
Invested my soul but i had no choice
**** a lovestruck fool
You agreed we could meet that night
Outside the Nevada State Fair
I just knew on my arms would be
The most beautiful girl there
Along to the music we danced
And i held you in my arms
Those lights all around us moved
In this storm you were my calm
The chaos all around us parted
As my hands rolled through your hair
My lips pressed up real tight
Against your ear
In my dreams i've been here before
So many a time
My lovely sweet Louisa, stay with me a while
Then i don't quite know what happened
But those years passed us by
Watched my sister on her wedding day
Such a beautiful bride
And my parents were laid to rest perfectly side by side
Me and Louisa we lost touch
But i still see her face sometimes
When i close my eyes and think of
Old papers and school books
Your name calved in some tree's
My god please take me back
To nineteen sixty three
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
It's me, the two week old puppy licking your face, wagging my tail, jumping all over you; simply because you're you.
I'm the best qualities your Grandpa expounded, all of the details he shared with you that were important before he died.
I'm all of the hearts drawn on the outside of the diary you hold close to your breast for fear of losing.
I'm your **** Adonis, though I don't have dimples, and I have a four pack at best, instead of the six visible quadrants of abs.
I'm the red wine you sip and savor while you're relaxing on Sunday afternoon reading Louisa May Alcott.
I'm the ready apology waiting when I've made a mistake or inadvertently hurt your feelings.
I'm the lingering scent of POLO that wafts through your mind when we are apart from each other, and the chill on your skin as you remember my touch.
I'm the joy spread across your smile when you laugh out loud, the butterfly that lights upon your fingers and not fly away.
I'm the diamonds encrusted tennis bracelet you weren't expecting, just because.
I'm the tears rolling down your face when you are sad, and the punchline of the joke used to cheer you up.
I'm the slight stare across the room at the event because I can't stop thinking about you.
I'm every droplet of hot water that showers you, envelops you, and caresses you.
I'm the fast beating heart when we kiss, and the giddy child when we hold hands.
I'm the soul that slow dances with yours when we make love and hold each other in afterglow.
I'm the Thankful!
I'm the Blessed and Lucky one.
-----ChawzzyScript
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC