"lucy" poems
You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.
The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?
What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?
What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Malcom was fed 16 bullets because of his. A slug kissed the jaw of King Jr. and silenced him forever. Gandhi shriveled like snakeskin. Joan of Arc became Joan of Ash- so you can understand why Melle Mel was jittery scribbling it all down, on a napkin, at Lucy's Noodle Shop in Harlem. Sweat poured into his green tea. He thought Jesus hanging from the dull wood. Heard about the poet Lorca under an olive tree, shot in the back. Everyone has felt this way through, he thought, never could he have imagined what would happen when he pressed his thumbprint into vinyl. Hip-Hop was still a tadpole. The DJ had just learned to scratch a record and make sounds no ear had never conjugated. How was he to know Tupac and Biggie would follow his lead and get plugged with lead? So he wrote it down, in big curling letters, emphatic: DON'T PUSH ME
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
Well let’s peek into the kitchen of Lucy and Ethel to see the baking of this 7 Layer Cake
On cue in take
Ricky is having a party in his home regarding his 10th Anniversary in managing the Night Club called “A little bit of Cuba”
He wanted something fancy
Did he say fancy?
There’s no telling what Lucy has baked into that cake
Lucy and Ethel are busy baking away
But somehow that cake is going to cause people to make a quick getaway
Now remember, this is not the Pillsbury bake off, but should say “Revenge with back off”
At this point, you are allowed to cough
The cake is in the pan and ready for the oven
As the cake is baking, Lucy and Ethel are entertaining the guest
This is not at any one’s request
While Lucy talks about Hollywood and show business, do you smell something burning?
Luc y shouts, “My cake!”
But was it too late?
Lucy and Ethel rushed to the oven
The cake was half burned and didn’t rise
Why am I not surprised?
Meanwhile, what is Lucy and Ethel going too serve for dessert?
Lucy says, “I have a plan”
Let’s open a can of fruit cocktail and add it inside the burned cake
But Ethel stats with, “How will the guest respond?”
Lucy proclaims, “Who cares, they can’t know the cake was burned
Well the dessert will be served
Think on eat at your own risk being observed
As Lucy and Ethel serve the cake, suddenly one of the guest get sick from eating the cake
Lucy of course starts to cry
Yet the baking that cake was a good try
Eat at your own risk said I.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
Sir
Jerome
Mrs
Michael
Miss
Lucy
Mister
Wendy
Ma'am
Kate
I hear all these names at once
I hear all these things at once
I can hear everything
A glass just shattered
It was loud for them
It was louder for me
Don't be rude!
"I need to get some more raspberries tomorrow-"
"Remember Harry's anniversary is next week-"
All these words combined
Making me lose my mind
"I need to get- Harry's anniversary is next week-"
" remember- some more raspberries tomorrow-"
I'm shaking
I'm being stared at
I can't see
But I know they're staring
Don't take pity
I'm used to it
There's a woman touching me
She's touching my shoulder
She's speaking in a 'can I help you ma'am?' voice
But I can't hear what she's saying
It's under-
"Get a chair!"
Water
I see her again
She's rubbing my back
I think I'm screaming
I can hear screaming
I don't know if it's me
It doesn't sound like me
But it also sounds like me
"What's up with her?"
"Don't be rude!"
The room blurs.
It fades.
Everything fades.
Then I'm outside.
The woman is still there.
She's still speaking in that stupid voice.
I wanna tell her that I'm not a toddler.
But I do appreciate what she did.
So I decide not to be rude
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
when arrived, feels like home
like a bubble, like a dome
peaceful people all around
enjoying this crazy sound
so much colors, crazy figures
all this smells pulling my triggers
intense, incense, aromatic
be tense? no sense, just be static
entering, meeting the fellows
or should I just say some jellos
wiggling with the rhythmic music
for us this is therapeutic
waves of sound hitting my face
punching hard with deepest bass
I believe that things will turn
I choose not to be concernded
this 'so crazy, this 'so good
here we find the greatest brood
jewls of every generation
some eletric, others pacient
colored waters, not for thirst
only if you need a burts
shining patterns underneath
make it hard for me to breath
then the sun comes up for us
contributes for the new buzz
now you see who's there with you
and who didn't make it through
sunglasses get pulled out
soon the sun will loudly shout
soul, mind and body fused
into one nice breakfeast juice
that's when people start to leave
not what I like to archieve
"I will stay", I always say
until the end of the day
molly, goa, lucy, prog
buds and buddys, love and fog
I'm so glad this moments caught me
this is just my type of party
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
Stand up on top of your castle
Watch all the pretty lights dance
Come down to join in the party
Trip out and dance
Lucy makes everyone happy
But confused
The outside world is fun one
But inside
There's a whole nother fun you can use
Psychedelics will open your mind
To the world outside
and the one within
Which are both seperate
and the same
You can't just be focused on the outside,
The pretty things,
The fame
Inside it is beautiful,
Spiritual
Quiet and secluded
With too much outside
Your brain can get deluded
X and acid, TCB
DXM and DMT
**** and *****
All the drugs you use
Can be abused
That bass can make you lose your mind
Go blind
With all the bright lights
Until your mind's not the only thing you can't find
Unwind
Sit inside Zack's truck
And take some down time
Get your mind unstuck
This place is beautiful
These people are trippin
But if I see one more hot ***
I'm gonna lose my loose grip
and
****** is not sexuality
Peace, Love, Unity, Respect
Help you out when you need it
What's given out is given back
Aesthetic
is a beautiful
but
overwhelming
experience.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC
You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.
Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines? Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.
Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.
Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ****** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.
Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
From pre-historic Lucy
Down the Great Wall of China
To the billions of today,
It's all
Owed to a ******
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
It's Sister Lucy not Sister Bridget
who's the crush on the young priest
Father Joseph Magdalene said,
Mary said is she the one? as she sat
on Mags bed listening to music
on her record player I thought
you said the Bridget,
Magdalene sitting beside Mary
passed a glass of lemonade to her
and said nothing certain
you understand just the rumours
I've heard but don't tell
the parents or my arse'll
be slapped for spreading the rumour,
have you a ciggie?
Mary said
putting the lemonade and glass
on the bedside cabinet,
Magdalene poked under the mattress
and took out a squashed pack
of 10 Woodbines and said
open the fecking window
or Ma'll know we've been smoking
and she'll have a moan
and passed the packet to Mary
who took a cigarette
and put it in her mouth
and went and opened the window,
Magdalene took a cigarette
and stuffed the packed
under the mattress again,
Mary sat down and said
have you a light then
or are we to fecking **** on air?
Magdalene took out
of the pocket of her dress
a box of matches
(liberated from the kitchen)
and struck a light for them both
and put the matchbox away again,
they inhaled and sat in silence,
the record played( Billy fury)
and they tapped their feet softly
and nodded their heads,
so what are you doing
about Brian Brady?
Magdalene asked,
what'd you mean doing about
I'm doing nowt with the ******
it's him who thinks I'm going
to be doing things the soft loon
Mary said,
you seemed to be encouraging him
the other day Magdalene said,
ah was fun only I'd not let him
near me in a serious way
no more than the holy Joe himself
Mary said,
smoke filtered ceiling ward,
a car backfired from the street below,
Magdalene leaned in close to Mary
I'm your best friend
and I get jealous of the likes of him
being too near to you,
O he's nothing to be worrying yourself
about him Mags he's just a loon
as boys are Mary said,
Magdalene held the cigarette
a way from her lips
and kissed Mary's cheek,
Mary sighed and said
he's nothing I just give him
the tease he'll get nothing
from my ****** money box,
they both inhaled and exhaled again
and watched the smoke
rise ceiling ward,
the sound of Magdalene's ma
downstairs singing along to the radio,
Magdalene's hand went on Mary's thigh,
a bright sun in a blue Irish sky.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
This ***** ******
They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes?
the power of evil and bad,
Today we see what it can do
Many a nation have gone to war,
Because of this ugly beauty,
many family units has been tread apart
Because of its evil doings,
The seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
Hundred concubines was
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do:
Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies: so many shortcoming,
Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject
why men lie and killed for it?
this remarkable commodity: with
****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions
is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful
It can break a man down to his lowest
It has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup.
the same sound effects of a cold beer going down
the gullets: the smoother, the esophagus: pleasers
The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation,
****** you are surely blissful:
Men incredible dreams
who wouldn’t want to own the team?
No matter how destructive or fulfilling:
** Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all that a man can invent.”
― Roman Payne** Quote
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
I got a plan
You all are part of my caravan
My cousin went to Paris, France
Here was my chance
I told her to bring back a Paris Cap
So what do you think of that?
But thinking now, I should have asked for the foundation of the Eiffel Tower
Now that would have taken a lot of power
My cousin couldn’t store it in our bag
Perhaps top security and that would be a drag
My next idea was to take the Eiffel Tower apart piece by piece
This is some plan I love Lucy show would do
But I wouldn’t expect my cousin to pursue
But the French would be losing an art
I would really be telling the French, the Eiffel Tower must depart
Yet I must be clever and smart
However, would I place instead?
Why not a Giant Crepe Suzette
Do you think the French would notice?
Obviously they would
It is my thinking of should
Then the possibilities of could
I guess the Eiffel Tower I will never get
It was a hope but now a regret
The Eiffel Tower being its Paris stay and being my let.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
There once was a girl named Lucy
Who liked to let herself loose, see?
She was too much a flirt
Her knees in the dirt
I wonder how mad her parents would be
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
mr moonlight
mr nowhere
maxwell edison
mr jones
dr robert
sgt pepper
mr kite, bb king
edgar allen poe
walter raleigh
mat busby
the hendersons
and maggie mae
mr mustard
captain marvel
rita lucy jojo
vera chuck and dave
mother nature
polethene pam
mr heath doris day
and buffalo bill
loretta martin
**** sadie
hey jude eggman
my michelle
rigby and pilchard
or elenor and semolina
took father mckenzie
too see a dancing horse
henry his name was
rocky raccoon was there
prudence rode elephant
to the i me mine waltz
---
There gonna crucify me
the way things go
christ it aint easy
the next day dont know
you know the walrus was paul man
johns bird can sing
george was a genie
ringo wore a ring
but paul is dead now
george stole his soul
john is alive though
ringos in a hole
her royal highness the tax man
commit the perfect crime
she asked for more
with a belly full of wine
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
Just a story.
When I was a kid... yes there was a time I was a kid, the garden was just South of the house. Mom and I worked in the garden a lot. Sometimes when she was not in the garden I would lay between the carrot rows, pull a carrot out of the sandy soil, brush off the sand and have a very fresh yummy carrot. They were soooo tender they seemed to melt in my mouth. Anyway, when I was finished eating the carrot I would put the top back into the hole. No one was the wiser. No one knew the difference or so I thought. I did notice the carrot top would wilt which looked a little suspicious but... there was a gopher problem so maybe the gophers ate the carrots. Sounded like a good story to me. "Did the gopher eat the carrot mom?" "Yes probably so."
I found out years later.... Mom knew who the gopher was. BUSTED.
I was telling this story to my grand daughter Lucy after school one day. Her eyes brightened up and said, "That is a funny story grandpa." So here it is added to the memories of a grandpa. Lucy keeps telling people, strangers even, "you should hear this. Grandpa tell them about the carrots." The story has latched onto her 5 year old brain and won't let go.
So... the next time you are eating a carrot... don't fib to your mom.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Romeo, gosh, I'm sorry how things turned out,
and sorry I didn't die after all like you thought.
I'm old now, you wouldn't look twice at me
but I miss you still, even so, most definitely.
You could find me tonight across from a cornfield
working the St. Lucy's Fall Festival and how would you feel
about that, babe? I wear a lumpy old overcoat
and sell tickets to teenagers so in love they almost float.
I get feeling sentimental and sad about everything
remembering how you said you were the All-Powerful Weather King
and could make the sun come out if I wished it,
or kiss me and kiss me again if I told you I missed it.
My goodness, Romeo, you don't know how often I still think of you,
like when I saw some crestfallen kid with wild hair walking through
the festival like he had something on his mind
and he seemed lonesome, like you, and quiet and kind.
It's almost midnight and the lights are going dim
so I've got to pack up and go home alone again.
I wish so hard that things had turned out different
and I'd say, "Romeo, oh Romeo," and you'd know what I meant.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 5:29 PM UTC
July 4, 2015
Grandson Tony and Grandpa went to Mickey D's for breakfast. Grandpa was ready to vacate the premises when Tony barred the door. "Just a little while longer Grandpa." So Grandpa sat back down.
Soon a cake and five of the Mickey D people appeared and sang happy birthday. Tony was apparently being a little secretive and alerted the establishment when we clocked in. Grandpa cut four pieces of cake. Two to take home for Lucy and Grandma. Two for Tony and Grandpa.
Tony then ask if he could give his piece of cake to someone. "Sure you can." grandpa replied. There were two tables with grandparent types and parents sitting 10 feet away. Tony picked up his piece a cake and a fork and squeezed in between the two tables and placed the cake in front of the young fella who eagerly began eating it. Grandpa then noted the boy had Downs Syndrome. The people at the table were pleasantly surprised at what had just happened. A grandmother came over where Grandpa was sitting and express that it was a very thoughtful thing Tony did. The whole thing rather blew Grandpa away. But that's the way Tony is. Full of surprises.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
3.6k
She never made it
To Morocco
Rode ’cross the desert
With her Bedouin lover
Shopped for bargains
In the Souks of Rabat
Sipped mint tea
From a frosted glass.
She never went sailing
In a catamaran
And on a moonlit beach
Made love in the sand
Or drank espresso
In a café in Lima
Or danced the flamenco
In Puerto Rico.
She married a man
Cause no one else offered
Had three kids
And moved to the suburbs
Wrapped up her dreams
In brown butcher paper
Tied them with twine
And shelved them for later .
She never made it
To Morocco
Her life was four walls
Plastered in stucco
And she sighed as she thought
Of the things that she lost
The dreams that she wrapped
And shelved in the past.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
Psst
Hey man
You looking for a boost?
Some bud? Molly? *****
I gotch you
Let's be out
Let's look forward, shifting eyes
Thick blunts, welcome to The Court of Miracles
Where no ones ever dry and everyone's good
The whole place was flooded with music
Pounding, pulsing, entrancing
thump thump thump thump
Laser lights flashing neon colors
Multicolored creatures of night dancing to the whimsical noise
The DJ was young
Attentive to his machine that dispensed exuberant sensate explosions
Rocking back and forth, flipping switches, turning knobs
We are, we can, we will live forever
Then it all went silent and the whole place shot out with a feeling of anticipation
WE ARE IMMORTAL
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
The bass caused everyone of us to vibrate and pick up the vibrations of one another
Hey bro
Take this
Molly
Nerves become fervent
Now meet my other friend
Lucy
Mind is widened
Now you're candy flipping
Hippy tripping
We met a girl
Her dad was a record producer
She was way out there
She was out of her head
We met an artist
He used different types of wood
And carved shapes and patterns in to them
Then painted it with acrylics
Then smashed it with a sledge hammer
People bought it
He was brilliant
He was ******
I was dazzled
She tasted like *****
He tastes like cigarettes
***** devils
Looking for a time
I saw veterans from Iraq letting loose
Thank you
A sea of sweaty smiles going for miles
Under a baroque moon
Sleeveless shirts
Minuscule skirts
Beads, glow sticks
Unity
Altogether
Under one universe
Dedicated to this single moment
And what it means to us
One mind
Joined
For equal freedom
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
I have spent more time,
in my pajamas than I would like to admit.
But I have spent more time,
missing you from our bed.
Something about yellow plaid and a white T,
that sends me over the moon
and landing amongst the stars.
Because you hold me up to a fame
that even Lucy in the sky with those diamonds
would be jealous of.
I will listen to you all day and never
ask you to pause, rewind,
or skip to the next song.
I have spent more time
in my pajamas than I would like to admit
But I would rather be asleep forever,
than awake and not dreaming with you.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
The Little Bird came a hopping up
And flew into his arms.
She cooed and chirped and occasionally burped
As she snuggled from all harms.
Her eyes so blue and so inquisitive
She searched his face for a smile.
Then saw what she was waiting for...
Spread across a country mile.
Her feathers so fine and very blond
Flew around when she did move.
As the music began to play and sway
Her body began to groove.
Her love of music, things so fine
Came naturally to her.
When Papa played his old guitar
It caused her feet to stir.
She laid her head upon his chest
And let out a great big sigh.
All was well in little bird land
That, you could not deny.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her feathers a muss
The face of an angel shone.
Asleep in the arms of her grandpa
Little Bird and him, alone.
Good night Little Lucy Bird. Sleep tight Princess.
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
The thing about Narnia is
Narnia leaves
and the kids return back to the real world with
both reluctance
and vigour.
But what if Narnia didn't?
What if it hovered,
shadowed around the edge of their vision,
Aslan in the corner of their eye
the White Witch frosting across
bodies of water.
Would they go back to school?
Would they fall in love with someone who
just didn't get
the game
they used to play when they were kids?
"You bailed on us again, Peter"
"Susan, stop looking out the window!"
"But you've always loved sweets"
"Lucy, lions can't talk."
So yeah.
Start again,
*******
I mean,
you changed Narnia for the better,
Right?
Right?
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Charles Schulz brought us Charlie Brown,
Who rarely smiled, joked, or sang.
A troubled soul—always down,
He hung out with the Peanuts Gang.
Lucy, Patty, Sally, Linus,
Snoopy—the whole nerdy clan
Tried to cheer ole Charlie up;
But sadly it was all in vain.
Life has many a Charlie Brown,
We see them come as well as go.
For, as in Schulz's masterpiece,
We tend, somehow, to love them so.
Too, we try our hand at luck,
Tryin' to cheer ole Charlie up.
-Walterrean Salley
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem’d a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
2.8k