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laura Aug 2018
I'm a table, I'm a bench
I'm an appliance with many uses
I'm a dead girl in the front seat
of your Cadillac

Was hoping to get dicked down
by your Master Sword but
cell connection's kind of spotty
I'll clean it with my pics because I want to eat

spoiling your paradise
tie me down and school me
make me clean your mess
is this what you want?
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
.
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
I remember
My having been in Florida then
In the mornings
My Coffee with grapefruit
On Bonita Beach,
Or was it on Bonita island;
Richard Marx singing us to sleep.

The Veranda and audible waves hitting shore

Rock Hudson movie idol

Swimming pool.

Bio
Best seller,
That year.
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
Chuckie's one bff was Jane, not her real name,
who snorted baking soda to cool her nostrils
from the eightballs she was constantly doing. ||
Dear Trusting Nurse-Maid, must we Speculate
The Favours your Leader asked has mulled
Far healing cry a tearful Reprobate
And supposed Cheerful Innocence has dulled
As soon as the Red Tabloid goes to Sin
And whips the Pink Horse we all fantasy
Your Prince suddenly squeezes on a Whim
Which the Next Frustration will testify
I envy you all. Despite Fashion's Change
Like Solemn Dakinis prayed for Support
Cry the Call for War; And within a Range
Mark him a Target then file my Report.
I have lost that War. And the Battle as well
Yours straight to Heaven; Mine a Journey's ****.
#daleysangels
Friend A Jul 2018
1 . Die, all of you.

2. Flip her skirt up.

3. Let everyone be happy.

4. Bring the most righteous person back to life.

5. Bring back everyone who died.

6. I want eternal life and youth!

7. Confidence.

8. I want to stop being a warrior.

9. I want more talent.

10. A harem, of course!

11. Disappear, all of you.

12. Expand my power to one thousand paths.

13. Money! Money!

14. I want to be friends with everyone in the world.

15. Rule the world!
Ruling the world is hard.

16. I want a girlfriend!
But would that really be love?

17. I want wisdom.
Foolishness makes you who you are.

18. I want to know the future.
But what fun would be living then?

19. I want to be a pro baseball player.
But you would have to work out every day then.

20. Telekinesis.
Then why I have hands?

21. I want to fly.
Then why I have feet?

22. I want to speak all languages.
You don't like to talk anyway (RELATABLE).

23. I want an X-ray vision.
That would lead to misunderstandings.

24. I wish for an end to war.
But it won't end exploitation.

25.I want to climb mount Everest.
But you would have only yourself to rely on.

26. I want a smartphone that can't run out of battery.
It would last only a few years still.

27. I want to pilot a giant robot!
What you would be fighting?

28. To never stub my toe again.
Why not just watch where you walk?

29.I want a cool supercar.
It won't feel the same if you don't buy it yourself.

30. I wish everyday could be Sunday.
Go to work on Sunday?

31. I want to be a bird.
Being a human is much better.

32. I want to read people's minds.
You would start to distrusting people.

33. The ability to wake up early.
But you would just go back to sleep. (Totally relatable)

34. I want to enter a manga.
What if you couldn't get out?

35. I want to be invisible.
You are already invisible in the classroom (that hurts, you know).

36. I want to not feel pain.
That's dangerous.

37. I want that rare book.
It's only rare because no one else have it.

38. I want that limited edition item.
Would it still be limited edition then?

39. I want a best friend.
What if they knew you were friends only because of a wish?

40. I want to be a great man.
That greatness wouldn't last.

41. I want to talk to animals
They probably don't have much to say.

42. I want to travel the world.
It's likely harder than it sounds.

43. I want to live in a mansion
All by yourself?

44. I want a fighter plane
Where would you park it?

45. I want to play all instruments!
But buying them all would be expensive.

46. I want to see a ghost!
Like **** you do!

47. I want to meet a great person from the past
But they would have a lot of lectures for a modern person.

48. I want my dormant power awakened!
What if you don't have any?

50. I want power to stop time!
That's like saying you want a power to commit crime.

51. I want better penmanship.
In digital era?

52. I want to meet an elf
In this day and age?

53. I want youth.
What do you think you have now?

55. I want an eye that sees long distances.
You mean like a third eye?

57. I want to hire a maid.
Just go to cafe.

58. I want to be a manga artist.
Answer one of the Young Jump recruiting postings.

60. I want to live in a deserted island!
You would probably want to leave it right away.

61. I want a time machine!
Do you have an idea how to get energy to power it?

62. I want to be free of stress.
You need stress to grow.

63. I want world peace.
Would you still exist in a peaceful world?

64. I want a loving family.
But artificial one?

65. I want to eat the world's most delicious food.
But you want to eat cup ramen too.

66. I want to go to amusement park
What are you, a girl raised to be a living weapon? (This is surely an allusion to something, I just can't get what)

67. I want to be on the front page of a newspaper!
Are you going to commit a crime or what?

77. I want to be a cyborg.
Who would repair you if you broke?

78. I want an art collection.
You don't even like that stuff. Don't pretend to be an intellectual.

79. I want to buy a penguin.
Can you even take care of an animal?

80. I want to talk to famous people.
About what? Any subject in mind?

82. A world free of evil people.
What would be left?

83. I want to be taller.
And then you would want to be shorter again.

84. I want courage.
What are you, a lion?

86. I want prestige.
Unearned prestige?

87. I want to never be late for a bus.
But then the buses would be late.

88. I want to be the strongest in world.
Why, so you can bully the weak?

89. I want to invent something amazing.
All inventions ultimately become weapons.

90.I want to film a movie.
You would bring down any set you were on.

91. I want to be someone who will never lose again.
The moment you wish for this, you become an eternal loser.

92.I want to become a master swordsman.
Dishonestly?

96. I want to learn the truth of the world.
No, you don't.

97. I wish misfortune on people I hate.
Wishing misfortune on others is a ****** thing to do.

98. To grant your wish instead.
Cancel that immediately.

99. I want to turn my wish into 100 wishes.

100. Let me forget
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
I’m sat at the bar
On the high seat
Sipping my drink slowly to make up for the cost.

Down the bar there are other people
Sat on the high seats
Sipping their drinks
Slowly
To make up for the cost.

Look at them –
Malingering degenerates.
They look at me,
Some notice my pen and notepad,
Some don’t
But all the same,
They look away.

If this was America
The bar maid would ask me what I’m writing
In hope of increasing her tip
But here no one cares.
No one pretends to care.

I hate people
No one else here has a pen and notepad
Only me
And that’s because I’m better than them.
Most of them hate people too
But I’m the only one writing about it
And when I’m rolling with the top cats
They will read my work about how much I hate people
And they will love it.

“This really speaks to me”
They will say,
“I wish I’d come up with that”
But they didn’t
Because they thought they were special
That no one would understand
That they were the only ones who hate people.

The chance was right there
All those years ago
At that bar with that expensive drink
And that
Was where they blew it.
Venus in Scorpio May 2018
I won’t soon forget
the way she swept like a maid would
grabbed my wood and started building with it
I gave her no permission
but wishing
she had the nerve
Her eyes a supernova
My heart ablaze
Gravitating to her
I thought I knew her
How could I
She hardly knew herself
I thought I could trust you
With my hopes
My dreams
Secrets

But no
You turned them against me

Told the words I whispered
Cried and shouted
Spoken in
Confidence

With one single note
You have betrayed me
Hurt me
Wounded

Cutting
Deeper than any flesh wound

Now because of your childish pride
And your stubbornness
It is I who is being punished
Who has to live with your mistakes

You have cost me
More than you know

You’ve been banished from my parent’s lives
Not that I really blame them
For all the harm you’ve brought
them

Now that damage
Has carried on to me
And I have to live with it

You can go on your merry way
Having nothing to do with them
But I do

Because of you I can never
Have a celebration
A party
All of that is now gone

My graduation
Forget it
You’re no longer invited

My parent’s don’t want you in their home

Remember I said that
I wanted you to be my maid of
honor
Forget that too

Because of your selflessness
I have to live with the consequences
Even when I have done nothing
Wrong

Now because of you
my trust is











Lost
Matterhorn Dec 2018
a dark place,
dingy and cobwebbed:
the forlorn basement
below an unfinished house;
there is no hope
of an HGTV house-flip
or a makeover
or the sort of boring/heartwarming story
where some nice white family
—or conveniently diverse—
sets up shop,
smash-cuts through a renovation
and gets their dream home.

no,
the house will remain gloomy,
this basement filled with emptiness;
no one desires
to come through the door,
no one except the tweakers
and the vagabonds
and the runaways,
the ****** and the pimps,
the celebrities and psychiatrists,
the demons and the ghosts,
the preachers and their seething
congregations of judgmental ******
that live across the street,
and the ***** teenagers
hunting for a place to try out ***.

no cleaning crew
or maid service
or organize-your-life guru
or even the most experienced
of all the world’s janitors
could enter this house and clean it
or beautify this basement
or disenfranchise the squatters within;
the neighbors just try
and demolish it
every chance they get,
to rid their sparkling, spotless community
of this disgusting eyesore.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2018
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
President of the Republic of Germany's Presidential
Security Council President 150 (1973) (5) President.
This operation and her long legs in the stomach
of horses. This is very clear, especially
in Latin America, Europe, Russia and Spain,
and in Canada, the prostitutes and dogs
are essential for Mexico. 1, What are you doing?
According to Adam Clark, women in the São Samar
and all the Yogis are women, women
and children in Africa, Asia and South America,
Germany and England, Gilbert and George.
In the United States, Russia is good. Americans
want to live in Canada, and Great Britain.
About two thirds of Catholics in San Francisco,
China, Russia, South Korea, and the USA.
Then I'll enter the dogs. Type of songs not written 1.
Latin American products in Latin America.
Spain, Wales, bull by Alice. From the foundation
of the world, he was born in the largest area
of ​​the world to study and study John's leaders.
I said. Out of control. There is no competition.
France, on the second day. In addition
to the prostitutes and the elderly Muslims,
in the windows they are given comfort
in adultery. Many companies in Jamaica
can express their feelings to Guinea.
These are green geese. His mother Mattie.
So Georgia. (5) It is important to add
the 1292 standard modes in the message,
and a TV show is found. Asian countries
in the Americas and Africa, African and Latin
American prostitutes, from Germany, Yugoslavia,
Denmark, prostitutes and more prostitutes.
Vegetables. In a comedy, Oustiin's family
are prostitutes and prostitutes; Within 150 hours
in the city, United Nations Security Council
(5), 1973 (1973), Executive Director (5).
The information is contained in the robot
robot center. Open the next part of the tree.
I also said in Pittsburgh: "You are not listening
to me,
as a ******* 1, a maid and a horse." This list
is incomplete. In the United States, Europe,
Russia, Spain, Canada and European slums,
old and advanced technologies. The items returned
to the Swiss Express Pond were from the port.
Of course, like a dog and others.
Prison or Russian court? There are many
benefits to Giza the Robot and Sarah
Barrow in the Middle Valley 2 to 2, 2.
In the Middle East, there are many benefits
for the team and many others. The fish
in the grass. There are waters in Latin
America, West Africa, Asia, the Congo,
England, Germany, and Assisi, which
are collected on the moon along
with different cultures of different breeds.
Eva Amato Sep 2018
I slide the door open,
she was rightfully there.

It was the room I assigned for her
she had just moved in.

A few spares of her outfit peek out of her wardrobe,
A couple dresses as well
One blue; one red.

At the side is a broom; feather duster and such
Still lying around.

Her personality hadn't changed the room yet.

now

I take my first step in,
she amusingly begins bowing already.

No different than the rest of the furniture she is: tidy, a pleasant aroma around her and a pretty thing to look at.

I greet her, my maid.
I hear those dutiful words, that name: "Mistress".

She's blushing; her arms so obviously tense.

Every footstep I take towards her echoes in our hearts.

...


I lock our gazes- such an adorable and intimidated look.
Her lips are trembling as I get closer: "Mi-" she tried to say.

But my finger was keeping her mouth shut.

"Shhh" a whisper followed by a modest nod from her.

The tension is cut as I slide my fingers down her arm
her gasp held hostage by me.
She could make no sound.

I can't help but giggle.

With that smile I lean closer to her.
To her lips.
I had her captive already, my arms resting on her hips.

"You are my furniture, dear."
"Yes Mistress."

It is all there was before with my kiss
I took over her mind.
Eva Amato Oct 2018
She does everything I say
so obedient
so "mine".
-------------------

We return home
as usual she undresses me.
My regal attire
sliding down my shoulders.

Satisfied from her obedience,
I was going to commend her.
Yet my voice turned in a quiet gasp.

Her lips were against my back.
It was defiance
but I couldn't comment.

She slides off my gloves
her breathing on my neck
she kisses me once again.

Confused...
pleased...
I hide my embarrassment.

but it only kept going

My skirt to the ground
my legs pointing at her
she slides my ballerinas off
embracing my legs
kissing them.

I stutter in excitement
looking away.

then

The maid puts away my clothes.

I wear my nightdress
a slightly disappointed grin on her face
as she watched me.

"Get in my bed." I order her
looking away

Lying down has always the same effect on me
being so surprised
my eyes still close
as I hug my maid.

again

a kiss
as my consciousness fades in her lips.
ns carmona Dec 2018
Momentary
mourning peace.
Mama pours a glass of mulled wine,
lights a scented candle
                               (- "cherries on snow" -)
and drinks to ol' Joan.

Passed down with the jewellery box,
somewhere in the will, the daughters
receive the annual chore of roasting
the turkey (delicious!) and the veggies
(good job!) and (could you pass the?) breadsauce
for their brothers and husbands huddled
            on a threadbare sofa -- and a younger girl,
            barely there, staring at a laptop screen.

Mama's not festive - always too tired -
barely celebrates, but orchestrates.
Years barely there 'cause she's needed in their kitchen
and someone's gotta cook can she please get a hand? and
one chivalrous male puffs out his chest, takes one for the team, gestures to the girl with no discernible attention span and
half-laughs an "ay, one day this'll be you!
Best get in there while you're young!"

                                                       ­   ((A baritone chorus of laughter.))

"You outdid yourself on the turkey."
"S'great, ain't it? Pass the potatoes."

Sometimes here, sometimes Spain.
We stay over. It's tradition: we're
scattered across the country,
maid duties are the least she can do.
Never our kitchen or living room.
Tiny. Messy. Unwelcoming.
Come Boxing Day, Mama gives
a bear hug goodbye and an
"it's good to see you";
Because it is, she thinks.
Thank you for inviting me
to carry out your labour.
I'm just grateful to be needed.

A month of red 'SALE' tapes
scouring the clearance shelves;
overtime for extra cash
scraped to afford the food she cooks you;
paying half for gifts she'd brainstormed
while Dad buys partial credit on the gift tag.
We leave your house.
happy holidays! if you rub your eyes, it semi-looks like a christmas tree.
zebra Feb 2017
she said
being a feminist
i have forsaken the temples of normalcy
for dark gratifications and base seduction
and discovered that those who know the pleasures
of objectification
and frenzied ****** lucidity with strangers
are wiser then the children of  sweetness and light
as marriage betrays the need to satisfy
secret dark labyrinths desire
and in its place
repeats ad nauseum
blunt fortitudes
in dim sunless rooms
for fear of the transgressive

satans *** nail

is conventions essential creed
exhaustions hand maid
rendered imagine-less
bereft of the new
until a mere stand in
for true desire is left
like a starved ghost
on a dead moon
a desiccated morsel
left for a hungry mouse

is romantic marriage a poetic conception
by love starved victorian imbeciles
vanquished in increments
by petty spats of blood and thunder
who know not the joys of the whips blood toothed kisses
purgation's brutal sensuality
and a creel
of ramming butter **** gang bangs
in secret fetish gardens
of cries and coos
that leave the *** wilted
and the soul lite
like a butterfly in heaven

***** girl asks
as hips sway
to sacred dionysian storms
in the smoldering pangs
of the heart
as backs writhe and arch
flex and sweat rhapsodic
and viscera panic with desire

are not such delicious degradations
pleasures ravage despicable
cause for an ecstatic celebration
kindling
fiery vapors incense
en-flamed dragons blood
for drooling kisses
that talk in tongues
in a language that everyone understands
infinitly preferred
over  the rolling eyes of disapproval
in the tepid marriage bed
Josiah Israel Jan 2017
Be still oh heart within this aching *****, For sight of she hath caused this thrilling tremor!

When through gossamer haze I first beheld her,
Arrayed in winters coldest blues and whites,

Her locks burning bright as silver flame,
Awash in purest of all heavenly lights!


An undulating melody drips from sweetest lips,
Tis born to me upon a gentle breeze,

I hearken to her song with all my will,
Struck with deep desire, my soul doth seize!


Were I to rush upon this Fairy apparition,
Away would vanish I deeply fear,

And if she were to leave this world my home,
Oh heart would rend and fall with many an icy tear!


But am I not a fabled son of light?
Fear in me I often boldly best!

And If I do not try to win this Maid,
Death I know will take me off to places where grandsires rest.


 A dash through cold and mist, to grasp her silken hand
Upon one knee I fall, I dare not stand!


To trembling lips I brush those tender fingertips…


With quivering voice I lay my heart open
Not daring to look into those emerald eyes,

But when I feel her hand fade in my grasp,
This heart in flaming chest, breaks and dies!

Bewitched, Beloved, Bereft... Be Still...
A tribute to romantic tragedy...

Let me know if you could visualize  what you were reading  :D
elaine Oct 2018
How may I                                             please
you? How may I                                    help
you out with your busy lifestyle?
I live to be your *****,                           i
live to be a maid,
why would I                                           need
to leave this loving relationship?
why would I need                                  to get out.
What now is there to do, but sit and await whatever there is to come?
Josiah Israel Jan 2017
by— Josiah Israel

Twas oft the way in days of old,
When knight would battle brave and bold,
The damsels hand in hopes to hold,
Worth more then polished Stone, or Gold
For this is what a boy is told
When day is done and night is cold…

“One day my son, thy chance will come
Though courage oft may waver,
When lady waits, through sable gates
For thee brave lad, to save her!”

For when a dragon stole a maid,
Awaiting ransom duly paid,
Twas bravest knight, armor arrayed  
With noble steed and burnished blade
Rode swiftly to the damsels aid…

“You have not birth of high degree
Yet be thou brave and fight,
For low in rank thy birth may be
Yet heart makes noble knight!”

And after facing beast and foe
The knight with maiden free would go
Away to fields in need of ***
For seeds air winter need to grow
And none can reap who do not sow…

“Not all you do will win a prize
Of gold or silver bent,
So reap a harvest good in size
And be thee well content.”

And when the battle horn he hears
The knight must banish all his fears
And ride to war, with battle cheers
On maidens cheek alight her tears
Fearing death, she spends the years…

“To win renown in battle
Might also be your path,
May your enemies armor rattle
As they feel your righteous wrath!”

But after kings campaign is done
The knight to home will swiftly run
From dusk through night to rising sun
Till maiden sees her hero come
Heart moving swift, a beating drum
Yes she the prize which first he won!

“Home is best at warring's end
To be with those you cherish,
A place to rest, your wounds to mend
Where love will never perish”

Though all the kingdom knows his name
And minstrels spread the brave knights fame
His love for she, remains the same
And they live happily, Knight and Dame…
I love the medieval Ballad kind of poem. Alfred Lord Tennyson was my inspiration for this style :D
Emeka Mokeme Aug 2018
Life is so funny in its
uncanny and unpredictable
ways.
It reaches out to us
with powerful grip,
yet allows us to make decisions
about what we think we want
without interference
but with consequences
of our actions.
Molded in our favour,
fashioned to bring succour
and comfort to ameliorate
the pains to be encountered.
This helps to do things
the right way the first time,
allowing things to manifest
and work the way they should,
not the other way around.
It’s like when we brush
our teeth before we go to
the dentist to have
a teeth cleaning or
when we wash the dishes before
we put them in the dishwasher
or when we clean up the house
before the maid arrives.
These are not following
the natural order of things.
Yield to the kindness of nature.
Listen to the rhythm it beats
into your consciousness,
it's wisdom is of superior quality.
Accept whatever it gives you,
for the miraculous is woven
and hidden inside it.
The notion is to take you to the apex
of your mountain if patience is excellently
exercised and not be distracted.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Anecandu Sep 2014
From the Azul sky a diving sparkling speck,
An unmatched beautiful creature without circumspect,
The golden leaves of spring like soldiers on parade,
Dip and make way for this fair winged maid.

I have so much longed to be first bite of this season,
To be touched and blossomed to perfection by your reason,
I grow juicy, soft and ripen as I fall for you.
Tumbling into your soft Cashmere hands on cue.

Salivating, I’m tasty, savour me between your teeth,
Sink deep in without remorse, how delectably indiscrete!
Say my name with a smile it’s so safe in your mouth.
I’m tingling the roof of your brain with my flavours coming out.

Take me away! as we fly, I’m cast about like an enchanted spell,
Moistening your soft syrupy lips of caramel.
I’m drained to sustain the iridescent colours of your gilded wings,
Moved by the high passionate notes as you sing.

Your smooth, probing tongue, my flesh diabetically sweet,
Leaving streaks of sienna nectar on fates smeared cheeks,
Wipe away before staining fabric from our black and white lives.
They keep returning, stubborn like long goodbyes.

Surprise! New emotions enveloping, hypnotic like Night Jasmine,
Mimicking a rainwater spout so bubbly, escaping, and exciting!
Your caught hopeless as a fish fly rod with a glass eyed trout
Choking while love swoops silent from heaven to pluck it out.

That’s when you look at my seed and you can tell.
I’m good for your ego but as bad as a toadstool’s spell.
So I’m placed in the first mound of mud you come across,
Where you replant me sprinkled with fairy dust.
Torin Galleshaw Aug 2018
bring your hands that make the spring
now the seeds are new plants breaking through the surface of the soil
unwinding, spiral tendrils reach and hold
as when the sky becomes jewels above verdent land
flowers are now blooming
in my heart and mind

that dog who has his bone
the one you may find, manged, raoming in alleys or parking lots
half deranged, holding only to what he knows
dog and his bone
he is happy now
for him, right now will last forever

never could believe in the future
until I saw a movie about a maid
and it was only moments
switching places
we travel as witness
unindentured to the day

would only relief last forever
as when those grey clouds on the horizon
finally break over me
and all the world I know
patty m Dec 2014
Clarity
is never ecstasy
at least when one
thinks they're in love
the violin sings sweetly still
and the heart gathers
stars from the heavens above.
.
Will the Gods confess
that they made a mess
of this man and woman thing?
The angels just laugh and pour the wine
and cupid puts arrow to string .

Then penitence's stance
does a ***** dance
and all patience flies away
as wantonness and lustfulness
raise their heads and bray.
Yet there's no remorse
as they stay the course
bickering as they play,
things once crass, now beat an ***
as they hide behind a hedge.
A trounce in the hay on
a summer's day beats
walking a slippery ledge.


Young man
whose hands cannot constrain
the **** that inflames
when bosoms bounce
as the young girls flounce
about their wares.
He takes delight from maiden fair
with long curls of auburn hair
lifting her skirt as she quickly runs
the brisk country air blows
the skirt higher still and the lad
gets a peek at her buns.  

Hot and brisk he takes a risk
as he chases the maiden down.  
then runs a hand up the inside of thigh
and smiles at the treasure he's found
Oh glorious when hot and sweet
the salt a lick away,
the pleasure spot makes her scream with delight
as he slowly makes his way.  

Then ******* pink
harden tight
and stand up on their own,
so he bends his head and takes a bite
and ***** them till she moans

She's his for the taking
and this her first awakening
yet virginity be ******
she'll give it up easily enough
for a taste of this hot blooded man.


Regret is something that
that later rears it's head
it's too late now to cry
or bury face in featherbed
trying to remember why.  

Thinking again how he made her feel
she laughs and cries and simply sighs,
the lad had so much appeal.
She thought she might touch the sky
and melt in the sweet by and by
her feet never touching the ground
but then the 10th of never arose
and her monthly didn't come round.

Nine months along the age old song
is not quite a lullaby
as legs again are splayed
and she thinks that she might die
struggling to birth this burly babe,
swaddled now, in her arms he's laid.

I wonder if the lad comes back again
tossing in the air a shilling,
if the pretty maid with auburn hair
would be so very willing.  

Who knows when cupid
strings his bow,
when and where his arrows go,
is it love or merely ****
this musky craving need
I'm sure if the lad comes around again
she'll be willing to do the deed.

Sandy bottom ocean's core
sending waves upon the shore
tickling tides that ebb and wane
desire's urges are to blame,
yet wondrous sweet is melting kiss
as bodies joined throb with bliss,
how can one turn their back on this?
If it's wrong then I'm remiss.
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2018
Me:Lovely new shoes.
You: Yes, just bought today on New Bond Street.
Me: Gifted my maid  the same pair like yours.
Crown Shyness Oct 2018
My forhead loving yours,
resting, hectic minds, in being one of a kind,
may the unsolvable riddle be solved
for tonight.
Left hands on stolen from chests,
the beat,
listen closely,
closer
,
a rhythm still in symmetry
just the time and place in different frequencies
but both beats didn't forget the last true kiss,
last blue pause, a meaningful intention intertwined
in slow and
seeing contact.

The question is
can you hold imperfection
in need for lifting strings,
taking its dead body from the floor?
A tender embracement without power games
lies in brows strong as guardians
of your changing eyes
.

Lying, chest on chest,
breathing,
steps of mind
full,
but not any less.

Do you dare to,

warrior maid,

to kiss me as an Inuit
?
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to **** you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all **** broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018).
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