"mathilda" poems
Mathilda is brutally murdered
Udolph is the obvious suspect
remembers everyone how she jilted him
David her last lover is inconsolable
Evan’s appearance raises suspicion
right before the ****** he met her
Ergot the butler had seen him going out
Rocky was with him could be an accomplice
Inspector Brown finds it a tough case
so many suspects but all with good alibi
Dr. Thomas isn’t sure about the cause of death
autopsy is necessary for the confirmation
visible though are the abrasions on her neck
Inspector Brown interrogates all the suspects
dogs are brought to find smells of trails.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
the sea grabbed bodies, theirs and mine flaming foaming tendrils
ahold of the drifting timber trying to keep gripping, hanging
holding high salt stripped throat shouting Unhand Me, Body-
You'll not have us tonight, but the sea made belly sounds,
bleeding even the pilot, head slipping to the murk my blood
the envy, finally fell out inside and I sank to the floor with the timber and rope-the final moments of vision the setting horison the eye and perhaps an illusion; not-blak sails drifting steady my head vapor shroud eating the sun I fell into the lap of my love, my Mathilda- royalty to seakelp and fog looking on both irises jupiter and mars and thanking the stars furyos vixens above and she stood and she smiled not-blak sails- I admired her silver linen train but a din like desperate men shouting loosed me from my vision; they had seen the sails and all surrounding the lot tantalus's envy the pilot's hands raving Not today! Not today! They feared hotel raft a permanent lodging, jumping, frightened, killing themselves their poor salt-seasoned hearts drifting again more than them no signal observing the sails flurrying trumpets it might see us-it might, it might!
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
there once was a girl who was scary and sweet
her name was Mathilda, she was the voice in my head
she told me stories about demons and the dark
things that I needed to do before she would leave me alone
cut a little deeper, no one will care about your wounds
eat a little less, no one will notice when you lose some more weight
speak a little softer, no one wants to hear your voice cracking the air
her name was Mathilda and I used to be afraid of her
she would force the broken kids to commit suicide, death
but I know Mathilda was just lonely and needed a friend, like me
trapped by demons like the little girl in me, afraid and dying
angels sang me to sleep every night and I prayed they would save you
it was my dream that you would be free and we could be sisters, family
there always was this part of me that missed you when you were gone
I know you killed yourself years ago, that you were just like me
but darling everytime you visit me in the summer, the lovely days
I just can't handle seeing you go again, die like you did that winter
the pictures of you hanging with a rope on your neck, the blood
you always counted the scares on your wrist, they were ugly you said
I always thought they were beautiful, just like the way you smiled
you always were so so wonderful with your broken blue eyes
Dear Mathilda, my darling, I love you.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
As Big Tom soaks up morning sun
Mathilda flirts with everyone
Miss Kitty likes her milk from May
While Sandra's Minnie 'gets her way'
Youg Archie: bound to cause a stir
And Hector: rarely did he purr
But Flashy - he's much like our Son
Big boy entrances everyone
So on this morn - as felines trod
Salute the cats of Westbank Quad!
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
When I was younger
My mother
wouldnt buy me a gun
or a dog
or anything fun.
However with an expensive taste
I would feed my moth my cashmere vest
then that didn't fit
Only to encounter my long lost love bank; Mathilda the stray cat!
And mind you, collarless and deep in debt,
I'd find my moth
and feed her that.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
(Inspired by The Diary of Jane – with a cow-themed twist!)
[Verse 1]
Under the moonlight, the barn doors creak,
A whisper in the wind, hooves drag through the creek.
A tale untold, lost in the hay,
Mathilda’s fate... has faded away.
[Pre-Chorus]
She cried out loud, but no one came,
Left behind in a world of pain.
The milk has spilled, the past is gone,
But her story still lives on!
[Chorus]
So I’ll search forever in the dairy of Mathilda,
Through the echoes of the night, I can hear her call...
Will she find her way back to the old green pasture?
Or is she lost to time... once and for all?
[Verse 2]
The farmer swore, "She ran away!"
But in the shadows, she still strays.
A ghostly bell rings through the field,
A secret only the wind revealed.
[Bridge]
Is she free? Or just a tale?
A phantom lost beyond the pale?
Her story's locked in this old book,
If you dare, just take a look!
[Final Chorus]
So I’ll search forever in the dairy of Mathilda,
Through the echoes of the night, I can hear her call...
Will she find her way back to the old green pasture?
Or is she lost to time... once and for all?
[Outro]
Once and for all...
(Moooooooooo...)
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 2:31 AM UTC
Where it seemed like winter lasted forever,
I didn't mind the days being dark when
Mathilda was standing under snowy streetlights,
Covered in the ashes of Icarus' wings,
All sweet and sleepy;
Mathilda may I walk with you?
Hold your hand until we become Siamese twins;
If I had a hundred years,
I would sacrifice fifty one to and for you,
To see my soul's full meaning into future years,
Love or tears,
Which one first disappears?
-Jamie F. Nugent
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
Your validation for subjective beauty, she does not seek for any. Not conform to standard beauty, is she.
Her beauty is seen with the eyes who appreciates it.
Her true beauty is found only by those who lives in faith and not just by sight.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC