"matilda" poems
over-caffeinated like a maj-gician (the electricians of existence), Matilda sang her morning brew a lullaby as she convinced breakfast not to panic from the pain of the frying pan- "sit quietly, take the pain, feel the burn- SIZzle! soon you'll be a human being and begin your life as a synthetic deity free within the skin of metastasized consciousness."
soon the egg seized in pleasure; a masochistic joy overtook it as yoke splurged from within like ****** ***** during ******* when the gimp has forgotten the safety word, screaming
BANANA
NEW YORK
CODE ORANGE
! ! !
while the perpetrator continues to scream verses from the Bible and Leviticus 1:3; an audiotape of On Being and Nothingness sends chills down the dark-sides spine in a hyperreal realization of the role choice plays in evils mortality.
must we listen while we speak? does reciprocity die in egoic colonization of the African subcontinent of the mind? is this the beginning of an age of autism born within the confines of illuminated rectangles of permissible distance and social hell-frozen-over?
man, you weren't even paying attention.
**** you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
Oh there once was a swagman camped in the billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came a jumbuck to drink at the waterhole,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee;
And he sang as he stowed him away in his tucker-bag,
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came the squatter a-riding his thoroughbred;
Down came policemen — one, two, and three.
"Whose is the jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag?
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with we."
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the waterhole,
Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree;
And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the billabong
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?"
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
5.2k
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
She knows she’s young
She’s lost her fun
In so little years
She’s filled with so many fears
Her momma scolds
Tells her she’s she got no hold
She sits and reads Matilda
Momma says to go out with her sister
She’s told she’s not pretty
She says she’s just a kid
They tell her without a boyfriend
She cannot play with them
She loves to Skip
She loves her toys
She just wants friendship
Doesn’t matter with girls or with boys
And as sixth grade ends and she’s lost her friends Who are so eager to go and grow up
She decides to keep quietly to herself
Or else they’ll tell her to shut up
She loves being a kid
Still wants to play pretend
Doesn’t want to worry about makeup
Doesn’t want to worry about growth
Doesn’t want to style her hair, just wants to keep it short
Told she looks like a boy but she likes being different
Doesn’t want to be irreverent
She still feels like she’s eleven
And just wants to keep on shining
Wants to keep looking at the world as amazing
She doesn’t know what to do
She loves a man who’s 22
She knows she is much too young
And knows he thinks of her as young and dumb
He gives her a smile and walks on by
He calls her a “Pop **** and gives her a high five
She dreams 10 years going by
When she’s allowed to be in his life
But she thinks then he’ll have a wife
And she’ll just dream of being the lonely bride
Will she have another chance
Was this her only shot?
She wonders what high school will be like
Will she be able to have another start?
She still wishes to make her mama proud
But she just wants a well primed child
She couldn’t be a beauty queen
And couldn’t dance or sing
She just likes to climb trees and read
And she still wants that into her teens
For this little twelve year old girl
Life was a nonstop whirl
The days go by too fast
She feels pretty soon she’ll be looking her last
As all her schoolmates gossip and change
She still wants to remain strange
She thinks about him everyday
And the days remain the same,
The same
She’s older
She’s getting older
She’s getting older and she wants to go back
She takes old pictures, puts them in order
So that she can always look back
Copyright © James Black |
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
Romilda was an old lady,
She had no small baby,
So she petted her sisters daughter,
Who only drank milk but not water,
Little baby had a nice name which was Angelina Geolly
But her life was a worry,
She never went for the studio,
Never had Romeo,
She was brought up at a village,
But had a wide knowledge,
Her old aunt was always frank,
But Angelina Geolly use to prank,
One morning Angelina knocked her head on the wall,
And started dialing a call,
It was to none other than the fire brigade,
Hello, Come asap for our gate, Fire! Fear! Fire!
After an hour they reached in,
It was all about a recycle bin
Angeline had only meant, fire at her aunts cooker,
But they responded you little sucker!
The poor Aunt Matilda had to pay,
For their visit all the way
But still the house wasn’t grey!
Some people, few people started to blame Angelina Geolly!
She ran into her trolley,
And Angelina Cried Cried Cried,
But later she was Fried Fried Fried
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:30 PM UTC
I will write 100 poems to make people feel at ease
Like Clancy of the overflow
Mulga bill and buttons and bows
Those 100 poems will be
The best I ever wrote
You see working class man
And blue sky mine and waltzing Matilda and buttons and bows
I want to support my footy team
And cheer very loud
Saying go Sydney go Green Bay
Go Barcelona nothing better than buttons and bows
I want to be rich you see
Make a lot of cash
I will have a party with alcohol
And bob hope singing buttons and bows
Making us happy with buttons and bows
I want to watch a tv show like a great soap opera
Like home and away packed to the radars 800 words and buttons and bows
Days of our lives and neighbours and young and the restless and buttons and bows
Bold and the beautiful and buttons and bows
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
Matilda listens to make sure they’ve gone out knowing Mr Doozie the cat is licking his milk the slurping sound fills the now silent room but she has to be sure her aunt and uncle have gone she can’t allow Moses to come in by the backdoor until they’re long gone and in the town buying and selling their wares she places her hands on her head and closes her eyes to focus her listening to close out Mr Doozie’s sounds the saucer of milk being pushed across the floor the purring but she cannot hear them now cannot hear their voices can’t hear Auntie’s whines and Uncle’s bellows can’t smell Uncle’s pipe or the aroma of his farts or Auntie’s sour body odour and sniffs the air and puts one leg up on the chair and lets the skirt fall back revealing her fine thigh and underwear something for Moses to see and get excited about not that he needs any encouragement especially after the last time he came around when her aunt and uncle had gone off for the day to market on the old bus and Moses had sneaked in the back door his eyes peering around the door and she saying They’ve gone out you can come in and he did and while Mr Doozie sat on the end of the bed watching disinterestedly Moses had kissed her all over her body and after games of foreplay he’d entered her with subtleness and moved in a slow motion so that the bed only moved and rattled slightly and did not disturbed Mr Doozie and they had only just dressed and was letting Moses out the back door when Auntie came in the front door followed by Uncle with his arms laden with shopping and moaning about the prices and the shop girls and how there is no manners anymore and she feeling Moses’ ***** easing down her thigh and stood there with her innocent stare but this time Moses would need to be quicker as they had only gone to town and wouldn’t be long and if they returned earlier and caught her and Moses undressed and ******* with Mr Doozie sitting watching she doesn’t know what they’d say or do although knowing Uncle he’d chase off Moses with his walking stick and tan her hide until she cried and cried but Moses hasn’t come and she listens out hushing Mr Doozie with a shush shush and scratches her thigh and strains her ears was that him? She sighs opening her eyes sitting up looking towards the door waiting anticipating feeling the body’s urge the body’s need wanting Moses to come through the door and hurry with her up the stairs followed no doubt by Mr Doozie and quickly ********** and into her bed and setting aside the kissing and messing get on with the ******* but the door remains closed the room is almost silent apart from Mr Doozie’s licking and purring and the soft tick tocking of the grandfather clock and her heart thumping boom boom boom boom like a small drum all around the room and inside her head and she disappointed frustrated with no *** with Moses just a small empty bed.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
If you do come to Australia
don't think just of the kangaroo--also the dugong
the koala, the platypus, the wombat and the Tasmanian Devil
and learn to sing Waltzing Matilda the nation's most-loved song
far superior to Advance Australia Fair (believe me)
our uninspiring national anthem (most Aussies would agree)
and the lyrics were so badly
written-- no wonder Aussies could never sing the song properly
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
I've been wandering around, like a waltzing matilda.
From Fife in the lowlands, to the cliffs of St. Kilda.
Carrying my life, and all that it wills
Appalachia and plains, to the mighty Black Hills.
Trekking so far, exploring the Earth
Miles away, from the place of my birth.
From the land of the Scots, to the land of the Sioux
From familiar homes, to the places so new.
I'm wandering around, with so much to do.
In the land of the Gaels, to the land of Lakota,
I'm slinging around, like a waltzing matilda.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC
A dutchman in dusty brogans
Hill and gully.
Walkabout dreamer mastlless ship
Hill and gully.
Raggamuffin rover.
Hill and gully .
Phoenix scattered in the sand
Smoldering embers.
Hill and gully
Shimmering in the distance
oasis in the heat..
Hill an gully walkabout
Waltzing all about
One day he walks up to himself
And ends his walkabout.
One climbing uphill
One trodding down
Tuckererd out and out of tucker
Waltzing matilda
Endless walkabout.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
First, a lonesome rider comes gently
murmuring in the dark,
riding a white stallion into a bang.
Second, the sweet chaos of quarks…
play fighting like children
on a trampoline.
Third, the life and the love
of unthinking minds, and of molecules meandering
along our DNA, adapting.
Then the sensing things
find their place; crafting geology,
time and taste, into a land of empty waste.
All impressions teeming, ideas wild, dressed
in sterile suits, this is the reaping
upon the fearing eyes.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
I ask you, one who knows them all
who walks like Jesus, bathed and masked
into the cave where upon we ask
Who is the fairest of them all?
And in these moments of ferocity,
bright like burning Pohutakawa trees,
I cower beneath the fury of the sky.
In the timeless and fragile imagination,
I ponder teething things, creeping
and making their way to Matilda’s
earthly paradise. Take me now;
oh raise me, spirited Fig,
to enlightenment.
Though in my awakenings, whilst light
finds entry to the eyes
through a liquid sand,
I wish all the treasures of the lands
ka whawhai tonu ma¬tu,
ake ake, ake!
I wish to find a nightingale
with its blood drenched upon a rose,
staining my withering suit,
as I pass from fascination
into gentle death.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
She's a Waltzing Matilda
Says her life is a lie
Says she'd like to be married here
And these are the days of her life
Says she ain't in no hurry oh no
And you know that's alright
Saw her mother in fusion dear
Like suicide for the rest of your life
Says she ain't in no trouble oh no
And you know that's a lie
Says she knows of your future here
Like suicide for the rest of your life
Says she's looking for action oh boy,
And you know that's alright
Black stockings and high heels
That red lipstick drives me wild
She's a Waltzing Matilda
Says her life is a lie
Says she knows of your future here
Like suicide for the rest of your life
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
i wish my name was
matilda or something that
sounded beautiful when said by
a starbucks barista or
a boy with rustled brown hair
who loved me
if my name were
matilda maybe i would be
someone better who
didnt hurt people who cared about her
and didnt lie about
how they really felt
i wish my name was
matilda because i have already
tarnished the name that i was
supposed to make great and be proud of
my name isnt matilda
but i wish it was
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Barry and Ashley and Leslie
Performing on Jupiter moon
Singing waltzing Matilda waltzing Matilda you’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And flea, flea fly, flea fly flo
Vister, coolabah coolabah coolabah vista
Oh no no no not the vista
And we are the bad and mean green machine Ashley liked league and hated Aussie rules
He said why do you like Aussie rules league is much better
And Leslie one day organised a church play which I participated in despite me being a Buddhist
I found it fun though and I used to sit at the mall and Leslie talked to me there, making me feel like I have adult friends
Ashley said I had a good imagination when he was reading my poetry
The band played waltzing Matilda as the war was on back then
We still have a war like when people disagree with us
Yes that seems so bad
Barry joined my bowling league as another helper and Leslie came to my play in 2003 to watch it with the ladies from Vinnies and Ashley was a regular customer at the kaleen swimming pool when I went there each Wednesday and I always said hello to him and I joked with him and he joked with me it is sad that they all a no longer around because they each made me happy
Waltzing Matilda waltzing Matilda you’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
We sang and we threw that jumbuck in that tucker bag
You’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And Barry gave me an Apple computer to get me up with the joneses and make me really enjoy the internet, ya know
I was hopeless at the computer once but now I know how to use it
Now we are singing all these numbers like world of our own
And Georgy girl and many many more death happens but it is great to know we come back to life performing at this cosmic concert stage on Jupiter showing that death can be fun and uplifting knowing we will come back
So Barry Ashley and Leslie
Thank you for making me feel like a normal person when I went out
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 7:27 AM UTC
A Great Dane named Matilda.
That's what I wanted.
You wanted children.
You want to be a veterinary doctor.
I want to be a chemist.
Your birth mother was gorgeous.
I'm sorry about her.
I'm sorry for everything.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
During the long winter the town cemetery is chained off,
Two thick cables across each entrance to insure
That foolhardy drivers don’t attempt the hill that divides
The new from the old sections.
The upper half, the “New Cemetery” as it’s called,
Offers more level ground with polished graves,
As if “new” somehow made a difference to those resting there.
Anyone who knows the difference prefers the old, lower section,
With stones leaning this way and that
And inscriptions that are barely visible on some.
Old stones offer personality, truth be told--
Even the names seem more real: Caleb, Ezekiel, Matilda.
I think of them there through those cold gray months,
Blanketed in snow disturbed only by the occasional deer walking through.
I know it shouldn’t matter but I feel sad for them all
Forced to suffer through that blank desolation,
Denied the warmth of sun or the curious gaze of some passerby.
As if death weren’t bad enough, the white loneliness of snow
Drifting over their one last piece of property
Seems a cruel and unnecessary gesture on the part of the world they left.
As if to say, “You’re still mine to treat as I will, alive or dead.”
That’s why, when the weather turns and the cables come off
I make it a point to pass through each day on my way to work.
The snow, gone now, lets the earth breathe again,
And I can’t help but think that, with the trees about to sprout
And green grass just around the corner,
That life has its place here too, even among the dead,
And that I’m not the only one waiting for longer days and a warmer wind.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 9:36 AM UTC
Matilda has been rolling cigarettes all morning.
Her fingers are nimble and pinching
"We're going out tonight," she says,
And I don't know what that means.
"But I have to work late again," I say,
But to Matilda, that does not matter.
Matilda does not mind.
Peter has been pacing around all morning.
His feet are bare and his toes are flinching
"I'm going to lose it tonight," he says,
And I don't know what that means.
"But you've tried so hard to keep it," I say,
But to Peter, this is meaningless chatter.
Peter has lost his mind.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:10 PM UTC
Do you know what happens to the teeth of children salvaged by the tooth fairy.
They are carried away in a velvet purse.
A vermilion scarlet purse with golden drawstrings.
And so the story begins.
~~x~~
The tooth fairy is a tiny soul, but she flies incredibly fast.
She wears a dress of silver and a tiny little diadem.
She sports the wings of a dragonfly.
Diminutive.
Dainty, she's much too small.
Much to small to be seen, by the unsuspecting naked eye.
Too big to be snatched by passing birds, so now you you know.
~~x~~
She carries her precious cargo, to the ice floes near the fjords.
And there she is greeted by the ice queen.
Whose name is Matilda.
She has been building a new ice castle, in which her family dwell.
~~x~~
It isn't finished yet you know.
She cares not what colour your teeth are.
As long, as they're not holey.
Holey teeth let the cold in.
~~x~~
Chilled wind whistles around her old arthritic neck.
Her kids took over the construction.
The buildings nearly finished.
~~x~~
The tooth fairy, whose name is Christina.
Dropped of yet another batch.
Sadly the naughty children have not brushed as the should have done.
A batch of broken teeth delivered.
My goodness how Christina shivered.
~~x~~
She thought she'd ask me to drop you a line.
To remind your children to brush well every time.
Matilda smiled at Christina.
She said" thank you my dear"
"For this winter I may freeze."
So please, please brush your teeth.
You really really should.
She said she'd find it really swell.
Hole less teeth will keep Matilda warm and well.
(c)Livvi
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
Waltzing Matilda
But not so ****** easy
In a Zimmer frame
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
The real life Matilda
She never escaped
The real life Matilda
She lives in grief
The real life Matilda
She has her magic only within herself
The real life Matilda
She buried her feelings deep
The real life Matilda
She sheltered her spirit like a dying ember in the rain
The real life Matilda
She is ragged and broken and beaten by life
The real life Matilda
She lost her Miss Honey
The real life Matilda
She never got to stand up to the bullies
The real life Matilda
She lived in sorrow
The real life Matilda
She cut her wrists
The real life Matilda
She begged for her life to end alone in a bathroom at school alone in the dark at night
Alone alone alone
The real life Matilda
She knows there is no happy ending
The real life Matilda
She is me
Dec 12, 2021
Dec 12, 2021 at 6:56 AM UTC
Little grown-up knows too much.
Terrorism and tweenies, hopscotch and ******
But the world is happily waltzin’ with Matilda.
He needs to learn, it’s never too late
******* before he fills his flashing trainers.
Little grown-up knows too much.
Mummy says it’s true, so therefore it is fate
Yes instead of thank you, probably overused,
But the world is happily waltzin’ with Matilda.
You must decide if he’s gay or straight
Baa Baa rainbow sheep burnt to memory, tattoo’s and Christian taboo’s.
Little grown-up knows too much.
Taste the pill, consume this cup, watch his tiny eyes dilate
Staining innocence, hurry up, his naivety is bruised,
But the world is happily waltzin’ with Matilda.
We dictate to loose weight in our forced-fed free state
Sat, his short legs swing on the cold church pews,
Little grown-up knows too much
But the world is happily waltzin’ with Matilda.
JWS
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
The thing about inseparability is that you spend so many sleepless nights trying to familiarize yourself with each and every reason he named the arrangement of those walls "home" and when you finally leave (the candy bowl, the green Christmas lights, the keyboard, the twin size mattress, the bathroom cabinet),
Kenopsia lies in the forgotten combination code and you're left blankly staring at your front door and the splinter in your foot from the plywood floor and the unexpectedly obnoxious ding of the microwave and the look on your moms face when you have to ask which forks are in which drawer and when your cat paws at your tangled headphones but runs when you try to pet her and you remember that she is actually a he and you had to change his name because Matilda wasn't unisex enough for your niece, who's been making all A's in school, no thanks to you, even after the help you promised her was never provided, much like the bowling nights and painting mornings you once planned with her.
And you can't sleep at night because your arms aren't flexible enough to wrap themselves around your torso and rest beneath your neck like his did and your bed makes an unfamiliar screech each time you toss or turn or stretch, or blink, or take a breath and the light can't be turned off with a click of a button and the room is too cold without a radiating body next to you to fill the frigid air with warm words about running toward city lights, and you realize that you've dreamed of a home your entire life and you thought you'd never found it and maybe you still haven't but you've built a structure with his bones and use his curls as blankets,
but what the three little pigs didn't warn you of was that all it takes is a cloudy day to birth a storm strong enough to rip the ribs off their hinges.
The storm hasn't hit home yet, but it's almost hurricane season, and you can't remember where your dad always hid the flashlights from your niece; and light is shed on the fact that darkness houses vulnerability.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
Going to fix up my homes under the sycamore tree
going camping
tent tramping
and all I will see are the whirlygigs that helicopter
propped up in my sleeping bag
watching the canvas sag
like life
it's an awful drag and I am gone
camping.
'Oh my giddy aunt' whose name was Matilda,
once met the Kaiser,
by the side of the Danube.
No proof,
no Youtube but I believed her and Herr Kaiser had a little thing going by the river flowing out to the sea.
Which does not help me under the sycamore tree and the more that I see the less I'm intent on staying in a tent with a roof that is sagging,
I'm dragging my **** outa here
and you guessed it
,no proof
no Youtube
the truth.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Flies buzz around the still room
like dogs chasing cars.
An old crone is heard nagging beyond the door,
"Don't you think you're leaving to one of them bars!"
Light hasn't entered the room in days;
the dark green curtains have all been closed.
The old lady began banging against the wood,
"You still need to clip my toes!"
The room reeked of cigarette smell.
A half-burnt one existed within the ash tray.
Weeping could be heard from the other side.
"Honey, open up. Don't leave me astray.."
Next to the lime-green chair where he lay,
a dried up pen could be seen leaving his hand.
One scribbled note stood out upon the lamp table.
"Can you get off your *** and fix the **** TV stand?!"
Matilda,
I have loved you for sixty-three years, sixty of which we've been married and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but during these past couple of years, you've become heartless. You've changed and it saddens me entirely. You're not the woman I fell in love with all those years ago, but rather this ghost that preys on the misfortune of others. Maybe it was all the radiation treatment the doctors performed or perhaps the endless drugs they made you take to numb the pain, but regardless of the mental distortion you now face, I can no longer bear it. I love you, Matilda, but it breaks my heart to see you like this. I'm sorry, but this is indeed goodbye.
-Henry
The soundlessness lasted for weeks
except for the one shot that ran.
Nothing living remained in that room,
ending the life of that one old man.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
Sometidas al castigo del pecado
ocurrido allá en el el paraíso.
Sismos geográficos ocasionados
por una sola corriente,
un solo flujo,
una sola vía.
Martirio durante días,
mientras el clima cambia,
conteniendo esencias peculiares
y como artista se destaca.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC