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Smiling Queen Aug 2019
Vo ek mahine phle se birthday ki excitement is saal thodi kam thi
Birthday ke din bhi birthday bali feeling thodi kam thi.
Ab mai shayad childish se thodi matured ** gayi thi.
.
Har saal ki tarah is saal mom dad se kisi mehenge se gift ki zid nhi ki thi.
Unke dil se diye aashirwaad ki khushi hi bahut thi.
Ab mai shayad childish se thodi matured ** gayi thi.
.
Bachpana jane mai vaqt thoda jyada lag gya.
Jimmedariya samjhne mai vaqt thoda jyada lag gya.
16 saal ki ** gayi thi, thodi badi ** gayi thi.
Ab mai childish se thodi matured ** gayi thi.
.
Ghar ki problems samjhne lagi thi.
Ab thoda hi sahi magar sahi aur galat mai pehchan ne lagi thi.
Ab mai childish se thodi matured ** gayi thi.
.
Jo phle papa ke paise dosto ke sath udaya karti thi.
Aaj papa ke sapne pura karna chahti hu.
Ab mai childish se thodi matured hoti ja rhi hu.
Ab mai childish se thodi matured hona chahti hu......

~your smiling queen :)
19/08/2019
My 16th birthday!!
RAJ NANDY Jul 2017
THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD IN VERSE
Dear Readers, I have tried to cover the salient features of this True Story in free flowing verse mainly with end rhymes. If you read it loud, you can hear the chimes! Due to the short attention span of my readers I had to cut short this long story, and conclude with the
Golden Era of Hollywood by stretching it up to the 1950's only. When TV began to challenge the Big Screen Cinema seriously! I have used only a part of my notes here. Kindly read the entire poem and don't hesitate to know many interesting facts - which I also did not know! I wish there was a provision for posting a few interesting photographs for you here. Best wishes, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.  

                 THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD :
                        THE AMERICAN  DREAM
                             BY RAJ NANDY

           A SHORT  HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
Since the earliest days, optical toys, shadow shows, and ‘magic
lanterns’, had created the illusion of motion.
This concept was first described by Mark Roget in 1824 as  
the 'persistent of vision'.
Giving impetus to the development of big screen cinema with its
close-ups, capturing all controlled and subtle expressions!
The actors were no longer required to shout out their parts with
exaggerated actions as on the Elizabethan Stage.
Now even a single tear drop could get noticed easily by the entire
movie audience!
With the best scene being included and edited after a few retakes.
To Thomas Edison and his able assistant William Rogers we owe the invention of Kinetoscope, the first movie camera.
On the grounds of his West Orange, New Jersey laboratory, Edison
built his first movie studio called the ‘Black Maria’.   (1893)
He also purchased a string of patents related to motion picture
Camera; forming the Edison Trust, - a cartel that took control of
the Film Industry entire!

Fort Lee, New Jersey:
On a small borough on the opposite bank of the Hudson River lay
the deserted Fort Lee.
Here scores of film production crews descended armed with picture Cameras, on this isolated part of New Jersey!
In 1907 Edison’s company came there to shoot a short silent film –
‘Rescue From an Eagle’s Nest’,
Which featured for the first time the actor and director DW Griffith.
The independent Chaplin Film Company built the first permanent
movie studio in 1910 in Fort Lee.
While some of the biggest Hollywood studios like the Universal,
MGM, and 20th Century Fox, had their roots in Fort Lee.
Some of the famous stars of the silent movie era included ‘Fatty’
Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and Lillian Gish,
Lionel Barrymore, Rudolph Valentine and Pearl White.
In those days there were no reflectors and electric arch lights.
So movies were made on rooftops to capture the bright sunlight!
During unpredictable bad weather days, filming had to be stopped
despite the revolving stage which was made, -
To rotate and capture the sunlight before the lights atarted to fade!

Shift from New Jersey to West Coast California:
Now Edison who held the patents for the bulb, phonograph, and the Camera, had exhibited a near monopoly;
On the production, distribution, and exhibition of the movies which made this budding industry to shift to California from
New Jersey!
California with its natural scenery, its open range, mountains, desert, and snow country, had the basic ingredients for the movie industry.
But most importantly, California had bright Sunshine for almost
365 days of the year!
While eight miles away from Hollywood lay the port city of Los Angeles with its cheap labour.

                        THE RISE  OF  HOLLYWOOD
It was a real estate tycoon Harvey Wilcox and his wife Daeida from
Kansas, who during the 1880s founded ‘Hollywood’ as a community for like-minded temperate followers.
It is generally said that Daeida gave the name Hollywood perhaps
due to the areas abundant red-berried shrubs also known as
California Holly.
Spring blossoms around and above the Hollywood Hills with its rich variety,  gave it a touch of paradise for all to see !
Hollywood was incorporated as a municipality in 1903, and during
1910 unified with the city of Los Angeles.
While a year later, the first film studio had moved in from New
Jersey, to escape Thomas Edison’s monopoly!    (1911)

In 1913 Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, had leased a barn with
studio facilities.
And directed the first feature length film ‘Squaw Man’ in 1914.
Today this studio is home to Hollywood Heritage Museum as we get to see.
The timeless symbol of Hollywood film industry that famous sign on top of Mount Lee, was put up by a real estate developer in 1923.  
This sign had read as ‘’HOLLY WOOD LAND’’ initially.
Despite decades of run-ins with vandals and pranksters, it managed to hang on to its prime location near the summit of the Hollywood Hills.
The last restoration work was carried out in 1978 initiated by Hugh
Hefner of the ******* Magazine.
Those nine white letters 45 feet tall now read ‘HOLLYWOOD’, and has become a landmark and America’s cultural icon, and an evocative symbol for ambition, glamour, and dream.
Forever enticing aspiring actors to flock to Hollywood, hypnotised
by lure of the big screen!

                     GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD
The Silent Movie Era which began in 1895, ended in 1935 with the
production of ‘Dance of Virgins’, filmed entirely in the island of Bali.
The first Sound film ‘The Jazz Singer’ by Warner Bros. was made with a Vitaphone sound-on-disc technology.  (October 1927)
Despite the Great Depression of the 1930s, this decade along with the 1940s have been regarded by some as Hollywood’s Golden Age.
However, I think that this Golden Age includes the decades of the
1940s and the 1950s instead.
When the advent of Television began to challenge the Film Industry
itself !

First Academy Award:
On 16th May 1929 in the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard,
the First Academy Award presentation was held.
Around 270 people were in attendance, and tickets were priced at
$5 per head.
When the best films of 1927 & 1928 were honored by the Academy
of Motion Production and Sciences, or the AMPS.
Emil Jennings became the best actor, and Janet Gaynor the best actress.
Special Award went to Charlie Chaplin for his contribution to the
silent movie era and for his silent film ‘The Circus’.
While Warren Brothers was commended for making the first talking picture ‘The Jazz Singer’, - also receiving a Special Award!
Now, the origin of the term ‘OSCAR’ has remained disputed.
The Academy adopted this name from 1939 onwards it is stated.
OSCAR award has now become “the stuff dreams are made of”!
It is a gold-plated statuette of a knight 13.5 inches in height, weighing 8.5 pounds, was designed by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons.
Annually awarded for honouring and encouraging excellence in all
facets of motion picture production.

Movies During the Great Depression Era (1929-1941):
Musicals and dance movies starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers provided escapism and good entertainment during this age.
“Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it
backwards and in high heels,” - the Critics had said.
This compatible pair entertained the viewers for almost one and
a half decade.
During the ‘30s, gangster movies were popular starring James Cagey, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson.
While family movies had their popular child artist Shirley Temple.
Swashbuckler films of the Golden Age saw the sword fighting scenes of Douglas Fairbanks and Errol Flynn.
Flynn got idolized playing ‘Robin Hood’, this film got released in
1938 on the big screen!
Story of the American Civil War got presented in the epic ‘Gone With The Wind’ (1939) with Clarke Gable and Vivian Leigh.
This movie received 8 Oscars including the award for the Best Film, - creating a landmark in motion picture’s history!
More serious movies like John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and
John Ford’s  ‘How Green Was My Valley’, were released in 1940 and 1941 respectively.
While the viewers escaped that depressive age to the magical world
of  ‘Wizard of Oz’ with its actress Judy Garland most eagerly!
Let us not forget John Wayne the King of the Westerns, who began
his acting career in the 1930s with his movie ‘The Big Trail’;
He went on to complete 84 films before his career came to an end.
Beginning of the 40s also saw Bob Hope and the crooner Bing Crosby, who entertained the public and also the fighting troops.
For the Second World War (1939-45) had interrupted the Golden Age of Hollywood.
When actors like Henry Fonda, Clarke Gable, James Stewart and
Douglas Fairbanks joined the armed forces temporarily leaving
Hollywood.
Few propaganda movies supporting the war efforts were also made.
While landmark movies like ‘Philadelphia Story’, ‘Casablanca’, ‘Citizen Kane’,
‘The Best Years of Our Lives’, were some of the most successful movies of that decade.  (The 1940s)
Now I come towards the end of my Hollywood Story with the decade  of the 1950s, thereby extending the period of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Since having past the Great Depression and the Second World War,  the Hollywood movie industry truly matured and came of age.

                        HOLLYWOOD  OF  THE  1950s

BACKGROU­ND:
The decade of the ‘50s was known for its post-war affluence and
choice of leisure time activities.
It was a decade of middle-class values, fast-food restaurants, and
drive-in- movies;
Of ‘baby-boom’, all-electric home, the first credit cards, and new fast moving cars like the Ford, Plymouth, Buick, Hudson, and Chevrolet.
But not forgetting the white racist terrorism in the Southern States!
This era saw the beginning of Cold War, with Eisenhower
succeeding Harry S. Truman as the American President.
But for the film industry, most importantly, what really mattered  
was the advent of the Domestic TV.
When the older viewers preferred to stay at home instead of going
out to the movies.
By 1950, 10.5 million US homes had a television set, and on the
30th December 1953, the first Color TV went on sale!
Film industries used techniques such as Cinemascope, Vista Vision,
and gimmicks like 3-D techniques,
To get back their former movie audience back on their seats!
However, the big scene spectacle films did retain its charm and
fantasy.
Since fantasy epics like ‘The Story of Robin Hood’, and Biblical epics like ‘The Robe’, ‘Quo Vadis’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Ben-Hur’, did retain its big screen visual appeal.
‘The Robe’ released on 16th September 1953, was the first film shot
and projected in Cinema Scope;
In which special lenses were used to compress a wide image into a
standard frame and then expanded it again during projection;
Resulting in an image almost two and a half times as high and also as wide, - captivating the viewers imagination!

DEMAND FOR NEW THEMES DURING THE 1950s :
The idealized portrayal of men and women since the Second World War,
Now failed to satisfy the youth who sought exciting symbols for rebellion.
So Hollywood responded with anti-heroes with stars like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman.
They replaced conventional actors like Tyron Power, Van Johnson, and Robert Taylor to a great extent, to meet the requirement of the age.
Anti-heroines included Ava Gardner, Kim Novak, and Marilyn Monroe with her vibrant *** appeal;
She provided excitement for the new generation with a change of scene.
Themes of rebellion against established authority was present in many Rock and Roll songs,
Including the 1954 Bill Hailey and His Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
The era also saw rise to stardom of Elvis Presley the teen heartthrob.
Meeting the youthful aspirations with his songs like ‘Jailhouse Rock’!
I recall the lyrics of this 1957 film ‘Jailhouse Rock’ of my school days, which had featured the youth icon Elvis:
   “The Warden threw a party in the county jail,
     The prison band was there and they began to wail.
     The band was jumping and the joint began to sing,
     You should’ve heard them knocked-out jail bird sing.
     Let’s rock, everybody in the whole cell block……………
     Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
     Little Joe was blowing the slide trombone.
     The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang!
     The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang,
      Let's rock,.................... (Lyrics of the song.)

Rock and Roll music began to tear down color barriers, and Afro-
American musicians like Chuck Berry and Little Richard became
very popular!
Now I must caution my readers that thousands of feature films got  released during this eventful decade in Hollywood.
To cover them all within this limited space becomes an impossible
task, which may kindly be understood !
However, I shall try to do so in a summarized form as best as I could.

BOX OFFICE HITS YEAR-WISE FROM 1950 To 1959 :
Top Ten Year-Wise hit films chronologically are: Cinderella (1950),
Quo Vadis, The Greatest Show on Earth, Peter Pan, Rear Window,
Lady and the *****, Ten Commandments, Bridge on the River
Kwai, South Pacific, and Ben-Hur of 1959.

However Taking The Entire Decade Of 1950s Collectively,
The Top Films Get Rated As Follows Respectively:
The Ten Commandments, followed by Lady and the *****, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bridge on the River Kwai, Around the World in Eighty Days, This is Cinerama, The Greatest Show on Earth, Rear Window, South Pacific, The Robe, Giant, Seven Wonders of the World, White Christmas, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Sayonara, Demetrius and the Gladiator, Peyton Place, Some Like It Hot, Quo Vadis, and Auntie Mame.

Film Debuts By Rising Stars During The 1950s :
The decade of the ‘50s saw a number of famous film stars making
their first appearance.
There was Peter Sellers in ‘The Black Rose’, Marlon Brando in
‘The Men’, and actress Sophia Loren in ‘Toto Tarzan’.
Following year saw Charles Bronson in ‘You Are in the Navy Now’,
Audrey Hepburn in ‘Our Wild Oats’, and Grace Kelly, the future
Princess of Monaco, in her first film ‘Fourteen Hours’. (1951)
While **** Brigitte Bardot appeared in 1952 movie ‘Crazy for Love’; and 1953 saw Steve Mc Queen in ‘******* The Run’.
Jack Lemon, Paul Newman, and Omar Sharif featured in films
during 1954.
The following year saw Clint Eastwood, Shirley Mc Lean, Walter
Matthau, and Jane Mansfield, all of whom the audience adored.
The British actor Michael Cain appeared in 1956; also Elvis Presley
the youth icon in ‘Love Me Tender’ and as the future Rock and Roll
King!
In 1957 came Sean Connery, followed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Plummer, and Vanessa Redgrave.
While the closing decade of the ‘50s saw James Coburn, along with
director, script writer, and producer Steven Spielberg, make their
debut appearance.

Deaths During The 1950s: This decade also saw the death of actors
like Humphrey Bogart, Tyron Power and Errol Flynn.
Including the death of producer and director of epic movies the
renowned Cecil B. De Mille!
Though I have conclude the Golden Age of Hollywood with the 50’s Decade,
The glitz and glamour of its Oscar Awards continue even to this day.
With its red carpet and lighted marquee appeal and fashion display!

CONTINUING THE HOLLYWOOD STORY WITH FEW TITBITS :
From Fort Lee of New Jersey we have travelled west to Hollywood,
California.
From the silent movie days to the first ‘talking picture’ with Warren
Bros’ film ‘The Jazz Singer’.  (06 Oct 1927)
On 31st July 1928 for the first time the audience heard the MGM’s
mascot Leo’s mighty roar!
While in July 1929 Warren Bros’ first all-talking and all- Technicolor
Film appeared titled - ‘On With The Show’.
Austrian born Hedy Lamarr shocked the audience appearing **** in a Czechoslovak film ‘Ecstasy’!  (1933)
She fled from her husband to join MGM, becoming a star of the
‘40s and the ‘50s.
The ‘Private Life of Henry VII’ became the first British film to win the  American Academy Award.  (1933)
On 11Dec 1934, FOX released ‘Bright Eyes’ with Shirley Temple,
who became the first Child artist to win this Award!
While in 1937 Walt Disney released the first full animated feature
film titled - ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarf ‘.
The British film director Alfred Hitchcock who came to
Hollywood later;
Between 1940 and 1947, made great thrillers like 'Rebecca', ‘Notorious’, ‘Rear Window’, and ‘Dial M for ******’.
But he never won an Oscar as a Director!

THE GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD:
This award began in 1944 by the Foreign Correspondence Association at
the 20th Century Fox Studio.
To award critically acclaimed films and television shows, by awarding a
Scroll initially.
Later a Golden Globe was made on a pedestal, with a film strip around it.
In 1955 the Cecil B. De Mille Award was created, with De Mille as its first
recipient.

THE GRAMMY AWARD:
In 1959 The National Academy of Recording and Sciences sponsored the
First Grammy Award for music recorded during 1958.
When Frank Sinatra won for his album cover ‘Only The Lonely’, but he
did not sing.
Among the 28 other categories there was Ella Fitzgerald, and Count Basie
for his musical Dance Band Performance.
There was Kingston Trio’s song ‘Tom Dooly’, and the ‘Chipmunk Song’,
which brings back nostalgic memories of my school days!

CONCLUDING HOLLYWOOD STORY  WITH STUDIOS OF THE 1950s

Challenge Faced by the Movie Industry:
Now the challenge before the Movie Industry was how to adjust to the
rapidly changing conditions created by the growing TV Industry.
Resulting in loss of revenue, with viewers getting addicted to
their Domestic TV screen most conveniently!

The late 1950s saw two studios REPUBLIC and the RKO go out of business!
REPUBLIC from 1935- ‘59 based in Los Angeles, developed the careers of
John Wayne and Roy Rogers, and specializing in the Westerns.
RKO was one of the Big Five Studios of Hollywood along with Paramount,
MGM, 20th Century Fox, and Warner Brothers in those days.

RKO Studio which begun with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the ‘30s,
included actress Katherine Hepburn who holds the record for four Oscars
even to this day;
And later had Robert Mitchum and Carry Grant under an agreement.
But in 1948, RKO Studio came under the control Howard Hughes the
temperamental Industrialist.
Soon the scandal drive and litigation prone RKO Studio closed, while
other Big Four Studios had managed to remain afloat!


PARAMOUNT STUDIO:
Paramount Studio split into two separate companies in 1950.
Its Theatre chain later merged with ABC Radio & Television Network;
And they created an independent Production/Distribution Network.
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope had been Paramount’s two biggest stars.
Followed by actors like Alan Ladd, William Holden, Jerry Lewis, Dean
Martin, Charlton Heston, and Dorothy Lamour.
They also had the producer/director Cecil B. De Mille producing high-
grossing Epics like ‘Samson & Delilah’ and ‘The Ten Commandments’.
Also the movie maker Hal Wallis, who discovered Burt Lancaster and
Elvis Presley - two great talents!

20th CENTURY FOX:
Cinema Scope became FOX’s most successful technological innovation
with its hit film ‘The Robe’. (1953)
Its Darryl Zanuck had observed during the early ‘50s, that audience  
were more interested in escapist entertainments mainly.
So he turned to FOX to musicals, comedies, and adventure stories.
Biggest stars of FOX were Gregory Peck & Susan Hayward; also
stars like Victor Mature, Anne Baxter, and Richard Wind Mark.
Not forgetting Marilyn Monroe in her Cinema Scope Box Office hit
movie - ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’, which was also shown on
prime time TV, as a romantic comedy film of 1953.

WARREN BROTHERS:
During 1950 the studio was mainly a family managed company with
three brothers Harry, Albert, and Jack Warren.
To meet the challenges of that period, Warren Bros. released most of
its actors like James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Oliver de Havilland, -
Along with few others from their long-term contractual commitments;
Retaining only Errol Flynn, and Ronald Regan who went on to become
the future President.
Like 20th Century Fox, Warren Bros switched to musicals, comedies,
and adventure movies, with Doris Day as its biggest musical star.
The studio also entered into short term agreements with Gary Copper,
John Wayne, Gregory Peck, Patricia Neal, and Random Scott.
Warren Bros also became the first major studio to invest in 3-D
production of films, scoring a big hit with its 3-D  suspense thriller
‘House of Wax’ in 1953.

MINOR STUDIOS were mainly three, - United Artists, Columbia, and
The Universal.
They did not own any theatre chain, and specialized in low-budgeted
‘B’ Movies those days.
Now to cut a long story short it must be said, that Hollywood finally
did participate in the evolution of Television industry, which led to
their integration eventually.
Though strategies involving hardware development and ownership of
broadcast outlets remained unsuccessful unfortunately.
However, Hollywood did succeed through program supply like prime-
time series, and made-for-TV films for the growing TV market making
things more colorful!
Thus it could be said that the TV industry provided the film industry
with new opportunities,  laying the groundwork for its diversification
and concentration;
That characterized the entertainment industry during the latter half  
of our previous century.
I must now confess that I have not visited the movie theatre over the last
two decades!
I watch movies on my big screen TV and my Computer screen these days.
Old classical movies are all available on ‘You Tube’ for me, and I can watch
them any time whenever I am free!
Thanks for reading patiently, - Raj Nandy.
**ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI
Snigdha Banerjee Jun 2016
Lust was selfish, Love selfless
Lust was in too much hurry,
Love could wait
Love You's lied in lust
&
Hate You'd lied in love
Cause love couldn't hate
Lust was about not being sure
Love is so true so pure
Until its lust's ghost
Love healed the most
We'll become One the day
Our Lust Gets Matured Into Love!
Late night thoughts ❤
Lust & Love
The Difference
ryn Apr 2015
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.

Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.

A few were wrapped in tints of ginger.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.

Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.

The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in
red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...

It is beginning...**
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Adeline Dean Jul 2013
Haven't made a heart to heart blog post in a while..

So recently a friend of mine messaged me on kik. We kinda drifted apart, but all the same we drifted back again .. You know that feeling?

She's asked me about how I was and what new things we going on in my life and then out of know where she asked me how I got into what I do, that , for those of you that don't know, is makeup.

It a happy, funny, weird story all at the one time.

As some of you already know, when I was 5 my parents died and I moved to Paris with my nan (<3) and she always wears red lipstick, even to this day. Lipstick , red lipstick to be more exact, was only worn by the higher class women and was generally quite expensive. Us Dean family have a ... Tradition I suppose. When a mother gives her child her very first red lipstick it means that she, in the eyes of the family, has matured and such not blah blah blah. Anyway. I didn't have my mom to do that ,so my nan took that role instead.

At the ages of in and around 14 I started wearing makeup, but never in public, my nan wouldn't allow such things. I always tried to copy her make up , because she was the only female figure I had as a child , and the only person I ever respected. Even to this day my makeup is still like hers , she notices that ever time I visit haha ~

I started posting picture of my makeup ideas on my old facebook about 3 years ago and one day a represtentive from Lancôme called me and asked me to work for them , I said yes. I told my nan that day and she gave me my first red lipstick and I still have it to this day

je t'aime Nana <3
Martin Dove Oct 2018
I had no idea how terrible it all was
Until I matured a bit and opened my eyes
It cleared the mist that I often now miss
From the eyes of an unwilling devil
Seeing the tragedy unfold from a first-person level
I remember it all from that god awful view
The bad things I’ve done, over which I had no control
The outcomes I hoped with the manifestation of some
Who am I kidding - I’ve been among a fortunate few
Except for the fact that life dealt me an ace with a ****** *****
Not quite like anyone - an outcasted sole
With depressive thoughts - eating them straight from the bowl
Until euphoria strikes - then I’m a lightning bolt
These emotional storms - they strike me as cold
Who am I to cry and complain about life
Everyone is united by the suffering light
The random subscription to a life with a set rhythm
If only I could command my heart not to wither
Grant Mailo Sep 2012
racism and stereotypes
I’m not chief keef but that’s that **** I don’t like
especially when I’m judged like when people say that I don’t “look right”
cause I tell I’m samoan so I’m supposed to be big and strong
and playing some stereotypical sport like football
it’s just an ethnicity, like anyone else, relax
but on a more serious note, I feel bad for the blacks
tell me why a few weeks ago, my roommate is walkin’ down on mill ave.
and he sees some girl sittin’ alone so he comes over cause he just wants to chat
but as soon as he approaches her, she gets all tense and afraid
cause she’s over here fabricating some image that he’s some kind of troublemaker, like the dude from the movie crash, you know the one with the braids?
I find that **** ludicrous
that many people out there judge off the color of someone’s skin and think they knew all of it
all of who you are and all of how you act
so you supposed to be a gangsta on the streets cause you young and you black
or the only explanation for the brotha with the beemer is he be workin’ that corner sellin’ out dime sacks from his nike knapsack or maybe he’s just one of those cats that likes to rap and occasionally slangs crack
but no, he can’t be no college educated man
he’s wearing a nike outfit and his skin is all black
and don’t even get me started on all the idiots that judge Hispanics and call ‘em wetbacks
what the hell is wrong with this world?
latinos are arguably the hardest working people around
but jose and carlos must be illegal cause they’re holding a shovel and their skin is all brown
so let’s get a group of racist ******* to push sheriff joe arpaio to introduce sb1070
good job Arizona, you’re now the most hated state in the country
cause we don’t like Mexicans cause they’re taking all the jobs that we could have had
but let’s skip the fact that they’re willing to work twice as hard for half the pay with no insurance to cover their back
how do you disrespect anyone, who’s willing to do all that?
and as we go over these issues with all the minorities
racists begin to develop a sense of hate for those that make up the majority
the white people
this girl in class may have not have been paying attention or got an easy question wrong
so let’s just whisper under our breath that she’s just another “dumb blonde”
let’s just assume that she’s daddy’s spoiled little girl cause she has a coach bag
and that she has a lotta of money, no rhythm, and above all no ***
and her daddy’s daddy’s daddy must have owned slaves back in the day
so I’mma use that against her if she ever misbehaves
and act like the majority of her people haven’t matured past that stage
and since they seem like their living well, it must be safe to assume that they were born privileged
and that they’re completely oblivious to the sufferings of other races and completely ethnocentric
*******
all these stereotypes and racist assumptions, *******
why can’t we,
live in a colorblind society,
where all races can connect without the animosity?
well, the answer is, we can, but it starts from us
stop the racism, stop the stereotypes, stop the hate, and begin to trust
in people of all colors with different mothers
like the cliché goes, don’t judge a book by its cover
so just because he ain’t a brother
that don’t mean you gotta give him the cold shoulder
so, if everyone can, I need yall to do me a favor,
I need you to love you, love him, and even love me
love her, love them, love everyone equally
and as for me? I’mma just be me
regardless of what people assume, I have the right to act freely
cause I’m not trynna be the center of attention or the definition of perfection
I’m just strivin’ to be proud of what I see in my reflection…
spoken word poem I performed at the ASU welcome black poetry explosion 2012 event. wrote this only a few days before the event so it's a rushed job. indulge anyways haha.
Nik Krutilla Sep 2012
She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?


"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
I don't always feel you

nor do i care.

nor shall i fare

the weather of your temperament.

I am exempt of the pettiness, and of the nervous fetishes, in the indifference.

I try not to be presumptuous, in the perceived ignorance, of the plunderers of my wealth

but am more alive.

More willing to die.

More willing to try

anything but sigh

in feeling the mediocre hand of my health.

So high

doling out the breathless help, in the restless stealth, of bland demands, felt,  in the smoking stacks of hell.

I survive off the glean, provoking, glass from sand.

I act,  as though i give a ****.

Evoking ash from hands, in the defiance of no mans land.

Stamped

in the trampled giants of the black.

Sampled, the compliant hacks in backless, tackling of the stance.

Cackling

I cracked.

and cracked the cast, in blast powder, compounding the flames, of the flounder flamed, in profane name calling.

Never to dodge the calling ..

Feeling the falling of doubt.

In the Tao,  of mauling my malevolence.

Thought i bled it out, as the stalling turned to insulting rebukes, in the flukes,  of lands never lived, but shredded in repulsing lingo, with a flute, to do away with the kids, I mingle, in wait of the sedatives to kick in, than,

Bingo

Nail it to the cross, of the intended loss, singling and wringing them out.

Lost

amid, the somber slayings of bombers praying, for fire to rain from the sky.

Rid

of the calmer makings of alarming sayings, for desire to feign from the cry.

Denied.

The reciprocation of a social spy, trying his best to comply to the prize, and smile.

Its been awhile.

Been a while in exile of thine own heart.

Heart of gold in denial.

Denial of the trials where i shone the brightest, in the mightiest miles of defiled lights.

Lights igniting the nights, in my first rights of passage.

Passage granted in the damaged dues of diligence, where i pursued the villages of my virtue.

My virtues perused the innocence and matured.

Matured in the final words of old birds, dying with dimes, and bagged wine in hand.

Never to understand the last laughs from young chaps blowing off their stacks, just to collapse, in their own mess.

I confess to paying homage in the calmly delusions, of my intrusive self abuses, to the ruthless seduction of my bitterly bitten bruises of seclusion.

I try to loosen up a bit, but instead run this gambit of bankrupt belligerence and hope for the best.

******* in the blessed wishes of the test.

Tested in the vetted nutrients of an institutional bowel movement upon my chest.

My chest giving in to the stress.

I often wake in duress as tears flow through the forgotten, as i brush my teeth of the remembrance of dreams, and clean the dumb away.

Clothe my flesh, and put my gun away.

Locking the front door, I journey into my day.

Every day...

One day.

One day from the mundane

I wont strain to change it all.

I will make the call

but never answer.

Instilling the hollowed cancers

to end it all

I shall befall,  the null.

The No.

The land.

enhanced.

Seeing.

The unseeable.

In unbelievable hate.

Conceiving the inconceivable, and cleaning the slate of my faithful fate, in which i ditch the mares of my dared intention.

I concentrate on the beautiful view from the deliberate limitlessness of my vivid visions to another place, that closely resembles the one that i hate.

Consumed of blue suns, and water breathing.

I bloom

in anger activated guns, and painless beatings.

Marooned from afar

I dare to bare the battle scars of taking it too far, and fainting.

Tainting the waters of life with the ****** knife, of my,  positivity.

The imagery of my imagined city

ssscattered across the tattered remains of my naivety.

Sssteadily holding fast upon the mass of men, even though i readily hate them.

In a single flash of rash decision, i forget it all, and go to work ...

smirking in the murky fog, that marks the facade,  where i lurk in shirtless shirking from the cold.

The shaking of the folds, in time, in space, in the told, telemetry of the mold

I'm

emboldened

In the boots that birth, the same old, hold of the complaint.

Applying force in restraint

In pursuit

to unearth, and loot

the saint

in broken wings, and painted words

that twirl, in the spinning ink

on the brink, of the blur, that births,  this sleeping male

to a world, encroached, by mundane flames, poached, from the slain trail of the ordained, tales of Mikha'el.

As others entrails line, the pale comparisons, as mine, are shell shocked in monotony.

i signed with the autonomy, never talked, and marched blankly into the day.

Every day

but one day

to stray

from the mundane

and make it right.

I will get out of my head

and fly

in light.
DieingEmbers Jul 2012
With time...

Apples become cider

Grapes champagne

milk cheese

and a girl becomes a woman.

The best things in life take time
to mature.
Why Chase girls when what you really want is the touch of a woman.
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.

Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.

Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
*****, clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.

From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Twigzy Sep 2018
Your children are a precious gift so innocent and pure.
At their birth you have the hope of love, lasting evermore.

You spend your waking days attending to their needs,
Waiting for the next smile and sound of utter glee,

And when you sleep you dream of them and wait until the dawn,
Rising before break of day to greet them in the morn,

Your babies grow and soon become your little girls and boys.
You exchange all their play things for larger, bigger toys.

You’ve learned about mothering and matured along the way,
But your relationship with their daddy isn’t turning out ok.

There are ups and downs and you expect that to be true.
But underlying unhappiness begins to escape through.

Daddy doesn’t seem to be all he is meant to be,
Late nights in the lounge, is he watching the TV?

Your children keep you happy though, just look into their face,
They make you smile, they make you laugh, and they fill you with grace.

But underlying unhappiness cannot be washed away,
It’s growing like a tumour, just waiting for its day.

You are not sure what it is, but this one thing you know,
No matter what happens now, you enjoy watching your children grow.

The pre-teen years are nearly over and the high school years draw near.
Then one child beckons you and whispers in your ear.

“Daddy’s been molesting me it started when I was four
All those times you were asleep, he came through my bedroom door
He put his hands all over me I couldn’t make him stop
I wanted to die many times, to fall down and drop!

He hurt me with his ***** mummy, I am so ashamed
I was too scared to tell before because I was to blame
Once, you were in the room mummy, I could see you sleeping
He molested me then and there mummy, I could hear your breathing

My heart screamed out to you mummy, but I did not exist,
My soul began to suffocate and death seemed freedoms bliss.”

The words your child is speaking echo through an empty void,
And darkness falls around you, encumbering you like a shroud.

Someone just stuck a knife into the heart of what was sacred.
Your precious children have been filled with someone else’s hatred.

You need some help, you need to grieve but who can be trusted.
The fear the shame the hurt the blame your heart is torn and busted.

You collect your shattered children and hold them very tight,
You hold them ever so-close, you hold them with all your might.

Flashes of the years gone by ignite before your eyes,
And you see so clearly, all the torment in his lies.

Time has passed you by and your children have grown
But it feels only yesterday you were crushed against the stones
This was how the my first marrage ended.
Our family has survived. My children have become brave adults, they are my heroes
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.

I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,

Before all of this  and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!

I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.

.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
''Fence dweller'' was a phrase I coined in justification of my neutrality and abstinence from politics in my homeland, Liberia.This piece encapsulates a fringe of the story of the ****** civil war, carnage and horrible things that we saw and had to endure as a people and nation.
“I cannot but remember such things were,
  And were most dear to me.”
  ‘Macbeth’

  [”That were most precious to me.”
  ‘Macbeth’, act iv, sc. 3.]


When slow Disease, with all her host of Pains,
Chills the warm tide, which flows along the veins;
When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confin’d,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,
With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall’d, and clings to life.
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,
Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish’d days to rapture given,
When Love was bliss, and Beauty form’d our heaven;
Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm,
The orb of day unveils his distant form,
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain
And dimly twinkles o’er the watery plain;
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams,
The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams,
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays,
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, unlook’d for and unsought;
My soul to Fancy’s fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic o’er her airy fields.
Scenes of my youth, develop’d, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu!
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me, for aye, except in dreams;
Some, who in marble prematurely sleep,
Whose forms I now remember, but to weep;
Some, who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation, fill the senior place!
These, with a thousand visions, now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight.

IDA! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous, once, I join’d thy youthful train!
Bright, in idea, gleams thy lofty spire,
Again, I mingle with thy playful quire;
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game,
Unchang’d by time or distance, seem the same;
Through winding paths, along the glade I trace
The social smile of every welcome face;
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy or woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe,
Our feuds dissolv’d, but not my friendship past,—
I bless the former, and forgive the last.
Hours of my youth! when, nurtur’d in my breast,
To Love a stranger, Friendship made me blest,—
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
When every artless ***** throbs with truth;
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,
And check each impulse with prudential rein;
When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose,
In love to friends, in open hate to foes;
No varnish’d tales the lips of youth repeat,
No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit;
Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen’d years,
Matured by age, the garb of Prudence wears:
When, now, the Boy is ripen’d into Man,
His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his Son from Candour’s path to shrink,
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think;
Still to assent, and never to deny—
A patron’s praise can well reward the lie:
And who, when Fortune’s warning voice is heard,
Would lose his opening prospects for a word?
Although, against that word, his heart rebel,
And Truth, indignant, all his ***** swell.

  Away with themes like this! not mine the task,
From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;
Let keener bards delight in Satire’s sting,
My Fancy soars not on Detraction’s wing:
Once, and but once, she aim’d a deadly blow,
To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe;
But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same,
Warn’d by some friendly hint, perchance, retir’d,
With this submission all her rage expired.
From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to save,
She hush’d her young resentment, and forgave.
Or, if my Muse a Pedant’s portrait drew,
POMPOSUS’ virtues are but known to few:
I never fear’d the young usurper’s nod,
And he who wields must, sometimes, feel the rod.
If since on Granta’s failings, known to all
Who share the converse of a college hall,
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain,
’Tis past, and thus she will not sin again:
Soon must her early song for ever cease,
And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace.

  Here, first remember’d be the joyous band,
Who hail’d me chief, obedient to command;
Who join’d with me, in every boyish sport,
Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant’s frown,
Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus, transplanted from his father’s school,
Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule—
Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days,
PROBUS, the pride of science, and the boast—
To IDA now, alas! for ever lost!
With him, for years, we search’d the classic page,
And fear’d the Master, though we lov’d the Sage:
Retir’d at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning’s labour is the blest retreat.
POMPOSUS fills his magisterial chair;
POMPOSUS governs,—but, my Muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant’s lot,
His name and precepts be alike forgot;
No more his mention shall my verse degrade,—
To him my tribute is already paid.

  High, through those elms with hoary branches crown’d
Fair IDA’S bower adorns the landscape round;
There Science, from her favour’d seat, surveys
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise;
To her awhile resigns her youthful train,
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain;
In scatter’d groups, each favour’d haunt pursue,
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new;
Flush’d with his rays, beneath the noontide Sun,
In rival bands, between the wickets run,
Drive o’er the sward the ball with active force,
Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course.
But these with slower steps direct their way,
Where Brent’s cool waves in limpid currents stray,
While yonder few search out some green retreat,
And arbours shade them from the summer heat:
Others, again, a pert and lively crew,
Some rough and thoughtless stranger plac’d in view,
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose,
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes;
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray
Tradition treasures for a future day:
“’Twas here the gather’d swains for vengeance fought,
And here we earn’d the conquest dearly bought:
Here have we fled before superior might,
And here renew’d the wild tumultuous fight.”
While thus our souls with early passions swell,
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell;
Th’ allotted hour of daily sport is o’er,
And Learning beckons from her temple’s door.
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall,
But ruder records fill the dusky wall:
There, deeply carv’d, behold! each Tyro’s name
Secures its owner’s academic fame;
Here mingling view the names of Sire and Son,
The one long grav’d, the other just begun:
These shall survive alike when Son and Sire,
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire;
Perhaps, their last memorial these alone,
Denied, in death, a monumental stone,
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave
The sighing weeds, that hide their nameless grave.
And, here, my name, and many an early friend’s,
Along the wall in lengthen’d line extends.
Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race,
Who tread our steps, and fill our former place,
Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe,
Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law;
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power,
To rule, the little Tyrants of an hour;
Though sometimes, with the Tales of ancient day,
They pass the dreary Winter’s eve away;
“And, thus, our former rulers stemm’d the tide,
And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side;
Just in this place, the mouldering walls they scaled,
Nor bolts, nor bars, against their strength avail’d;
Here PROBUS came, the rising fray to quell,
And, here, he falter’d forth his last farewell;
And, here, one night abroad they dared to roam,
While bold POMPOSUS bravely staid at home;”
While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive,
When names of these, like ours, alone survive:
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.

  Dear honest race! though now we meet no more,
One last long look on what we were before—
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu—
Drew tears from eyes unus’d to weep with you.
Through splendid circles, Fashion’s gaudy world,
Where Folly’s glaring standard waves unfurl’d,
I plung’d to drown in noise my fond regret,
And all I sought or hop’d was to forget:
Vain wish! if, chance, some well-remember’d face,
Some old companion of my early race,
Advanc’d to claim his friend with honest joy,
My eyes, my heart, proclaim’d me still a boy;
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,
Were quite forgotten when my friend was found;
The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! I’ve known
What ’tis to bend before Love’s mighty throne;)
The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear,
Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near:
My thoughts bewilder’d in the fond surprise,
The woods of IDA danc’d before my eyes;
I saw the sprightly wand’rers pour along,
I saw, and join’d again the joyous throng;
Panting, again I trac’d her lofty grove,
And Friendship’s feelings triumph’d over Love.

  Yet, why should I alone with such delight
Retrace the circuit of my former flight?
Is there no cause beyond the common claim,
Endear’d to all in childhood’s very name?
Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear
To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad, the love denied at home.
Those hearts, dear IDA, have I found in thee,
A home, a world, a paradise to me.
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share
The tender guidance of a Father’s care;
Can Rank, or e’en a Guardian’s name supply
The love, which glistens in a Father’s eye?
For this, can Wealth, or Title’s sound atone,
Made, by a Parent’s early loss, my own?
What Brother springs a Brother’s love to seek?
What Sister’s gentle kiss has prest my cheek?
For me, how dull the vacant moments rise,
To no fond ***** link’d by kindred ties!
Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream,
Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem;
While still the visions to my heart are prest,
The voice of Love will murmur in my rest:
I hear—I wake—and in the sound rejoice!
I hear again,—but, ah! no Brother’s voice.
A Hermit, ’midst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine:
What then remains? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone?
Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear, than IDA’S social band.

  Alonzo! best and dearest of my friends,
Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends:
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise;
The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If Hope anticipate the words of Truth!
Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name,
To build his own, upon thy deathless fame:
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest;
Oft have we drain’d the font of ancient lore,
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more;
Yet, when Confinement’s lingering hour was done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one:
Together we impell’d the flying ball,
Together waited in our tutor’s hall;
Together join’d in cricket’s manly toil,
Or shar’d the produce of the river’s spoil;
Or plunging from the green declining shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore:
In every element, unchang’d, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name.

  Nor, yet, are you forgot, my jocund Boy!
DAVUS, the harbinger of childish joy;
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun,
The laughing herald of the harmless pun;
Yet, with a breast of such materials made,
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid;
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel
In Danger’s path, though not untaught to feel.
Still, I remember, in the factious strife,
The rustic’s musket aim’d against my life:
High pois’d in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of horror burst from every tongue:
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th’ impending blow;
Your arm, brave Boy, arrested his career—
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear;
Disarm’d, and baffled by your conquering hand,
The grovelling Savage roll’d upon the sand:
An act like this, can simple thanks repay?
Or all the labours of a grateful lay?
Oh no! whene’er my breast forgets the deed,
That instant, DAVUS, it deserves to bleed.

  LYCUS! on me thy claims are justly great:
Thy milder virtues could my Muse relate,
To thee, alone, unrivall’d, would belong
The feeble efforts of my lengthen’d song.
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness, with Athenian wit:
Though yet, in embryo, these perfections shine,
LYCUS! thy father’s fame will soon be thine.
Where Learning nurtures the superior mind,
What may we hope, from genius thus refin’d;
When Time, at length, matures thy growing years,
How wilt thou tower, above thy fellow peers!
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,
With Honour’s soul, united beam in thee.

Shall fair EURYALUS, pass by unsung?
From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung:
What, though one sad dissension bade us part,
That name is yet embalm’d within my heart,
Yet, at the mention, does that heart rebound,
And palpitate, responsive to the sound;
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:
We once were friends,—I’ll think, we are so still.
A form unmatch’d in Nature’s partial mould,
A heart untainted, we, in thee, behold:
Yet, not the Senate’s thunder thou shall wield,
Nor seek for glory, in the tented field:
To minds of ruder texture, these be given—
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.
Haply, in polish’d courts might be thy seat,
But, that thy tongue could never forge deceit:
The courtier’s supple bow, and sneering smile,
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,
Would make that breast, with indignation, burn,
And, all the glittering snares, to tempt thee, spurn.
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;
Sacred to love, unclouded e’er by hate;
The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;—
Ambition’s slave, alone, would toil for more.

  Now last, but nearest, of the social band,
See honest, open, generous CLEON stand;
With scarce one speck, to cloud the pleasing scene,
No vice degrades that purest soul serene.
On the same day, our studious race begun,
On the same day, our studious race was run;
Thus, side by side, we pass’d our first career,
Thus, side by side, we strove for many a year:
At last, concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquer’d in the classic strife:
As Speakers, each supports an equal name,
And crowds allow to both a partial fame:
To soothe a youthful Rival’s early pride,
Though Cleon’s candour would the palm divide,
Yet Candour’s self compels me now to own,
Justice awards it to my Friend alone.

  Oh! Friends regretted, Scenes for ever dear,
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!
Drooping, she bends o’er pensive Fancy’s urn,
To trace the hours, which never can return;
Yet, with the retrospection loves to dwell,
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,
As infant laurels round my head were twin’d;
When PROBUS’ praise repaid my lyric song,
Or plac’d me higher in the studious throng;
Or when my first harangue receiv’d applause,
His sage instruction the primeval cause,
What gratitude, to him, my soul possest,
While hope of dawning honours fill’d my breast!
For all my humble fame, to him alone,
The praise is due, who made that fame my own.
Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,
These young effusions of my early days,
To him my Muse her noblest strain would give,
The song might perish, but the theme might live.
Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?
His honour’d name requires no vain display:
By every son of grateful IDA blest,
It finds an ech
Äŧül Feb 2013
The Time For Humanity To Mature Has Not & Would Never Come. Read on - be intrigued.

Now that I believe for a long time after I attained the age of 22 years on 23rd December, 2012.

Many of the spiritual literature pieces are just contradictory to themselves, why would HE let the occurence of any trouble then and hold only the other end of a jittery life helping us cross to the other end safe & fine?

If you would excuse this question saying "HE can never be questioned and HE alone is the destructor & the creator," then it's just a desperate excuse which you hold to considering theism as flawless & unquestionable, me & any similar people as psychos, or perhaps losers.

I don't discourage theism nor do I encourage anybody to share similar thoughts as mine, but I myself don't encourage idling over the concept of the special spiritual unseen power. I agree that some phenomena like love, kindness, greed, lust & hatred can't ever just be scientifically explained in total completeness by just citing some natural laws of nature or physics. But then again why do we often indispensably need that imaginary hand above our heads for protection or more than often have to spend money in praise of the imaginary hand above our heads?


Any mention about theists' escapist nature would be countered by their many statements of the following kind:

o Us theists, we don't escape problems, we just gather courage when we have identified a problem in our lives by remembering the imaginary hand above our heads sheltering us from all troubles and then tackle the problem with enough strength.

o Theism does neither lack anything divinity nor does it lack even anything evil, both of them are manmade concepts, the world was created as a perfect place for the existence of human race.

o Instead of just leaving us all alone in this troublesome world, He has sent few of His men and we can blindly follow them to resolve our own specific troubles with solutions ideated around age-old books written by great men and we don't need anybody to question our faith wherever it is.
Now please don't utter such curses as "You'll only be deep-fried in hot oil when you die!"
:D
© Atul Kaushal
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
Yes
This is a diary of a child
With a biological age of 5

To this world
She may be an ordinary one
But at the age 3, she got matured
Started to identify the space
Where she can contribute

She learned,
how to take care of self, when parents are out
how to be patient, when belly left half filled
how to do parenting, when her sister cries
how to be happy in small things
how to struggle for survival

Her way of life shows
At the age of,
3, she was like 25 years responsible
4, she was like 35 years responsible
5, she is like 50 years responsible
24 hours a day, she is on duty
7 days a week

I asked myself, what is childish?
That responsible 5 years child,
passing through
Or the 50 years old,
irresponsible one?
Genre: Observational
Theme: Maturity comes with responsibility
Ryan Jones Apr 2012
Ode to a Sunflower


            I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.

            I was walking alone in desolation when I encountered the blinding sight of my sunflower. There it was staring at me with its inviting eyes, eyes which seemed a little lost, a little troubled, a little like mine. My hand trembled as it wiped the disbelief from my vision. The seeds which I had planted in an attempt to dispel my restless woes had sprout up in a seemingly un-fertile place, a place where I could not fathom I would find my Sunflower. But there it was in all its beauty: eloquent, mysterious and enchanting. A vivid portrait of heavenly grace. all could witness , yet,  one could  possess.

  I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.

From the moment I found my sunflower I did my best to nurture it, watering its spirit from sunrise to sunset. The beauty for which it possessed was captivating; stirring my very being like no other flower has prior. I spent days, months and years analyzing this gem. I wondered why this sunflower was so singular in its splendor, why after so long in my possession was it still shining brighter than a summer star painted against a black night. My admiration and love for this sunflower matured uncontrollably, cultivating in a whirlwind of blissful sunshine.

  I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.
            
Though my sunflower possesses the strength of a thousand armies and the magnificence of a thousand smiles, I sense a feeling of weakness when the wicked birds of prey attempt to uproot it from its rightful plot. I caress its pedals and speak to it softly assuring that there is a purpose for the gloom, and that upon all of us the rain of opposition will fall. I clutch its head into mine as splendid pedals of fluorescent beauty tickle my face, making me blush with joy. I whisper to my sunflower as I drop my seed next to her stalk, and I tell it that no matter what storms may sing, there will be no challenge to our garden as long as we continue to grow together.
Julia Brown Mar 2012
Candles burn, candles blaze,
A Soul with a flesh,
An angel not yet matured.

Candles dim, candles fade,
A Soul darkens,
An angel becomes human.

Candles brighten, candles enliven,
A Soul enlightened,
An angel discovers God’s grace.

Candles glow, candles glimmer,
A Soul is Called from flesh,
An angel gains her wings.

Candles’ light, candles’ shine,
Though Souls remain in flesh,
And she in Paradise,
With them, God’s angel still resides.

Candles’ flame, candles’ fire,
Souls of conflict, souls of Love,
God’s healing Peace and Grace be with them
An angel of Heaven above dwelling in their midst.
*Dedicated to the Marroquin family, to whom I express my sincerest condolences.*

**Written 3/11/12**
Plagiarism is illegal. You have been warned.
Äŧül Dec 2016
She will be even more beautiful,
Heavier will be her eyelids,
Eager will be men for her body.

Would she even miss me,
I** am not aware about it,
Longer this time spent,
Lot she will try to forget.

Ringing bells of her heart,
Every time she will bathe,
Pouring water from the shower,
Early tears will get veiled,
No memories get subsided,
Time spent she will recall.
My HP Poem #1349
©Atul Kaushal
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
Nat Nov 2012
Once, a long long time ago, there lived a happy family,
of good looking dinosaurs, with all daughters; they had three.

The dad went to his job all day, he always worked very hard,
to support his family the best he could, against all evil he did guard.

And so his daughters and his wife never wanted for anything at all,
he even built them a swimming pool, his own hands put up the walls.

His daughters knew that they got lucky by having such a dad,
who did so many great things for them, though just his presence made them glad.

On top of this, these three girls had a pretty awesome mom,
who stayed home with them when they were little, and helped them all day long.

She put band-aids on their bruised up knees and brushed away their tears,
and came when they had spooky dreams, to chase away their fears.

Then, when they grew up a bit, she followed her own dream,
and started teaching little dinosaurs all the things that they would need.

Soon enough, it was time for their oldest to leave the nest,
and find out where she should go to start her own life’s quest.

While they were sad to see her go, her family did not despair,
for it was not that far to her new “independent” lair.

All too soon, it was time for the next daughter to move away,
she chose a slightly farther place, where they could not see her every day.

This made her family pretty sad, they didn’t want her to go,
but they knew she had to try new things, and have her own space to grow.

And so the “baby” was left alone at home, though baby is not the right word,
because she had grown into a beautiful dinosaur, as if overnight she had matured.

It was weird for this youngest dinosaur, without her sisters there,
she had her parents to herself, along with the entire upstairs.

While some days this was pretty nice, it was a little bittersweet,
because she loved her sisters very much, and they had moved out of her reach.

However, distance makes the heart grow fonder, as the oldest soon found out,
she hadn’t thought she could love her family more, but she now did, without a doubt.

And though it made her sad that she did not see them every day,
they were always in her thoughts, never even slightly fading away.

So this oldest daughter was really not too sad,
when she thought of her family, it only made her glad.

Because what she had realized, with all this time apart,
is that you never leave your family, because they’re always in your heart.
RC Jan 2014
Borderline Personality Disorder.

1. The other day I woke up and thought I knew who I was
I fell asleep and somewhere in between I lost myself
I lost the feeling in my stomach too
but we're still talking about how much we have in common.

2. My sweater got stuck on the hanger this morning
I started to rip it down
eventually I broke plastic and skin.
I haven't been back in my room since.

3. 12:06 PM Today my best friend came home and took most of our makeup
12:07 PM I messaged her and mocked our friendship.
12:07 PM She was in trouble with her grandma and had to hurry. She didn't know.
12:08 PM I broke down crying.

4. I woke up at 7:32 AM and took 4 shots
drank 2 beers
smoked four bowls
drank half a bottle of NyQuil and woke up the next day.
I have yet to figure out why.

5. I wanted to be a horse trainer for 9 years
then I decided I wanted to be an artist
worked on becoming a tattoo artist
matured into a writer
fell in love with photography
now I'm not even sure if I like school.

6. First scars appeared at 9
worst scars at 15.
First attempt at 10
almost wasn't an attempt at 14.

7. I've been happy the past few days
but I still want to **** myself
because soon I'll be drowning in depression
and succumbing to anxiety.

9. Once I got so bored
I thought myself into sorrow.
I didn't come out for a few hours
but by dinner I was laughing.

10. I used to be in love with a boy
but I didn't know
so I used whatever I could get
and now I'm alone.
I don't blame him.

11. I've mentally lost myself
as I screamed into the mirror
and it wasn't me talking to myself.
I don't really remember being there
but I was.
Yenson Feb 2019
MEMO

FROM:  Mr Phil Indifrence,  Strategy Chess Insurgency  Corps.
Space Headquarters, Castleview Avenue, Dunstable XY10

TO:  Ms Petal  Dontrun,  Crimson Chess Federation.
De la Wigan Headquarters, Wigan, United Kingdom,  SM00

Dear Ms Dontrun,

Please accept my greetings. I write to clarify my stance on our
outstanding matters and hopefully to deter further speculation,
gossips, rumours, distortions, misinformation and sensationalism by the media.

As you are aware I contacted you on the day as arranged only to
be confronted with a response that was astoundingly unethical, un-
professional, rude, inconsiderate and totally uncalled-for. It was
so below expected standard that it raised doubt about your suit-
ability to be seen as a matured adult much less an intelligent being.

Still in the reverberations of this seismic occurrence I called again in
the hope it was a momentary loss of composure and yet again I was
subjected to a deluxe version of the first onslaught. To say I was
flabbergasted is putting things mildly, most especially as it was
totally unwarranted and underserved. It was obvious you lacked
any sense of decorum and had become an affront to common human decency and an embarrassment to your status.

In all fairness you did call some weeks later, but it had become
apparent that the ethos, protocol and cordiality that my Organi-
sation works within may not be relevant to your Organisation,
hence my unavailability to your contact.

I write to primarily reiterate that my position on this matter and
the present status quo is not based on some immature Ego play,
stubbornness, power-play or pride, rather it's in all truthfulness it's a belief in upholding standards in ethical considerations. I do not believe that bad manners, ill-considered behaviour, ill-judgement and a lack of sensitivity and good grace are matured and progressive trends to interact cooperatively within.

In conclusion, this is my stance on this matter and I hope it helps
your understanding. I believe a formal Apology from you and your
Organisation is appropriate in this regard and will instigate a
return to cordiality between our Organisation.

If you however feel this is unnecessary I will respect your decision
and the situation will remain unresolved.

I thank you for your attention.

Regards,

Phil Indifrence. C.E.O.
Forgive, the two Joyeous Athletes Robust
And leave this Artist consigned and confessed
His Leaves have matured; But Duty he must
Remember the Gladness they each Possessed
Now I know why I never read his Book
Of I's and Me's so favoured by the Youth
His Grinning Plastic took long seen afoot
And his Spy's Kiss succeeded on its Cue
How much more will the Hell of Lover's Fair
Pour Molten Syrup to Souls, who, in spite
Swallow Stubborn Sugars labelled Beware
And the Green-Eyed Monster roared in Delight.
Now I know why your Picture flashed within
The Secret lies on your Pre-Olympic Ring.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Jowlough Feb 2013
Come these never ending tales of war
has took its toll in all of us.
where freedom was compromised,
false judgement was thrown at us.

I adhere to correct them all
without burning bridges on opposite tail ends.
as people misunderstand with their small minds,
I Stand oppressive until this strong bark bends.

Let me free your harrased mind,
despite of these known inequalities.
Please Pardon me for my words,
we all want to end this in tranquility


we are intelligent just enough to know our selves,
our needs and wants just hidden inside our chests
knowing that all these months, I've scratched your back,
I hope you'll do the same in this wicked test.

You've all wore this masks, battle faced,
I am amused I became the villain.
this was never the same scenario
where I am lost and I've abstained.

I can never guide your rituals.
come as you are, friends?
you've all grown up and matured for this.
I have got no plans to ****** my belongings.

It is your choice. you got all of these.
I never wished to betray nor consider you all in the past.
but what I've felt it gives me sorrow.
to know that I am not part of your tomorrow.

Never wanting to compromise
but there's a feeling that I've been sacrificed.
I am raising the white flag.
but leaving all of you will be a throw of a dice
Cathyy Oct 2016
1) Wake up one day, make myself a steaming hot cup of coffee, go to the balcony and say good morning to New York City

2) Have pancakes and coffee at a cool diner and tell someone my life story

3) Write a song just for myself and not release it / share it

4) Dedicate a day to just spending time with my mum, no phone distractions or anything!

5) Stand up for myself.

6) Stand up for myself again (I reckon I'm gonna have to keep doing this as I get older, and as I interact with more strangers who think they know me)

7) Help out a charity - either a Cancer charity or a mental illness foundation

8) learn how to drive and blast out Taylor swift through the speakers

9) grow up and occasionally look back

10) become more confident

11) dye my hair at least one other colour before going back to basic black

12) dream big but not too big, don't want to lose sight of reality...
This was really personal, I don't know why I shared it here but yeah. Hope you smiled at one or two points hehe.

- Cathyy
From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one airy hill.
The sun and mood shed one white light.

From the first print of the unshodden foot, the lifting
Hand, the breaking of the hair,
From the first scent of the heart, the warning ghost,
And to the first dumb wonder at the flesh,
The sun was red, the moon was grey,
The earth and sky were as two mountains meeting.

The body prospered, teeth in the marrowed gums,
The growing bones, the rumour of the manseed
Within the hallowed gland, blood blessed the heart,
And the four winds, that had long blown as one,
Shone in my ears the light of sound,
Called in my eyes the sound of light.
And yellow was the multiplying sand,
Each golden grain spat life into its fellow,
Green was the singing house.

The plum my mother picked matured slowly,
The boy she dropped from darkness at her side
Into the sided lap of light grew strong,
Was muscled, matted, wise to the crying thigh,
And to the voice that, like a voice of hunger,
Itched in the noise of wind and sun.

And from the first declension of the flesh
I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts
Into the stony idiom of the brain,
To shade and knit anew the patch of words
Left by the dead who, in their moonless acre,
Need no word's warmth.
The root of tongues ends in a spentout cancer,
That but a name, where maggots have their X.

I learnt the verbs of will, and had my secret;
The code of night tapped on my tongue;
What had been one was many sounding minded.

One wound, one mind, spewed out the matter,
One breast gave **** the fever's issue;
From the divorcing sky I learnt the double,
The two-framed globe that spun into a score;
A million minds gave **** to such a bud
As forks my eye;
Youth did condense; the tears of spring
Dissolved in summer and the hundred seasons;
One sun, one manna, warmed and fed.
Snigdha Banerjee May 2016
Seventeen I Was ! Much  Stupid To Be Called Sane ! Yes like every other girl I too had a dream world where I was “Marzi Ki Mallika” the very thought of being matured haunted me & being a teenager you just can’t avoid the driving crazy adrenaline rush that you get when you fantasise stuff of being in love. My fantasies resulted in prettily adorable pieces of poems and bits of stories where A Boy fell in love with A Girl. I had dated my dreams since forever & it was amazing & what justifies this statement of mine is that they never disappoint ! talking to people knowing stories making new friends and sharing memories with old one’s that was indeed perfect to me ! I always tried to describe that perfectly adorable moment of falling in love in the best possible way I could fantasise ! Not too soon I realized that moment cannot be emphasised !

THAT MOMENT IS A CAPTURED MEMORY

Turned 23 Yay ! Loads Of Birthday Presents ! Wishes ! Hearty Felicitations ! etc etc 6 years passed since then & I remained the same still much stupid to be called sane ! Maa smiles while she still wakes me up in the morning saying Kobe Boro Hobi (when will you grow up). I giggle and hug her knowing not when !! I see the beautiful stock of my soft toys which helped me remain childish when suddenly my mirror reported about how messy my hair was ! OH GAWED maaa… my instant reaction was !

I was told love happens when matured ! I herd the same but fortunately dared not to believe ! Th0 I knowingly knew that dating a girl like me a guy will have to fall in love with my messed up stuff he needs to constantly date my love for 3a.m coffee & my craziness for maggi accompanied with coke ! My idiotic obsessions with vampire & songs of Nusrat & Kishore & perhaps tolerate the constant humming of those part of songs which I loved ! Questioned my self quiet frequently about will my love accompany me while I trek through the mighty mountains will he accompany me in my best moments of life will he even accept me the way I am !?? such questions did nothing but made me fall asleep which ended up in GOOD MORNINGS with Bournvita !

Usual mornings and unusual days thereafter ! mobile rings I ran to pick up the call it was none other than my beloved going to be husband AASHIQ

Good morning ! come lets plan out something crazy  ! Adrenaline rush  What About A Trek At Ladakh ! Readily agreeing to the proposal I said yes ! We drove together as I discovered his playlist matched mine ! with each passing moment I got the answers to much awaited stupid questions ! while I was unanswerable to his lone question why I had smiled while he drove ! We got down  amidst green surroundings   he picked up a piece of sugarcane and nervously began to chew on it as he was humming one of my favourite songs, He looked at me like I was the only **** thing that’ll ever matter to him looking constantly into my eyes he blurred out ILOVEYOU&WANTTOMARRYYOU;

I always valued crazy memories but this was the craziest one perhaps ! I started laughing unwantedly pointing at his face ! His front tooth had broken! He had been trying to be a stud only to impress me he tried to peel the sugarcane with his teeth & somehow ended up loosing the bottom part of his front incisor !

I Blushed later ! My face betrayed two expressions – Amusement & Shyness !

I Fell In Love Unknowingly Without A Parachute ! much madness was added when I couldn’t resist saying ILOVEYOU

His eyes met mine with a sparkle of mischief  AKHO AKHO ME PYAR HOGAYA

Committed !  Not Confused !

Start Of A New Journey Hands In Hands We Start Our Trek ! !
Bits Of Crazy Life
Fireflies Sep 2018
There was a time where gifts mattered more than time.
There was a time where the number of friends mattered more than the kind.
There was a time where taste mattered more than the fulfillment.
There was a time where grades mattered more than character.
There was a time where looks mattered more than the heart.
There was a time where self mattered more than another.
There was a time where our minds changed and our priorities shifted and that was the time we matured.
As we grow older our behavior changes as we understand things a little better, not completely, and that is when what used to mean alot starts to lose its significance.
Poetic T Nov 2014
And so the green balloons did grow
Inflated, nurtured over time,
This tree of air
Nitrogen,
Oxygen,
Carbon
Dioxide,
Argon,
Traces of other gases too,
Out side was warm
Internal temp minus triple degrees,
What had been barren branches
Now sustained as these
Strings matured forth
Buds of latex and rubber grew,
Liquid air exhaled as the buds nurtured  
Air expanded with warm the green balloons
Grew
&
Grew
Sprung forth in to life what once was
Small, now expanded fuelled by the
Cold fuel of the tree of white,
In the winds they did gesture
As if dancing putting on a show
Tree,
Branch,
String,
Green balloons flourished there veins
Feeding air anew,
Blustery winds picked up
Strings did snap, green balloons did
Float away, drifting upon high
Into a sea of blue,
But as seasons change,
Green balloons became loose
Many floated away to places new
Those that did not,
Deflated,
Depleted,
Exhausted,
Nourishment of air, no longer green ballons
Phenomenon's of gases changed
And green faded now this tree of air
Brought forth new shades of
   Yellows,
Purples,
Black,
Oranges,
So these colours did fall from the tree,
Floating not as before,
They did descend, slowly to the floor,
Biodegradable. they did fade
From view, not what they were before,
The life cycle of these green balloons
The tree of white grows evermore cold,
For seasons change and green balloons will
Grow again next spring  floating in the air once more.
All balloon poems/writes can be found by  balloon-series
Nature science & balloons
logan misseldine Nov 2014
I see the children observe this world
Innocently
I see them observe
The wrinkles in hands
The wrinkles in faces
The scars
Their father's tattoos
Their mother's smooth hair
Innocently
They see through barriers
Simple friendships made
Whenever they make contact with a stranger
With a wave
Or a smile
A laugh
Innocently
They are immune to the barriers that differences make in a "matured" mind
They only observe
Innocently
Alex Paul Nov 2014
The love of a grandson
to a grandmother
is a special bond.
It cannot be broken.

A grandmother's presence
in the eyes of a grandson
makes him behave
more like he should behave.
He looks up to her.
I look up to you.

I often wonder
what experiences you've gone thorough.
What has made you into the you today?
You've gone through so much yet,
I've only known you
for 22 years of it.

Through that time,
you've shown me
what a great grandparent is.
You attended most of my
Concerts
Plays
and Musicals
with loving support

Every birthday,
Christmas,
Valentine's Day,
and Easter
without ever missing a beat
you would contact me.
I thank you
So
SO
SOOOOOO MUCH!
I often feel guilty
for not always contacting back.
I really need to get better at that.

As a kid
there was nothing better
than looking forward
to your Christmas presents.
The science toys,
the cookbooks,
and of course,
the Hot Wheels.
There was nothing better to me
than knowing
that I would get a new track to put together
or a new car.
As I've matured,
so have the presents.
the Alinea cookbook
is like a sacred document
I look at it often
and it always amazes me.

Thank you for inventing
"Grandma's Orange Stuffing"
Its always my favorite part
of the Thanksgiving feast.
(Way better than dad's)

Although this poem
isn't very poem-y
I hope you enjoy it
for the rest of your life.
You're the only real grandparent I ever had,
and I love you with all my heart.
Thank you for all you've done.
Mohamed Nasir Sep 2018
Poetry is the air poets are the breath
poets sparkle like jewels of paradise
flourishes in garden of great poetry

poets matured like pearls in oysters
of vast ocean of their sub conscious

no need to ****** it from jaws of
crocodiles or to combat dragons

don't have to climb Everest
cross the burning Sahara
crawl in the dark belly
of the Pyramids

all they've to do is let the ink flow
let inspired words pass through prism
minds let contrive and conceive aglow.
Mymai Yuan Sep 2010
It’s been a decade and a half that I haven’t returned back to my little home in that far away magical place. Fifteen years- exploring and travelling through the world. It was always my dream, ever since I was a young boy. Living this life is lonely. No one ever belongs to me, nor do I ever belong to anyone. Seeing a million things is marvelous, but it could be twice as marvelous with a companion to express the feelings over instead of my usual, battered black log book that never talked back but was filled with entries from all over the world. One day, I’ll publish it.

I guess the fact that I was always alone was the reason why the little home and my little mother that I use to take for granted became more and more part of me as I stayed away. The land, the gently curving hills and glassy lake grew clearer and clearer in my mind until sometimes, it was all I could see when I shut my eyes at night after a long day of work. Sometimes I would smell the soap on mothers’ skin acutely and played her voice in my head like a radio.
A blur of bright brown eyes.

I’ve been to almost every country in this world: Japan, France, America, Denmark, China and all the different continents… almost a hundred different countries. Each country held such a different (but slightly similar if they were in the same continent) flavor in the air and never failed to teach me one new thing. They all held such distinct character. Beholding the stunning sights and noticing the heart-wrenching small details of a new place was my passion. It captivated me, but the calm, steady love of my heart remained still.
Nothing touched me like the memory of home and my mother. Not the women who flickered through the chapter of my life, appearing in explosions of lust and never meaning more than ***, though some begged me to stay. My loneliness would sway my path of thinking for a short one or two week before I realized it wasn’t what I truly wanted.  
My lovers reminded me of cookie crumbs fallen from my mouth down onto my shirt- there for a brief, brief moment- sometimes picked up to nibble on or brushed away and forgotten.

Oh Love; Love never found me. Perhaps all the travel I did made it harder for Her to find me. I was never at a place for long. Perhaps She, Love, grew tired of trying to catch up with me as I crossed the seas and vast lands. Maybe She got lost one day in an Indian market with the exotic, fat fruits and glittering bangles- fading off into the air with the aroma of powerfully rich local dishes.
Or maybe I travelled away from Her, and She got left behind.

2 a.m.- On a train: the train is brand new and the metal is still yet glossy and innocent from hard rains, thick snow or fiery heat as the Southern part of my homeland is so prone to. The window is surprisingly see-through, unlike all the muddy windows covered in dust, grime, bird droppings and smashed insects (especially squished mosquitoes) I have looked out of in the past fifteen years. I think I’ll read a few chapters of that book about Cambodian culture to distract my impatient mind: sitting on this cold train that will take me home is all I can possibly think about. Hurry, you ******* train, hurry!
There is something about a train that calms me down and makes me feel all starry-eyed. It is the memory of the only girl I ever loved. A little girl I grew up with. Such thick dark brown hair, big round bright chocolate eyes and the loudest, most obnoxiously boyish laugh I have ever heard from a girl. Hmm, I recalled the small rounded chest and bottom.
We lived so far deep in the country side and one day, on an overnight school trip, the school we attended at took all hundred students on a trip to see the city for just a day. Flashes of her eating a creamy white ice cream sprinkled with tiny candies of the rainbow and standing in awe of the huge library made me smile to myself.
How when everyone was tired that night back on the train, even the teachers exhausted after an early morning and keeping a hundred thirteen-year-olds under control for a whole day, fell asleep. My eyelids were just drooping when she appeared- I smelled her first, sweet like honey with a tinge of something sour like orange or lemon peels. My senses have always been sensitive- especially sight and smell. She carefully peeled back the curtains around the bed, crept into my bunk and cuddled with me, curling her tough plump legs.
My mind flew in many wild ways- for as I said, my senses were sensitive and the curiosity and thrill of an inexperienced young boy did not help to make them any paler- and try as I might to quiet the thoughts, they leapt at her every movement.
I suppose it was her way of telling me she had fallen in love with me. Her cold monkey-feet pressed against me and whispering the night away: her tousled head as she kept sitting up to look out the window on the side to look at the stars. I sat up with her and held her against my chest. I remember wondering how my heart wasn’t bursting from the enormous love I felt for this creature in my lap, watching the dark silhouettes of trees rushing by and the black swaying fingers of rice patties illuminated by needle-point stars and a full, silver moon. The beautiful creature turned around, placed her icy finger tips on my hot neck, and gave a little sigh of relief before leaning in and kissing me.

My skin was covered in goose bumps.

Oranges are my favorite fruit.
I left her, my little home and mother at nineteen. The darling was mine till then. I wrote to her, but when she got around to replying I had already moved. And there my love became my once-loved.
The heart ache didn’t last too long. There was too much to see, I was young and full of cravings and impossible to satisfy hunger despite the countless number of women. I lived in the moment, the fiery moment of passion and life, and the memory of her were blown to wisps.
A ray of pink sunlight broke me from my thoughts and as I rushed back from the past to its future, I wondered in a haze whether she had married or not.

Five a.m. – the sun was up. The sky had streaks of dark blue, so dark it was almost black. A ****** red of a newly-cut wound ran through the sky, arm in arm with royal purple and a pink the color of a child’s lips.

Six a.m. - twenty-two or so students milled into the train chattering. The younger ones have neatly combed hair, slicked down with mousse and parted so aggressively the comb lines are visible cutting the hair in hard chunks with a paper-white hairline slicing through the scalp. The smallest one would be around thirteen and the oldest at eighteen. The oldest-looking one is very pretty with slanted gray eyes and chestnut hair- very matured for her age. A puff of powder to conceal any imperfection of her skin, and the first two buttons on her school blouse unbuttoned to hint at a cleavage of well-developed large *******. Her gaze darts over me frequently. She looks like a lover I had in Holland. I give her a small smile and she returns it, batting her lids to reveal matted dark lashes and shimmery pale blue eyelids like the wings of a butterfly. No child, only if I was much, much younger and had just left home as you will so soon.
A stench of too much perfume emits from the girl beside her. So much that I am momentarily diverted and glance up at her from my log book. I will be relieved when they leave. If there’s one thing I find extremely unattractive in a woman is an overload of perfume- it becomes a stench that is a reminder of gaudy prostitutes.

Six-thirty a.m. -  The train jolts to yet another stop and they clatter out but not before I heard the words, “That man on the train near us was rather handsome, wasn’t he?” I cannot help but chuckle.

Seven a.m. – the train has stopped at least five more stations. This is going to be a long trip. Rummaging in my packed bag for a pair of dark sunglasses I push them on, waiting for the fact that I haven’t slept all two weeks in excitement (and travelling at the speed of light half way around the world at the same time) to kick in and hit me unconscious with sleep.

Two p.m. - the dark glasses cannot block the glaring sunlight of the sunshiny afternoon. We have almost finished passing the city. The rows of buildings, large houses, one-story apartments are narrowing and shrinking in size. I know the railroad tracks have remained unchanged in destination and twenty-so years ago I took this exact same ride but everywhere is unrecognizable.  
I check my wristwatch once again even though I know the time: around nine more hours to go before it reaches the very end possible station and I take the long walk back to my little home.

Six p.m. - I talk amiably to passengers on the train. It is beautiful to hear my home dialect again. The words I speak have grown quite clumsy and my accent is rough. No matter, in two weeks time I’ll be fluent and chirping along with the same fluid accent as the old man beside me is.

Eleven-thirty p.m. – I am all alone on the train. The old man just got off at the station before. He shared a portion of his sandwich with me and a swig of beer from his water bottle (naughty old man), seeing as in my anticipation I forgot to buy any food for the day. A very interesting old man who was delighted to know I travelled just as he use to in his earlier days- quote to remember from him: “Too many people go on about this ******* of a ‘fixed’ home: Home isn’t where you live, son, it’s where they understand you. I’m telling you, that’s something so special in this crazy world.”
It is horrible to be sitting here alone counting down the minutes without a distraction but after all, it is near the last of stations and no one ever comes here anyways. There’s nothing here that could attract visitors. If I were a traveler nothing about this place would excite me very much. Yet for this first time in fifteen years, I’m not an outsider and this land promises me much. My hand shakes from fatigue- but mostly from eagerness. Little home, darling little home, I am coming!
It is a chilly, chilly winter night. My breath pants out in short white puffs. I wrap my scarf more securely around my neck, capturing the warmth as I step out from the warm train into the cold air outside. I can barely notice my environment on the way home except the path has remained unchanged. It is as if I am travelling back into time itself. After a while, the coldness turning the tip of my ears and nose pink is forgotten. All I know is each step is taking me closer and closer to home.

I finally see it. The small little house with a small brown door standing quietly alone next to other identical houses comes into my view. The little homes are clustered on the edge of a river bank, surrounding by dark green trees. The crisp rustling of the leaves in the winter breeze brings a melancholy happiness so great it makes my chest throb. I cup a tiny bit of snow from the ground in my mitten and taste it: oh the same sharp iciness on my tongue.

I wonder if she still lives in that one with the indented steps, the stairs worn out by the thundering saunter of her and her five brothers. They still haven’t bought a new flight of stairs?

The river’s surface is smooth and serene, its surface looking like molten silver rippling in the slight breeze. I remembered in the summer when we, the children, danced; splashing in the water and the elders watched lovingly.

Mother’s carefully watching eyes on me as I swam to and fro, my laughter mingling with everyone else’s. She was especially careful after that near-fateful day when I was six and foolishly went swimming in August without telling mother as she made us her special clear chicken broth. I had inhaled gallons of water before she fished me out, both of us soaking and sobbing. How wonderful it was to hold onto something warm and solid: something breathing, full of life, and I clutched onto her and she clutched onto me and my life.
Up the wooden steps… how surprised mother will be. The ghosts of memories come running to me, pounding their way towards me to greet me first as I open the wooden door with the key slung around my neck as always: mother with her hair curled in soft mocha *****, mother making an ice lollipop in the hot summers in her flower-printed summer dresses, mother swishing around the house cleaning in her blue apron, the hot fire with hot chocolate as we told stories, all the different cats we had purring in a soothing melody… Amalie and her laughing figure spread over the sofa chattering away, Amalie’s quick, hidden kisses in the corners when mother was out of the room or pretending not to look, Amalie’s long hands creeping towards mine… Amalie and mother gossiping together and mother declaring Amalie was the daughter she never had and mother eyeing me knowingly, expecting me to settle my ways and marry Amalie…

Oh little home, I am back, I am home.

I shall go lie on my feathery bed and in the morning I’ll wake up and have no idea where I am before the thought comes back to me that this morning- no, I am not somewhere around half the world away- but in my little hometown.
As sure as the sun will rise, Mother will wake up at her usual eight o’clock and I’ll be downstairs in our sunny-tiled kitchen making a bowl of porridge for her and me.
After her tears and hugs, we’ll sit down by the fire with hot chocolate despite it being early morning and the skies aren’t yet jet-black. I see in my mind’s eyes her dark eyes huge as I unravel my colorful carpet of stories and treasure box of tokens from all around the world.
Maybe after that I’ll ask her whatever became of Amalie…
I hear the tread of footsteps on the stair case. They are heavy sounds. Has mother gained much weight in her old age? She was always a lithe little woman when I was here.
A burly shape appears in the shadows.
For one ******* blindingly stupid moment I think it is mother much fattened in a fluffy night gown, her hair curled up in soft ***** yet again. Perhaps I saw what I wanted to believe despite my senses and instinct suddenly prickling up in one jolt through the spine.
And the shape emerges holding a bat and the outlines gains focus to become a bear-like man with dark brows furrowed and a mass of curls. He starts yelling at me and slashing his bat dangerously.
I raise my arms up in defense and the world swirls around me. From far away I hear my voice shaking in fear and fury, “Where is my mother!” I yell her name and I yell my name to let her know I am here. I am insane with fear for the safety of my mother. No, it cannot be that I come home on the day a demon decides to rob the house of a frail gentle angel. If he has killed her, I will- “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!”
“What?” he asks in a tone quiet from extreme bewilderment, his grip on the bat loosens and I am quick to see this and take advantage of it.
With an explosion of violent swears I leap onto him to throttle him to death. “MOTHER?! MOTHER! WHAT HAVE YOU ******* DONE TO MY MOTHER?! I’M GOING TO ******* **** YOU, YOU *******!”
A fast pattering of feet sound down the stairs and my mind registers them to be female before I am wrenched of the man and we are separated. I am about to clutch this woman safe from the hulking beast before I notice the skin on the hands pushing my panting chest away from killing the beast are too young to be mothers’. Her hair is a dark mahogany brown, not mild coffee like mothers’.
I stare at her, silent in shock. All the fight drains out of me.
Those eyes that were once so chocolate-brown and bright have lost their sparkle in her tiredness and appear almost… dull as she turns to me.
She says my name three times before I can reply. “Sit down here.”
It is strange that she has ordered me to sit down on my own sofa in my living room. Her frosty hands guide me. “Amalie… where is mother?” I manage to stutter, all the time keeping an eye on the monster of a man.
“Listen to me” she took a few shuddering breaths, “I’m sorry to tell you this way, I wished I could’ve told you any other way but this… your mother is dead. She died five years ago.”
She watched me with an exhausted expression, “In her will she left this house to you and me because she assumed one day-” she shot a cautious glance at the man who towered in the shadows next to her, nursing
What's happening to all of us? The so-called generation of tomorrow?
Don't you remember how we used to be?
Before we all grew up, swearing that when we're "big" we're never going to smoke or drink?
That boys were yucky and girls had Germs?
Remember how carefree we all used to be? It didn't matter to us what people said or even what they thought. We didn't care if our hair got wet or a stain got on to our clothes.

Now we've turned everything around, never meaning the words that we said. Its as if every memory of who we were, has shattered, into tiny bits of pieces.
Remember the dreams we had when we were young? The morals and virtues we swore we'd never rid of, holding on to these for dear life, yes still we threw them away.

The people we are, the children we used to be, now a totally new adolescent. A conjunction of minuscule parts of both  our past and present.

Remember the days we all were friends, no backstabbing, no lies, and complete honestly.

Sharing the humour, not hiding the facts, lived life freely, what happened to us? What happened to the people we used to be?

The all grew up that's what happened I guess, but now barely recognisable. The little child still somewhere deep in the interior of the hard outside we've formed.

Making ourselves to seem like we're stubborn, matured adults, when that's really what we're not.
We're a mixture of what we all used to be and a huge part made up of what we've been through.
All our experiences, both good and bad. All our dreams, some nourished since we were young, and others newly spurted. Our decisions to give in to peer pressure, or resist temptation. Our choices. Our friends, the ones that uplift is and the ones that have torn us down. Our family, the ones who loved us and the ones who have hurt us. Our education, tons of learning experiences. Our relationships, that all formed our inner beings more intricate than all of the above. Our emotions leading us and misleading us to where we might or might not end up . Look, i'm not saying all these things determine where we end up but they sure do influence it.

And that's what happened to us.

That is what we've become and that's what we are. That's made up all the parts of who we really are.

What's happened to us, I repeatedly ask , though the answer, it seems so clear.

Hard to accept, what we've become and who we strive to be.
MC Hammered Nov 2014
Lips say he's different
now.
Drunk eyes reveal no
change.

~

My knees did not
buckle
At your matured tastes in blues and
bourbon,

my heart did when you didn't
recognize
the gleam of your own
reflection.
T'yana Thomas Oct 2015
Overcame just about everything in life

Mothers death was the first
Raising five younger siblings
Clothing Bathing Cooking and so much more
With God I stood strong. I was only 10 years old.

Fathers abuse was second
He really showed me what wasn't love but I felt in my heart I was showing grace by understanding his frustration over his deceased wife.
The beatings (Slaps Kicks Punches Abandonment). The Blood. The sadness.
His loud threats. Words that were mistreating. The pain.

Yet I love this man but can't find respect for him.

Relationships
Started off as not caring for nobody.
As I matured into this woman I started to want this thing called Love.
I was afraid because I felt I didn't know how.  
Come to find, that I love and love well but I'm receiving a cycle of being mistreated..

I'm still standing  Strong
#LETITTREND
RAJ NANDY Aug 2017
Dear Readers, I have tried to cover the salient features of this True Story in free flowing verse mainly with end rhymes. If you read it loud, you can hear the chimes! Due to the short attention span of my readers I had to cut short this long story, and conclude with the
Golden Era of Hollywood by stretching it up to the 1950s only. When TV began to challenge the Big Screen Cinema seriously! I have used only a part of my notes here. Kindly read the
entire composition during your Spare Time dear Readers. I wish there was a provision for posting a few interesting photographs for you here. Best wishes, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.  

                THE LEGEND OF HOLLYWOOD :
                      THE AMERICAN  DREAM
                              BY RAJ NANDY

               A SHORT  HISTORICAL  BACKGROUND
Since the earliest days, optical toys, shadow shows, and ‘magic
lanterns’, had created the illusion of motion.
This concept was first described by Mark Roget in 1824 as  
the persistent of vision.
Giving impetus to the development of big screen cinema with its
close-ups, capturing all controlled and subtle expressions!
The actors were no longer required to shout out their parts with
exaggerated actions as on the Elizabethan Stage.
Now even a single tear drop could get noticed easily by the entire
movie audience!
With the best scene being included and edited after a few retakes.
To Thomas Edison and his able assistant William Rogers we owe the invention of Kinetoscope, the first movie camera.
On the grounds of his West Orange, New Jersey laboratory, Edison
built his first movie studio called the ‘Black Maria’.   (1893)
He also purchased a string of patents related to motion picture
Camera;
Forming the Edison Trust, - a cartel that took control of the Film
Industry entire!

Fort Lee, New Jersey:
On a small borough on the opposite bank of the Hudson River lay
the deserted Fort Lee.
Here scores of film production crews descended armed with picture Cameras, on this isolated part of New Jersey!
In 1907 Edison’s company came there to shoot a short silent film –
‘Rescue From an Eagle’s Nest’,
Which featured for the first time the actor and director DW Griffith.
The independent Chaplin Film Company built the first permanent
movie studio in 1910 in Fort Lee.
While some of the biggest Hollywood studios like the Universal,
MGM, and 20th Century Fox, had their roots in Fort Lee.
Some of the famous stars of the silent movie era included ‘Fatty’
Arbuckle, Will Rogers, Mary Pickford, Dorothy and Lillian Gish,
Lionel Barrymore, Rudolph Valentine and Pearl White.
In those days there were no reflectors and electric arch lights.
So movies were made on rooftops to capture the bright Sunlight!
During unpredictable bad weather days, filming had to be stopped
despite the revolving stage which was made, -
To rotate and capture the sunlight before the lights started to fade!

Shift from New Jersey to West Coast California:
Now Edison who held the patents for the bulb, phonograph, and the Camera, had exhibited a near monopoly;
On the production, distribution, and exhibition of the movies which made this budding industry to shift to California from New Jersey!
California with its natural scenery, its open range, mountains, desert, and snow country, had the basic ingredients for the movie industry.
But most importantly, California had bright Sunshine for almost 365 days of the year.
While eight miles away from Hollywood lay the port city of Los Angeles with its cheap labor.

                        THE  RISE  OF  HOLLYWOOD
It was a real estate tycoon Harvey Wilcox and his wife Daeida from
Kansas, who during the 1880s founded ‘Hollywood’ as a community for like-minded temperate followers.
It is generally said that Daeida gave the name Hollywood perhaps
due to the area's abundant red-berried shrubs - known as
California Holly!
Spring blossoms around and above the Hollywood Hills with its rich variety,  gave it a touch of paradise for all to see!
Hollywood was incorporated as a municipality in 1903, and during
1910 had unified with the city of Los Angeles.
While a year later, the first film studio had moved in from New
Jersey, to escape Thomas Edison’s monopoly!    (1911)

In 1913 Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, had leased a barn with
studio facilities.
And directed the first feature length film ‘Squaw Man’ in 1914.
Today this studio is home to Hollywood Heritage Museum as we get to see.
The timeless symbol of Hollywood film industry that famous sign on top of Mount Lee, was put up by a real estate developer in 1923.  
This sign had read as ‘’HOLLY WOOD LAND’’ initially.
Despite decades of run-ins with vandals and pranksters, it managed to hang on to its prime location near the summit of the Hollywood Hills.
The last restoration work was carried out in 1978 initiated by Hugh
Hefner of the ******* Magazine.
Those nine white letters 45 feet tall now read ‘HOLLYWOOD’,  has become a landmark and America’s cultural icon,
And an evocative symbol for ambition, glamour, and dreams!
Forever enticing aspiring actors to flock to Hollywood, hypnotized by lure of the Big Screen!

                     GOLDEN AGE OF HOLLYWOOD
The Silent Movie Era which began in 1895, ended in 1935 with the
production of ‘Dance of Virgins’, filmed entirely in the island of Bali.
The first Sound film ‘The Jazz Singer’ by Warner Bros. was made with a Vitaphone sound-on-disc technology.  (October 1927)
Despite the Great Depression of the 1930s, this decade along with the 1940s have been regarded by some as Hollywood’s Golden Age.
However, I think that this Golden Age includes the decades of the
1940s and the 1950s instead.
When the advent of Television began to challenge the Film Industry
itself !

First Academy Award:
On 16th May 1929 in the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard,
the First Academy Award presentation was held.
Around 270 people were in attendance, and tickets were priced at
$5 per head.
When the best films of 1927 & 1928 were honored by the Academy
of Motion Production and Sciences, or the AMPS.
Emil Jennings became the best actor, and Janet Gaynor the best actress.
Special Award went to Charlie Chaplin for his contribution to the
silent movie era and for his silent film ‘The Circus’.
While Warren Brothers was commended for making the first talking picture ‘The Jazz Singer’, - also receiving a Special Award!
Now, the origin of the term ‘OSCAR’ has remained disputed.
The Academy adopted this name from 1939 onwards it is stated.
OSCAR award has now become “the stuff dreams are made of”!
It is a gold-plated statuette of a knight 13.5 inches in height, weighing 8.5 pounds, was designed by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons.
Annually awarded for honoring and encouraging excellence in all
facets of motion picture productions.

Movies During the Great Depression Era (1929-1941):
Musicals and dance movies starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers provided escapism and good entertainment during this age.
“Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did. She just did it
backwards and in high heels,” - the critics had said.
This compatible pair entertained the viewers for almost one and
a half decade.
During the ‘30s, gangster movies were popular starring James Cagey, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson.
While family movies had their popular child artist Shirley Temple.
Swashbuckler films of the Golden Age saw the sword fighting scenes of Douglas Fairbank and Errol Flynn.
Flynn got idolized playing ‘Robin Hood’, this film was released in 1938 on the Big Screen.
Story of the American Civil War got presented in the epic ‘Gone With The Wind’ (1939) with Clarke Gable and Vivian Leigh.
This movie received 8 Oscars including the award for the Best Film, - creating a landmark in motion picture’s history!
More serious movies like John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and John Ford’s  ‘How Green Was My Valley’, were released in 1940 and 1941 respectively.
While the viewers escaped that depressive age to the magical world
of  ‘Wizard of Oz’ with its actress Judy Garland most eagerly!
Let us not forget John Wayne the King of the Westerns, who began
his acting career in the 1930s with his movie ‘The Big Trail’;
He went on to complete 84 films before his career came to an end.
Beginning of the 40s also saw Bob Hope and the crooner Bing Crosby, who entertained the public and also the fighting troops.
For the Second World War (1939-45) had interrupted the Golden Age of Hollywood!
When actors like Henry Fonda, Clarke Gable, James Stewart and
Douglas Fairbanks joined the armed forces temporarily leaving
Hollywood.
Few propaganda movies supporting the war efforts were also made.
While landmark movies like ‘Philadelphia Story’, ‘Casablanca’, ‘Citizen Kane’, ‘The Best Years of Our Lives’, were some of the most successful movies of that decade.  (The 1940s)
Now I come towards the end of my Hollywood Story with the decade  of the 1950s, thereby extending the period of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Since having past the Great Depression and the Second World War,  
The Hollywood movie industry truly matured and came of age.

                        HOLLYWOOD  OF  THE  1950s
Backgroun­d:
The decade of the ‘50s was known for its post-war affluence and
choice of leisure time activities.
It was a decade of middle-class values, fast-food restaurants, and
drive-in- movies;
Of ‘baby-boom’, all-electric home, the first credit cards, and new fast moving cars like the Ford, Plymouth, Buick, Hudson, and Chevrolet.
But not forgetting the white racist terrorism in the Southern States!
This era saw the beginning of Cold War, with Dwight D. Eisenhower succeeding Harry S. Truman as the American President.
But for the film industry, most importantly, what really mattered  
was the advent of the Domestic TV.
When the older viewers preferred to stay at home instead of going
out to the movies.
By 1950, 10.5 million US homes had a television set, and on the
30th December 1953, the first Color TV went on sale!
Film industries used techniques such as Cinemascope, Vista Vision,
and gimmicks like 3-D techniques,
To get back their former movie audience back on their seats!
However, the big scene spectacle films did retain its charm and
fantasy.
Since fantasy epics like ‘The Story of Robin Hood’, and Biblical epics like ‘The Robe’, ‘Quo Vadis’, ‘The Ten Commandments’ and ‘Ben-Hur’, did retain its big screen visual appeal.
‘The Robe’ released on 16th September 1953, was the first film shot
and projected in Cinema Scope;
In which special lenses were used to compress a wide image into a
standard frame and then expanded it again during projection;
Resulting in an image almost two and a half times as high and also as wide, - captivating the viewers imagination!

Demand For New Themes During The 1950s :
The idealized portrayal of men and women since the Second World War,
Now failed to satisfy the youth who sought exciting symbols for rebellion.
So Hollywood responded with anti-heroes with stars like James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Paul Newman.
They replaced conventional actors like Tyron Power, Van Johnson, and Robert Taylor to a great extent, to meet the requirement of the age.
Anti-heroines included Ava Gardner, Kim Novak, and Marilyn Monroe with her vibrant *** appeal;
They provided excitement for the new generation with a change of scene.
Themes of rebellion against established authority was present in many Rock and Roll songs,
Including the 1954 Bill Hailey and His Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
The era also saw rise to stardom of Elvis Presley the teen heartthrob!
Meeting the youthful aspirations with his songs like ‘Jailhouse Rock’!
I recall the lyrics of this 1957 film ‘Jailhouse Rock’ of my school days, which had featured the youth icon Elvis:
   “The Warden threw a party in the county jail,
     The prison band was there and they began to wail.
     The band was jumping and the joint began to sing,
     You should’ve heard them knocked-out jail bird sing.
     Let’s rock, everybody in the whole cell block……………
     Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
     Little Joe was blowing the slide trombone.
     The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang!
     The whole rhythm section was the Purple Gang, Let's rock...

Rock and Roll music began to tear down color barriers, and Afro-
American musicians like Chuck Berry and Little Richard became
very popular!
Now I must caution my readers that thousands of feature films got  released during this eventful decade in Hollywood.
To cover them all within this limited space becomes an impossible
task, which may kindly be understood !
However, I shall try to do so in a summarized form as best as I could.

Box Office Hits Year-Wise From 1950 To 1959 :
Top Ten Year-Wise hit films chronologically are: Cinderella (1950),
Quo Vadis, The Greatest Show on Earth, Peter Pan, Rear Window,
Lady and the *****, Ten Commandments, Bridge on the River
Kwai, South Pacific, and Ben-Hur of 1959.

However Taking The Entire Decade Of 1950s Collectively,
The Top Films Get Rated As Follows Respectively:
The Ten Commandments, followed by Lady and the *****, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bridge on the River Kwai, Around the World in Eighty Days, This is Cinerama, The Greatest Show on Earth, Rear Window, South Pacific, The Robe, Giant, Seven Wonders of the World, White Christmas, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Sayonara, Demetrius and the Gladiator, Peyton Place, Some Like It Hot, Quo Vadis, and Auntie Mame.

Film Debuts By Rising Stars During The 1950s :
The decade of the ‘50s saw a number of famous film stars making
their first appearance.
There was Peter Sellers in ‘The Black Rose’, Marlon Brando in
‘The Men’, and actress Sophia Loren in ‘Toto Tarzan’.
Following year saw Charles Bronson in ‘You Are in the Navy Now’,
Audrey Hepburn in ‘Our Wild Oats’, and Grace Kelly, the future
Princess of Monaco, in her first film ‘Fourteen Hours’. (1951)
While **** Brigitte Bardot appeared in 1952 movie ‘Crazy for Love’; and 1953 saw Steve Mc Queen in ‘******* The Run’.
Jack Lemon, Paul Newman, and Omar Sharif featured in films
during 1954.
The following year saw Clint Eastwood, Shirley Mc Lean, Walter
Matthau, and Jane Mansfield, all of whom the audience adored.
The British actor Michael Cain appeared in 1956; also Elvis Presley
the youth icon in ‘Love Me Tender’ and as the future Rock and Roll
King!
In 1957 came Sean Connery, followed by Jack Nicholson, Christopher Plummer, and Vanessa Redgrave.
While the closing decade of the ‘50s saw James Coburn, along with
director, script writer, and producer Steven Spielberg, make their
debut appearance.

Death During The 1950s: This decade also saw the death of actors
like Humphrey Bogart, Tyron Power and Errol Flynn.
Including the death of producer and director of epic movies the
renowned Cecil B. De Mille!
Though I have conclude the Golden Age of Hollywood with the 50’s Decade,
The glitz and glamour of its Oscar Awards continue even to this day.
With its red carpet and lighted marquee appeal and fashion display!

CONTINUING THE HOLLYWOOD STORY  WITH  FEW TITBITS
From Fort Lee of New Jersey we have traveled west to Hollywood,
California.
From the silent movie days to the first ‘talking picture’ with Warren
Bros’ film ‘The Jazz Singer’.  (06 Oct 1927)
On 31st July 1928 for the first time the audience heard the MGM’s
mascot Leo’s mighty roar!
While in July 1929 Warren Bros’ first all-talking and all- Technicolor
Film appeared titled - ‘On With The Show’.
Austrian born Hedy Lamarr shocked the audience appearing **** in a Czechoslovak film ‘Ecstasy’!  (1933)
She fled from her husband to join MGM, becoming a star of the
‘40s and the ‘50s.
The ‘Private Life of Henry VII’ became the first British film to win the American Academy Award.  (1933)
On 11Dec 1934, FOX released ‘Bright Eyes’ with Shirley Temple, who  became the first Child artist to win this Award!
While in 1937 Walt Disney released the first full animated feature film titled - ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarf ‘.
The British film director Alfred Hitchcock who came to Hollywood later;
Between 1940 and 1947, made great thrillers like ‘Rebecca’, ‘Notorious’,‘Rear Window’, and ‘Dial M for ******’.
But he never won an Academy Award as a Director!

THE GOLDEN GLOBE AWARD:
This award began in 1944 by the Foreign Correspondence Association at
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
I gave her the permission to uproot you whole from my Heart, however painful, however unfair it feels
because I believe I've waited enough...
I've waited until I've reached the end of my patience
where holding on is no longer a valid option...
I love you so much but sometimes true love is just knowing
when to let go,when however firm one grips to the past,
nothing changes and nothing ever will...
I gave her a go ahead to pluck the memories leaf by leaf
from the wonderful hello to the sour goodbye,
it isn't an easy process and I'm only going through it
because dreaming of us together is telling myself a lie...
I once preferred (to living without you) rather to die
and picturing back to those times makes me want to cry
I have to forget you...
I've allowed her to cut the logs of hope right from the root system
so that whatever I feel for you should whither instead of bloom..
I've charged her with nursing my wounds till they are cured
and collecting the smithereens you left behind
I've implored her to bear with me till the raw and tender love
I feel for her has matured,till the memories of you have disappeared
It's really ******* her...it's killing her, it's written on her face
how difficult it is to fill the emptiness in this place
to heal the wounds, to warm the cold and stitch the cuts
she's trying to submerge it but through her smile
I can see the melancholy and how much it actually hurts
that's why I'm sure she's willing to go an extra mile...
she's blistered and really hurting but most of all
she's cutting and cutting and cutting...
because I gave her the duty to complete our parting.

— The End —