"maureen" poems
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers
I was small then
She had a parakeet that landed on my head
and a bathtub too
with water so deep!
and legs and claws!
**** thing nearly chased me down the stairs!
She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks
where bugs hung-out in the haze
of teenage August
I played in the tall weeds
with a shoeless Italian boy
who ate tomatoes like apples
and cucumbers right off the vine!
He was ***** free and foreign!
We played— reckless, abandoned
behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn
and through the endless fields
I didn’t know....
His name was Tony
I ate pizza with him—the first time
At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight
but I could watch night flowers
bloom on wallpaper
She came in to say good night
slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open
and I peeped her *******
like Tony’s cucumbers!
I had never seen my mother’s wonders....
Night spread its wings from the old fan—
a bird of tireless exhaustion
whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage
tireless exhaustion
tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock
stretched out on the whine
of the overland trucks
Route Five through the night of an open window
In the grape arbor below—
tremulous incessant
crickets crickets crickets
tremulous incessant—insides of a child
a summer child
not yet ready for the fall of answers
Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen
I followed her everywhere I could
I was small then--
do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit
I followed Maureen through my dreams
of being sixteen
and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”
while she tied her sneakers
against the mattress by my head
I followed Maureen (in my mind)
tanned and bandanned
to work in the fields of shade tobacco
with all those Puerto Rican boys!
She knew where she was going!
I was small then
...do anything for a stick of gum
“Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”
...through the goldenrod of roadside
through the smell of oil that damped the dust
I followed Maureen’s white shorts
and chestnut hair...to the corner store
I followed the way the boys smiled
the way the screen door slammed
on her bright behind
the way her lips taunted and took
the coke-bottle’s green
I followed Maureen
I swear, I tried for hours to get that right!
Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
Maureen ties her sneakers in my face
Flaunts her years above my head
She has that look—
“We kids don’t know nothin”
(Little turds” that we be)
…followin’ Maureen
through the goldenrod of roadside
tic-tockin’, beboppin’
“Fever— in the morning
Fever all through the night….”
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Shucking peas on the back steps
Maureen and I watch her Mum,
My Aunt Grace,
Arguing with Aunt Edna
In the kitchen
The narrow kitchen
Of number 84 Truro Road
As they whip a Sunday lunch into shape
A test match drones on the radio
The aroma of mint on new spuds teases.
It’s a modest roast
Served in the tiny parlor
To nine of us!
Eating elbow to elbow
With yellow handled knives and forks
Down to the bare porcelain
Waiting for the apple pie
with Libby’s.
That crust, with sugar sprinkles
Is a lifetime goal for me!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
Perhaps the greatest tennis player the World has ever seen
She had won nine Grand Slam tournaments before she was nineteen
Till her marvellous tennis career was prematurely ended in such a tragic way
Thrown from her horse her foot was crushed that's life as some might say.
The marvellous Maureen Connolly the greatest tennis player of her time
Her great career had ended long before she had reached her prime
Nine grand slams as a teenager her record may never be beat
She won every grand slam tournament in which she did compete.
The greats of present day tennis we hear so much about
Though 'tis not on their greatness we ever cast a doubt
But of nine Grand Slams as a teenager none of them can boast
To the late Maureen Connolly we ought to drink a toast.
Great tennis players like the Seasons they come and then they go
But there was only one Maureen Connolly the legendary 'Little Mo'
Nine Grand Slams as a teenager believe it if you may
The champion amongst champions her record stands today.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )
She is teaching Timothy
to read
even though she
can't read herself.
Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words
with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story
off by heart she
could read it in the dark.
She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause
by rote
making great efforts
to teach Timothy
the puppy
but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in
the un-thrown stick.
Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.
"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.
Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.
"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.
"...upon a time
a long long time
...ago!"
Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress
with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it
travels over the words
the story's journey.
"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"
"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature
throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.
Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of
a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )
chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird
brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
rossy cheeks and pretty eyes,
pointed nose and lovely smiles.
humbly speaks in every way,
gets more beautiful day by day.
she walks as if her soul is on fire,
that many people really admire.
she can barely make my heart flutter,
even by just standing right in the corner.
many people tried to bring her down,
but she didn’t let them take her crown.
though haters hate her even more,
her kindness remains, that’s what I really adore.
confidently proud of what she is,
she’s just really such a masterpiece.
appeared to be soft but defeats blunt with keen,
how can you not love a girl like Maureen?
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
Lost your *** and spent your gold
Drunk all night and you were told
The Murphy girls have brothers ninefold...
So, have you an inkling this mornin'?
Don't say you had no warnin'!
Gee those Murphy girls sure are pretty
But now your listening to this "told ya so" ditty
Got a bit fresh and way too giddy...
So now your hurting this mornin'
At least last night wasn't boring!
So next year's the same when put'n on the green
Remember the date it's March Seventeen
Kathleen, Maureen, Colleen do preen...
Just to count your gold in the mornin'
So don't be a leprechaun hornin'
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )
She is teaching Timothy
to read
even though she
can't read herself.
Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words
with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story
off by heart she
could read it in the dark.
She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause
by rote
making great efforts
to teach Timothy
the puppy
but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in
the un-thrown stick.
Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.
"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.
Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.
"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.
"...upon a time
a long long time
...ago!"
Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress
with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it
travels over the words
the story's journey.
"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"
"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature
throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.
Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of
a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )
chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird
brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
The owl and the ***** cat
went to sea in a boat
without an oar
When the boat sailed home
the cat was alone
and the owl was no more
Hey ****** ******
I’ll tell you a riddle
and I bet you’ll never guess
That Jack B. Nimble
was Jack B. Quick
beneath Miss Muffet’s
dress
Little Sol Hornstein
sat next to Maureen
eating his Christmas
pie
He stuck in his fork
and pulled out some pork
And said ‘what a bad
Jew am I’.
Wee Willie Winkie
Tiptoes through the house,
Upstairs, downstairs
Quiet as a mouse.
Closing every window,
Locking every door,
Drinking all his daddy’s beer
And barfing on the floor
The hippy dippy spider
went uptown to score
He got a bag of ****
from the hippy dippy
store
He smoked up all that
**** with his hippy
dippy friends
So the hippy dippy spider
went uptown again
There was a crooked man
Who walked a crooked mile
He met a crooked woman
Who wore a crooked smile
He brought her to his crooked house
And upon his crooked bed
He had his crooked way with her
(And now the ***** is dead)
(And from an old restroom wall)
Georgie Porgie, puddin' and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry
When the boys came out to play
(He kissed them too cuz' he was gay)
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
You. You engulfe me. Over and over and over.
Relentless. Little weapon. Poxy.
Maureen of Blackpool. Readers' Wife of the Year 1988. Wife of the Year. 100% correct.
Goodbye sweet princess. The 4 in 1 will no longer taste of pure Korma. But
Jalfrezi
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
A midnight ship with silver sails
And hoisted flags with scarlet tails
Is whisked by winds of golden gales
Descending from the skies above.
And though the decks are wet and soaken,
Still the hull is swift and oaken
So the course remains unbroken,
Trailing wakes of turtledoves.
With storm departed, then no sooner
Comes, unseen, a pirate schooner
Neath the nighttime, light and lunar,
Pouncing with a push and shove.
Though hope seems lost, a cyclone saves
Dispersing foes and other knaves
With frothy foamy ****** waves
Which strike like leaden leather gloves.
Secured, the ship has safely landed
- Left behind, the pirates stranded -
Passers-by are smiling candid,
Knowing not the worth thereof.
For hidden in the wooden hold
Is treasure bursting unforetold
- Far more than diamonds, thyme and gold -
It brings unbound a brother’s Love.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Maureen the mean lottery playing machine
when I see her I mutter something obsene.
sometimes it's seven am on a Saturday morning
and she shows up with no warning.
"ill take a three number on the daily,
I could call her a loser and she can just pay me
behind her there is always a line
and when she buys donuts that's a bad sign
because she's always camping out in her car
And she never goes very far
when she comes back in I can feel my heart sinking
she's my reason to maybe start drinking
"I really have to go shopping"
but not before dropping
more money on tickets then I make all week
because fortune is what she seeks
she smokes basics but only the hard packs
when she hits the million I hope she doesn't have a heart attack
"these tickets are terrible." she keeps playing
There's a disconnect between what she's saying
and what she does
but that's because
she has a terrible affliction
a gambling addiction
"two brown cash two silver sevens and one golden spin
the odds are stacked against her so she can't win
maybe she can't see
what it looks like to me
she's blinded by a tiny prospect of glory
but sadly this is just one telling of a popular story
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
!WAKEY WAKEY!
( for Maureen )
Every morning I
delighted in her
jumping into her skin
eager to begin
being her
all over again.
New to her self
as if she had only been
minted that very minute
her own self invented.
Touching the world
with her sense of self
chasing after dust motes
trying to clutch sunlight
creeping up on a honeysuckle's
scent
snatching at music
in the air
begging the world
to come out to play.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
I am from the ever expanding library of my imagination.
From stories that I keep re-writing in my head.
From all the things that happened a lifetime ago to the hopes and dreams of tomorrow.
From the falling leafs in Autumn to the blossoming flowers in the Spring.
From the smells of fresh cut grass, gasoline, and pine-sol.
From countless hours with my nose in a book.
From ‘Maureen Elizabeth I swear’ to ‘one more chance’ and getting ten.
I am from the ever expanding library of my imagination.
From the endless supply of golf ***** in the basement to the mountains of unopened Pepsi.
From the non working clock on the porch to the woods with our forts.
From ‘only one’ and taking five.
From ‘don’t get that on your clothes it’ll stain’ and ‘stop biting your nails,’ a habit I’m still trying to break.
I am from the ever expanding library of my imagination
From tickle wars that always end with my hiding or crying because I’m the most ticklish person you’ll ever meet.
From older siblings saying ‘there’s someone in the house’ to scare me to ‘Fight me!’ as a joke
From the holes in the walls from sibling or cousins fighting.
From endless hours that my siblings and I would spend cleaning and being mad at Mom.
From secret discussions to sneaking around and being caught.
From our “spy agency,” to ‘Mom and Josh are coming run!’
I am from the ever expanding library of my imagination
From the yellow van always parked in the lot
From the yelling of children outside.
From the cookouts at friends houses.
From fights to forgiveness.
I am from the ever expanding library of my imagination
From the inside of my head
From my grandfather’s house
From the books I read.
From countless hours spent with siblings
From the ruined friendships of my past to the ones that’ll last a lifetime.
I am from the ever expanding library.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
The words I wrote before
were mean spirited
vile
and yet completely true.
Someone once told me,
"There are no wrong emotions,"
one fo the many lessons I've taken
to my spirit.
I never thanked you,
you're the one who
turned my life on a more spiritual path
taught me that there are others like me in the world
& loved me for being me, something few folks do.
Being part of the gasoline
that fueled the burning of our bridges
is one of two things I shall regret
in this lifetime.
Though I am hopeful other lives
in the future smoke
will give us a chance to reconnect.
I'm proud of our times together,
saddened our hang ups hung us.
There's always going to be a place
you occupy in my brain
whether you want to be there or not.
Your poetry still moves me.
I can't forget you.
But, that doesn't mean
you don't have to.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
You caught me in a dangerous moment
When my heart was in a deep torment
You've given me hope, you've given me a chance
To continue this wonderful romance
I don't know how can I possibly start
To thank you for healing my ached heart
What I know is that I'm falling for you
And this wonderful feeling is true
Now it's in yours, where my heart belongs
Come with me and I'll sing this song
A love like this, I've never ever seen
Oh how I love you my baby Maureen
I hope this moment shall never ever end
With you, baby, my most important friend
I'll go with you wherever it would take me
And my love will stay forever it will be
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ
( for Maureen )
She is teaching Timothy
to read
even though she
can't read herself.
Tongue firmly in cheek
she traces the words
with a tiny fingertip
that knows the story
off by heart she
could read it in the dark.
She is "pretending reading."
She has my every nuance and pause
by rote
making great efforts
to teach Timothy
the puppy
but Timothy the puppy
is more interested in
the un-thrown stick.
Timothy the puppy thinks this reading lark is
strictly for the humans.
"Once..." she begins
in a Fairy Tale-ish voice.
Timothy the puppy
barks in acknowledgement.
"Throwthestickthrowthestick!"
Timothy the Puppy's mind thinks.
"...upon a time
a long long time
...ago!"
Timothy the puppy looks
adoringly at his little mistress
with such an immensity of love and
licks her finger as it
travels over the words
the story's journey.
"Oh you..!" she scolds
"...are not even paying attention!"
"It's no good...I give up!"
she frowns at the unhappy creature
throwing the book away
in a prissy hissy fit.
Timothy the puppy
full of the joys of
a dog's life
( it's the only life he knows )
chases the fluttering pages
that fly like an exotic bird
brings Hans Christian Anderson back
his mouth full of words.
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 7:12 AM UTC
Maureen G. Karimi·Monday, 28 September 2015
Deflated, pounced, torn, crushed...
This is the condition of this bandaged heart.
A once glowing eyes, shut, as black river flows from it.
Shuttered dreams...
Deafening screams...
Dried streams...Dull & faded beams.
The warm stretched arms of love,
now turned into clenched fists of bitterness..
A once warm breath turned into fiery fumes of anger...
A once calm voice of hospitality, turned into disturbing screams n shouts of agony.
...All changed by an ***** so small...
A part she wishes could be engulfed in the hot flames of hell...
A portion of life that desired a reality turned into a myth
The myth that caused tears from the bandaged heart...
...the MYTH called LOVE.
©The Unspoken
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
We used to sing a song
Of little children playing
Until the sun had completely gone
They chased the butterflies swaying
To and fro in the summertime
The teddy-bears and dolls
Danced and cheered to this song
Its sound beat with the passing years
And now, much later now
We sing different tunes
Not loudly in a gust of play
But few times when alone
And far from a neighbor's ear
It's not a song of children's cheer
But of lover's hearts that are dear
broken or estranged to another's sway
Few times when I browsed through those
Growing years
That little song comes knocking
And with it the happy games
And childish lines
And the setting of the sun
I see the close of day
But now it's darkness that'll next be my way
Those little children playing in the park
Didn't notice it was getting dark
How I now notice the quiet night
And the passing time
It's not the years that make me sad
Its comparing them.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
!WAKEY WAKEY!
( for Maureen )
Every morning I
delighted in her
jumping into her skin
eager to begin
being her
all over again.
New to her self
as if she had only been
minted that very minute
her own self invented.
Touching the world
with here sense of self
chasing after dust motes
trying to clutch sunlight
creeping up on a honeysuckle's
scent
snatching at music
in the air
begging the world
to come out to play.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
Its crazy, I miss her even though i dont know her
Or maybe, its beyond sight to adore her.
These feelings felt proper..
The first time i saw her, i felt a little shy.
Thinking on her dazzling beauty my dreams will lay.
No lie, its a feeling no one can deny.
(Deep inside so hard to hide)
Her presence filled my sights plessure,
rocking my body like a siezure.
She was beautiful......(sigh)
A dazzle like a candle
A puzzle i cant help bt handle
A simple gaze, a tremor of frenzy
Now its a maze, a little bit crazy.
With a shoulder glance i so her come and go
I wondered why i didnt introduce myself before
As she politely approached my jaw fell in awe
Thinking, angels are beautiful bt she was a little bit more.
Just a while, she approached with an exceptional smile,
Specially organised with a casual style.
She laughed with a little grin, and said her that name was maureen.
I thought she was jokin', bt nothing had to be proven on her tender voice and the words she had spoken.
Though it was a short conversation it didnt matter
Because from that moment i had an endless fantasy chatter.
We where neighbors and that made it better
In the end, I hope we where ment to be together.
She was perfect in everyway
I wished i would see her everyday.
I found everything about her so appealing,
but
I had no way of telling her what i was feeling.
One thing i still wonder, is that God gave her everything except my number.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
Yes, I used to be
What I used to be
But, you wanted me
More than I could've me
Oh! Yes, you wanted me
More than I wanted me
But I couldn't be
All that you wanted me to be
Yes, you wanted me
Yes, but I couldn't be
Even though you wanted me
But you couldn't be
No, you couldn't be
All that I wanted, Eve
So you couldn't see; and I couldn't see
Me and you believe; but do we' believe
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC