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"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….”
0
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
I Follow Maureen
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….”
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82
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!
0
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
Shucking Peas
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.
0
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
Maureen Connolly
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.
0
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ ( for Maureen )
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?
0
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
for Maureen Wroblewitz
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'
0
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
Ditty For Daft Leprechauns
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.
0
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ( for Maureen )
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)
0
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
A Few Tortured Nursery Rhymes
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
0
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Change
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.
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Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
Treasure for Maureen
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
0
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
An Ode To Maureen
!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.
0
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
!WAKEY WAKEY! ( for Maureen )
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.
0
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Ever Expanding Library
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.
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31
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.
0
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Dear Maighdlin Maureen
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
0
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
Maureen
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.
0
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 7:12 AM UTC
TEACHING TIMOTHY TO READ ( for Maureen )
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
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Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
Cry of a Bandaged Heart
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.
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May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
To my sister Maureen
!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.
0
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
!WAKEY WAKEY! ( for Maureen )
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.
0
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
*HER
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
0
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
MAUREEN