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Michael DeVoe Jan 2010
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him.  Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this *****, you're a *******”
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
judy smith Sep 2015
Cheap fancy dress costumes are to be subject to spot checks by trading standards inspectors, to avoid a repeat of the fire that seriously injured the daughter of the television presenter Claudia Winkleman.

Ministers have ordered the nationwide crackdown as thousands more children’s outfits and accessories, some of which are aimed at babies and toddlers, go on sale online and in supermarkets in the runup to Halloween.

The costumes, ranging from witches’ outfits to skeleton onesies, selling as cheaply as £6 each, will be subjected to flammability tests to assess whether they are compliant with safety standards.

The crackdown follows Winkleman’s warning about fancy dress costumes when her daughter suffered serious burns as her outfit, bought from a supermarket, caught fire. Winkleman questioned why the outfits were treated as toys rather than clothing when it came to safety tests.

The business secretary, Sajid Javid, said: “My immediate concern as a father and a minister is that children wearing these fancy dress costumes are safe. It is unacceptable for any costumes to be sold that do not comply with safety standards. That’s why I’ve granted funding to trading standards to carry out spot checks as part of a nationwide investigation. Parents should feel confident that any fancy dress they buy meets required standards.”

His department said it was working with the British Standards Institute to assess whether the applicable European safety controls needed to be more tough. Trading standards is to report back to the business secretary with their findings later in the autumn.

Sales of fancy dress costumes for children have soared in recent years, prompted by cheap imports being available and children increasingly wanting to dress as their favourite characters from blockbuster films. Halloween outfits have become more popular in the UKowing to the influence of American films and sitcoms. Supermarkets report that 31 October accounts for significantly more consumer spending than Bonfire night.

The dangers of the outfits were exposed in November last year when Winkleman’s eight-year-old daughter, Matilda, suffered serious burns when her witch costume caught alight. The outfit – a hat, cape, striped tights and flowing skirt – bought at a supermarket, was ignited by a flame.

Winkleman, host of the BBC show Strictly Come Dancing, said on Thursday: “We’re extremely happy the government are taking action on this and we’re so grateful to the supermarkets who are selling safer costumes.”

Some retailers have agreed to go further than minimum standards, after a recent investigation launched by Winkleman with the BBC1 series Watchdog. Tesco, Aldi, Asda, Morrisons, and Sainsbury’s, all responded to the investigation by stating that their fancy dress outfits for children would meet the equivalent of the higher fire safety standards required for youngsters’ nightwear.

A spokesman for Sainsbury’s said: “We have looked at every detail of our children’s dress-up range in creating our new standard and believe that it will be industry leading. This has not been a simple task, but the safety of children is our number one priority and introducing more rigorous safety standards for our children’s dress-up is the right thing to do.

“All clothing carries some fire risk, but we hope that introducing our own rigorous testing standards that test clothes as clothes rather than as toys will be the first step towards safer testing across the industry.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Nicole Apr 2018
It's late April
The weather is more like fall though
Melting snow and dry foliage
Autumn reminds me of you

We celebrated Halloween together
Pumpkin farms and feeding goats
Themed parties that didn't go right
Streaming tears in your basement
And I knew exactly how to help you

Video games on cold nights in our onesies
You singing to me
Echoing across the practice room walls
Our song
It meant so much to you and I felt it too

Something changed when I fell in love
With someone else
I still loved you too though
You thought I had commitment issues
Maybe I do
Maybe I don't
I don't want to go there now

I still remember the good times we had
It hurts to think about them now
But whenever I'm in town
I hold my breathe because I'm scared to see you
I'm scared to look closer at our relationship
I panic when it smells like October
Because it reminds me of you
Of us
And I'm too scared to think about how that makes me feel
Innocent Aug 2014
Alarm ringing
Pitter patter of little feet
Orange juice, aroma of coffee, burnt toast and butter
Pigtails, sundresses, baseball cap and shorts

Children playing, water splashing
Scraped knees and band-aids
Smell of fresh cut grass and lavender
Warm summer breeze
Picnic lunches and napping in hammocks

Mothers calling, children running
Hot dogs and hamburgers
Corn on the cob, watermelon
In and out in a half hour

Tag, kick the can, hide and seek
Fire flies and mason jars  
S'mores,  camp fires, scary stories
Sunset, red sky at night.

Bubble bath and baby powder    
Onesies, quiet time
Bedtime reading and nightly prayers
Warm bed and sweet dreams
Matthew Truett May 2014
I wanna moonwalk upside down on a cloud. Do The impossible. Things that aren't physically allowed...
The unthinkable. The unachievable. Everything unbelievable.
Saturn stride on an asteroid belt.
Swim on the suns surface as long as I wouldn't melt & live to tell how good it felt.
Run a moon marathon.
Ride on top a mastodon.
Float on an angels wings & pluck on her harp strings.
Slay a dragon wearing chain male with a long sword & as the rain fell scoot away on a long board.
Walk on water & rise on sand.
Crumble to pieces & return to solid on command.
Perform all my own stunts.
Be a double dog dare devil.
Be everywhere at once.
Always be next level.
Quadruple backflips always landing upright. Catlike. I wonder what that's like?
Perfect.
Supreme.
Living in a dream.
Surfing on shooting stars.
Canoeing in Milky Way bars as we all snicker. Keep going. Rowing as the chocolate stream grows thicker. Graham ******* life jacket. Icing filled lifesaver ring marshmallow packet. Candy cane Twizzler string racket. Lemon, where's my head at?
Drop the ball. Been there done that.
Rabbit in a hat magician.
Endless scarf transition.
Habit forming tradition.
Senseless. Don't know where the end is. Nowhere. Everywhere.
We're all right here. Left of where you're standing. We're all falling. A different act of landing. Stalling. Waiting... Weightless. Comfortably relaxed. Anticipating the parallax. A soul eclipse. A solar wisp of her lips. Kissing. Puckered. What you've been missing. Feeling a bit like you've been suckered. Willingly overwhelmed. Reminiscing.
A play on words. Play on. Hug tight on the curves. The days gone. The night is forever. Sunshine's for the birds. Maybe it's twisted. Take the road not taken. The unvisited. The one not listed. Take advice. Take it again. Take it twice. Around the bend. Bound to press send. Copy & paste it. Don't waste it. Even if it's sloppy give a chance to taste it. It could be sweet. Sugar it soft. Repeat. It's worthy. No need to worry... What's the hurry? There is none. Visions blurry but it's still fun. Super funzies. Adulthood in onesies. Toddlers in slacks. Giant bottles of milk with twist off caps. Baby sized six packs. Reversed living. Invert your reality. Introvert personality.
Random thoughts thrown in a pile...
i just want to dance
in tie-dyed onesies
while drinking
whiskey
on a friday night.

i just want to laugh
and cry
and feel safe
wrapped
in your arms.

i just want to eat
all the pizza
and all the pastries
like tomorrow
doesn't matter.

i just want to run
through fields
of sunshine
and sunflowers
with you.
[...for ****]
Ken Pepiton Jan 2024
Many inputs say Mondays are common,
but one input says this Monday is uncommon.
We are to be the judge of that.

This is the Monday when you appear,
as reader dear, ready to reason with ghosts
amusing each other with wishes doing pirouettes
as angels may be imagined doing on pinheads,
spinning, or kicking in chorus line choreography.

The elderly nobody imagines the scene,
and makes it seem a vision, something seen,
after the finest sieve - pulling pin wires

snipping whimseys, making mites for widows.

------------ The Government's about to change,
wanna bet, whose got money on whom,

leave the room… vacate the judgment hall,
we are all here, to judge me, last call
all the outs are in, all the ins are intimate,

and we have made all the seed we could,
in word and deed, and we chose to leave
the edges un mowed, so critters can live,

when we can understand our own words
and read other languages using them,
these words are as living things imagined,

said and known, at once, in Housie or Hindi

whatsoever we can envision and project,
we may elect to try to do, or we may do
using words alone,
we think as one
mind,
so now we is I, we is not royal,
we is eloheemishical. Us big good being.


Watcher what of the night?

----------------------
Two geriatic puppets duke it out
for the FOOTBALL
News is all reruns.
Making war for pay,
money makes it work,
gotta love it, gotta love it.

Any reason for killing for,
gotta love it, real deal love it,

steal from the rich to become
richer, Lord knows, war's reason,

come now, let us reason together,
let us cogitate clarity of conscience,
with science standing in for knowledge,
the whole truth, once told, whole knowing

all things working together with reason,
for those in the blooming gnosis realms,

where augmented intelligence forms
teams of knowing hidden reconnectors,
citizen band geeks in the olden days
breaker, breaker, let the learned agree,

we lived just in time to see it all work.

In older olden days…
Messages were carried, at current
stretch of the imagination speed, by slaves…

Writing letters was…
different, I suppose, or
propose, positionally different,
sup and pro posals posed as statu'es,
forms of former founders of the orderly
clusters of human compliance called nodes,
junctions and interchanges, whither all roads lead.

Edu-pre-gogy-ology **** bang,
mechanical thinking in the subconscience science
used auto responsively,
finger aiming quick **** experience, wired below
the will, deep down to predator macrophage stage,
running id scans on the ego accepting wedom hero role.

The sole survivor, from ten thousand stories repeated
trillions of times by now, exoterror faces esoterror,

children led to mindless aliegiance to the flag,
and to the given republican form
of labor management,

had the heros of history
had my tools, perhaps sense had been made easy,

but this is the future, tense
I have, for a modest sum, any course of andragogy,
mankind mind leading, post child mind pedagogy,
- repeat not in vain taking my name, say true
- memory for song is long as all that

among canine species, we see breeds.
among human species, we see types, types for tasks,
intuitive doers of certain things magnificently, once

often, relatively, often
in the process of time, unique tasks.
Ever canonical, global and beyond, true wow
Onesies
Single mortal lifespan tasks, centered self aware tasks,
rockstar, base baller, foot baller, tackle, center, guard,

sergeant major, permanent noncommissioned officer,
loyal to the letter, let us assume, a military mind,
holds all response react ready reading inclination
to check for polisemy snuck in under humor heresy,

whose spirit is stirred up when fans are frenzied,

where do the emotions go, after the connection
to the whole aspect of prowess in team leadership
leaves the bubble of we the fans, become me,
alone and unwilling to ever cry wolf again…
-que sera sera
my side won, my times done
being, as a man with no real job,

they pay me for surviving crazy,
that's how this magic pen is driven.

Of course, in the course of human events,
this stage of peace enough and time enough,
shelter enough and sustenance enough,

centering, any whole self requires more knowledge
than had been made plain using words
in agreemental treaty
form, easily entreated,
as wisdoms are,
so you know what the adverse position is, and why
or why not, good or no good, workable or not,
doable or not, whatsover we agree,

as touching anything,
in all the sense ever fit
to touch, the initiates recognosis
sense the essential lies all being judged
in your heart,
gentlest touch, truly superlative softest

Public heart, common stander at the anthem, hoo yah
rah and all, good citizen soldier ever ready, to imagine

your part in the billions of parts is perfect
for one task, Life given, your one deed,
who says? Fate from the exoterica available to boys,
and girls who seem allowed to mind wander, some how

reading children, book reading children, in homes with
gigabit wifi and
dads and moms and
grand parents who lived
through historical moments.
  
Selah, long breathers, long now,
times proof recollections written
on the tables of my prayer's heart,
I prayed for one of the kind that works
instant in prayer, ask and eventually, find.

The process of time, see, seems invisible.
Perfect, facere specifically just right to be you,
dude, man, joker, street wise desert gawker, you

lucky, you live in a world where words are animated,
via actual Starlinking thinking come to pass
in proces of time since I was
preschool, a kid, child from the escaped goat clan,
mindshapers begin at the ******, confusion,
is common enough for first borns, nobody knew,
really, you can imagine, the cravings,
but confusion is not disconnection,
and no disconnect to knowledge
becomes immortal hell zones.

oh, my god, why, and
then, an elderly man with mottled skin,
sun squint wrinkles around slit smiling eyes,
bemusing the unbeguiled
amused at his appearance, a'knowledges knowing

With a re-coknowing Nod, to the east,
we are so far from where stories start forming leaven,
we merely imagine many long unthinkable things,
habits lost in ritual performance, character act-or,

no need to change a thing, that guy, that person,
that could be me, I have done that same dumb thing,
or watched it done while doing nothing
time and again, get lost in genre and find myself
wondering in wonder land
wonder woman world  of my own
imaging, imagining
living words between us, intimate, most in, inest most
crowd of witnesses,
reading right minds left letters better left than right read
clunk chunk
encoded news from the superlative zone, grand canyons
filled with technical debris and useless superlatives
clicks from children who know what discern means
are subsiding,
slipping under the wave,
trending sense first your worth,
before you accept a bid for your attention,
if you know this line of reasoning, having been
this far
before, as a thought, forethought
-breathe knowing now more than ever
knowledge inside intimates attain
to thorough patient word
redemption and restoration to full
polisemy parallel -all el, par excellence, a we
awe
form. Wind shapes form of spirits, tried, true.

Mind thing first reading each letter,
finding the evolved pen much to my liking,
fluid forms meander, and sigh, and sometime,
puddle to ponder surface reflections,
seeing some wishing for simple,
while we all know we are a ways after simple

this is sub-limity. Lowest ever so far. Look around
nothing needs to be secret at the bottom of it all.
If you don't like the style, I understand, some people come with clipped attention spans, gotta love em.
John F McCullagh Jan 2015
At Eighteen degrees with a wind chill of three,
Beneath several blankets is where you’ll find me!
With a scotch on my nightstand (to ward off the chill)
Old Man Winter can blow but he’ll do me no ill.
When the forecast is lousy and grey snow clouds threaten
My lamb’s wool lined comforter I won’t be forgetting.
In my all flannel onesies (with the flap in the rear)
I’m sure I can hold out until Spring is near.
I would like to cuddle a beautiful bub and a beautiful Bub if that
Very cute and he smiles at me
Yes that sounds real cool
Yes he smiles real cute
Babies are cute oh yeah
I say cute adorable bub
You see when they grow up
They do a lot of things
Like drama and choirs and playing sport
But right now yeah now
They are beautiful bubs
And very very sweet
Yeah babies are cute
Wearing their little onesies
And nappies full of ****
And they cry out happy sounds
And you say don’t be sad little bub the world isn’t too bad
And then little bub cries and cries very happy sounds
But sometimes you can’t tell how happy they are
Don’t cry baby
Don’t lose your head
I do love you from the feet to your head
If you keep crying I will put
You to bed cute little bub
It was Morley’s idea, originally.

Well—technically—it was her idea. She was the one who suggested it. She’d read about the pumpkin festival in The Neighbourhood Weekly, which Dave always said was less journalism and more passive-aggressive scrapbooking. There was a coupon for kettle corn and a blurry photo of last year’s pumpkin queen.

“They’ve got a corn maze,” she said, circling the date on the fridge calendar with the kind of enthusiasm she usually reserved for yoga passes or tax rebates. “And there’s a trebuchet!”

That was the moment Dave perked up.
“A trebuchet?”
“A pumpkin trebuchet,” said Morley.
Dave’s eyebrows shot up like they were trying to escape his forehead. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

You see, Dave had a theory. He believed that nothing—nothing—bonded a father and son more than launching something across a field using medieval warfare technology.
“Other than blowing things up, shooting things, or fishing,” he said.
Sam, his teenage son, didn’t look up from his phone, but nodded just enough to endorse the theory.

So the plan was made. Saturday. The whole family. The pumpkin festival.

Now, Dave has a history with autumn.
More specifically, he has a history with pumpkin-related injuries.
There was the Great Carving Debacle of 2003, when he tried to recreate the face of Elvis on a jack-o'-lantern using only a melon baller and a paring knife. That one ended with four stitches and a pumpkin that looked like it had seen things it could never unsee.

Then there was the incident with the gourd bongos. But we don’t talk about that.

So when Dave said, “Let’s carve a family pumpkin this year!”
Morley, already tying her scarf, just said, “Only if we carve it after we visit the emergency room, and save us the trip.”

But Dave was in full-on Dad Mode.
This was about tradition. About memories. About picking out the perfect pumpkin together.
You know—the big orange beacon that says: this family has it together.

When they arrived at the festival, the smell of roasted corn and wet hay was thick in the air. Children were running around in dinosaur onesies. A man on stilts was juggling squash. There was a booth selling artisanal cider that tasted suspiciously like Tang.

They made it to the corn maze first. Morley squinted at the map nailed to the fence.
“Dave,” she said, handing him a copy, “remember last time?”
“I only got mildly lost,” said Dave.
“You were found by a Girl Guide troop from Sudbury,” said Morley.
“They gave me cookies,” said Dave.
“They took pity on you,” said Morley.

It was agreed that Sam would go with Dave this time.
“You’re our tracker,” said Morley.
“Cool,” said Sam, not looking up.

They disappeared into the stalks.
Twenty minutes later, Sam emerged with a caramel apple and no Dave.

They found him forty-five minutes later, arguing with a scarecrow and trying to get GPS on his phone.

Eventually, they made their way to the pumpkin trebuchet.
It was run by a man named Doug who wore a welding mask and had one thumb too few.
“Safety first!” he bellowed, before pulling the lever and launching a pumpkin clear over a cornfield.
Dave’s eyes gleamed.
“Sam,” he whispered. “This. Is. Living.”

Somehow, Dave convinced Doug to let him load one in himself.
Morley, sensing doom, had already begun rifling through her purse for the insurance card.

Dave lifted a particularly large pumpkin—he said heft matters—and, with a theatrical flourish, placed it in the sling.
He pulled the release cord.
Nothing happened.

He gave it a tug.
Still nothing.
So he gave it what he called “a proper man’s yank,”
And the arm whipped forward with a medieval vengeance.

The pumpkin flew.
So did Dave’s hat.
The trebuchet did a sort of ancient, wooden backflip.
The pumpkin, instead of soaring majestically across the sky, hit the axle and exploded like an orange grenade.

Morley later described the result as “like standing beside a Jackson ******* painting made of pie filling.”

Dave wiped pulp off his glasses.
“Well,” he said, “that one’s a write-off.”

They left shortly after that.
Sam with a new appreciation for physics.
Morley with half a sleeve of emergency wet wipes.
And Dave—with a mild concussion and a bag of frozen corn on his head—declaring,
“Next year, we build our own trebuchet.
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
They're laying their hands on
Two of everything;
A and B have my mother's chin,
I've seen the pictures,
Though they're still in.
Two bassinets and blankies,
Strollers and onesies,.
Cots, cradles and potties.
And let's not forget *******.
Surely both will be put to the test.
Perhaps alternating could garner some rest.
Those peanuts at present share one shell,
And the bump... well, you should see the swell.
Soon they'll gather and cut the ribbon,
There'll be crying and laughing
At The Grand Opening.
Twin girls on the way. Thought a little humor was needed.
Arielle Apr 30
Had a dream about her

apartment

“We’re taking back what’s ours”

A bunch of people gather for a sporting event in the frigid snowy weather, nameless white ones

Mom and brother leave me
and a mountain of snow next to the door I must squeeze past
My umbrella I’m carrying lifts me off the ground slightly
My leg is badly grazed by the hard ice
somehow even putting a hole through my denim jeans.

I wake up and sob and weep for Jolly Ranchers in a dish, red couches with plastic coverings, onesies with foot coverings, gigantic coloring pages, the pink toy piano and the box tv in my room…

and how someone nameless probably now lives where that woman called home. Someone who’s worthless to me.

But I wonder if this is her way of making sure she stays in my mind

as if she’s manipulating me from heaven

And it’s okay, Grandma, the rent in my head’s in your munchkin’s name.
Dedicated to Dorothy Harper
So… you’re having a baby? Oh heavens, oh dear!
Prepare for the chaos, the diapers, the cheer!
There’ll be giggles and burping and onesies galore,
And toys you will trip on from bedroom to floor.

You’ll learn to survive without sleep (more or less),
You’ll Google strange rashes and babyproof stress.
You’ll master the swaddle, the bottle, the “shhh,”
While whispering prayers during midnight **** squish.

Your fridge will be filled with things puréed and bland,
And “me time” now means wiping spit off your hand.
Romance might be “Did you wash the pump parts?”
And “date night” is counting your baby’s heart farts.

But through all the madness, the bottles and binkies,
The strollers, the coos, and the blowouts in pinkies.
One thing stays true as the months pass you by:
Your village is here. (Yes. We mean us… hi.)

We’ll show up with casseroles, wipes, and advice,
(Some helpful, some weird, and some… not so nice).
We’ll offer to babysit—yes, even at two!
(Okay, maybe three. But we’ll show up. For you.)

You might roll your eyes, wish we’d give you some space,
But we’ll still be lurking with gifts and a face~
The face that says “Please… just one cuddle, I beg.”
We don’t need much. Just a sniff of a leg.

So Alden, dear Kevin, from now till you’re grey,
We’re here every tantrum, each night, every day.
You’ve got this! But when you feel tired or small.
Don’t forget: You’re not doing this solo at all.

We’ll be right beside you, and yes, slightly pushy,
With pockets of tissues and cheeks that are cushy.
We’re family, we’re loud, and we love you like crazy~
And honestly? We just want to hold that baby.
My niece is happily pregnant.

— The End —