"organizer" poems
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
it's the emptiness
it's the hatred that builds up in the creases of your
smile, of the laughter you hide your disgust with
it's the appointments you tear from your organizer
the holes in your stomach
the sunburn on your shoulders; the redness of your nose
it's your incurable phobias
your cut-up legs
your bleeding nose
your teary eyes
your itchy back
your raw skin
swollen lips
bare nails
unkept hair
ugly voice
tiredness
why the fuck'd you think spring would fix you?
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ****** i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a **** each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Right now
in your kitchen
on the bottom rack of the dishwasher
resides a secret;
a dark spot on your soul –
a malignant little horror
that threatens to destroy
your sense of self worth.
Maybe it’s a butter knife
with an in-congruent rust spot
on one side of the blade…
Maybe it’s a random salad fork,
the final piece remaining
from a long forgotten flatware set,
with a fossilized chunk of radicchio
lodged between the third and fourth tines.
Probably it’s the fork.
There it has sat
without being moved;
without being touched;
just existing as the metaphor that it is
for 8 straight wash cycles.
The result has never varied.
The dirt remains.
Soon will come a ninth wash cycle.
You hope that things will change.
You know that they will not.
Despite this unwavering conviction
that the fork will always be *****
the next time you run the cycle,
open the dishwasher door,
peer through the gauzy veil
of lemon scented fog
and see the small bit of filth
you will still feel disappointed.
You will grow a little bitterer.
You will be a little more contemptuous.
The world will be a deeper shade of gray.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
You can go
right now
into the kitchen
to the bottom rack of the dishwasher and
reach down
with a trembling hand
to grasp destiny.
You are bigger than this fork.
You are bigger than this fork.
You
are bigger
than this fork.
With a sense of control firmly clasped between your fingers
take that 15 uncomfortable seconds
to scrape away the debris with your thumbnail
and then be free.
BE FREE
Deep and resounding will be
the sigh of relief;
the utter completion;
the contentment absolute
that you experience
when you place that clean salad fork
back in the drawer.
It will never match
the new silver
that your In-Laws gave you last Christmas, but
at least it will be clean and
in its home
safely ensconced
in that wire organizer.
Right now
in your kitchen
on the bottom rack of the dishwasher
is a chance for redemption.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
Too thrilled by the case,
Sherlock just disappears,
To begin with a chase,
John is let alone,
To get a cab, and go to Baker St. .
But wait- wherever he goes,
The telephone booth starts ringing!
He waits for somebody to pick up,
And continues to walk;
The third booth starts ringing,
The caller must be desperate to talk.
A black, shiny car,
Pulls over for John to ride,
The destination seemed far,
In this conversation-less hour.
"Anthea", answered the accompanying secretary,
When asked her name,
Fake it was,
Absolutely.
The anxiety was over,
John was confronted by a well-dressed man,
Who offered him money, to spy,
The guy, who deduced Watson's army background,
By his tan.
The "arch-enemy" of Sherlock,
As he introduced himself,
Told John about his psychosomatic disorder,
"You are back in the game,
You don't fear danger,
You've missed this lifestyle."
True it was,
Pretty much,
"Could be dangerous", wrote Sherlock,
And there he was dashing into 221B.
Sherlock was quite disappointed,
When he got to know about the declination,
Of that tempting offer,
"Pity, we could've split the fee",
He suggested John for the next time.
Isn't Mr. Holmes quite irksome,
Calling John from the other end of London,
Just to send a text?
No, this was not an ordinary text,
An SMS was just sent,
By Mr. Watson's phone,
To the murderer.
The murderer?
But why?!
Elementary for SH.
Found the case within an hour,
Which was now in front him.
His mind, is truly above par!
One thing missing from the suitcase:
Her organizer, her phone.
"Nah, she's is a clever woman,
A serial adulterer,
Would never leave her phone at hotel",
This Holmes said, backed by balance of probability.
They waited at a restaurant,
And the wait was long,
But worth it.
Had to chase a taxi,
which was done successfully,
Thanks to Sherlock's excellent memory.
Hence proved it was,
The psychosomatic limb of Doctor.
A drugs bust had occurred at their place,
Seriously, this man, a deduction ****** would have drugs?
"I'm not a psychopath Anderson,
I'm a high functioning sociopath,
Do your research!"
Snapped Mr. Punchline.
Just a couple of minutes later,
This brilliant sleuth realized-
"Rachel! Yes, Rachel!
This woman in pink, Jennifer,
Is clever,
And she's dead!",
much to Mr. Holmes's displeasure.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
It is the Soldier, not the minister
Who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the Soldier, not the reporter
Who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the Soldier, not the poet
Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer
Who has given us freedom to protest.
It is the Soldier, not the lawyer
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the Soldier, not the politician
Who has given us the right to vote.
It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,
Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag,
Who allows the protester to burn the flag.
Charles Michael Province, U.S. Army, wrote the poem
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
We don't have to wait,
Halloween comes every day,
Shadow figures on their way,
The side show
The freak show
The funhouse across the bay,
We go there on purpose every day.
My light is kind of
fading I can see it
in the mirror
I can't quite see my way
to make it there today.
Your flashlights
in this funhouse Darkness
continues
to light the way,
for lost and wandering souls
as it has every day.
Humor
Grace
The soul whisperer
A lone long walker
The warrior spirit
A solo ocean swimmer
The darting eyed organizer
with the heart of gold
A stand-up comic
The old old sage
willing to fight it out
in the bleakness factory
every day.
As I make my way
to the exit sign
I can hear the five o'clock
screams
the lobby scene
cops dragging
a woman
screaming my name
I go anyway.
For those kind souls
left behind
as
the listener hums a tune
in his own mind
closes the door
one last time
with a sigh,
finally
has left it
all behind
saying
a
short prayer to the passing
of time,
for those who put their
love and compassion
on the line
in every way
every day.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
The ****** told it with drollness…I heard it like this:
The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise
Each brought three items for the Creep to sign
They love him—he is their passion, their hero
They love his genius and style
To them he is a breathing masterpiece
They praise the darkness that he brings into the atmosphere
And get high off his eerie aura
The Creep was tired but willing
His Organizer could see the stress shine off him and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice
Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting, his frown was turning to stone
“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he scribbled a child’s copy of his misery
“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer
“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him until he bleeds on my book!”
Every child in line heard this and a chorus of 5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my book!”
*** is what went through his Organizer’s mind
Creep’s jaw fell
She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to say—he was caught off guard
“They’re your fans,” she said
He spread blood on each of those kids’ three things
He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening each wound before cutting a new one
…The ****** told this story with pleasure and wit
The audience laughed, as if it were the ****** who had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
It's people like me who can rule the world,
just by knowing simple little things like Fear.
Fear is one of the main driving forces behind all of mankind's actions.
Fear eternal torment? **** up to "God."
Fear the unknown? Deny it or mock it.
Fear superiors? Make yourself the superior one.
Without fear we won't do anything,
with fear we can only get worse as a species;
We're really slowly moving towards constantly fearing everything;
Especially each other.
Along with things known like;
No humans are equal.
With differing talents, differing thoughts, differing opinions,
how can we claim to be the same?
The strong will enslave the weak,
humanity will revert to olden times,
with fear we deny yet again, though it matters not.
The only question is, who will be strong and who will bow down?
the basics of human nature will come back,
Dominant verses submissive mindsets,
manipulators verses manipulated,
corruption verses purity.
People like me don't have much to worry about;
People always naturally follow and listen to me, and if they don't;
I can be forceful.
I'm a master organizer and networker,
throwing together alliances, plans of revolution, takeover,
by the time the sun rises.
Differences are seen in how you train your people,
much like dogs at that point, with either fear or affection.
Affection and care yields listening and following,
kind cooperation and content with and for a likeable face and likeable words.
Ingrain fear, order, into them and reap the profits,
they'll listen because they have to, and won't revolt because they fear what would happen.
I wouldn't hurt 'em (usually),
I'm highly capable of doing damage;
It's important they know that.
Throw a demonstration of power, knowledge, in once and a while,
so they don't get used to me, and boom;
With all of this you have an overlord.
I don't think I'm a bad person though,
people like me are just human-smart.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
The suit in question
Is grey. Pin-striped white.
Double-breasted. Three piece.
Blue tie, grey hatching.
An absolute nightmare to change into.
I drop my jeans
In the monastery stall,
Shed my shoes.
Old friends.
The trousers, slacks,
Rise morning fog
And sleep in the stratus
Of my waist.
I really wonder how
The men of the then
Could have worn them.
So much taller.
So much grander.
So much straighter.
White shirt with
The butterfly tracks,
Make-up stains
From a billion ancestors.
Dead relatives that don’t
Respond to the call.
I take their places
Without a single
Crumb of guilt,
O feel the guilt.
The vest. Easy enough.
Yeast but grey and it
Rises horizontally.
I’ve just noticed pockets
Sewn into maddening teases.
The barest suggestion
Of an opening.
It holds like the bowl of the moon.
The coat. The great monarch.
Organizer with a clipboard
Ensuring the quality
Of a burlesque of silk.
So strange.
So other.
So queer.
In a minute or two, the
Hyperhydrosis.
It really is my only hope
Of describing my true temperature.
I will ignite in a biological
Soliloquy that can
Pronounce all those tricky
Thoughts I’ve given up
For the stage.
Gentle gravity,
Cruel crushing backhand.
Burst my complexion,
Steal my aqueous words.
Again, this suit.
How many Lomans,
Bankers, adjudicators,
Businessmen and Babbits
Have lived out their deaths
In you?
Brave rain cloud,
Where is your lining?
I feel the quip swelling
And project it to the back wall:
Only the costume knows true reincarnation.
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
First up, first out
Adventure.
Life in the street
Awareness.
Running in new Keds
Activity.
Today marbles and stickball
Organizer.
Here's how we will do it
Leadership.
Back for breakfast. Gulp.
Out to achieve.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
Fashion Week is coming to Brew City Thursday through Saturday, with 24 designers showcasing fashions ranging from athleisure to bridal and evening wear.
“Fashion is more than L.A. or New York,” said Deborah Reimer, the event’s primary organizer. “We’re not just about beer and cheese. Milwaukee has a lot of talent and the fashion industry is growing, and it is time that it gets seen in the public eye.”
Nightly fashion shows will feature eight designers each. About half of the designers are new to Milwaukee Fashion Week, while the rest are returning from the 2015 show. The designers range in experience, with students from Mount Mary and the Art Institute of Wisconsin participating. The shows draw designers from the Milwaukee, Chicago and Madison areas.
In its second year, the event moved to the Hyatt Regency Milwaukee in the hotel’s circular rooftop ballroom, Vue. Last year, fashion shows took place at three locations downtown. During intermission and at the end of the show, designers and models will interact with the audience, who will get a chance to look at the garments up close.
On Thursday, see Emily Ristow's unique everyday wear and Erin Aubrey's custom dyed, high fashion designs. The show includes men’s designers too. Allison Jarrett creates tailored looks for men and women.
Friday, check out Moda Muñeca for something with an edge. The line is designed by Chelsea Stotts, who was the RAWMilwaukee Fashion Designer of the Year. Jordan Weber's classic and elegant evening wear will also go down the runway.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/sexy-formal-dresses
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
there are two types of cancer.
there's the kind that's caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells; we call them malignant tumours.
and there's the kind that's boys born on july 9th - 5'11'', with expressionless brown eyes, and in desperate need of a haircut;
we call them malignant ********
i can't shave my head in preparation for everything he will ruin, and requesting time off to cope with the fact that i loved this person is not a valid option.
MRI scans won't show you what happened to my brain after he told me i made it hard to hate the world or what happened after he told me i was the worst person he met in it. they won't tell you what it looks like to be told you're loved, hated, and then not cared about at all.
side effects include:
mood swings, triggered by those who are as infuriating as they are infatuating
loss of sleep because he wants to rant to you about socioeconomic structures until 3 in the ******* morning
dissociation of time because it doesn't exist when you can make someone laugh and tell you about his favourite jewish children's book and why he doesn't like big dogs and that even though his family is full of jerks and idiots, he'd still do what was needed to support them.
more severe side effects include:
writing about him months after he's made it harder to breathe, but willing yourself to talk about it to a room full of strangers
being crippled by the fear he might stumble lost in manhattan again and find the cafe you are complaining about him onstage in
i want this to be a survival story and tell you that i do not have business cards for being a tragic event organizer who throws the best pity parties in town. i want to tell you that i had enough self respect not to call him when i got re-diagnosed, despite the fact that he once told me diseases like cancer exist to **** out little pests like me and because he was the only person who told me i was going to be fine, live longer than him maybe, and to stop talking like it was the end.
but that was really hard because there's two types of cancer, and he's the one that did a significantly much better job at making me feel like i was dying.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
there was a lot of people
in town to-day
as the markets are always
held on Sunday
towns folk were scurrying around
looking for this and that
Mr Johnson was lucky enough
to pick up a terry toweling hat
the lady who lives
at the end of Bowline Street
bought floral covers
to put on her kitchen seats
the local vicar and his wife
took home three black hens
they left at around
a quarter past ten
Mrs McLean the markets organizer
made scone and tea
she asked me to join her
under the elm trees
there were people at the market
I hadn't seen in a while
twas very nice
to catch a glimpse of their smiles
perfect weather prevailed
throughout the day
everyone had plenty
of money to array
the markets are a highlight
in our hamlet
we're looking forward
to the next one, you bet!
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Say it with your chest.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
There’s a lot of reasons
to say
No
to being in the streets.
Anxiety.
It’s a work day.
It’s dangerous.
What are you even doing there?
And you still go.
It feels more right
than being at your desk job
in a 80% white county.
So you make the drive.
You write numbers to call on your arm
tentatively,
hoping you don’t need them,
but it’s too late to turn back anyway.
Somehow this feels right.
And it’s hot.
The sweat is melting
the numbers off your arm.
And you’re hungry
because you didn’t eat lunch
and didn’t pack anything.
And your ex is here,
and you can deal with it,
but it’s still uncomfortable.
And you don’t know most people here
and there are so many white people,
and what are you doing here?
And in spite of everything
somehow this feels right.
You stand to the side.
Sometimes you can’t hear the speeches.
Sometimes you have to sit down.
Sometimes you lose track
of the friends you came with.
And there are
so many reasons not to be here.
But you’re here now
and you can’t turn back.
Say it with your chest
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
And you join the crowd to march.
You don’t know
where you’re going
but you’re going.
And as you march
at some point
it doesn’t matter
how many people are white,
because at some point
you feel it.
You don’t live here
but you feel it:
community.
And you are quiet,
recently wrote a whole article about it,
about how protests could never be your thing.
But then
you remember
what a black trans organizer said
before the march:
Say it with your chest.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
And then
you are shouting too.
You are weaving through cars,
you are sitting down in the streets,
and cars are honking in solidarity,
and workers raise their fists
from behind closed doors,
and anxiety melts away,
because this,
this is important.
And it is hot outside,
your feet hurt,
you haven’t eaten for hours,
you’re thirsty,
and there were so many reasons
to stay home.
But you showed up.
And eventually
the march ends,
and you learn
that the police didn’t know
what to do about all of you.
And your ex thinks
you’re flushed with panic
but it’s not panic,
it’s adrenaline.
And your friend
thanks you for showing up,
and tells you
that your trans life matters.
You are not black,
you are brown,
and this is not about you,
you’ve always known this,
but for once
you feel validated,
you feel community.
And will there be victory
in your life?
You don’t know.
But your friend is waving the trans flag
out the window
and you are going to Burger King
and making fun
of white people,
of the police who couldn’t keep up,
and it’s enough.
And this was not without risk,
but this feels right,
and anyway,
if there is no risk
there is no reward.
This day will be over,
but remember
today,
and every day:
Say it with your chest.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
Falen: You are kind, home-loving, hospitable and friendly. Since you take responsibility well, you are a good organizer of social affairs. Compassion for others is an outstanding trait. You are a great lover and a great flirt – an artist, musician, actor, teacher, nurse. Your character can be contradictory. You are practical, yet idealistic and intuitive; capable of selfless devotion to someone you love, yet look to receive payback.You are bold, independent, inquisitive and interested in research. You know what you want and why you want it.
You are always looking for an opportunity to achieve financial and emotional security. You are basically peacemaker. You understand the law of harmony and desire to balance your life with those around you. You may feel incomplete without someone to share your love, ideals, wealth or work. You can be very sensitive and could appear a bit shy and perceptive. You have developed intuition, patience and the ability to nurture others. You can achieve the state of happiness if you are willing to accept your needs in a complimentary relationship and go to create them.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
1) groovy dancing hippie shepherd of love
2) intrepid communist/anarchist revolutionary
3) wandering shaman/healer
4) african anointed of black liberation
5) messianic community-organizer
6) spokesmouth for free-market capitalism
7) stalwart working-class carpenter
8) cynic hellenistic philosopher
9) ascended master who studied with himalayan yogis
10) witty rabbi who sold out to rome
11) ****** rastaman babbling about ethiopia
12) refined orthodox prince on background of gold
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
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Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
(I was asked to be part of a four-person panel at a conference in Glasgow dedicated to the arts and mental health. The work of Leonard Cohen was explored in our panel of a journalist, a musician, a poet and a mental health /arts organizer, all sharing a deep fondness for Leonard and his music/lyrics/poetry. On my way home I wrote this poem about the panel experience:)
For an hour
four of us spoke of you
today
sharing views
how it was listening to
the music that you made
how you helped us
make it through
the darkness
of our days
You soundtracked lives
from Quebec
to Glasgow town
in the UK
the place from which
you ran away
to the dry
Aegean Hydra Isle
to meet the muse
named Marianne
whose beauty was unstained
whose mountain you would climb
to wash
your eyelids in the rain
We are not fans
though we would stand
for long days
to see your face
to hear your songs
special sounds sung
coming through
from you
so we could hear
through blessed ears
We are not fans
We are fortunate ones
Who have touched the philosopher’s stone
Sean Hunt April 20th 2017
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:27 AM UTC
momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught entrapment also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
child bearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the ****** appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Quick to St Rita’s cold creaking pews
where throats were blessed
No rainbow’s bones caught
but walking reverie punished
with Alocoque’s Sacre Coeur
smothers communards’ ashes
27 May 1871
Ate Pollux, forty francs for his trunk,
rats from 60 centimes
bread adulterated, catacombs’ milled
bone meal commons ate,
where Sacre Coeur
raised up Commune began
Eugene Varlin, bookbinder
union organizer shot twice
Twenty to thirty thousand died thus
De Goncourt observes
solution brutal but next revolution
deferred a generation
Here beginning returned to,
only memory can go forward.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Every family has at least
One visionary-
One missionary-
One womanizer-
One organizer -
One ********
One lazy ***
One bookworm-
One pretty woman -
One Angel-
One rebel.
Every family has at least
One gold-digger-
One beggar-
One *****
One witch-
One Singer-
One dancer-
One adventurer -
One lecturer.
Every family has at least
One family man-
One handyman-
One ********
One lazy ***
One soldier -
One hustler-
One good cook-
One smooth crook.
Every family has at least
One dangerous man-
One generous man-
One family head -
One **** head-
One smoker-
One joker-
One pastor-
One doctor
Or one writer!
©️IB-Poetry
2/24/2018
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC