"paula" poems
It had been one of those enervating days,
when officialdom and red tape paperwork
had ****** the yolk and marrow leaving only
a dullness that yawed the ghost ship of her frame.
She decided not to cook, as much as
payback for her ordeal by proper channels.
And so to the "Toilet Bar", cafe of choice
for malicious villagers, though rarely women.
The men folk hardly stared upon her entrance,
by now they knew those leopard skin boots,
that packed a wallop they grudgingly took
stock of, then returned to their cheese and wine.
This was her quarter of salt cod with cream,
prepared by owner Paula and daughter Carolina,
the only other women tolerated amongst the chairs,
that smelled of tar and testosterone.
Lacking collars three tumbled to the stony street,
drunken mechanic, one armed plumber, peg-legged sailor,
the kerfuffle amusing her, their wicked aunt.
Another Lagoan night that shimmered out to sea.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Liberal affirmative action!
Bill Clinton responds with the bananas of racist market economies.
Paula Jones holds meetings on the trade embargos of Republican controversies.
Thus Newt Gingrich has affairs with voluptuous filibusters!
Congress serves subpoenas to socialist health care.
Knowest thou how the Justice Department debates with Social Security's agony?
The Religious Right wants to impeach poodle ecstasy,
But it's known that Rush Limbaugh spews forth fundamentalist tax cuts.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Paula is digging and shaping the loam of a salvia,
Scarlet Chinese talker of summer.
Two petals of crabapple blossom blow fallen in Paula's
hair,
And fluff of white from a cottonwood.
2.1k
the ladies oh the ladies louder now
celebrate christmas with a almighty roul
you see christmas is the time of the year where we party right
like drinking alcohol and get ****** yeah that is quite great
you see kids see Santa and ask them what would they like
and the ladies buy the men a cordless drill
as well as the men giving a ladies a big diamond ring
yeah we will party with the song
we wish you a jetty christams we wish you a merry christmas
and a happy new year
christmas is the time of year to Party party party
and you get some eggnog and say come on ya ****** smarty
oh dudes we will lift up our glassed and sing
to the christ child the nirvanaly king
you see christmas is the happiest time
for a happy dude like me, to enjoy life too
silent night holy night all is calm all is bright
round yon ****** mother and child
once in royal davids city the party is on for young and old
as santa goes a travelling through the computer
giving presents to everyone there
and then on the first day of christmas my truelove gave to me
a dollar so i buy a homeless man his tea
if that isn’t enough, how about just leave it in his hat
so he could add it up and buy many more dinners from all the money he raised
away in a manger no crib for a bed
the little lord buddha laid down his sweet head
he would wake up and say, i control the 3 kings of orient are
i bare gifts as i travel afar
i am dreaming of a white christmas, well stop cause in Australia it’s too **** hot
for it’s the summer weather, the bbqs are lit together
as we are a walking around singing a song living in a summer wonderland
on the beach we can build a sandcastle and bury poor old patrick in the sand
and then he will jump and SHUT UP, why don’t you give your family a ****** woman a ****** hand
then we jump in the saddle nice and quick all in there with good saint nick
Feliz Navidad i want to wish a merry Christmas
i wish you a merry christmas form the bottom of my heart, i lost when my friends treat me like a criminal
six white boomers six white boomers racing good old Patrick through the blazing sun
then Patrick sent to santa what about the toys
aren’t you giving these to all the boys and girls
or are you saying that boys are better than girls like a cool kid that you are
a pair of hoppalong boots and pistol that shoots,is a gift for Patrick and Wayne
dolls that will talk and go for a walk a grift from Joanne and Paula
now dudes as i am prepared to party on dude till the break of dawn
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
based on the painting “Loving Bewick” by Paula Rego
He would feed me sardines perched above me
every night before we ****** in the big white lighthouse
I never bled more than I did that summer;
his beak digging into my back as I pulled handfuls
of feathers – but I loved the thrashing of his wings
and the uneven wood beneath my arched back.
He covered me when
we finished and I could smell the oceans he had swam
over on his neck. In the morning, he would open his gull and I
climbed inside as he flew me back to the city.
He would never let me sit atop his back to see
the flush of green or the meeting of mountains. Only inside
his mouth did I belong. I wished more than anything to be
a sardine – to be dangled above others, to have their adoration
proved to me before I slid between their teeth forever.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
They let out their runners
Here where summer says to the lilies:
"Wish and be wistful,
Circle this wind-hunted, wind-sung water."
Come along always, come along now.
You for me, kiss me, pull me by the ear.
Push me along with the wind push.
Sing like the whinnying wind.
Sing like the hustling obstreperous wind.
Have you ever seen deeper purple ...
this in my wild wind fingers?
Could you have more fun with a pony or a goat?
Have you seen such flicking heels before,
Silver jig heels on the purple sky rim?
Come along always, come along now.
1.7k
If drinking were a sport.
I think Id take the gold.
Even without your support.
But if it there were such a whiskey laced dream.
I think id have to start my own drinking team.
You know in wine.
We could clean house.
With Baths everytime.
For the wild turkey relay yours truley Gary and Jack
would hold it down.
Make the whole team hello including Elliot frown.
Chris can drink his weight in Guinness.
and so easily win us a god medal for sure.
Who need rehab were in trainning no problem to cure.
All the rest of the HP family will hang there head in
shame.
Cause when it cause when it comes to beer pong
weve never lost a single game.
Thank God for Paula. and Kerry cause sombobodys
gotta stay sober to remember the story.
And we always got Golden to write about are glory.
And amoungst are group Danny is the youngest in
are humble dive.
Even if he doesnt have a license .
Id rather let him than my drunk *** drive.
In the showcase are medals shall gleam.
Do you think your liver could handle.
Being part ofthe pubs drinking team
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:50 PM UTC
If Rex Ryan got the nod
and was cast as Cindy’s prince.
The play would run much longer
than it had before or since.
When the royal decree went out
To the maidens of the land
To display their pedicures
Rex would be close at hand.
He would visit every maiden
and some hottie matrons too.
Caressing Paula’s bunions
And sniffing Jennie’s shoe..
And when he got to Cindy’s shack,
He’d take her feet in hand
And ease the pain she suffered
last night dancing with a ham.
“You have such pretty little feet,
I really hope its you.
Alas, I have no way to check,
as I forgot the shoe.”
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
NOTHING else in this song-only your face.
Nothing else here-only your drinking, night-gray eyes.
The pier runs into the lake straight as a rifle barrel.
I stand on the pier and sing how I know you mornings.
It is not your eyes, your face, I remember.
It is not your dancing, race-horse feet.
It is something else I remember you for on the pier mornings.
Your hands are sweeter than nut-brown bread when you touch me.
Your shoulder brushes my arm-a south-west wind crosses the pier.
I forget your hands and your shoulder and I say again:
Nothing else in this song-only your face.
Nothing else here-only your drinking, night-gray eyes.
1.4k
Sweet rejection a simple pinch and slap in the face.
Drunken splendor and a ***** floor.
Some woman I dont care to know why do I always
find myself in this ****** up place.
Puff Puff Pass.
Wild Turkey loud music im such a happy sleeze
with not a hint of class.
Lean of over the bar my dear you fill my thought's and i your glass.
I walked when I was ten.
Runaway in New Orleans dont belive I could do that one again
Two packs a day and a shakey hand.
Midnight drives strippers in arm bar's
with floor's of sand.
Im not ment for long but sugar im here now.
Drinkin till I die fields of my past been burried
long ago under plow.
Dance in happiness die without regret.
My friends names tattoo my thoughts.
Richard ,Rach,Baths,Lily,Paula how can I ever forget.
******* up perfection is I.
A perfect losser who could care less.
How could you ever shed a tear when I die?
Rearview babydoll backseat queen.
Stay crazy in this cold place.
Skeeter do you still dream in your beauty so tormented
and obscene.
Where all perfect for are flaws.
Barstool will be forever empty.
Im tried but always eager to fall down for a
half naked body or a fellow lunatics cause.
Gonzo do ya know how they see ya outside thoose glasses
so dark.
The partys jester spirt of a eternal teen.
Empty cans hold court by the lake of lovers lane
where still they park.
Richard a bottle and friendship forever i'll share.
Insane is a buddy but never worry.
Cause even a falldown drunk does care.
So sad is the fading light bitter the moment.
But perfect isthe ****** up song though.
Kids dont let em break ya you stay crazy.
And I'll forever be Gonzo.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
Paula kissed.
Paula kissed her.
Paula kissed her hard on the lips.
Paula kissed her hard on the lips, parted and pink.
Paula kissed her hard on the lips, parted and pink between her soft thighs.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
*i remember january 2, 2015 like it was yesterday.
i remember waking up at 9:14 am with my cousin.
i remember my brother coming in my room to tell us my nonni was dead.
i remember yelling at him, like it was his fault or something.
i remember being angry.
i remember not knowing when i'd smile again.
i remember not being able to breathe.
i remember my mom coming home for the first time in five days.
i remember going through photos for the funeral.
i remember pulling out the black dress she always loved on me.
i remember three days later, seeing my nonni, so still, still beautiful.
i remember my friends and family hugging me.
i remember being numb.
i remember crying so much, i couldn't even read the eulogy i wrote.
i remember my uncle singing "you raise me up" for her.
i remember january 6th, her funeral.
i remember slipping that black dress on.
i remember being there.
i remember people talking.
i remember a priest.
i remember maria squeezing my arm.
i remember paula reading a Bible verse.
i remember my mom holding me as my body shook.
i remember wailing as everyone took communion.
i remember not being able to stand.
i remember my friends and family trying to hug me.
i remember them carrying her out.
i remember taking a rose off her casket.
i remember holding that rose so tight, that the thorns cut my skin.
i remember remembering everything my nonni ever did or said.
i remember not thinking i'd ever get through this.
i remember screaming.
i remember trying to hide the pain.
i remember being broken.
i remember not being able to breathe.
i remember hurting.
i remember everything.
i remember her.*
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
Last night I came onto the hellopoetry site to try to drown out my mom's death rattle in some good poetry. Quite a few people, good decent people who have gathered around me and supported me during this agonizing time and one of those sweet Poets was being verbally and mentally attacked by
LOGHAIN CARV'O
His criticisms were malicious and very hurtful and his taunting her was more than I could bare for a friend. She related the conversation to me and she was really upset. She told me what he said verbatim' It was way uncalled for. And she is not the only one he is doing this to. He's being offensive to the extreme.Calling her a peasant and telling her she couldn't write. And I'll probably catch all kinds of hell for doing it but I paid a "VISIT" to his site and left this comment and I Quote
"Stop picking on ---------You call this a poem. You have some nerve telling her she can't write and you write crap like this. Well 1 out of 82 reads isn't so hot is it. Come on and kick me a few times. I should be easy pickings for you. I dare you ******
Well he responded with and I quote
"It is obvious you do not have artistic vision like I, that or you did not read my poems and just came here in a petty attempt to demoralize I in retaliation to the criticisms I have revealed to most peoples "poetry" I wish to waste no more breath on my lessers. Just remember I when you see my talent spread out across the world. Remember how you showed the Greatest, most renowned and revered artist no support" End Quote.
Loghain carv'o also stated that "The community on this site is rather poor"
He also stated
"This site isn't exactly known for it's Grand Community"
So now I know he doesn't even mind kicking some one who is already down. and i for one would like to know since he doesn't like this site or the Real Poets why stay? If he doesn't like the"GRAND COMMUNITY" why the hell he's still here. If he doesn't like us "lessers' why be among us.
And I didn't even tell you the most malicious comments.
When some one attacks a friend I will respond. That's what friends do.
And Loghain carv'o is proving to be no ones friend. And his
GOD COMPLEX is offensive!
I SERVE ONE GOD ONLY AND IT IS NOT Loghain carv'o!!!
I only have one thing to say to Loghain carv'o and that is and I quote again
My visit to hellopoetry last night to get away for a moment from listening to my mothers death rattle, to read a few poems and find a little Peace for a few moments was ruined by you and your offensive attitude and comments and since i'm already in a living hell right nowI can find you some room here so come enjoy hell with me. Oh but I almost forgot you don't want to consort with us "lessers"
THE MIGHTY SURE DO HAVE A LONG WAY TO FALL LOGHAIN
YOURS SINCERELY
Paula
This is for you friend love Paula
You can dish it out but you sure can't take it!
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
181 to 200 of 3251 Poets
«891011»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by
Joelle Biele
To Katharine: At Fourteen Months
Veronica Patterson
Marry Me
Rick Campbell
Heart
Mary-Sherman Willis
The Laughter of Women
Sharmila Voorakkara
For the Tattooed Man
Max Mendelsohn
Ode to Marbles
Jonathan Holden
Car Showroom
David Tucker
The Dancer
Today’s News
Marianne Boruch (b. 1950)
It includes the butterfly and the rat, the ****
Some dreamily smoke cigarettes, some track
Trish Dugger
Spare Parts
Carrie Shipers
Medical History
Love Poem for Ted Neeley In Jesus Christ Superstar
Steven Huff
Safe
Lee McCarthy
Santa Paula
William Kloefkorn
"I stand alone at the foot "
Jackson Wheeler
How Good Fortune Surprises Us
Steven Orlen (1942–2010)
Three Teenage Girls: 1956
In the House of the Voice of Maria Callas
Steven Schneider
Chanukah Lights Tonight
Jessy Randall
Superhero Pregnant Woman
Anne Pierson Wiese (b. 1964)
Inscrutable Twist
Columbus Park
Regina DeSalva
Snip Your Hair
«891011»
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Laughing mans gotta run.
Feels it.
Kicks up his spine - It used to only crawl.
Shake a little cold from the bones.
Never hadda run before. Oh well,
Always knew it was coming.
Boot to dirt,
to leaf,
to twig.
Came down from Hollywood. Laughing man never shined.
Never, not once. Felt it there too. Always feels it.
''God ****
God ****
God damn'', Always.
Didn't run from the city of angels.
Walked a stint though.
Taught a man some spanish for a ride through Arizona.
"Knowin a little Mexican can keep your nuts dry''
Laughing man laughs at his own jokes,
laughs at everything.
Sky is grey and spitting a little bit.
How many more steps ol' Laughing man have?
Keeps on running.
Saw a paper in some town a while back.
That first ones face was on the front,
Then a bunch of words - how many pieces there were.
Laughing man laughs at this.
Remembers asking, "Whats it feel like?"
Thinks her lovely and tucks that one away.
Boot to asphalt,
to mud.
Here's a trick - said to tree.
"Always put on a face,
People like faces." Laughing man Laughs, shivering.
Gotta get running. Surely they've found more by now.
Two and three were no doubt a mess.
Bad memories. Shake 'em, duck 'em.
****
****
**** Laughing man angers.
Gotta get running.
Wake up achy muscles.
Paula drove to the beach.
Never been before - Laughing man thrilled.
She laughed almost as much.
Shakes a little - cold, hunger, maybe lament?
Thought she'd stay around.
Ol' Paula fails to make the return trip.
Laughing man laughs and accelerates.
Shiny new car.
No car now.
Times done its thing, always does
Feet to the grass,
to the gravel,
to water.
Wretched waters to nurse wounds.
Laughing man drinks, awakened - thanks the icy liquid..
Never hadda build a fire before.
"Instinct my dear." - Laughing to smoldering tender
"Evolution my dear." - Laughing to roasting meat,
to crimson stained steel.
Gotta get running.
"She wont turn up but she might"
and
"Ok, might've left her teeth in the sink."
Feels 'em breathing down the neck.
Into the lake, water stinging skin.
Laughing man paddles.
Mindless.
Throbbing, heavy breathing.
Feet to nothing,
to thrashing.
"Help me out here ya gorgeous ****** Laughing to the moon.
Exhale,
inhale,
float, nose to sky.
Calm, gives a shake to number seven.
Remembers fourteens eyes.
Cold and grey.
Looks to the moon.
Winks back and gives driftwood a chuckle.
Laughing man does his thing, then the water does its.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
Paula is the pushover,
She always says, “Yes”,
But to my very opinion,
She’s a ***** little mess.
Simon is the insulting one,
Who always thinks he’s right,
He’ll argue with the judges,
And will always start a fight.
Randy is the growlin’ one,
He will always give an ace,
But sometimes ya gotta give people,
A little more space,
Uh!
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
expectant eyes turn skyward
to a faint familiar sound
the falling snow hypnotizes
as I breathe in it’s cleanness
the calmness in me begins to grow
on my cheeks a cold blushing glow
as delicate feather soft flakes smile
and sweetly kiss my lashes and face
lace upon lace builds a quilt of ice
weaving a blanket of fresh fallen white
standing still, I listen so intently
to the quiet hush of snow falling gently
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
I want to let you all know how appreciated you all are. Your kind comments and encouragment keep my pen flowing.
Poetry for me started as a way to fill free time while recovering from major back surgery 3 years ago.
It quickly turned into the healing balm itself.
I have been diagnosed with severe depression. Post traumatic stress etc.
Poetry is my outlet for stress and anxiety. Perhaps that explains my prolific sessions and then my dry spells.
I wish I had the inner fortitude to comment as I would like to all of your amazing poetry.
Perhaps in time, as the healing process continues, I will feel free to open up privately to each of you as I would like.
Each time I write a comment, it is with many second guessing and editing. Wondering if I am hurting, judging or unententionally causing the author pain. So know that the comments I give a genuine and heartfelt. Not just a quick flip of the keys.
As I write this letter to you all, I am fighting the strong need to delete and shut down. But I must push past the block. This is a start.
Please know that I do read them all. They have made me feel close to my unseen friends and poetic family.
Thank you for being here and offering me a glimpse into your hearts and souls. I have been pleasently rewarded.
Paula Swanson
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 5:09 PM UTC
a quick word for paula lee
and pamela rae
members of
the ditzy is as ditzy does club
may i join you ladies fair
my applicatory action
took place this morning
while labouring under distraction
i washed my husbands(a chippie) workwear
with cat's chicken flavoured kibble
it is now out drying on the line
with a row of cat's divine
staring at the brown streaked
grime in nose wrinkling adoration.
so ladies i think i made the cut
and can become a fully fledg-ed
member of this club refined
of absent mindedness defined....
(i plead pmt ...
intelligence in, sharp decline)
what say you..
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
I think S.C.A.D. is the Elixir
of education, yet, I’m only
the gardener, but despite,
that, I have been learning.
Knowledge is shared,
creativity is coaxed
genius is gratified.
I am not merely
horticultured,
I am now the
Green Fingered
Irish Scad A Various.
Permit me to take a
bow.
For President Paula Wallace
Savannah College of Art and design.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
By Paula Lee and Sverre G. Holter
*Today I grieve for a love gone,
No reason why, No goodbyes....
Now here I stand on the precipice,
Alone,
Confused,
Tears in my eyes,
Why?*
I find I lay my hand on
My own heartside.
You did that once, I remember;
I slept so silently
You had to
Check.
Tears in my eyes.
I know why.
*I would give all I own
To feel your love once more,
To hold in my hands, your gift,
The heart I have always adored
On bended knees,
Longing,
Begging!
Tears in my eyes,
Why?*
I wish I could tell you why,
But The Question is my lover;
The Answer, my ex.
There's an absence the size and
Shape of a heart by your side.
I hear hands gone knocking on
Doors that never closed; the
Sound of love against
Love.
*You have left me, with no hope,
No heart to hold, no love to share,
You had my heart, so full and pure
Giving yours away to an ex, not there!
You pushed me over the edge
I lay broken at the bottom,
Tears in my eyes...
No More!*
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Christmas morning
and we got drunk on $3 red wine
given to me
entirely for free
from the creepy guy
who sits downstairs
with absolutely nothing on
underneath his trenchcoat
it was ******* freezing outside,
and I cried just a little bit
when you told me
we were out of butter.
With no bra
and a pair of XL red sweatpants
I went to the bodega on the corner
where the old man with too many fingers
never gives me the right change.
And that day I cried in my room
over what Christmas had become for me
and now I cry for that ****** apartment
four blocks from the G train
in the middle of Brooklyn, New York
and the fridge that never had
what we were looking for.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
As the crew cheers on my death
I'm thrown out to sea
While having an achor tied to my feet
Falling into the depths
Losing each breath
As I swallow the sea
Lifelessly closing my eyes
A recurrence
Flash in front of me
Days before sailing away
Another heart beat strikes
To the lovely Paula Etta
She was married with kids
Our lusting last till dusk
Spoiled by the appearance of her husband
Words were hardly any
Violence was preventable
To plead my innocence
Judgement was merciless
Sinking underneath the ocean
As I arrange
A burial of plunder
By fools who discovered me
Jan 22, 2010
Jan 22, 2010 at 5:29 AM UTC
Camping out in Craig's garden,
four of us, thirteen or so,
and the daftness has given way
to important, dark-time talk.
Craig alone has a girlfriend, Paula -
he is a pioneer, entitled to ask,
"Fa dae you fancy, then?"
Inevitable question, social minefield
Answer, "No-one!" and you're a ****
Give the wrong name,
and risk an eternity of slagging.
Tell the truth, and she might find out.
I go first: I have spotted a safe option.
"Ehm, I fancy Paula," I say,
and it's sort of true - she is a girl,
after all.
Chris goes next:
"Aye, I fancy Paula too."
"Me too," says Jimmy,
and we're all agreed.
We all fancy Paula.
We all fancy Craig's girlfriend,
and that's absolutely fine -
Craig seems satisfied.
And since none of us
has ever acted on such feelings:
since emotion does not yet imply intent
since there is no history of conniving,
of manipulating, of pursuit -
we are all safe and happy,
fancying our pal's lass.
Imagine that now. Down the pub.
Getting on. Marriages shoogly.
"Aye, I fancy your wife.
In fact, we all do."
Somehow I suspect
it would no longer be
the bonding experience
of that long-gone, pitch-dark night.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC