"phyllis" poems
Phyllis my green leaf
shimmering with sunlight rays
dazzling my eyes
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Between Five and Seventy Five By Phyllis T, Halle November 9, 2009
At night, we would whisper, brother and I, that we simply could’t wait
For the coming days to fast fly by; til that breath holding, happy morning
When, while we were sleeping, a little fat man in fur trimmed coat and boots,
Would sneak into our house and leave gifts so grand; then we’d rise with hoots!
Oh! The time would fly by!
and he did!
and we did!
It was grand!
At night, now, I think to myself, that the days are still whizzing past
but no jolly morning is coming on fast
When the house will be filled with family and laughing and song
So, I think I must have done something forbidden, cruel or very, very wrong
For my life did fly by!
And memory taunts
And loneliness haunts
Yet it all was grand!
For life is a series of anticipations ! I always taught my children, " Anticipate nothing! It is the only way you won’t ever be disappointed! "
Yet anticipate we must. It is something that flows in and out of our days and nights.
When the day arrives that nothing is worth anticipating, then life has lost all meaning and becomes a black hole, ******* all light and joy from breath and thought.
~.~
So, now, no red suited fur warmed chubby fellow with cherry cheeks and hard working reindeer will ever come again, to delight this child’s heart that still beats (though sometimes, reluctantly.) Now, reason strongly teaches me: This Time! Yes, This Time! you can indeed anticipate and no disappointment will drown your hope and joy! This Time!
This time! You will not awaken on a bright morn, where there are harsh words and quarreling, nor sad, nor chilling feelings, nor to seek comfort from the cold, hard, stiff legged, staring doll that lay under the sparse little tree. This time! The promises of that bright morning will prove warm and true and my earthly mind will no longer struggle with 'whys' and 'what ifs' and 'help me, Lords.'
For the promises of standing before my Maker, my Savior, will make all that was confusing and difficult, come clear and easy before my soul.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail,
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!),
And, if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler *** of ale!
Over all is heaven's expanse.
Gold's to find among the shale.
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Dull Sir Joskin sleeps his fill,
Good Sir Galahad seeks the Grail,
Proud Sir Pertinax flaunts his frill,
Hard Sir AEger dints his mail;
And the while by hill and dale
Tristram's braveries gleam and glance,
And his blithe horn tells its tale:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Araminta's grand and shrill,
Delia's passionate and frail,
Doris drives an earnest quill,
Athanasia takes the veil:
Wiser Phyllis o'er her pail,
At the heart of all romance
Reading, sings to Strephon's flail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Every Jack must have his Jill
(Even Johnson had his Thrale!):
Forward, couples--with a will!
This, the world, is not a jail.
Hear the music, sprat and whale!
Hands across, retire, advance!
Though the doomsman's on your trail,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Envoy
Boys and girls, at slug and snail
And their kindred look askance.
Pay your footing on the nail:
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
1.6k
Dear Robert
I'm enclosing the warranty
for your shaver In case
anything should happen
I've circled the address
where to bring it
Dad still isn't feeling
well and is going
this week to the doctor I can't
imagine
what can be wrong -
but I'm really getting concerned
Oh!
by the way
did you mail
that letter
to the bank
I hope
so
Today
we are going to a wake
for Phyllis Spina.
She died
on Saturday -
acute leukemia.
Your brothers are fine
they're off -
Yom Kippur
All else is
okay Love
Mom
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
You move me.
You move me like sunlight on the dew drops of wild flowers.
You move me like the loud rumbling of thunder.
Like an intense game of laser tag; sweating and running and chasing.
You move me like Louis Armstrong's fingers on his trumpet.
You move me like my mother smiling down at me from the kitchen table when I was six.
Like Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,
Like the smooth surface of my first hand-made bowl.
You move me.
You move me like the wind in my face when the car windows are rolled down.
You move me like my first paint set.
You move me like holding my first nephew, staring up at me with his small, blue eyes.
You move me like The Ground Is Lava.
You move me like the pen on this paper,
racing to scribble down my next thought.
You move me like snapping hair ties, like broken records, like drippy nail polish.
You move me like the rain drops on my window during a violent storm.
You move me like a long, unwinding road.
You move me like holding my crying sister.
You move me like T.S. Eliot, John Green, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, Neil Gaiman.
You move me like a fast swivel chair.
You move me like my first knocked-out tooth.
You move me.
You move me like my first kiss in the second grade, smiling and giggling and nodding at, "Do you want to do it again?"
You move me like your bruised fingertips.
You move me like nervous glances that are shot away when you look back at me.
Like our first hug, when I didn't want to let go.
Like my blistered feet when I snuck out and ran to see you.
Like the playful nudges when we walk rythmically side by side.
You move me like your slant rhyme.
You move me like my shaky leg.
You move me like the late nights spent looking at photos from my past.
You move me like new shoes on linoleum floors.
You move me like the purple bags under my eyes.
You move me like the first time you introduced yourself to me.
You move me like my first communion as a child; disrespecting the purpose to the practice and just wanting to down a shot of grape juice.
Like the printer that won't stop shooting out pages.
Like your tangled imagery and verse.
Like my first hat.
You move me like rushing water.
You move me like falling out bed.
You move me like when our hands accidentally brush against each other in the hallway.
You move me like refusing to give up and trying again.
You move me like the way I dream of moving you.
You move me.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
How wonderful to sit beside Phyllis
Fully there
Available, attentive
Unwavering support
She was selfish with her attention
On her search
for “balm for her soul.”
Phyllis would get great things to happen
Between the two or more of you
She could get everyone to be themselves.
Reading, meals with friends,
At lectures and during those unguarded exchanges
with trusted friends
Her life was a quest for balm for her soul
She would also find it
Among the poems, readings,
zoom talks with her children and grandchildren
Yet, she was always seeking more.
She knew that when she let her mind run wild
and let the raucous kid in her play
She gathered balm for her soul
and became lost in splendor.
We, her friends, imagine that now
She is in eternal peace
Cloaked in balm
Enraptured in splendor
*We can balm our souls and lose ourselves in splendor (Jonas Altman)
Dec 1, 2022
Dec 1, 2022 at 9:09 AM UTC
A Moment in My Thoughts
by Phyllis T. Halle c. January 6, 2006
Breezes blow and change the world.
Raindrops fall and wear away the hills.
Snow comes quietly; no rage, nor pain in those icy shapes.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
How tall the trees can grow and yet the sky's not filled.
The mountains sit in silence, yet the earth groans for sounds.
People come and go and breathe their little moment in the air.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
So, you have walked a moment in my thoughts
So, I have held your eyes and arms and one small hope.
All words bear weight and yet the mind's not overfilled.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
Then when the sun comes back and dries the rain
And snow and mountains take relenting rest
And leaves burst forth on every tree
And nothing's changed, not changed; all's just the same.
Words can never be put away; they blow as breezes where they will
So this spirit must soar above the truth of loss:
In "what might have been" thoughts of yesterday, tomorrow and today
I find that all is changed, is changed and not the same.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
What ever is to come is not,
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot,
And that as fast as it is got,
Phyllis, is wholly thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows,
Ii, by miracle, can be,
This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that heaven allows.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
When Phyllis tells you she'll
Always have a special place
In her heart for you, she means
Way back in a dark and forgotten
cobwebbed corner of the basement
Behind a dusty box of Mason jars,
And a broken rocking horse that
Will never trot again.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Your music continues to hit my ears
I remember Phyllis Hyman’s songs
I know Ms. Hyman has been dead so long
But her songs brought Love to life
Measure for Measure
Love being the pleasure
Ms. Hyman illustrated in order to love someone you must start loving from within
Knowing how to love, but understanding you are truly in love
Ms. Hyman’s songs of serenity and sincerity
Yet it all comes down to reality
A heart of inner emotions with love never having to end
Determinations of feelings become concrete on when
No moon could ever set the mood
The candle lit in the kiss and seduced by smooth and soothe
Breathless in wanting to be loved even more
The heart pounds in being sure
As the heart pulsates, it was a matter in romance being total fate
Love and romance being eternal in date
But there is a reality
Love can crumble beyond a moment’s notice
But because of that love, one must be strong and continue to stand on solid ground with no turnaround
You are now standing on secrete ground, and your life will revolve around and around
Phyllis Hyman sang to the world all so well
This is why Phyllis Hyman is remembered with elegance being swell
Ms. Hyman life remains on Higher Ground
However, I still hear the echoes of her singing voice, which she herself is being the sound
You knew how to entertain us
As a fan, I remember you being an always must.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 7:16 PM UTC
(
•
)
~~~~~~~~
One small opening
Only for you ( this time )
•
Pied pipers in full array
They
Are everywhere
••
Dance
Sing
Play
Any way you want
• •
All the slaves are gone
( no - ones getting lynched anymore )
••
( except perhaps in East L. A. )
•
Thru the night
The moon so bright
On the eternal subway train
••
Yeah
Just you and me and all the rest are here
•
A policeman a holy saint
•
Footsteps cross the sands
Headin for the hills
The pied pipers
Watch them go
Come
Let your courage flow free
And leave it all behind
And follow
Follow
Just you and me and all the rest
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
I'd have Kyra Sedgewick's face as the face,
a combination of the bodies of Kathryn McPhee and Serena Williams as the body,
the wardrobe of Martha Quinn the old MTV personality broadcaster
Kylee Harting
the personality of Lucille Ball,
the character of Jane Addam, perhaps, the founder of Social Work in old time Chicago
the voice of Caila Ali
the sense of humor of Phyllis Diller,
the posture of Condaleeza Rice
the leadership ability of Elizabeth Warren
the lifestyle of either Monica the soul singer or Janet Jackson
and then name her Kyra Williams in honor of Kyra and Serena
plus the creativity of the know by some - black poets Nikki Giovanni
and the athleticism of pro tennis player (ex) Jennifer Capriati
with a little of pro tennis player Maria Sharapova
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
For 9 seasons, I sat
I watched 10 years of their lives unfold in front of cameras
It was a nice break from my own reality
I enjoyed the laughs
I enjoyed the cries
I will never forget the times I laughed so hard that I cried
I gasped when I saw Michael come back
A reunion I waited so long for
“Michael. I can’t believe you actually came.”
Smiles were exchanged
Then his famous catch phrase
“That’s what she said.”
Oh how I laughed
An exaggerated knee slap laugh
Now I’m crying because it’s over
So I bid my farewell
Goodbye Michael, Jim, Pam, Dwight, Stanley, Meredith, Phyllis, Andy, Erin, Darryl, Creed, Toby, Angela, Oscar, Kevin, Kelly, and Ryan
THE ONES THAT MATTERED
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
My next door neighbour told me a funny story the other day
It’s about Phyllis who lives down the road
She was out with her fancy piece called Tommy getting laid
Having a **** in his car down a country lane
She was there with her legs open not thinking of her husband
Going at like a prize stallion chasing a filly winning his race
Then Tommy cried out in pain and started crying
Phyllis thought he was joking about
‘Oh **** it! My back has gone Phyllis! Call the Fire Brigade!’
‘You gotta be joking Kev. But hey! I love a man in uniform.’
Kev managed to reach his hands free kit and call 999
Within five minutes the fire engine arrived
Four beefy firemen in uniform assessed the situation
Hiding their smirks they planned what to do
One fireman got the Jaws of Life from the fire engine
It took several minutes to cut the roof off Kev’s Jaguar
His expensive cool motor was now a convertible!
Then over the next hour they slowly lifted Kev upwards
And placed him in a rigid stretcher to minimise further injury
An ambulance arrived and Kev was taken to hospital
Phyllis got busy ******* and ******* each of the firemen
In Kev’s convertible Jag which was now a ******** parlour...
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC