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Donall Dempsey Jul 2018
A POSEY OF SHEEP

She a butterfly
in her little blue dress

chasing butterflies
blowing bubbles after them.

Butterflies and bubbles
skitter here and there.

Her "flying flowers"
as she names them.

One b one by one she
picks wildflowers.

They blossom in her fist
losing more than she collects.

I take the ribbon from her hair
tie them tightly in place.

"I have a garden
in my hand!"

She runs and runs and runs
as only a little girl can

joy and speed
fused together in her.

And when she returns
her petals have all gone.

She holds only stalks
in her hand

flowerless flowers.

"Shhhhh!" I shush her sobbing.
"Look what you have found!"

And I let perspective
take a hand/

On each stalk now
a sheep replaces petals.

The sheep unaware that they
have become surreal flowers

only existing
at a certain angle.

Who cares if they are not real.
It's the seeing that matters.

She holds a posey
of sheep.

I tell her they are
flowers made of magic.

On the far away hillside
sheep still safely graze.

And when she moves and
finds them "GONE!"

I reposition her and
there they are.

"Hold  still!" I tell her
and pick each sheep

pocket them
mind them for her.

Happy once again she
runs and runs and runs

clutching her precious stalks
in a tiny hand.

All her imaginary sheep
tucked up in her mind

possibly for ever
if not

longer.
We had made our way down to Derrible Bay on the island of Sark and I ventured briefly into the coldness that was the sea. I had left my watch on some rocks and this was returned to me by a very nice lady whose husband was swimming back and forth across the bay( I had only gone for ye gentle swim and splash-about )and when this picture of health emerged from mastering the sea he came towards us for yea he was the watch-returning lady's husband who it turned out was vastly interested in poetry and so we talked for two hours about the wonders of words. I told him the poem I had in my head to write which was as yet unwritten but now weeks later it has emerged from its underwatery world and stepped into its very own words.
tangshunzi Jun 2014
<p><p> Questo matrimonio è follemente bello .Ma non è sorprendente.considerando che è un oro .rosa e rosso infuso bellezza culturale realizzato da una squadra di talento seriamente di venditori Texas .Pensa Posey floreali e progettazione di eventi .Caroline + Ben Fotografia e 36th Street Events .tutti insieme per creare una giornata che mette in evidenza il vero amore e uno dei duo più simpatico che abbia mai incontrato .Vedi tutto qui nella piena galleria .<p><p> E un film dolce da photohouse Films .impressionante .Si prega di aggiornare il tuo <p> browserColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsBallroomResortStylesCultural Beauty Dalla Sposa .Ci siamo incontrati a Tokyo nel 2005. Eravamo entrambi insegnamento della lingua inglese .Eravamo buoni amici in un primo momento .ma entrambi sapevamo che c'era qualcosa di più ad esso e nel 2006 siamo diventati una coppia .<p> nostro tema iniziato come "leggero" .ma penso che come è progredito quando abbiamo trovato la nostra citazione ( "Siamo andati a trovare noi stessi e abbiamo trovato l'altro" ).e che è diventato il tema .come era nei nostri inviti.il nostro segnoe il nostro video.<p> Abbiamo fatto i segni della barra ( " Sei Reddy per una notte Phull di divertimento?" ) .i segni tavolo escort e carte di escort che si basavano sulla skyline delle nostre rispettive città di provenienza (Londra .Chicago ) e la città cheincontrato a ( Tokyo) .<p> nostro planner Beth fece il segno principale tendone che è stato il fulcro per la <b>abiti da sposa corti</b>  camera .Conteneva la nostra citazione - "Siamo andati a trovare noi stessi e abbiamo trovato l'un l'altro . "<p> Abbiamo comprato qualche nuvoletta bianca e pannelli di gesso da Etsy  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49"><b>abiti da sposa corti</b></a>  così le persone possono scrivere i loro consigli coniugale e scattare foto di se stessi .<p> Abbiamo anche chiesto un amico a mettere insieme un video di immagini di noi che crescono con i nostri amici e le famiglie e poi noi insieme con i reciproci amici e famiglie che abbiamo giocato prima del nostro ingresso alla sala di ricevimento .<p> Abbiamo trovato avere un wedding planner è stata la chiave .Soprattutto visto come fosse un matrimonio posizione.Inoltre .abbiamo usato il sito wedsimple.com per mantenere i nostri clienti informati attraverso il nostro sito .per fare le nostre RSVP e tenere sotto controllo che stava arrivando .Il mio momento preferito della giornata è stata capolino attraverso le porte appena prima del nostro ingresso nella hall della reception .a guardare tutti i nostri ospiti ridere ( e piangere ) al nostro video. <p> Mia più grande pezzo di consulenza per le spose e sposi pianificare il loro matrimonio oggi: non ti accontentare tutti .Non  <p><a href="http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=575" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/1957335353535394817.jpg"></a></p>  cercare di .<p> Fotografo: Caroline + Ben Fotografia | dell'artista: photohouse Film | Wedding Planner : 36th Street  <a href="http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1"><b>vestiti da sposa</b></a>  Eventi | Fiorista : Posey floreale e Design Event | Dress : Ritu Kumar | Scarpe : Nine West | Catering : Barton Creek Resort \u0026 Spa | Illuminazione:Illios Illuminazione | vestito dello sposo : Jaeger | Cerimonia di Set - up : Prashe | Hair \u0026 Make-up : Pearl Hair \u0026 Make-up Studio | lino.Chairs \u0026 Piatti : Marquee affitti | Luogo : Barton Creek Resort \u0026 SpaMarquee Event Group .36th Street Eventi e Posey floreale e progettazione di eventi fanno parte del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Marquee Group Event vedi portfolio 36th Street Eventi vedi portfolio Posey floreale e Event Design VIEW</p>
Colorful Matrimonio indiano_abiti da sposa on line
Jon Posey Mar 2012
Rambling with the mind of the madman that I am I just hide it very well amidst the chaos and beauty which existence simultaneously in my life.
Posey 12
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
It was always going to be black and white
that's the typeface on my preference of late
defining day and night with your choice of tights
those fine dividing lines on your partnered limbs
wrapped tall in belts daring as a Lara Croft climb
a silky striped raggedy ann gone neat sensuous
tight strapped to a two striking sinuous princess
committed to lodge sins inside my Loveland challenge
hemmed in round towers together to never-never unhinge

at home we horse around and rub along together
boosted by the interplay between cotton twill gathered
pulled low one side then canter balance riding high
as you level up to a line up of outbound thigh
saddled with a lovely leg stirrup over here
and a lean waist wobble to match up there
eyebrow lifts to starch arrowroot attention
over the swings and sway of every action
so swift I play catch-up each morning
delayed by fumbling for ones gone matching
it's a wonder you don't just wander away
in a daze from my one legged hopping display

then I would travel far as a bee
long-legged as stilts could be
to sing to your nails and feet
and be spun free flaunting
our google
a red white and blue
pair of giggles unfurled like flags
in your slim line dancers' legs
dangling ideas like fair weather socks
to goggle one direction behind your back
unique like nobody else contains within
thin licked then rolled back ciggie skins
so I pinch holes in the bacci parts
sinking into slats like leaky wooden boats
your avoiding tiptoes gadfly and curl in return
my feet undoing knits with swats and swirls
toeing tinkling notes like piano keys
undertones pink tinged with tingling knees
and when a jukebox plays
my coins are there always
for I've got your pop socks in motion
your vox populi's united under my skin
with impressive pulled tight bands
embedding imprint elastic rings
inky red slinking down
leaving parallel links


ignore my pins and needles
alone in dead of night
longing for your leggings
luminous stripe tights
today it's all me put on the spot
today it's music you might hate
biographies of people you don't like
subtitled movies too deep to bother
blue jeans dull dyed against your garter belt
a one man team can't DIY a drill majorette
spiralling shafts that come to a threaded point
enthralling with alternating knee bend bit pants
so pretty poly soft I'm pulled up like a fool
fully mixed up by your weaving cotton wool
wave me down in your way of sweet patter feet
a patterned cakewalk for you to catwalk sock it
to me in a stand in posey kind of way
this way to stand outs knitted to fancy
uncross your legs and cross-stitch
my path with gaited kisses
closely
by Anthony Williams
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are so nosey.
They peek in through
His windows and
They catch him wearing hosie.

They don’t come in
They just stay out
They stay judgmental;
They scoff and pout.
They have no pleasant
Words to say.
They run through all
Synonyms of gay.

Pity Clarence Posey
His neighbors are too nosey.
No matter which
Fabric he likes to wear
They dislike what he chosie.

It isn’t like
They dress themselves
Some way that could
Be seen as flattering.
They’ve guts and butts
Like barnyard stock.
To see them naked
Would be a shock.

Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are all nosey.
They’re nothing but
Awful aunties
That catch him wearing *******.
Jon Posey Sep 2011
Rambling running were does it ever end my mind is racing. Then the wondering starts again. Hard to think or even concentrate even harder still to even speak. Why the hell did god curse me with this disease this curse of the mind. Making it hard for me to learn, to grow, old habits hard to break. What the hell I’m I to do but only to learn forms ones mistakes. Were does it end only in death will I learn that mistake.
  Posey 00
Donall Dempsey Jul 2019
A POSEY OF SHEEP

She a butterfly
in her little blue dress

chasing butterflies
blowing bubbles after them.

Butterflies and bubbles
skitter here and there.

Her "flying flowers"
as she names them.

One b one by one she
picks wildflowers.

They blossom in her fist
losing more than she collects.

I take the ribbon from her hair
tie them tightly in place.

"I have a garden
in my hand!"

She runs and runs and runs
as only a little girl can

joy and speed
fused together in her.

And when she returns
her petals have all gone.

She holds only stalks
in her hand

flowerless flowers.

"Shhhhh!" I shush her sobbing.
"Look what you have found!"

And I let perspective
take a hand/

On each stalk now
a sheep replaces petals.

The sheep unaware that they
have become surreal flowers

only existing
at a certain angle.

Who cares if they are not real.
It's the seeing that matters.

She holds a posey
of sheep.

I tell her they are
flowers made of magic.

On the far away hillside
sheep still safely graze.

And when she moves and
finds them "GONE!"

I reposition her and
there they are.

"Hold  still!" I tell her
and pick each sheep

pocket them
mind them for her.

Happy once again she
runs and runs and runs

clutching her precious stalks
in a tiny hand.

All her imaginary sheep
tucked up in her mind

possibly for ever
if not

longer.
st64 Oct 2013
sudden-bouquet
delight finds
reduction in
citric-colour


goal-post abrupt
a million birds in a jaundiced-sky
trees bold-growing up to the edge of the cliff
a flattened mosquito on a screen
folder atop the lemon-ladder
wings all neatly spread and legs flayed



yellow roses.. in the abbey
given away to orphans
with full-hearts*


forever-journey in honeyed-posey


S T – 01 Oct 2013
what means it, really - yellow roses..




sublime-entry: wot-a-day

1.
worries of pensions-and-pills for all
but, nary-a-care t’worth
when t’hour falls
only this body will fall
once

2.
and for now
oh, wot-a-day, partake of oenomel
distinct-streaming on the morrow
wot-a-be-you-tiful day :)
ren Aug 2016
Hearing the fuzz of the static between the lines as you laugh nervously: It feels like waking up to a child who has found your acrylic paints, who is brushing hasty strokes of posey on your cheeks -

Like half-heartedly composing your poise on a river rock, holding your center, knowing if you lose your steady, you have to fall,

Fall into something that feels like first breath of air you breathe when you step off a train, knowing yesterday is gone, knowing the person you are now is ready to embark.
Joshua Haines Dec 2014
"I don't feel anymore."
"I really envy that."

I turned on my side, the sun was peering through the window and laying ribbons of its light across her bare body. "You shouldn't envy that, Reno."

"Why shouldn't I?"
"Okay. Well, why do you?"

Her hand waved a lock of blond from obstructing her icy-blue sight. I could see the shadows of birds dance across her torso and past her face. "I'm afraid," her words spiraling from her mouth, "and I don't want to be."

"Afaid of what?"
"Everything. The world. Hunger. Bleach stains. Failure. ****** knuckles and the look of the person as they clench their nose, teary eyes and all. This. My father finding me. Dying before I get to do everything I want to do. Validation. I'm afraid of everything and I'm too young to be afraid of everything. I need two to four more years, tops."

Ten, twenty, and fifty seconds rained down the window. It felt like the wall of an aquarium, and us the aqua-blue evolution.

Rolling to her side, her hand blossomed around the curvature of my face, as I didn't know what to say. "Josh," her breath evaporating into syllables, "I'm too young for the world, so help me forget, okay?" My eyes followed her soft fingertips capped by lily fingernails, as her index and ******* walked from my stomach to between my legs.


After we made love, the water lowered on top of our heads and bodies as the steam rose. My hair was flattened against my skull, and her's gripping her back. Soap slid across her *******; lathering her abdomen, I asked her if I could see the soap. Reno scrubbed my chest and leaned into kiss me before placing it into my hand.


"When you're famous, who do you think you'll sleep with," she asked while stirring her coffee. Placing the muddy spoon on the table, she looked and added, "Who's your celebrity crush?"

"I'm not sure," I sipped my coffee before placing it next to my bagel,"I don't know."

"It's okay, buck. I know you'll forget about me when you become big, so just say."

I couldn't believe it.

"Okay, well, what's your wish, Reno?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say who you'd sleep with."

"Well, after I carelessly throw you to the side, I'll probably sleep with Parker Posey. Then, I'll go on a date with Emma Watson and hope that goes well," I regretted the way I spoke. "Like, I can understand the question, but what's up with the second part about me leaving you?"

Reno flicked the side of her coffee cup, and then drummed. "I don't know."

"I can't do the whole you feeling like you're not good enough for me. You are. You just are. I don't want it to happen because I really like you, but I won't allow myself to go farther if you insist on the... I mean, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she she flicked her coffee cup harder, "I don't know."

"You know, Reno. You can tell me."

Tears sat at her eyes and they disappeared in the glare, as she looked out the cafe window. "It's not easy, you know."

"What isn't?"

"Loving you," she began to rip at the skin around her thumbnail,"it's not easy because I'm afraid. I'm afraid because it might be real."

Her eyes shifted towards me, the way her hair broke the echo of sunlight. Cancer cells.

"I'm dying, Josh. Whether you love me too or not, for one year to ten to never, you'll be with other girls because I'm dying. And that's that."
Joanna Garrido Jan 2019
Stargazing

Come with me to the roof of the world, look up, see the clear, velvet night bejewelled with thousands of twinkling stars
glittering the heavens, shining so bright
The night garden’s star flowers glow in the darkness
at the roof of the world, come stargaze with me
I will catch you a falling star for your posey
sparkle your hair with her diamond bright light
glitter your eyelids with starlight and moon-dust
if you stargaze with me in the dark velvet night.

07/01/19 JG
Jewel Yuzon Jan 2018
I know a girl that piles on the necklaces
“Makes me look pretty,” she says
She’s all nervous, high-pitched laughter that jangles
as she fidgets with her armored collarbones

Rose red rashes bloom around ivory flesh,
She scratches at her skin inflamed
Ring ring ring around her pretty little neck
With those posey necklaces and gemstones

She smiles fondly at each reflection
of chains and rocks entangled
Wrung wrung wrung of beauty is she
Bitten so fiercely to her ivory bones

Her laughter hacks into little cough spurts,
and the metal winks dully as it strangles
Ring ring ring around her rosy little neck--
she piles on more necklaces.
A POSEY OF SHEEP

She a butterfly
in her little blue dress

chasing butterflies
blowing bubbles after them.

Butterflies and bubbles
skitter here and there.

Her "flying flowers"
as she names them.

One b one by one she
picks wildflowers.

They blossom in her fist
losing more than she collects.

I take the ribbon from her hair
tie them tightly in place.

"I have a garden
in my hand!"

She runs and runs and runs
as only a little girl can

joy and speed
fused together in her.

And when she returns
her petals have all gone.

She holds only stalks
in her hand

flowerless flowers.

"Shhhhh!" I shush her sobbing.
"Look what you have found!"

And I let perspective
take a hand/

On each stalk now
a sheep replaces petals.

The sheep unaware that they
have become surreal flowers

only existing
at a certain angle.

Who cares if they are not real.
It's the seeing that matters.

She holds a posey
of sheep.

I tell her they are
flowers made of magic.

On the far away hillside
sheep still safely graze.

And when she moves and
finds them "GONE!"

I reposition her and
there they are.

"Hold  still!" I tell her
and pick each sheep

pocket them
mind them for her.

Happy once again she
runs and runs and runs

clutching her precious stalks
in a tiny hand.

All her imaginary sheep
tucked up in her mind

possibly for ever
if not

longer.

*

We had made our way down to Derrible Bay on the island of Sark and I ventured briefly into the coldness that was the sea. I had left my watch on some rocks and this was returned to me by a very nice lady whose husband was swimming back and forth across the bay( I had only gone for ye gentle swim and splash-about )and when this picture of health emerged from mastering the sea he came towards us for yea he was the watch-returning lady's husband who it turned out was vastly interested in poetry and so we talked for two hours about the wonders of words. I told him the poem I had in my head to write which was as yet unwritten but now weeks later it has emerged from its underwatery world and stepped into its very own words.
Jon Posey Feb 2013
The overwhelming feeling of being alone. The overwhelming emptiness that seems to consume me even when I try not to. Why do I feel like an Orphan as if my brother and sister look at me like an empty waste of space and I not really their brother just some kid my parents brought home and tried to pawn off as family. The emptiness or nothingness that dwells within me seems to out last all other pleasures. It as if the moments of happiness exist in the crack of light in the vast emptiness of my being. Seems to rule over in my heart,soul and mind. My loneliness exist was created to keep my heart from being occupied with love. The sadness I feel keeps my soul from ever finding that satisfaction of the thirst it has. The constant barrage of thoughts which dwell in the darkness control my mind from being free to show people who I really am.

Posey 2013
I’ve written my words in quicksand
Mostly gone before they’re seen
My footprints are on the high tide line
Erased by the incoming waves

I leave no shadow at midnight
The wind carries away my song
I call and nobody answers
I think I’m out here alone.

I gather some lilacs and daisies
Enough for a small bouquet
But others have somehow collected
Enough for a Festival float.

The candy store seems to be open
The lollipops all on display
Look so very tempting
I haven’t a cent to my name.

No one will buy my small posey
I have nothing much else to sell
Oh well, I’m too fat for a lolly
So I’ll look away and walk by.

Someday someone may decipher
The code that I don’t understand
Though I speak it and write it
And paste it on billboards.

And stand in the shadows
In case someone stops
To gaze at the verses
So recently written in sand

And breathe in the scent of the ocean
The feel of bare feet on wet sand
And suddenly discern the shadow
The posey, the lolly, the music and me
                 ljm
In a strange period now. Feeling cheated and deprived and let down.  If I don't find work soon, we'll have to move to a cheaper area. Like maybe Texas.  I'm jealous of the Haves and I don't like being a Have-not, though I grew up that way. Feeling sorry for myself.  Tired and depressed.
Jon Posey Jan 2013
One's longings sense of loss for you for that all over again.
The bitterness of longing, when instead of moving forward the emotions and angry at one's self always. Brings me back to you and pain that, I can not over come seems to overcome, taunts me still with the evil within me rises up and makes me die and the goodness which is almost, gone lost or forgotten has not quite loss it battle for love remains and endures.

Posey 2012
Bardo Oct 2019
Awash with ***** I peed all over me
   shoes
Well Storm me if I ain't a bad sea
   Captain
I'd had a ton of *** and a whole
   barrel of porter
Now the landlord he's shouting "Last
   Orders"
So where's me Crew, me Swabs, me
   Hearties ?
Yea! where's me Aces and me Deucies
.......Nowhere to be seen, not a one,
Just a pack of feckin' Jokers,
Find me the Fox and show me the
   Shirkers!!!

I'd drunk too much that's what I'd
   done
Well tie me to the mast and chastise    
  me severely for such unseemly
     behaviour
All I wanted, just some fair company, to be lavished by a couple of lovelies
But No! they wouldn't have it,
   wouldn't entertain me
Snobs! Stuck up cows!! *******!!!
We nearly had a Barney
I'd rather wet me ***** in a Jar of
   cold Jellies.

Standing there outside in the cold
   night air
Trying to get me bearings, yea! trying
   to take a reading
Me Northern Star, he must have
   fecked off to the Northern Bar
And my compass, he's whirling
   around like a Dervish,
Well ***** me sausage in a jar of
   malt vinegar
We're sailing blind tonight me boys
Keep a sharp lookout atop of the
   Crow's Nest won't ya!

And so, we ventured out, a brave man
With ***** as big as the bold Hercules
   himself
A wee bit tentative at first I'd concede
Lurching about from side to side, all
   over the place
But not to worry, with me there at the
   helm, both hands on the wheel
Solid and salty as any old sea dog
Singing away to meself a wee shanty
" I'm no landlubber me!
  Just give me the dark and the rolling
    sea"
Steady as she goes me Hearties!
I thought we was doin' alright till one
   of my feet
It trod in a space with nothing there
   in it
And my Ship it goes tumbling
   sideways over
Hell's britches!!! I'd trod in a pothole
   the size of a manhole
"Man the lifeboats Lads, we're going
   over" I cried.

Next thing I know I'm lying on my
   back
And the Moon she's blowin' me kisses
And at the end of the Bar, there! me
   Northern Star
And Him smokin' a cigar and sippin'
   Brandy with some *******
Looking like a Dandy at Christmas
"Hey Judas!" I shouts over, "where's
   me monkey?"

And then suddenly, this woman, this
   woman out of nowhere
Out of the darkness, this Spectre
An old Sea Witch for sure, by thunder
She starts bawling laughing at me and
   pointing her crooked finger,
Well dent me dagger on a cold
   woman's heart
If she doesn't cut the legs right out
   from under me
Every time she opens her big Gob, the
   squeals of her
Makes me feel two feet tall she does
   with her cruel laughin' & sneery
       banter
And her drawin' a big crowd around
   her
(And me! a Giant!!.... a feckin' Whale, a
   Walrus!!).

Well lash me Luger and wake me up
   with a poker
I wasn't wobbling, that was just me
   swagger,
And I ain't lying down here no longer
   either
Heave ** the ropes me lads and haul
   me up me Hearties
Till I stand once more at a proper
   angle,
Yea! Hoist me up like a mast and watch me sails billow again in the
   breeze
Watch me belly bulge out and me eyes
   roll around in me head
Now we're back afloat, buckle up me
   sword on me belt
And roll out me cannons
For the name of this ship, if it isn't the
   Great, the "Great Defiant ",
By the two Horns on Hell's Gate
What am I doing here at all in this
   place, with ye folk
I'll wave me ***** at this world, yea! I'll dangle me dibbler
Did ye not hear, did no one tell ye
I'm off yea! I'm off to Australia.

                       II

For Sweet Destiny, she visited me this
   night, she kissed me
She came like a gypsy when I was a bit
   tipsy
So exotic with all her bangles and
   beads and her charms
And dresses all the colours of the
   rainbow
With her big crystal ball eyes of grey
Like the Moon she mesmerized me
   completely
And then she kissed me with lips
   sweet as whiskey
And she whispered in my ear a magic
   word. " Australia ".

You see this was how it was
I read it some place,seen it somewhere
A sweet wee lass, a fellow girl poet
   from Australia
She said, she lamented " Poetry, it isn't
   very big over here
The people their not inclined, their not
   of that mind"
Said I aghast, I'll change their hearts
Their hardheaded folk, those folk
   down there
It must be the snakes and the spiders
   down the toilet
So hoist me up onto me pulpit
Them heathen folk they need
   convertin' badly.

O! Give me a Ship, give me a Galley
And like Columbus I'll start a big
   rumpus
We'll sail off over the horizon, and
   keep turning on the globe
Till we sight the shores of that Sweet
    Island
And that lovely Queen of the South
   reclining
Beautiful and wonderful Australia!!!

There's gold in their hearts even
   though they may not know it
And jewels in their eyes big as
   diamonds
Treasures by the thousand
So hoist up me trousers boys,
Me! I'm off to Sligo
Wait a minute, No! No I'm not,
I'm off.... off to Australia.

So gimme a wooden leg and hoist me
   parrot up onto me shoulder
Arrrr! Jim lad.....now where's me
   soldiers
Are ye with me lads
We'll plow through the sharky seas
Then I'll plant me flag on their
   beaches
And claim this Land for Posey.... yea!
   for Poetry,
And if they don't like it
If they string me up by the ***** and
   spit on me
Sure I'll just smile back at them and
   tell them
"I'm just..... I'm just Jim Dandy".

                       III

Alas! It wasn't to be, next morning
   they found me
Upended in someone's garden
The Sergeant he shook me, " What are
   you doing down there? " he said,
"Ahoy there shipmate Sir" says I, like a
   true shipwrecked sailor,
"I had me a dream last night,
I dreamt...I dreamt I were bound,
   bound for Australia.
A bit of fun for Halloween. Always been an ambition of mine to do a wild rip roaring Pirate poem. They have such wonderful free spirited colourful language and you can make up great sayings with great sounds. I think I read on the site here, an Australian writer actually said poetry wasn't all that big in Australia, so that gave me a story to hang this drunken pirate night on. By the way I don't drink like this, not anymore LoL, and I wouldn't advise anyone else to, it belongs to a bygone era now. Hope you enjoy and Have a Happy and safe Halloween! Me Hearties!
judy smith Feb 2016
For the past five seasons, the New York-based designer Rachel Comey has forgone a traditional runway show in favour of a more intimate dinner and presentation at the Pioneer Works Center for Art and Innovation in Red Hook, Brooklyn. This season, she is taking her show on the road, stepping off the New York calendar altogether. Instead, she plans to present her Autumn/Winter 2016 collection in Los Angeles in late March to support the launch of her first retail store on the West Coast, scheduled to open in April.

Located at 8432 Melrose Place, the store is the second physical retail presence in Comey’s portfolio; the first opened in June 2014 on Crosby Street in Manhattan, New York. Editors and buyers who wish to see the collection during New York Fashion Week will still be able to schedule private appointments and the designer also plans on releasing a look book of images prior to the show.

Comey is the latest of several brands — including Burberry,Tom Ford and Louis Vuitton — to stage activations in Southern California in the past year. (While Ford and Burberry did shows in Los Angeles-proper, Vuitton took to nearby Palm Springs.) On February 10, the Hollywood Palladium will host what might be Hedi Slimane's last men’s show for Saint Laurent. Indeed, Los Angeles’ emergence as a legitimate cultural capital and growing fashion hub has been well documented.

The exact date and location of Comey’s Los Angeles event has yet to be decided. But the designer said it would be similar in format and concept to the dinner theatre-style shows she has preferred as of late, with a live performance and a guest list filled with creative class types who reflect the brand’s point of view. (Notable Spring 2016 attendees included NPR reporter Jacki Lyden, actress Parker Posey, writer Zadie Smith and artist Cindy Sherman.) “I’ve been showing for a long time, but how many shows did Cathy Horyn come to before we started doing dinners. Maybe two over 13 years?” Comey said during a recent studio visit. “I get it. Shows are ten minutes and really what are you learning about the brand? The collaborative effort between the environment and the music and models and the chef feels very honest for us and what we are trying to do. It's something we really believe in."

There will be one significant change to Comey's unconventional presentation formula besides the location. Instead of simply showing pieces from Autumn/Winter 2016, the designer plans to incorporate current-season pieces into the line-up, which will be available to purchase the next day. The idea is to boost interest in the opening of the Los Angeles store, which will sit alongside The Row, Chloé, Isabel Marant, APC and several other high-fashion retailers on Melrose Place. “We want to use the show as a way to introduce ourselves and connect with people,” said Comey.

Architect Elizabeth Roberts and interior designer Charles de Lisle, both of whom worked on Comey’s New York store, are collaborating on the interiors of the 2,600-square foot space. Additionally, Los Angeles-based architect Linda Taalman has been brought onto the team to consult on the design.

Both the Los Angeles event and store opening reflect the quiet transformation of the Rachel Comey brand over the past three years, as the designer's intellectual, arts-and-crafts aesthetic has grown more popular with a broader audience in the United States and beyond. (Comey’s dropped-hem “Legion” jean, for instance, has driven denim trends for several seasons.) Her decision to shift her presentation format from a traditional runway show to a seated dinner elevated Comey’s cachet on the fashion week calendar, while the success of her New York store has helped to drive a significant evolution of the business. Direct retail — both the physical store and e-commerce — now makes up 27 percent of the company's nearly $10 million in annual sales. Roughly half the brand's sales are still generated by domestic wholesale partners, while the other quarter comes from Comey’s growing presence at international stockists.

“The [New York store] was such a game changer for us because of the connection to the customer,” she said. “I think people didn’t realise the breadth of the collection. When you’re a wholesaler, people cherry pick it however they want. Which is nice, I like that in a way. But it’s also nice to have our own store, our own space and do things the way we want to do it.”

Indeed, Comey, who has been designing womenswear under her namesake label since 2004, has found that her greatest successes have come out of staying true to her vision. “I now have the faith and confidence that if you do things that are meaningful to you — rather than stick to the industry standard — [things] will probably work out,” said the designer, who is also working on a revamp of her e-commerce site.

“We’ve never been championed by a celebrity or a powerful editor. It’s really always been by word of mouth, loyal customers and just keeping on.” Now, it’s time to test out that philosophy on the West Coast. As Comey put it, “California is the promise land.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Arsène Aug 2018
Drowned in pills
Her morbid gaze and soulless eyes would send me chills
A relationship empty but a foundation of thrills

Her beauty piercing as to be posey
I just delighted she chose me
Her slightest whim I’d mosey
Or she'd batter, bruise, and expose me

Why me I wondered at times
As her white powders sniffed in reverent lines
Too petrified to ask
Her actions ignominiously grasped

So I left
My feelings undealt
as I wept
With all of my friends gleaming
But I didn't know what to believe in
Value your self!
Jon Posey Mar 2014
When left to thoughts and devices of your own making one finds either madness or peace. As for me I find things to over analyze take apart so to speak and see it from every angle I can perceive. Until I dip into madness with the dark and premonitions of horror enter my mind and the flood gates open wide with knowledge and serenity take hold.
Posey 2014
ivory Jun 2010
Red beating hearts, red lips, red ribbons, red red red blood red, smear it on the wall and call it broken, drip, catch with your tongue, artificially flavored, fake tastes so sweet, chocolate foil litter, a hurricane, snow to make snow angels, mine stepped on, give up, you're no angel, you are not pure and don't even think for a second you are beautiful, the crave grabs you by the hair and spins, ring around the rosie, pocket full of posey, ashes ashes, they all have hands to hold so i'm the one that falls down.
© AlyssiaAnderson

Awkward reactions encouraged.
Rosey
Posey
Wheres my lips?
Tippy tozy
Feet on tips
Arrow down
Arrow up
Toffee coffee
In my cup
I wrote this poem for my grandma
Jon Posey Sep 2011
Sitting in a crowded room still feeling alone with the thoughts that you will never be anything more than a friend. Realizing that even for a moment she might feel it too. The longing for her to see you as something more, but still only a friend, time to harden for, that which is forbidden. So as I have several times before sit in silence and say nothing more.

  Posey 2011
Ring around the chamber,
who will go inside?
I'm starving and *****
so why would I hide?

I feel my ribs, but my stomach even more.
Many girls have been violated again and again like penny ******.
I don't know what to feel
because for the first time
I don't think God is real.

A shower will do me good, I say.
They wouldn't want us to stink, if we did stay.
I pull off my stripes.
The nakedness appalls me.
As far as I could see
I found human skeletons
staring back at me.

The door shut, but water there was none.
Every person bled into one
massive grave.
For every life, a soul gave.

Ring around the rosey
pocket full of posey
ashes,
ashes,
they all
            fall
                  **down.
This is my first Holocaust poem. I hope you like it :)
To all the men in all the wars who died for causes they believed in
Or found themselves unable to escape the roll of dice that sent      
them there.
A country posey picked in a shady lane by hands of love and care.

To those three thousand souls who fell crushed by towering hatred,
And those who fell at other bomber’s hands on other days,
A long stemmed perfect snow white rose from the garden of regret.

To all the children taken in their innocence on ordinary days,
In ordinary places, thought safe from all the madness of insanity,
A wreath of multicolor blossoms tied with cotton candy bows.

To all the revelers out for fun who sought the music in a crowd,
And learned the rhythm of an automatic gun instead,
A vase of yellow daisies, with a petal for each one

To all the tots who suffered at the hands of those supposed to love  them,
And lived with wounds and deprivation until there was no hope of life,
A potted red geranium that will go on blooming endlessly.

To all the lonely elderly who slipped away without a sound or note,
And went into the ground with no sad songs or mourners,
A small bouquet of lilies tied with velvet ribbons.

To all of those who couldn’t live the number of their ordained days,
Felled by accident, disease, or lost in limbos of mental illness,
A planting of daffodils to bloom each Spring.

So many lives, so many flowers.  So many to grieve and mourn for.
Just one day is not enough, nor is a week or year.
The best memorial is memory, and it can last forever.
      ljm
It's not just about the military any more..
Jon Posey May 2014
Eloquent drivel of madness that accompanies love in its most sadistic form. The eloquent forms of beauty that accompany thoughts of her. The righteous madness that consumed me into loving and loathing her in my being. The addled heart so weary, full of mistrust and agony. The defense of no one will ever be aloud this close for there purpose is to pain to me once again. Distance kept hearts are freed from pain but loneliness still remain. So for that my heart will forever be incased in this lead armor box I've created to host forever more.

Posey 2014
Jon Posey Jul 2013
The spectral of life—
Running free in the lose of innocents—
Demented visions of our past—
Loses of childhood memories—
Then there was nothing more to see—
Posey 2009
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
please
bear with me through
these turns,
for I believe it gets
much better..

i need help.

..much better than this
winding Caltrop
Way

please help me mind
these twists

no..

"not the TWISTS!

the twists betwixt
the ends gone
listing on
a list of modes or
measures
lest my brooding
BOOM.

So vast,
and so cosmic,
so chasmic..
circumstasmic?

Could any of this be
happening?

Happenstance?

Perhaps a
dance—
a DANCE!

of eloquence enlisting
of parables b'twixting
between..

..or was it betwixt?

betwixt!

the twist is
a'mix the
boundaries amidst
the sounding
absentees amiss
and all their revelries
gone missing,

they're so lost
among this misting lee."

i came upon this sanity.
alas!
this simple explanation,
what has brought me
to my knees
at last—


for

this hope so fixed
to kiss me,
as would bangles
on the wrist be,

then went
"begging and
dredging and
picking and *******;
through grand affair in
blissful beds
of rose and posey petals
pushing hedgerows!!

more and more
a bushless exposé
as days count down
a maze a'drowned
in thornful
sortie
!!

scornful,

hastily adorned and full of
fate-encrusted memories
of a trustless
misgiving.

My sin has shone its boldness
and has left me living cold.

**please, god,
don't let me
die this way!"

this heart,
o lord,
it yearns
away..


∘ ⊱‧⌍  ⌈✞⌋  ⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
Alec Jan 2018
I have an addiction
Oh how i wish it was a work of fiction
I cannot wait to feel my blade
Every time it touches my skin i feel saved.
Sweet bliss, until i am entranced
Twisting, turning, and weaving. Our dance.
We speak only to each other.
Not caring for any other.
Alone, but not alone, with our toxic love.

It makes me feel whole
When i am alone
And i have no home
And live in isolation
It is but a small trade, take and give some.

What is blood and pain,
When you want to be saved?
What sacrifice is too much
When all you want is to be loved.
Toxicity doesn’t matter
When you just want to stop getting sadder.

I CANT
I CANT STOP
THE BLADE
ITS TOO MUCH
THE BLOOD IS ALL AROUND ME
FALLING FALLING
DRENCHING THE GROUND
I NEED HELP
The liquid, it makes a repulsive sound.

AHHHHHHHHHH

ring around the rosie
pocket full of posey
raining raining
we all come back another day

Help meeeee
The insanity is CONTROLLING my brain!
I’m not sure if i already said this
But I’m going IIIINSAAAANEEEE
HA HA HA
I’m gone . . .
But not for long!!!

How can i truly be gone
When this pain just keeps c-c-c-cutting
me . . . off
HA the sky is full
But love is bull
And affection is null
While my mind i duel.

Obsession, Depression
Are wondrous traits.
One will bleed love
The other, hate

There i am, in the hellish hearts
Tortured in agony, becoming art.
Please just
. . .
Just leave me alone
. . .
Alone in the dark

Alone with my heart.

How shattered,
With blood splattered
Crimson on my skin, I’ve been slathered
Trying to put back the pieces that have been scattered.

Am i sane?
Am i still in control of my brain?

Sometimes i feel on charge, the leader.
Other times i feel weak
Looking through my eyes like windows, watching meekly.

Is music an escape?
From my pain?
Is it too late?
Have i lost my brain?

I just want to see the stars.
I wrote this awhile ago, and i just recently stumbled upon it.
SE Reimer Dec 2016
~

the purest
possibilities,
in my hand lie;
kinetics in
miniature,
these what-can-be,
packages of dna;
manual of direction,
a manuscript precise,
compendium of
instruction;
these gathered
strands like
silken rope
not easily broken;
pre-known,
pre-programmed,
to be all that
can ever be
pre-planned,
pre-destined,
yet before
living must...
die!

carnation, corn
posey and peas,
happiness, hope,
love and peace,
in my palm
all possibilities,
e’en seeds
of change,
sown so long ago,
dead and buried,
warmed and watered,
nurtured, tended
sprouting now;
what will be...
may already
be determined
completely,
but...

their height,
their health,
their breadth of
wealth,
their depth of
beauty and
band of
fragrance...
these are all
within my hand
to cultivate
perfect,
and bring
to fruition;
like poetry
in motion,
all like seeds
within my grasp.

~

*post script.

"unless a grain of wheat falls
into the earth and dies,
it remains... alone;
but if it dies,
it bears much fruit."

and is this not the most exciting,
the most compelling part?
watching one’s seeds grow,
and bear much fruit...
the becoming of,
great beauty?
Jon Posey Jan 2013
With great love it doesn't just last a life time it lasts through out the many ages of man only to be whispered through the ages as if someone dreamed it once, for true love truly never dies.  
Posey 2012
Nolan Higgins Feb 2018
to be fair
/since we're both libras\
you never did ask.
you only said
"I guess you like me
and I don't know why."

you never did ask
but I wish I'd told you
exactly why I do like you.

It didn't cross my mind until tonight that I could certainly tell you
exactly why
I like you
but perhaps more importantly
I could tell you what I like about you
and you never did ask
but since I'm a few beers deep
/in pursuit of libra-esque fairness,
it's more like seven or eight beers deep, but I've never liked counting that sort of thing\
I could tell you what I don't like about you.

I guess I could start with that first
but I depending on how this next beer hits me, I might have forgotten how badly your dismissal has hurt me by the time I get there.



Against the warnings of a friend I do not trust,
/**** it, she's your coworker, she ***** me when I was thirteen and you might as well know about it\
Against the warnings of your coworker
I trusted you.

I put you on a pedestal next to Buster Posey, Jesus Christ, and Jeff Mangum. You haven't fallen from that perch, but I'm so far below.
At least, I think I am, it's a bit too dark to see beyond the end of my nose right now
/that pile of beer bottles is chuckling at me now\

if you had asked me
instead of wondering

I'd have told you I love your optimism and your work ethic. I was raised catholic, not Protestant, but I believe God smiles on those who work as hard as they can. God and I both smile on you.

/another beer now\

I'd have told you I fell in love with you the moment your hands first wove their way through my hair. It had been quite a long time since I'd felt so truly comfortable, so utterly welcome.

/I'm crying now,
I guess I'll smoke some ***
and try to calm down\

If I'd have been able to do so without crying, I wouldn't have been able to stop telling you why I like you. I'd still be telling you now.

I'd have told you I love how eager you are to speak with everyone.
The old man at the bar could have been your best friend the way you welcomed and listened and laughed with him.

You're so aware of not only the space you take up, but what you leave behind you as you twist and wander and whether it's bullheaded arrogance that delivers you so elegantly through life, or if it's a sort of divine empathy that lets you experience all the love around you, as coal to an engine, as espresso to the child, I don't know what it is exactly,
but I love it.

/that last part didn't make sense, I wish I hadn't smoked ***\
/one day I'll realize that's how I feel every time I smoke ***\


Whether it's because I'm a 24/7 romantic
Or I really do care for you,
I can't tell,
I've forgotten what mean things I had thought up to say to you.
/I can't believe I'd want to hurt you\
/I am a libra, I think libras are supposed to get along just fine, right?\

god forbid you ever read this,
I'm too drunk tonight to try and give it to you
/you wouldn't read it, i bet\
/did you ever read the poem I wrote for you? It wasn't any good but I've thought of you reading it,
sitting cross legged on your mattress, windows open, some vegan snack sitting in your lap, perhaps a friend or lover has kicked it up out of the corner it lays in,
hopefully it makes you smile,
a silly poem
that a silly boy wrote
Because he fooled around and fell in love with you\
But perhaps someday you'll get this this
and I hope it isn't mean,
/I haven't ever wanted to be anything than an easy friend for you, a comforting hand, a steadying smile, a car ride home,\
I'm sorry,
I can't tell.



It was a terrible night.
The night you told me to stop bugging you
I didn't get drunk
So I should have prossesed these emotions by now


and so it goes
I'm sorry
Jon Posey Apr 2015
The dissolution of nothing, is the elevation of all existents, within the terrible nothingness that holds is self plausible to a higher purpose, for within the grand scheme we are all just players and teachers.
Posey 2015
Jon Posey Nov 2014
Life is but a second spread out amongst the perils of time in the precision of hours that make up the moments, till death herself calls you into her *****. As for love which transcends the perils of time and is heard as a whisper. To which the perils of time, parts letting love dwell in the procession of time itself. It seems that darkness reigns in this flurry of emotions. As do flowers wilt and die so does everything. Precession of memories haunting in a never-ending thought.
Posey 2014
Quansome Jul 2018
Im just a weird little dreamer with no direction I guess
When I look up at the clouds I think floating seems best.
Just an aimless ray of shimmer in a sea full of shine
Never knowing where to focus but for now that's just fine
Never missing chances to smell a rose or a posey
Spend my days in the sun cause it’s hugs are so cozy
betterdays Apr 2014
Waiting for the taxi,
sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best.
A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth
on the table beside.

A sepia photo of a young
and blushing bride.
The groom tall serious,
all pride,
stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide.

He left for the front,
she stayed behind.
Waited and prayed
for her God to hide,
her young strong lover
from war's unwavering gaze.

Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear.
Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her
as she pruned his roses.

Her march of tredpidation now over.
Her life long walk of grief begun.

She stands now,
and his medals brave
clink, *****,
over her lonely heart.

For while, her ride has come, so she can remember
with others.
In heart, alone, she awaits still and true,
her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue
for the wives
on ANZAC DAY 2014
Lest We Forget.
Jon Posey Jun 2017
The emptiness of being empty.
The longing of being wanted.
The understanding of self.
The realization your always alone.
The past mistake that haunt your every thought.
The love that hates me still.
The smile and laughter I still hide behind.  
The hope it gets better even when all seems hopeless.
The love I have to share, these are the things I hold dear.
The darkness that sometimes reigns.
Posey 2017
Jon Posey Feb 2015
The black mask of death, the proverbial dark elephant in the room. Looming over your thoughts and emotional state. While pondering the very notion of all of this, and the question of why this all happens. You either live and deal with the emotional state or you dwell in the black hole of grief. Time is precious not to be taken lightly as it is fleeting in the ever moving forward into seconds, minutes, days and weeks that give away to the progression of time itself.

Posey 2015

— The End —