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"ravenswood" poems
Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti comes along Peoria Street every morning at nine o'clock With kindling wood piled on top of her head, her eyes looking straight ahead to find the way for her old feet. Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, whose husband was killed in a tunnel explosion through the negligence of a fellow-servant, Works ten hours a day, sometimes twelve, picking onions for Jasper on the Bowmanville road. She takes a street car at half-past five in the morning, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti does, And gets back from Jasper's with cash for her day's work, between nine and ten o'clock at night. Last week she got eight cents a box, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, picking onions for Jasper, But this week Jasper dropped the pay to six cents a box because so many women and girls were answering the ads in the Daily News. Jasper belongs to an Episcopal church in Ravenswood and on certain Sundays He enjoys chanting the Nicene creed with his daughters on each side of him joining their voices with his. If the preacher repeats old sermons of a Sunday, Jasper's mind wanders to his 700-acre farm and how he can make it produce more efficiently And sometimes he speculates on whether he could word an ad in the Daily News so it would bring more women and girls out to his farm and reduce operating costs. Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti is far from desperate about life; her joy is in a child she knows will arrive to her in three months. And now while these are the pictures for today there are other pictures of the Giovannitti people I could give you for to-morrow, And how some of them go to the county agent on winter mornings with their baskets for beans and cornmeal and molasses. I listen to fellows saying here's good stuff for a novel or it might be worked up into a good play. I say there's no dramatist living can put old Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti into a play with that kindling wood piled on top of her head coming along Peoria Street nine o'clock in the morning.
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Onion Days
Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti comes along Peoria Street every morning at nine o'clock With kindling wood piled on top of her head, her eyes looking straight ahead to find the way for her old feet. Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, whose husband was killed in a tunnel explosion through the negligence of a fellow-servant, Works ten hours a day, sometimes twelve, picking onions for Jasper on the Bowmanville road. She takes a street car at half-past five in the morning, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti does, And gets back from Jasper's with cash for her day's work, between nine and ten o'clock at night. Last week she got eight cents a box, Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti, picking onions for Jasper, But this week Jasper dropped the pay to six cents a box because so many women and girls were answering the ads in the Daily News. Jasper belongs to an Episcopal church in Ravenswood and on certain Sundays He enjoys chanting the Nicene creed with his daughters on each side of him joining their voices with his. If the preacher repeats old sermons of a Sunday, Jasper's mind wanders to his 700-acre farm and how he can make it produce more efficiently And sometimes he speculates on whether he could word an ad in the Daily News so it would bring more women and girls out to his farm and reduce operating costs. Mrs. Pietro Giovannitti is far from desperate about life; her joy is in a child she knows will arrive to her in three months. And now while these are the pictures for today there are other pictures of the Giovannitti people I could give you for to-morrow, And how some of them go to the county agent on winter mornings with their baskets for beans and cornmeal and molasses. I listen to fellows saying here's good stuff for a novel or it might be worked up into a good play. I say there's no dramatist living can put old Mrs. Gabrielle Giovannitti into a play with that kindling wood piled on top of her head coming along Peoria Street nine o'clock in the morning.
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"Hm", the girl says in your bed. Red wine and yummy chocolate - what a great mix Moving and grooving to the beat of the music Oh, la la. A pleasant smell in the air, flowing, in and out into me Colors of your blankets, subtle navy blue, velvet red (you might disagree) Reeses, what a treat! Something devils would eat Talking food, one of my pleasures, Ethopian - I want to eat! Let me speak for Ravenswood, it treats me well and keeps me toasty! And Juanita's, Fiesta bag, crispy not too greasy Crunchy in my mouth, mmm! An offering of a chip with special sauce, thank you sir!' Sauce man, confidence He says he had heart problems The consequences of the pleasures of food "I need to end it but I don't know how to" "It'll come to you" Your roommate, Sid
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
Toasty
*From the void that beckons, we see that heaven's near, but the darkness that engulfs us keeps our cries from shedding tears The rain would fall and cleanse the Earth so the people praised it well The castle walls had heard its song right as midnight struck its bell But when she cast infinity the rain hadn't had its fill so sadly clouds were forced to flee yet the days grew* darker still *Pluck the wings of ravens to prevent the coming flood The ones who offer haven let their fingers run with blood The Court was born to trim the herd who swear to Ravenswood They seek the one ill-fated girl to restore our land for good 'Cause when she cast infinity the Earth was standing still Her soul can harm eternity as the days grow* darker still *Believers of their noble cause shall be met with open arms They only seek to halt the pause by the grace of love and harm Putrid souls are sacrificed for the weakness that they show The Court shall welcome crimson tides as their looming shadows grow 'Cause when she cast infinity it was nature that she killed, but now the Court will set us free Advent days are* brighter still.
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC
Ode to the Court of Ravens