"rental" poems
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me
and the more I heard the faster I turned
as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes
passports are even faster
I never had problems
with band-aids
the bank
the insurance company
the healthcare system
never turned down
for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
and the faster I turned
then I learned
about certain specifics
certain policies
with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government
syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
has more than one stanza?
really there were four stanzas?
MY country ‘tis of ME
and it was making me feel *****
learned that no one
voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
were ordered
to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
certain death
then I watched a cop
shoot a kid in the back
in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******
baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore
I hit the brakes hard
on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
of turning
I slowed down way way way down
stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
The airplane
is not one of God's creatures
but it might be serving
a heavenly purpose
by making the world seem
a bit smaller
And though
it is not an actual
time machine an airplane
can take you from
a place as primitive as
prehistoric times
to another place
as advanced as
modern civilization
in a matter of hours
or even minutes
But to take an airplane
almost anywhere
you usually have to go
to an airport
where you usually
spend an hour, and often
hours and hours,
going nowhere
other than the parking lot
or the rental place or the bus
station or the taxi stand
and the check in line and
the security line and the
food line and the bathroom
line and the shuttle line
and the gate line and the line
to take your seat and the line
to take off and then the airplane
usually has to land at another
airport where, unless you
took a direct flight,
you usually have to spend
an hour, and often
hours and hours,
going nowhere
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
I wish I was there with you,
Watching the ocean break its green
On white Australian rock.
I wish I was there with you,
Seeing a thunder storm form,
Knowing the only shelter we had
Was our rental car parked
On an Arizonan desert roadside,
As we opened our bottles and prepared
For the night.
I wish that was your hand in mine,
As we counted crows landing on
Stonehenge. That that was you
I shared a snow cave with
In the deadly sub-zeros of the Finnmark
Plains. I wish that was you with me.
Even going for walks here, under the
Northern Lights on a January night,
Both dimmed with dad's home brew and
What not, content with the fact
That we'd wish
We were there with
Each other, if with
Anyone else.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
You're progressive; and so you must denigrate
our triumphant victorious candidate.
Yes, you shot off your mouth.
Now you're trapped to the south
of the land where you promised to emigrate.
Before your resolve starts to stall,
you must heed the Canadian call.
Pack your bags and go forth
to your home in the north.
(or climb over that Mexican wall).
It's the END ! Now the Right will resurge,
and a new coalition emerge.
A Canadian rental
might help with your mental
well-being. We'll play you a dirge.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
Do you remember me?
Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair
The way you bit on my shoulder
Legs
Thighs
Neck
The way you hit my cheek
And left marks of yourself all over me
The way you flung money on my face
The way you kept ******* me
Even though I was asking, begging
PLEADING
For you to stop
The way you screamed,
"Work harder you *****
I didn’t waste money for you to stop"
And the bruises you left
When I passed out?
I
Am the girl
From the Red Room of The ***** House.
I
Am the ****
Who is ***** everyday
But society says,
"NO. It's all for the easy money"
I
Am the gold-digger
Crying for people to stop.
I
Am the story
Of eighty million **** toys
Behind the Curtains less Doors of Pleasure for Men.
No.
We aren’t **** stars.
We don't become famous for filming obscene videos.
We are just some toys
That men borrow
Like a rental car.
We are the colors
The society talks about in hushed voices
In the corner of a deserted street.
We are the discarded clothes
You never wore
Because they weren’t good enough.
We are the succubuses
Of every man's dream.
We are Pleasure
And
Lust
And
Money
And
Sin.
But,
We die a bit everyday.
We have felt, seen and heard pain
MORE than any one of you here.
We are WOMEN.
But no one holds a candle lit march for us
When one of us is *****
Because
"It's all for the easy money"
Isn’t it?
We are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the *****
We
Are the nightmares you never wish to have
We
ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST.
do you remember me now?
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
On the massive Shoulders of Microsoft
are...
Children's games
Search for names
Weather reports
Scores for Sports
Travel news
Rythmn & Blues
Hotel prices
Adult Devices
Chinese Quisine
Night Scene
Machine Screw's
High Heeled Shoes
Butter Knife
Future Wife
Candy Crush
Makeup Blush
Family Tree
Spending Spree
Natural Pearls
Web Cam Girls
Rental Hall
Disco *****
Dance Clubs
Irish Pubs
Paternity Tests
Financial Invests
Mortgage Brokers
On Line Poker
and, so much more.....JMF 2/21/15
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
I wake up at 7 AM, its raining, go figure. I catch the bus by Cohen’s Food Co., soaked, on the bus now, and the windows are down. Lucky me. I brought my big Boss head set because last night the convenient apple iPod ear buds got soaked too. I guess it was karma. But at least these have good bass. Transit bus, not yet to arrive to the station, we travel over a vi doc, the distant fogged *** view? A St Louis skyline. Busy people in and out of the station. Babies. Druggies. Fuglies. The woman in front of me has no teeth. She kept doing a ritual gum technique with her lips. Smacking them inward as if her teeth were actually there. **** I ride for awhile through the town. The plainest Jane land around, at least this Monday morning it was. My feet can’t touch the bus floor when I sit in the back. I like this, it reminds me of trips to California when I was small. The rental car was boring though once we got off the plane, Dad was asleep through the whole desert interstate. And my birthday, and your birthday. I’m at school. This junior college of filth. Free coffee though, I take a high advantage. MATH DRILL. Math. Simplifying the trickiest equations. Ratios and angles. Lateral products and dividing something half way through solving the problem. ***** math. 30 minute break. Smoking section. Nice little ash trays they supply, it would be a total turn off to walk far for a smoke in the wind. More coffee, I hate the taste, but need the caffeine. Second class starts. Writing. I like writing, but the projector smart board was broken, so we covered grammar from a text. We read something about complete sentences in the early 1920’s. In Europe. They would try as little as possible to use add verbs. Re-read this.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
your "friends" that we meet,
i forget their names,
my calloused palms are greased,
by their squeezing hands
i remember one's a banker,
or he could have said a thief,
his ******** words were flanked,
by my misbelief
i was held hostage,
you were a smiling drone,
i remember when i lost
to Stockholm Syndrome
their Heirloom Suffix changes,
on tuxedos and trust funds,
my rental wears just fine,
i'm not the danger
shorting stocks on tuesday,
while playing ball in hand,
what a shame to lose me,
busted seams this man
I am not a banker,
I am not a saint,
I cannot to be trusted,
I won't place the blame.
I am not a proxy,
I am an astronaut,
But this distant world you live on,
Is far from my plot
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 9:04 PM UTC
The world is my movie screen,
I’m constantly being reminded,
That I am only a spectator,
In this ****** up life.
My hands are not my hands,
Yet they’re right in front of me.
The thing is, I can never press pause.
I am always on the go.
It’s as if my mind is a separate deity,
Than my body.
I look in the mirror,
And see someone who I know
Is supposed to be me.
However, this fog that constantly
Fills my brain makes me feel as if I am
Walking on clouds, unaware of my steps.
I wish I could see the world in 1st person.
Instead of this bright, oversized world,
That pounds with every step I take.
I feel nothing which means I feel everything.
It’s just all in the inside, constantly building up,
Without notice.
It’s as if I am driving a rental car.
I know how to drive but the car is foreign to me.
The gears work, but they aren’t mine.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 8:31 PM UTC
I'm a little late, so I'll put in my drawer in my night stand a letter I found. Is it a letter? No, it is an invitation to your funeral plans.
As if that is not a smack in my face...WHAM!
You thought I wasn't ever a loyal man because I went away, unplanned. But let me take a stand, for you missed the part where I gave you my hand. I was on a flight one blizzard night. When I get off, my rental car was towed because the company said I owed more for how many miles I put on it. See, the car and I were on a trip to gather your family for you, but you didn't believe me. I stayed in a hotel with them, missing you. Their phone connections were off, too and all I had was the TV in that hotel room. To pass the time of course was my only intention, but when I saw our precious 2 story house on the breaking news, I saw that a fire had taken you. I was utterly confused. I pinched myself because I thought I was dreaming. Until, one day, I saw your will claimed we had nothing to do with each other in terms of our engagement. What a scam! I cried and denied the will until I no longer could feel. It's been months and the detectives are still interviewing me. See, your life was important; way more than me. I went to visit and kiss what was left of the fence. I pleaded with hopelessness, "We want you back!"
Suicide letter found.
It reads:
"Winter grows dead leaves, and the trees are morbidly idle. Our nights grew earlier, and our fights were a given. So I bet you'll view it on the news that house number 652 blew away this winter day. What was my defeat? We were a mismatch, that you knew. You were a backstab, I took it through and through. You were half snatched when I was into you. I never wanted you to be this fool that drools over the fun little boys do. I put you on this pedestal, blind to know the rest of you. I was frozen into your atmosphere of departure, thawed to my agony. Why did you ever leave?"
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
You may feel about the planet what
you feel about a great baseball team or band:
that once there was a moment when, unknown
to us at the time, we convened
and lost and found ourselves in what we created.
Who should I thank for this day?
A fresh-mown lawn is a robin's repast.
A bear a black bear a rolling delicately dancing
graceful as silence sailing through the ferns and understory
unafraid and in no hurry.
My musician referral service, vacation rental business,
nonprofit management system, plant identification database,
great American songbook and anthology of poems. Coach says
in a thousand years back and forth games like lacrosse and soccer
will be played against genetically engineered primates
but baseball will be played solely by humans.
In a thousand years, amen.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
you'll call me babe when we're together
and when we're not you won't call at all
I'll let you in and you'll show yourself out
step onto the mat, leave your mark then
leave for good
it's the invitation that's too easy
it's the only caring in the moment
it's the lack of resistance
it's the welcome without the stay
it's the goodbye without saying
you'll call me beautiful and then you'll never call me again
you'll go on your way and I'll watch you as you do
treating your arms like a rental, you can take my body for motel
it's just right now, nothing permanent
one night or
maybe a second
pack your things, don't turn around
I swear I'll be fine
clean the room, mop the floor for evidence and
we wont look back after the first time
this beginning will become end
we'll try to make us last
speaking of
soon and
later
but I don't hold my breath-
I need that to survive this
I don't wait
not for you to call
not for you to come again
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
The crime families
had arrived
long before our time
dressed in suits and ties
jeans and lies.
Con games
transparent,
No one's even too embarrassed
or even
bothers to try and hide it.
It's all a racket
better believe it
Student loans
Insurance
Medications to save your life
Credit cards
House payments
Rental agreements
The military industrial complex
the war machine
The grocery store
The grocery store
The Supermarket
what do you mean you gotta eat
at least the poisoned air is free.
Elections
thrilled with bribery
The gas station
cell phone bills
electrical payments
moving violation tickets
Banks with smiling faces
Bound to get you on your knees
begging for more.
Guess what?
What ever you think you are craving,
You know that's a racket too
every time you turn around
they're going to take their vig
off of you.
When you get to heaven
you are going to find
one fact for sure
that's a racket too.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do........
boy! That Cadillac was one hell of a piece of engineering.
Burned a long time, like it enjoyed the pain of the flames.
He smiled at the thought.
Handmade by union men the way it should always be.
Not those ******* up ***** like Jimmy Hoffa either.
That ******* probably a ****** like hoover.
The image of him in a basque stuck.
Made him angry, but he soon reined it in.
Lecter was never angry. Not in the books.
He prefered the books, no change-the -ending for the mass appeal.
******* movies.
He was cautious now, the fake i.d. for the rental would fool most.
He was pushing things, her blood in the trunk even burnt black worried him. Next time will be better.
In Daisy's book was a circled name with hearts drawn around it.
Louisa. Her address as well. Nice and easy. 200 miles to go.
Make like Rutger in The Hitcher, move west....
The VW Rabbit was a ****** car after the Caddy.
The two kid's didn't want to give it up easy, but they did in the end.
They looked so silly, tied back-to-back in the rear seat, legs broke to squeeze them in.
Made him smile all through the night.
No blood this time, not yet anyway. Playing Slipknot to **** him off, little *****
Well write a song for these two, clown boy.
He had looked on their lap-top at the poetry site.
Saw the latest post from the pub landlord. He was a little confused, this poem didn't seem to be telling him his next move.
He dragged them out into a ditch before dawn, stood on their necks to **** them, like the coyote trappers did, cruel ********
No blood, just **** all over each other as they died.
Maybe he'd get a reward poem for doing it, in the meantime finding Louisa would keep him occupied.
The vw had a cheap sat nav, hope she's home.....
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 3:20 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, don't pretend the innocence when you know that evidence:]
you know I'm a forest a wild sent rule crucial
scars abandoned on attached feels I call brutal
on you a ceiling too high to reach
far from the abnormals we share we teach
my sick matches your sick
your sick matches mine
it collides it ticks
burrowed from the glares of a daemon monster flare
been sold to the harsh heads
been kept at stake
the stark of shame
glosses of unhealthy addiction of reigns
no one knows nor understands us our meaning
things we used years to strive hard to achieving
rotten wolves as in our animalistic
in search of prey
a hellish nature fevered burning hate of the realistic
remind my mental
were owned by devils
not sentiments not rental
pretend the innocence when the obvious seeps
let go of the hold to grip on the recklessness that creeps
bent beats of unmeasured clefts but for the darker not the tender
a dominant number on the silent hypnotizing hummer
i ravish skins when control is no more
its hunger
shot on veins killed
****** out of blood
same as ecstasy
same as adrenaline
still racing on a flood
------ravenfeels
Apr 1, 2021
Apr 1, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
Above its window: FREE ADMISSION
Cajoled the passers-by to stop;
Just to admire - no need to purchase,
Although his price might have been low:
But no proud artist ever urges
Potential buyers at his show.
Of course he badly needed money,
But more he needed moral aid.
Some people thought his pictures funny,
Too ultra-modern, I'm afraid.
His painting was experimental,
Which no poor artist can afford-
That is, if he would pay the rental
And guarantee his roof and board.
And so some came and saw and sniggered,
And some a puzzled brow would crease;
And some objected: "Well, I'm jiggered!"
What price Picasso and Matisse?
The artist sensitively quivered,
And stifled many a bitter sigh,
But day by day his hopes were shivered
For no one ever sought to buy.
And then he had a brilliant notion:
Half of his daubs he labeled: SOLD.
And lo! he viewed with queer emotion
A public keen and far from cold.
Then (strange it is beyond the telling),
He saw the people round him press:
His paintings went - they still are selling...
Well, nothing succeeds like success.
1.4k
There is change that is certain.
The earth slowly shifting,
The sky slowly shifting.
Seven billion universes
Rotating around each of us,
Each one of us an axis.
The recurring misalignment,
Collisions, and revisions of
Our orbiting bodies
Shape the illusion of stability
Hanging from our celestial ceiling.
I did not expect to come home
To an empty house,
My family's effects removed
Like the leftovers of an evicted tenant.
I am a stranger here,
In this room where I became a woman.
This room that exalted and imprisoned me
No longer offers solace.
Litter, that upon closer inspection
Reveals a mosaic of my childhood
Is spinning.
The pieces of my past
Are spinning
Out and away,
Gravitating towards a larger body.
The car I drove to a stranger's house
To get ****** instead of going
To dinner with my family
Now belongs to another.
The dresser that kept my underwear
In the top drawer
For twenty years
Discarded and lain in the gutter.
The walls which I painted
The most neon shade of green
In an act of adolescent rebellion
Are now covered over
In rental home white
To attract the widest audience
Of potential tenants.
The floor is slipping out from beneath me,
The ceiling lifting and floating away.
New additions to my orbital debris.
This place,
Disassembled.
Each part
Far more significant than the whole.
This house
Will never again be a home.
If I had stayed,
Would the gravity of my presence
Have been enough to keep it together?
Were any of these parts
Part of my universe in the first place?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
Define a modern day criminal
While hypocritical political beings run our land
Living in a critical pitiful painful physical caving roof
With a senseless empirical prototypical lost truth
Indivisible people with inimical minds destroy the parasitical
But we don’t dream
We don’t wish
And we fear
Impermissible values atypical to the nonphysical morals
Incorporated with subliminal messages conveying hypercritical cynical thoughts
That create a clinical stereotypical that cousins the excremental
Archetypical of hatred and malice of our digital kind
Visible scars traditional to the mental demons in our minds
But we take the beatings
We’re let down
And we disappoint
An occipital which lacks visual of the coincidental
Leading to a sentimental moment where the only desires are miracles
The minimal heart becomes gentle and suffers pain
A pain in the temple far from accidental that can offer supplemental guidance
Unconditional love and fundamental care
But we take for granted
We’re selfish
And we fail
An oriental vibe in the beat box’s instrumental welfare
Which adorns the continental flesh like a spring ornamental plant
Judgmental is the incidental human race, the municipal force of the universe
Oppose the parental control against the environmental curiosity of our infants
Because unlike rental we can’t take back our wagon of mishaps in a world so
hypocritical, cynical, stereotypical, digital, and just mental.
Jonathan Pizarro
Copyright 2011 ©
March 7th, 2011 5:42am
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
(for my daughter, Mary Ann, soon fourteen)
I was eleven years old when I first had something taken from me. My parents were still married and my two younger brothers had not yet chosen to choose differently which one they’d live with. My dog had not yet been made lame by a falling fat man who’d taken the gift of my father’s strange rage square on the nose. And my older sister had yet to misjudge her jump from a moving train. No, none of these things, whether they happened or not how I’ve remembered, had happened.
I was eleven years old and in love with an old red bike. It had a license plate that obnoxiously read Go Now Mega which I’d scratched at with a fork and so became Gnome. I would fail my whole life to accomplish a thing greater. Before school, I’d walk the bike carefully to the end of our short drive and then seat myself on it and be still. I would often be so perfect in my stillness that I’d forego riding it and just listen for the bus and at the last possible moment walk the bike, still carefully, back into the garage and cringe at the sound the kickstand made when lowered. If ever school didn’t go my way I’d think of the bike, alone, in the garage and be calmed. When I did ride the bike, I did so slowly and deliberately that I could feel my soul get a bit ahead of me. On the best mornings, I would have for company a bed sheet of fog which made me want to fake being asleep on the couch while my mother and father milled back and forth about who would carry me to bed.
The bike had come with the rental house we moved into just shy of my tenth birthday. The house was a three bedroom one floor with one bathroom and what felt like two kitchens. I was too close to my hands and feet to now recall any vision that might tell me how these rooms were mapped though I’ve always held aloft the word blueprint. I should tell you that what I previously called a garage was actually our backyard and that our backyard was really the backyard of those living in the house behind ours. I didn’t want you to know right away who took the bike. Who’ve no imagination.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
I wish I were six again
if only to beg and plead
my mother to read me a story before bed.
I could read on my own when I was six,
but I just wanted to hear another voice say
goodnight
to everything in the little bunny’s room.
I found it funny when my mother said
goodnight to the moon,
and the mush,
and the red balloon.
It was soothing, relaxing after a long day,
however exhausting a day
in the life of a
six-year-old can be.
I would be on the bottom,
my brother on the bunk above me.
Mom would stand by the ladder,
using it as a book rest.
Or we would sit on the floor with her between us,
looking at the pictures as she read.
The green and orange of the room,
blue and white of the bunny and his pajamas,
the red of the balloon,
colors etched into our minds.
When I was thirteen
and finally moved into my own room,
I considered painting it green
out of respect and admiration
for the book
and now, when I walk at night,
I stare at the moon.
On a Monday I saw a very full moon.
It looked larger than normal,
brighter too
and I noticed something in the moonlight.
A painting, attached to some metal box
on the side of the road by liquid nails.
I don’t know why the painting meant anything to me.
It was simple,
a man drinking a cup of tea.
He was old and haggard, grayed a bit.
But there was a corner, a solid background.
A wall behind the tea-drinking man,
bright red,
standing out from the rest of the image.
I took the painting,
pried it off with the force of memory.
it hangs in my home,
that bright bit of red wall adding
a needed splash of color to
mundane rental property mauve.
Though I wish that splash were green.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
debt
decoupaging blank pages
rental gender neutron geode
prism lecture thick mental rich
debt
navigate gate that 9.8 meters/sec
navel undressed coated with sweat
leftover *** **** carpet hot steadfast
yea same and how about all the hair??
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 3:26 AM UTC
"I am the Walrus..." the lyric passed through his head
stood in the pounding sun of Death valley.
He poured the dregs of his mineral water onto the hot dirt.
steam rose fast, as if a conflagration
was ablaze deep in the parched ground.
Not as beautiful a place as the great ergs of the sahara
that he saw on discovery channel
He looked back at the shimmering mirage that was his rental cadillac
not that he'd be taking it back,
not with what was spread all over the trunk....
Daisy had seemed a nice kid, talked a bit too much maybe,
Not saying much now. That thought made him smile.
How her wide her eyes were when she saw the 1911.
A good year for guns, 1911, he thought.
And the Great War just around the corner.
He preferred the phrase the Great War to World War One.
He felt it was more respectful to those who had died.
Daisy hadn't been respectful enough.
So he killed her for the dead heroes sake
Mineral water made him think.
People came to the Valley to work back in the day,
chemicals, minerals, salt maybe..... he wasn't too sure what.
Sure as hell no water.
Before them, travellers, settlers passed through.
Some died, they had no respect, like Daisy.
They thought their teams of oxen could pull up the grade
get them out of the valley, but many couldn't do it.
Died and dried, before the oxen could evolve into something bigger.
Like daisy died before she evolved a respectful brain.
He read about evolution in the Geographic, sort of felt
he was pretty well evolved. Maybe some kind of chosen one.
Thinking of the poor oxen dying made him mad as hell.
He began a slow walk back to the Caddy, there were some numbers and addresses in Daisy's purse.
He smiled to himself, this was going to be a good year,
it was going to be His year...
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
barnet recycling area to be removed 09.07.18
praise to the lord
the drop of penny
will all locals applaud
the green brigade is not many.
the fly tip is leaving
now a clean street will parade
storing waste indoors will leave you heaving
getting you at it was easy to persuade.
all *******
from cardboard to food
weekly bin collections did vanish
are you putting together to conclude.
less services are mental
especially when we are doing all the work
next for recycling i'm expecting rental
are any tempted to go berserk.
cleaner clearer streets
very much like barnet borough
the government to all local councils send tweets
this recycling plan or lack is thorough.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Learning to love my body is like trying to get comfortable in a rental home; no matter how often I rearrange things to look differently, it still doesn’t feel like my own.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
An Ontario man and his two children have turned up safe after getting lost in the woods on their way to an Alberta wedding.
RCMP Const. Jason Curtis says David Hill, 33, along with daughter Sierra Hill, 10, and son Riley, 8, set off from Edmonton International Airport on Saturday morning.
They were destined for a family wedding in Hinton, a couple hours drive west of the city, that was scheduled for 11 a.m.
Family members got a call Saturday afternoon from one of the children in the car that they apparently got off the highway and were lost in a wooded area.
The phone then cut out and Curtis says the family spent the night in their rental car before finding someone Sunday morning who directed them back to the highway.
He says he doesn't know why the Hills left the highway.
And exactly where were they?
"I don't know if they're entirely sure of that,'' Curtis said.
RCMP said a ping from the cell phone placed them in the area of Obed, Alberta, which is between Edson and Hinton.
Police said they launched a full search for the family out of concern for the ages of the children and for the fact that some of the group suffered from medical conditions.
Curtis said that after getting directions out, the family notified their relatives and police.
"It couldn't be a better outcome. Everyone's safe and sound. And we're just very happy,'' Curtis said.
"The people are moving onto their family event, though they might have missed the wedding.''
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Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC