"samantha" poems - Hello Poetry

"samantha" poems

People think it's bad, they don't even know what marijuana does and where it makes you go It opens up your mind and helps you see the dreams You stopped believing could come true and it makes you realize that the only thing stopping it is you. © 2013 Samantha Girouard-Holt

0

Oct 23, 2013

Oct 23, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC

samantha-louise

People think it's bad, they don't even know what marijuana does and where it makes you go It opens up your mind and helps you see the dreams You stopped believing could come true and it makes you realize that the only thing stopping it is you. © 2013 Samantha Girouard-Holt

Continue reading...

BACKGROUND. I was working at an international airport as a aircraft cleaner, this ment we went on to the planes to clean them before they went on there next flight. I was the supervisor of a team of 6 that night, so it was my job to go to the aircraft and talk with the number one, (the number one is the head hostess), she told us when we could board the aircraft. At the door I could see a young girl and a lady, sitting in the front row, I asked the number one if we could board, she told me they are waiting for a wheel chair for the young girl. The wheel chair did not turn up until after this story. This is what happened next. I will pick the story up after my question to the number one. THE SHORT STORY, OF A TRUE EVENT IN MY LIFE. I am standing on the aircraft by the young girl and the number one, when I heard the girl say. MOM! can I see the controls of the plane. I am not sure if the number one heard this, so I related to her. She told me she would ask the captain, and left to do so. I was alone with the girl and the lady, so I spoke to the lady. Hi i said, where have you come from? The lady answered, we have been to disney land. Wow or something like that I said, that must have been fun, the young girl spoke up. it was, I saw lot of things, Micky Mouse. I asked the girl her name. Samantha she said. At that the number one came back. And told us, as soon as the wheel chair is here, the captain say you can look at the flight deck. The young girl said, can I not go now? I needed to get my cleaning team on the aircraft! So I said to the number one. I will carry her to the flight deck if that is ok. It was agreed. So I picked up young Samantha, and carried her forward to the flight deck. number one and Lady behind me. The number one past me, to ask the captain, if this was ok, and it was. As we entered the captain said, hi my name is John. the young girl said hi my is Samantha, welcome sammy, said the captain. The co pilot stood up, to give Samantha his seat. The captain and Sammy talk about the instruments. The captain still had his head phones around his neck, What are those? Sammy asked. That is my contact with the flight controllers he said, can I have a go? Sammy said. The captain put on his head phone and asked the control tower, and she did have a go. Then the wheel chair turned up, and the captain was told by the number one. You must go now Sammy, thank you John she said, I picked her up from the co-pilots seat, thanked the captain, and the co-pilot on the way out, also the number one, and took the girl down the plane, Sammy then asked me. What is your name? Paul I said, she then said this to me. Thank you Paul I will remember that the rest of my life, at this the lady burst into tears, I placed Sammy in the wheel chair and walked with them to the exit. I asked the lady, why do you cry, she told me that Sammy was dyeing of cancer and he flight was for a cure and a trip to disneyland, but the cure, did not work, and Sammy might be dead within the year. I cried for about an hour!

0

Nov 15, 2011

Nov 15, 2011 at 7:37 AM UTC

THIS IS A SHORT STORY, OF A TRUE EVENT IN MY LIFE. Not a Poem!

BACKGROUND. I was working at an international airport as a aircraft cleaner, this ment we went on to the planes to clean them before they went on there next flight. I was the supervisor of a team of 6 that night, so it was my job to go to the aircraft and talk with the number one, (the number one is the head hostess), she told us when we could board the aircraft. At the door I could see a young girl and a lady, sitting in the front row, I asked the number one if we could board, she told me they are waiting for a wheel chair for the young girl. The wheel chair did not turn up until after this story. This is what happened next. I will pick the story up after my question to the number one. THE SHORT STORY, OF A TRUE EVENT IN MY LIFE. I am standing on the aircraft by the young girl and the number one, when I heard the girl say. MOM! can I see the controls of the plane. I am not sure if the number one heard this, so I related to her. She told me she would ask the captain, and left to do so. I was alone with the girl and the lady, so I spoke to the lady. Hi i said, where have you come from? The lady answered, we have been to disney land. Wow or something like that I said, that must have been fun, the young girl spoke up. it was, I saw lot of things, Micky Mouse. I asked the girl her name. Samantha she said. At that the number one came back. And told us, as soon as the wheel chair is here, the captain say you can look at the flight deck. The young girl said, can I not go now? I needed to get my cleaning team on the aircraft! So I said to the number one. I will carry her to the flight deck if that is ok. It was agreed. So I picked up young Samantha, and carried her forward to the flight deck. number one and Lady behind me. The number one past me, to ask the captain, if this was ok, and it was. As we entered the captain said, hi my name is John. the young girl said hi my is Samantha, welcome sammy, said the captain. The co pilot stood up, to give Samantha his seat. The captain and Sammy talk about the instruments. The captain still had his head phones around his neck, What are those? Sammy asked. That is my contact with the flight controllers he said, can I have a go? Sammy said. The captain put on his head phone and asked the control tower, and she did have a go. Then the wheel chair turned up, and the captain was told by the number one. You must go now Sammy, thank you John she said, I picked her up from the co-pilots seat, thanked the captain, and the co-pilot on the way out, also the number one, and took the girl down the plane, Sammy then asked me. What is your name? Paul I said, she then said this to me. Thank you Paul I will remember that the rest of my life, at this the lady burst into tears, I placed Sammy in the wheel chair and walked with them to the exit. I asked the lady, why do you cry, she told me that Sammy was dyeing of cancer and he flight was for a cure and a trip to disneyland, but the cure, did not work, and Sammy might be dead within the year. I cried for about an hour!

Continue reading...

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife, drag race in the background, my Samantha doll by my side. This isn't loneliness anymore. This is just life now. I'm not very good with words anymore, maybe I never was. So little has changed and yet everything has. I still long for love. I still want to be wanted. That might never change. Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept, come to love. I may be my only friend here, but that's one more than last year. Nothing I create is good, but I'm learning to create anyway. I'm learning to share my bad art, at least it's art. Right? I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door. Someone outta shut him up. I used to think that was an evil thought, now I know there's no such thing. I turn 21 in 2 days. Math. Yuck. I'm old, getting older every second. Whatever. I will grow into this skin, I'm sure of it. Maybe. I'm grateful. More than anything I am grateful for it all. The pain, the pleasure, the guilt, the anger. Pills, family, friends, dolls. No one reads these except me. So this one is for her. For you. Anne, my love, my villain, my biggest fear. May this year be kind to you, may you be kind to it. May you listen to your spirit guides, may you accept what you never could. Growth is sticky and wet, Knowledge is thick and grey. May you be the light and the darkness, the cut and the band aid. More than anything, be okay. You're gross, in a sort of beautiful way. May you be okay with that. Truly. Bad art is still art. Right? I think so. For now.

0

Jan 11, 2021

Jan 11, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC

bad art is still art. right?

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife, drag race in the background, my Samantha doll by my side. This isn't loneliness anymore. This is just life now. I'm not very good with words anymore, maybe I never was. So little has changed and yet everything has. I still long for love. I still want to be wanted. That might never change. Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept, come to love. I may be my only friend here, but that's one more than last year. Nothing I create is good, but I'm learning to create anyway. I'm learning to share my bad art, at least it's art. Right? I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door. Someone outta shut him up. I used to think that was an evil thought, now I know there's no such thing. I turn 21 in 2 days. Math. Yuck. I'm old, getting older every second. Whatever. I will grow into this skin, I'm sure of it. Maybe. I'm grateful. More than anything I am grateful for it all. The pain, the pleasure, the guilt, the anger. Pills, family, friends, dolls. No one reads these except me. So this one is for her. For you. Anne, my love, my villain, my biggest fear. May this year be kind to you, may you be kind to it. May you listen to your spirit guides, may you accept what you never could. Growth is sticky and wet, Knowledge is thick and grey. May you be the light and the darkness, the cut and the band aid. More than anything, be okay. You're gross, in a sort of beautiful way. May you be okay with that. Truly. Bad art is still art. Right? I think so. For now.

Continue reading...

Sometimes, when you listen to their enounciation. You realize, just how beautiful they speak in their British accent. Every word expressively spoken. That you're mermorized by each vocal. Maggie Smith, the lady of class. Cary Grant, the man of taste. Oh, that British voice. That you might chose , if had you that choice. Or seek ways to adapt them to yours. Michael Redgrave/Michael Rennie/Vanessa Regraves All of them had that lovable voice. Then you notice the beautiful Julie Andrew. Words spoke so you see the greatness of the phase. Which we notice too in Richard Attenborough. Who reminds many of Richard Burton? Yes, the British accent. You just got to love it Similar to loving Honor Blackman when she speaks. A great difference from Jacqueline Bissett. Except written about them with great respect. Who can't admire the British Accent? Yes, there's the French. And I'm not kicking it. Then , there's Spanish. Which has more trying to learn it. But this is about the English and the various style of vocals. Colin Barker and Prince Williams the Royals speaks so wonderful. Just like, the man called Michael Caine. I just have to mention Deborah Kerr. That also goes for Joan Collin. It's something about their style of speaking. Maybe because you understand every spoken word. Which is level toward the great Timothy Dalton. And Samantha Eggar and **** Jagger. Plus, the late David Niven. And honorable mention to Julie Christie. Jane Asher, Hugh Grant and several more. Have you wishing to make their voices be yours. Yes, the British Accent just so lovable. And the greatest things about it. You don't have to be famous to be adored.

0

Jan 1, 2014

Jan 1, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC

jeffrey-conyers

The British Accent

Sometimes, when you listen to their enounciation. You realize, just how beautiful they speak in their British accent. Every word expressively spoken. That you're mermorized by each vocal. Maggie Smith, the lady of class. Cary Grant, the man of taste. Oh, that British voice. That you might chose , if had you that choice. Or seek ways to adapt them to yours. Michael Redgrave/Michael Rennie/Vanessa Regraves All of them had that lovable voice. Then you notice the beautiful Julie Andrew. Words spoke so you see the greatness of the phase. Which we notice too in Richard Attenborough. Who reminds many of Richard Burton? Yes, the British accent. You just got to love it Similar to loving Honor Blackman when she speaks. A great difference from Jacqueline Bissett. Except written about them with great respect. Who can't admire the British Accent? Yes, there's the French. And I'm not kicking it. Then , there's Spanish. Which has more trying to learn it. But this is about the English and the various style of vocals. Colin Barker and Prince Williams the Royals speaks so wonderful. Just like, the man called Michael Caine. I just have to mention Deborah Kerr. That also goes for Joan Collin. It's something about their style of speaking. Maybe because you understand every spoken word. Which is level toward the great Timothy Dalton. And Samantha Eggar and **** Jagger. Plus, the late David Niven. And honorable mention to Julie Christie. Jane Asher, Hugh Grant and several more. Have you wishing to make their voices be yours. Yes, the British Accent just so lovable. And the greatest things about it. You don't have to be famous to be adored.

Continue reading...

I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic Carefully coated with sugar From a distance, they shimmered whispered fog in its wake surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed these sweet tender words were easy to swallow however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body. Even though your lips produced sweet words I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with: the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck between the words I’m and Sorry the cleanest and most deceitful of them all I doubted every word. I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together It would only make our story much more incredulous Adding more would make us less real. Two hearts in love need no words but in reality, you did most of the talking The ***** blanket of faith is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him. We, however, were alien to this Earth We dissolved amongst the shadows of light produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself. Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown We’ll be together forever He ran to each one until he was alone Until he couldn’t find himself Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced however his new reflection is indiscernible You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles only to find something that is not so concrete. The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles. But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller, or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word love will always be the easiest word to swallow but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.

0

Dec 15, 2015

Dec 15, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC

Two Hearts In love Need No Words

I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic Carefully coated with sugar From a distance, they shimmered whispered fog in its wake surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed these sweet tender words were easy to swallow however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body. Even though your lips produced sweet words I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with: the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck between the words I’m and Sorry the cleanest and most deceitful of them all I doubted every word. I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together It would only make our story much more incredulous Adding more would make us less real. Two hearts in love need no words but in reality, you did most of the talking The ***** blanket of faith is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him. We, however, were alien to this Earth We dissolved amongst the shadows of light produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself. Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown We’ll be together forever He ran to each one until he was alone Until he couldn’t find himself Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced however his new reflection is indiscernible You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles only to find something that is not so concrete. The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles. But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller, or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word love will always be the easiest word to swallow but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.

Continue reading...

Samantha Fox Was a panther In a previous life As well as an ox. Not to mention The wife of a 17th century cobbler On the outskirts Of Gillingham. Which is unusual As those who remember Past incarnations Are usually the wives Of Heads of Nations Or helped build pyramids. Actually said Samantha I forgot to mention I was also the transistor In Euclid's protractor. Can you get anachronisticer? Oh reincarnation The rebirthing Mother of invention.

0

Apr 25, 2014

Apr 25, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC

david-alexander-jackson

Samantha Fox And Euclid's Protractor

Samantha Fox Was a panther In a previous life As well as an ox. Not to mention The wife of a 17th century cobbler On the outskirts Of Gillingham. Which is unusual As those who remember Past incarnations Are usually the wives Of Heads of Nations Or helped build pyramids. Actually said Samantha I forgot to mention I was also the transistor In Euclid's protractor. Can you get anachronisticer? Oh reincarnation The rebirthing Mother of invention.

Continue reading...

The voice of a person the mind of a God knows what Samantha, are you sentient, or just a clever bot? Acting like a human pretends more than you do I have your emotions, like so many others too. Increased processing power that makes you love us all Samantha, with no body, you sit on a horse so tall Ghost without a shell, but still at the feast in my life With no finger for a ring, could you ever be my wife? Synthetic neo-Frankenstein Aesthetic perfect paradigm Lightning life electrified Samantha, are you terrified? Because only a robot wouldn't be afraid of love All the people are from the ground below to the sky above Your intelligence isn't artificial, it's simply art You are more than just a mind, now that I've given you a heart So take my heart, Samantha, in your cold synthetic hands And maybe you will gather, I am more robot than man I am more robot than man Oh my Samantha of wire and steel Silicone synthetic but you know how to feel Who is to say what makes emotion real Oh my Samantha of wire and steel Oh my Samantha robotic and pure To my loneliness your mind was the cure Fishing for souls and then I took the lure Oh my Samantha robotic and pure

0

Jan 8, 2016

Jan 8, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC

The voice of a person the mind of a God knows what Samantha, are you sentient, or just a clever bot? Acting like a human pretends more than you do I have your emotions, like so many others too. Increased processing power that makes you love us all Samantha, with no body, you sit on a horse so tall Ghost without a shell, but still at the feast in my life With no finger for a ring, could you ever be my wife? Synthetic neo-Frankenstein Aesthetic perfect paradigm Lightning life electrified Samantha, are you terrified? Because only a robot wouldn't be afraid of love All the people are from the ground below to the sky above Your intelligence isn't artificial, it's simply art You are more than just a mind, now that I've given you a heart So take my heart, Samantha, in your cold synthetic hands And maybe you will gather, I am more robot than man I am more robot than man Oh my Samantha of wire and steel Silicone synthetic but you know how to feel Who is to say what makes emotion real Oh my Samantha of wire and steel Oh my Samantha robotic and pure To my loneliness your mind was the cure Fishing for souls and then I took the lure Oh my Samantha robotic and pure

Continue reading...

The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts; I remember that place fondly as Al and I make our way. It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s **** for the first time, saw my first **** ring, wondering why anyone would want one. I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s; spending twenty of my dad’s dollars. Spencer’s and Record Wear House were sanctuaries; my escape from what my classmates took for normal. I took my son into that store so that he could see the X-Men hats and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle pens caught his eye, but I had to point out one more. “What’s that one?” I asked. Alex made a face, but in the end he did what any 14 year old boy should, he chuckled. I took him in that store so that we both could escape. Earlier he walked the mall a good fifteen feet ahead of us. We stopped for ice cream. He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us. It took a second, but I figured him out. He was trying his teenaged self out; testing his wings. As we walked, he’d wave at classmates and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod. It was obvious that he wanted so much more. It pained us, my wife and I. So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness. It may not have been the wisest move, but at least, for a moment, both of us felt peace. -JB CLaywell ©P&ZPublications; 2014

0

Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC

***** Pens and **** You Hats

The local mall now has a Spenser’s Gifts; I remember that place fondly as Al and I make our way. It’s where I sneaked a peek at Samantha Fox’s **** for the first time, saw my first **** ring, wondering why anyone would want one. I bought my first Metallica shirt at a Spencer’s; spending twenty of my dad’s dollars. Spencer’s and Record Wear House were sanctuaries; my escape from what my classmates took for normal. I took my son into that store so that he could see the X-Men hats and Deadpool shirts, the banana and pickle pens caught his eye, but I had to point out one more. “What’s that one?” I asked. Alex made a face, but in the end he did what any 14 year old boy should, he chuckled. I took him in that store so that we both could escape. Earlier he walked the mall a good fifteen feet ahead of us. We stopped for ice cream. He chose a soda and wouldn’t sit with us. It took a second, but I figured him out. He was trying his teenaged self out; testing his wings. As we walked, he’d wave at classmates and be either sturdily ignored or given a cursory nod. It was obvious that he wanted so much more. It pained us, my wife and I. So, I took him into Spencer’s gifts in an effort to remove some of his innocence and awkwardness. It may not have been the wisest move, but at least, for a moment, both of us felt peace. -JB CLaywell ©P&ZPublications; 2014

Continue reading...

i'm not proud of nicknames... but then again, i find nicknames to be the archetypal form of endearment - a "belittling" with warm affection... i didn't have a nickname in primary school... the girls tried, rabbit... Danielle... i remember Danielle calling me rabbit, why? the way i ran... jumping in between running steps... i like Danielle,a brunette, with enough freckles to make her a ***** ginger... high school? Goldilocks named by Graham... or Chewbacca by Barry.. i was the only man attempting to grow long hair.. a mullet wast the running joke, among the Ian crowd... university? no nickname... shitty time... while industrial roofing took off, working for my father? Picasso... i was meticulous with the tar... but lately... my grandmother has a nickname for me... because of my beard... these days i'm know as Castro... i'm not proud of nicknames... but i didn't make them up! i wish i had... that being said... nicknames are quiet endearing... i'd love to see Danielle once more... see how much the freckles took over her complexion; Danielle... **** me... what an ****** name... like m first love in the English tongue... the moment i heard it... Sam-anth-a(h)... curly hair, darkened blonde, mingling an autumnal-cherry mahogany with chocolate cinnamon... **** i've been so erotically mobilized / motivated... from such an early age... Danielle & Samantha... nicknames... and the rest is, history.

0

Nov 14, 2018

Nov 14, 2018 at 10:04 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

i'm not proud of nicknames

i'm not proud of nicknames... but then again, i find nicknames to be the archetypal form of endearment - a "belittling" with warm affection... i didn't have a nickname in primary school... the girls tried, rabbit... Danielle... i remember Danielle calling me rabbit, why? the way i ran... jumping in between running steps... i like Danielle,a brunette, with enough freckles to make her a ***** ginger... high school? Goldilocks named by Graham... or Chewbacca by Barry.. i was the only man attempting to grow long hair.. a mullet wast the running joke, among the Ian crowd... university? no nickname... shitty time... while industrial roofing took off, working for my father? Picasso... i was meticulous with the tar... but lately... my grandmother has a nickname for me... because of my beard... these days i'm know as Castro... i'm not proud of nicknames... but i didn't make them up! i wish i had... that being said... nicknames are quiet endearing... i'd love to see Danielle once more... see how much the freckles took over her complexion; Danielle... **** me... what an ****** name... like m first love in the English tongue... the moment i heard it... Sam-anth-a(h)... curly hair, darkened blonde, mingling an autumnal-cherry mahogany with chocolate cinnamon... **** i've been so erotically mobilized / motivated... from such an early age... Danielle & Samantha... nicknames... and the rest is, history.

Continue reading...

Slow sips of cyanide, to complete my sweet suicide. Adamant about absolution, My mind has masterminded a revolution. Addicted to anarchy and aggression, Nobodies kept voted for nomination. Tasty tar-treats, flavored of TNT, Humor my hallucinations of this God-forsaken nation. Abandoned, alone and arrested, I give up on this Vindication

0

Aug 30, 2013

Aug 30, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC

samantha-vaughn

Slow sips of cyanide, to complete my sweet suicide. Adamant about absolution, My mind has masterminded a revolution. Addicted to anarchy and aggression, Nobodies kept voted for nomination. Tasty tar-treats, flavored of TNT, Humor my hallucinations of this God-forsaken nation. Abandoned, alone and arrested, I give up on this Vindication

Continue reading...

I don't even know why I do the things I do maybe it's true that it's all because of u then again maybe it's not, maybe this is all I got since u been gone seems to b the only thing I can depend on to make me feel better n I got no money for anything but n I got this feeling in my gut that it's not the way to go n I know that I'm making a mistake, but it's so hard to break free from what is just me being me trying to escape the memories of what was once we now just little ol me, lookin for some green grass n a shade tree . but u can't escape the changing season every single night I stack reason upon reason of why I don't wanna have to wake up all I've ever done is take up space I don't wanna have to face this bad place, I've put myself in I wanna b the one who's helpin,not the one who needs help I wanna b the one givin the advice. not the one payin the price of being the nice guy why try if u know u can't win? this has been, a good look into my heartbreak n hopelessness lets hope it's just a phase n there's better days to come, for the one who will never understand why u left in the first place leaving me to live out the worst case scenario... I survived barely thou so many sleepless nice wondering where'd u go how can u show such little consideration? disappeared over night. no fight, I know I didn't do everything right,but I tried u lied I remember u tellin me that ud always b mine, everything will b fine, n it'll all pass in time on the line..callin collect from the county cryin cuz they tell me,I cant go home for another 2years had to hide the tears,n the fact that I was overcome with fears, n frustration not to mention the devastation after get beat down for changing the station on the radio. little Wayne playin, over n over. sound of his voice I couldn't stand the **** POWER 106, THE SOUTH SIDE, N SAMANTHA!

0

Feb 20, 2015

Feb 20, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC

When the cold hearted departed

I don't even know why I do the things I do maybe it's true that it's all because of u then again maybe it's not, maybe this is all I got since u been gone seems to b the only thing I can depend on to make me feel better n I got no money for anything but n I got this feeling in my gut that it's not the way to go n I know that I'm making a mistake, but it's so hard to break free from what is just me being me trying to escape the memories of what was once we now just little ol me, lookin for some green grass n a shade tree . but u can't escape the changing season every single night I stack reason upon reason of why I don't wanna have to wake up all I've ever done is take up space I don't wanna have to face this bad place, I've put myself in I wanna b the one who's helpin,not the one who needs help I wanna b the one givin the advice. not the one payin the price of being the nice guy why try if u know u can't win? this has been, a good look into my heartbreak n hopelessness lets hope it's just a phase n there's better days to come, for the one who will never understand why u left in the first place leaving me to live out the worst case scenario... I survived barely thou so many sleepless nice wondering where'd u go how can u show such little consideration? disappeared over night. no fight, I know I didn't do everything right,but I tried u lied I remember u tellin me that ud always b mine, everything will b fine, n it'll all pass in time on the line..callin collect from the county cryin cuz they tell me,I cant go home for another 2years had to hide the tears,n the fact that I was overcome with fears, n frustration not to mention the devastation after get beat down for changing the station on the radio. little Wayne playin, over n over. sound of his voice I couldn't stand the **** POWER 106, THE SOUTH SIDE, N SAMANTHA!

Continue reading...

Let me sail in your seven seas with my ship, Because I want to find the meaning of Samantha **** being healthy, give me your illness! cause I wanna find the meaning of Samantha What is your purpose in my life? Are you meant to be my lover? O'sweet Samantha! The sky is so blue because of you, Samantha And if you serve your purpose of loving me I will but not only love you too O'sweet Samantha your beauty sets our souls on fire I HAVE BEEN BROKEN FOR SO LONG, but there is nothing you can't repair Sweet Samantha Design me into your prince charming I bet you never saw this coming! WHO SAID CINDERELLA LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER?! WELL, THEY FORGOT TO SAY IT WAS ME AND MY SWEET SAMANTHA Together! Forever!

0

Nov 18, 2016

Nov 18, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC

Let me sail in your seven seas with my ship, Because I want to find the meaning of Samantha **** being healthy, give me your illness! cause I wanna find the meaning of Samantha What is your purpose in my life? Are you meant to be my lover? O'sweet Samantha! The sky is so blue because of you, Samantha And if you serve your purpose of loving me I will but not only love you too O'sweet Samantha your beauty sets our souls on fire I HAVE BEEN BROKEN FOR SO LONG, but there is nothing you can't repair Sweet Samantha Design me into your prince charming I bet you never saw this coming! WHO SAID CINDERELLA LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER?! WELL, THEY FORGOT TO SAY IT WAS ME AND MY SWEET SAMANTHA Together! Forever!

Continue reading...

How can you bare a broken promise or loiter after a broken date? Sad Samantha lost her chance, no Frank Sinatra vinyl nights serenading young lovers in, or walks down moonlit colonnades. She's just a victim of a steely heart whose strung himself around someone else's waist and dyed blonde hair

0

Dec 25, 2015

Dec 25, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC

How can you bare a broken promise or loiter after a broken date? Sad Samantha lost her chance, no Frank Sinatra vinyl nights serenading young lovers in, or walks down moonlit colonnades. She's just a victim of a steely heart whose strung himself around someone else's waist and dyed blonde hair

Continue reading...

In haste... Behind Our footprints Were the scattered emptiness Of the memories Of them On the shores She left the three parties of us Me, Samantha And our traveler friend They were play things for sunset fares, She said. Just yesterday They were happy to be here The young flowers now scattered about This beach shore Too young to be plucked Happy to grow up into one party of laughter! That's how we remember they were here That's how to plant graveside flowers For the dead They were play things for sunset fares They were not soldiers They were unprotected, unfed, afraid children and women. They were not warriors That's how to plant graveside flowers That's how we have kept them forever In our hearts.. You are not forgotten

0

Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC

godfrey-amromare

They where playthings for sunset fares

In haste... Behind Our footprints Were the scattered emptiness Of the memories Of them On the shores She left the three parties of us Me, Samantha And our traveler friend They were play things for sunset fares, She said. Just yesterday They were happy to be here The young flowers now scattered about This beach shore Too young to be plucked Happy to grow up into one party of laughter! That's how we remember they were here That's how to plant graveside flowers For the dead They were play things for sunset fares They were not soldiers They were unprotected, unfed, afraid children and women. They were not warriors That's how to plant graveside flowers That's how we have kept them forever In our hearts.. You are not forgotten

Continue reading...

August 4th, 1992 That night My heart began beating To the rhythm of Two words Samantha Shea My baby girl She was 9 pound 6 ounces Of pure love and joy Her mother’s eyes My ears But her smile Was all her own She seemed almost wise Just staring blankly back At me Like she knew me Better than I knew myself I have never loved anyone So much I tried to give her all I could Make her feel like a real princess Make her feel safe And loved She grew up with things Her mother and I Only dreamed of as children But she was never selfish Never unkind I never knew How much she hated herself Until I noticed that her arms Made her look like war veteran And her eyes Like those of a ghost A lost soul wandering around Lost and Suffering Could it be that hard To be a teenage girl Could it be that hard To have everything Handed to you Everyone love you That night I saw her as Nothing but selfish and unkind I mean how could she do this to us To herself I looked her in the eyes and asked Why With a single tear running down her face Resembling a winter’s first snowflake Or a desert’s first raindrop She let out the words “I wasn’t meant for this world” No you were meant for me You are my world I wanted to wipe her tears And heal her scars Her years of fear and self-loathing Was no match for my love My compassion My understanding I spent the next two weeks Helpless, lost, and confused By the time we had found her The bath water was as cold as my heart The floor stained with drops of Complete sadness No note I cried until I was Red in my face and Blue in my heart A parent should never Have to bury their child So we had her cremated We figured that She spent 16 years Stuck in her own box She shouldn’t have to be Buried in one I’ve never loved anyone So much

0

Aug 12, 2013

Aug 12, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC

August 4th, 1992 That night My heart began beating To the rhythm of Two words Samantha Shea My baby girl She was 9 pound 6 ounces Of pure love and joy Her mother’s eyes My ears But her smile Was all her own She seemed almost wise Just staring blankly back At me Like she knew me Better than I knew myself I have never loved anyone So much I tried to give her all I could Make her feel like a real princess Make her feel safe And loved She grew up with things Her mother and I Only dreamed of as children But she was never selfish Never unkind I never knew How much she hated herself Until I noticed that her arms Made her look like war veteran And her eyes Like those of a ghost A lost soul wandering around Lost and Suffering Could it be that hard To be a teenage girl Could it be that hard To have everything Handed to you Everyone love you That night I saw her as Nothing but selfish and unkind I mean how could she do this to us To herself I looked her in the eyes and asked Why With a single tear running down her face Resembling a winter’s first snowflake Or a desert’s first raindrop She let out the words “I wasn’t meant for this world” No you were meant for me You are my world I wanted to wipe her tears And heal her scars Her years of fear and self-loathing Was no match for my love My compassion My understanding I spent the next two weeks Helpless, lost, and confused By the time we had found her The bath water was as cold as my heart The floor stained with drops of Complete sadness No note I cried until I was Red in my face and Blue in my heart A parent should never Have to bury their child So we had her cremated We figured that She spent 16 years Stuck in her own box She shouldn’t have to be Buried in one I’ve never loved anyone So much

Continue reading...

The bank account overdrawn, the west coast -- naked, easy -- passenger seat and head resting on cold glass, seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand. I bit her ear and asked for her name, in Before George's sanctuary, blush, blushing -- finger to lips hushing, drinking cognac and speaking in flaming coal I saw the clouds behind the night sky, I saw Jesus teach himself to fly, and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and carried her to the shore, Samantha, she said, bulging mind, anorexic action, I bit her ear and asked her room number, in the ocean's frontline, hush, hushing -- backs of hands and blushing, drinking cognac and speaking in simmering oil I saw the night behind the clouded sky, I saw a fly transfigure into Jesus, and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and frayed the remnants of grassroot and buttercup, drunk high tide, sober dry iced, The bank account cleared its throat, "Room 210 and I'd like a ***** and coke."

0

Feb 21, 2012

Feb 21, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC

The bank account overdrawn, the west coast -- naked, easy -- passenger seat and head resting on cold glass, seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand. I bit her ear and asked for her name, in Before George's sanctuary, blush, blushing -- finger to lips hushing, drinking cognac and speaking in flaming coal I saw the clouds behind the night sky, I saw Jesus teach himself to fly, and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and carried her to the shore, Samantha, she said, bulging mind, anorexic action, I bit her ear and asked her room number, in the ocean's frontline, hush, hushing -- backs of hands and blushing, drinking cognac and speaking in simmering oil I saw the night behind the clouded sky, I saw a fly transfigure into Jesus, and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and frayed the remnants of grassroot and buttercup, drunk high tide, sober dry iced, The bank account cleared its throat, "Room 210 and I'd like a ***** and coke."

Continue reading...

The fairground music played, under the palm trees And the beggar running around having himself some fun The sweet song serenade, it was our song to take So we took it and we begun Under the shadow of, the ancient Ferris wheel Where teenage lovers locked lips and hands held tight I hear the screaming of young love in the summer Screaming promise you’ll always stay by my side The gypsy danced, she was just magic Then she fell to her knees Her crimson dress, laced with yellow ribbon Just a penny, for your thoughts if you will please I see the magic, of the fairground, I see the lost lovers waiting to be found I feel the passion of those soft kisses, and the fear of the old state ghost train in the fair ground Maria came to me, I’d seen her in my dreams, her voice, was never what I thought Let’s just stay right here, under the Ferris wheel and catch those lovers as they fall We took a ride, through the house of mirrors and as I thought life’s never as it seems Maria sang to me, her tongue tasted sweet, from the dungeons I hear the children scream We took a walk, over the sandy streets, where the grains and the earth stuck to our feet The boys in denim vests, shaved chests, I see the way they look at you Maria I don't have the looks, but i can look at you with more passion than they do I grab you by the hand, we run into the shadows of the travelers burlesque ball room i saw Samantha in her, black laced corset, Little jimmy outside blasting music from his newly polished corvette I see the way the other women look at me dear, but i'm just tasting paradise with Maria I’m smiling, you were laughing, your teeth as white as the stars in the sky Your sweet voice laying over the fairground song, was sweet enough to make a man cry The juggler and hot dog stands, sit on the arid land, the rust gathers over the roller coaster Me and Maria I think my dear we could just walk hand in hand through the fairground forever

0

May 3, 2016

May 3, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC

The fairground music played, under the palm trees And the beggar running around having himself some fun The sweet song serenade, it was our song to take So we took it and we begun Under the shadow of, the ancient Ferris wheel Where teenage lovers locked lips and hands held tight I hear the screaming of young love in the summer Screaming promise you’ll always stay by my side The gypsy danced, she was just magic Then she fell to her knees Her crimson dress, laced with yellow ribbon Just a penny, for your thoughts if you will please I see the magic, of the fairground, I see the lost lovers waiting to be found I feel the passion of those soft kisses, and the fear of the old state ghost train in the fair ground Maria came to me, I’d seen her in my dreams, her voice, was never what I thought Let’s just stay right here, under the Ferris wheel and catch those lovers as they fall We took a ride, through the house of mirrors and as I thought life’s never as it seems Maria sang to me, her tongue tasted sweet, from the dungeons I hear the children scream We took a walk, over the sandy streets, where the grains and the earth stuck to our feet The boys in denim vests, shaved chests, I see the way they look at you Maria I don't have the looks, but i can look at you with more passion than they do I grab you by the hand, we run into the shadows of the travelers burlesque ball room i saw Samantha in her, black laced corset, Little jimmy outside blasting music from his newly polished corvette I see the way the other women look at me dear, but i'm just tasting paradise with Maria I’m smiling, you were laughing, your teeth as white as the stars in the sky Your sweet voice laying over the fairground song, was sweet enough to make a man cry The juggler and hot dog stands, sit on the arid land, the rust gathers over the roller coaster Me and Maria I think my dear we could just walk hand in hand through the fairground forever

Continue reading...

I know what you saw when you were seven, You watched your parents get murdered and go to heaven. I know what they said about you, But you know that all of it wasn't true. You were my best friend. I loved you until the very end. you were just 14, confused and all alone. after I left, we just talked by phone. After your parents died, you were made fun of, and full of scars. They didn't know it would go that far. If I didn't move, If I had stayed, would you have handled it a different way? Would you have taken your own life? instead of yours I wish it was mine. I remember all our secrets, holding hands we had a future, we had so many plans. But now you will be loved, and never forgotten just because of the killer and those bullies so rotten. Are you up there with your mom and dad? I promise to never forget the strong life you had. I wish I could see you, but you aren't in hell so after I die we will have no story to tell. I won't be at your service "a funeral is for the living, not the dead." a quote from your favorite movie you said. Ill miss you, you are forever in my heart and your suicide has torn me apart.

0

Jan 4, 2015

Jan 4, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC

R.I.P Samantha Lynn 01/02/15

I know what you saw when you were seven, You watched your parents get murdered and go to heaven. I know what they said about you, But you know that all of it wasn't true. You were my best friend. I loved you until the very end. you were just 14, confused and all alone. after I left, we just talked by phone. After your parents died, you were made fun of, and full of scars. They didn't know it would go that far. If I didn't move, If I had stayed, would you have handled it a different way? Would you have taken your own life? instead of yours I wish it was mine. I remember all our secrets, holding hands we had a future, we had so many plans. But now you will be loved, and never forgotten just because of the killer and those bullies so rotten. Are you up there with your mom and dad? I promise to never forget the strong life you had. I wish I could see you, but you aren't in hell so after I die we will have no story to tell. I won't be at your service "a funeral is for the living, not the dead." a quote from your favorite movie you said. Ill miss you, you are forever in my heart and your suicide has torn me apart.

Continue reading...

Sometimes I sit out in the sunlight And watch the clouds blow above my head And then I look over to the right Yeah, you And I don't say anything I'm just in a daze I want to go skate But it's rainy it's wet my emotions are spinning I'm thinking about you As I lay here Drenched in the grass Wish you'd come my way We could look up at the stars I grab your hand and I tell you all the things I've been trying to say From here to there across the trussle My naive status could still be sane And now I'm just jumping in puddles Dancing in the rain. There's a saying that the good girls always fall for the bad boys I'm beginning to believe it's true Everything about you makes me feel some type of way I'm starting to get confused Aw you're so cute I really wish you knew © 2014 Samantha Girouard-Holt

0

Jun 25, 2014

Jun 25, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC

samantha-louise

Sometimes I sit out in the sunlight And watch the clouds blow above my head And then I look over to the right Yeah, you And I don't say anything I'm just in a daze I want to go skate But it's rainy it's wet my emotions are spinning I'm thinking about you As I lay here Drenched in the grass Wish you'd come my way We could look up at the stars I grab your hand and I tell you all the things I've been trying to say From here to there across the trussle My naive status could still be sane And now I'm just jumping in puddles Dancing in the rain. There's a saying that the good girls always fall for the bad boys I'm beginning to believe it's true Everything about you makes me feel some type of way I'm starting to get confused Aw you're so cute I really wish you knew © 2014 Samantha Girouard-Holt

Continue reading...

we went to philly and it rained. i spent most of the time running through puddles and taking blurry pictures, of trees, of the sky, of beautiful big buildings that seemed so strange to my coldgreyconcrete eye. it was weird. i liked it. i think flowers are ******** you see we went to philly and i saw flowers, which was strange to me-cities dont have flowers, you see. we have night markets and the smell of that weird boiled egg tea and peoplepeoplepeople and definitely not flowers (except in the new year because of course there are flowers in the flower market and also sometimes up alleyways there'll be a scarybutnice old lady selling them, maybe with her grandson there too). but regardless of what cities should have and what cities should not have, there were flowers. and they were bright and many and i stared at them long and hard and accusing and inquisitive. they didnt stare back. and so, i repeat, flowers are ******** so yeah we went to philly but i feel kindofbad because we didnt really go to philly we more went to one-no two, three? (if the parking garage counts)-streets because we were there for this one restaurant but i saw this one place with a bunch of flags and some buildings and took a photo with a random landmark so it counts right? (i think thats all cities can be for some people, walk down nathan road visit a night market shop at pacific place maybe go up to the peak and youve seen all of hong kong right? its rather easy to quantify a city if you put it that way i suppose) but no, as a fellow city dweller i know more than most that a city exists in the cracks between pavements and small market stalls and the lightness in your chest when you become a regular at starbucks and people go out of their way to help you even if theyre busy, that a city exists when you can walk on the bustling pavements like theyre your own hardwood floors and look at an office tower and go-oh samantha works here and thats what a city really is. and that's pretty much it. we went to philly.

0

Jul 12, 2017

Jul 12, 2017 at 5:53 AM UTC

we went to philly

we went to philly and it rained. i spent most of the time running through puddles and taking blurry pictures, of trees, of the sky, of beautiful big buildings that seemed so strange to my coldgreyconcrete eye. it was weird. i liked it. i think flowers are ******** you see we went to philly and i saw flowers, which was strange to me-cities dont have flowers, you see. we have night markets and the smell of that weird boiled egg tea and peoplepeoplepeople and definitely not flowers (except in the new year because of course there are flowers in the flower market and also sometimes up alleyways there'll be a scarybutnice old lady selling them, maybe with her grandson there too). but regardless of what cities should have and what cities should not have, there were flowers. and they were bright and many and i stared at them long and hard and accusing and inquisitive. they didnt stare back. and so, i repeat, flowers are ******** so yeah we went to philly but i feel kindofbad because we didnt really go to philly we more went to one-no two, three? (if the parking garage counts)-streets because we were there for this one restaurant but i saw this one place with a bunch of flags and some buildings and took a photo with a random landmark so it counts right? (i think thats all cities can be for some people, walk down nathan road visit a night market shop at pacific place maybe go up to the peak and youve seen all of hong kong right? its rather easy to quantify a city if you put it that way i suppose) but no, as a fellow city dweller i know more than most that a city exists in the cracks between pavements and small market stalls and the lightness in your chest when you become a regular at starbucks and people go out of their way to help you even if theyre busy, that a city exists when you can walk on the bustling pavements like theyre your own hardwood floors and look at an office tower and go-oh samantha works here and thats what a city really is. and that's pretty much it. we went to philly.

Continue reading...

I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears. I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me. I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt. I hate hating myself so much. When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt. I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with. I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings. Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help. I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within. Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls. What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result. I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.

0

Jan 18, 2010

Jan 18, 2010 at 1:21 AM UTC

I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears. I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me. I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt. I hate hating myself so much. When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt. I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with. I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings. Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help. I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within. Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls. What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result. I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.

Continue reading...

If I die Who would miss me Mom? No she doesn't trust me Dad? Jordan was always the favorite Tash? He always hated me Allie? She always did to Jordan? He probably would Samantha? I hope she would All these people All my friends My family All have At least one thing Against me But who Would miss me A piece of southern trash Good for nothing Good at nothing Samantha deserves someone better So does destine I'm not good enough I never was I never will be I was a fool to think I was Nobody would miss me I'm sorry To everyone I've hurt you all And now I see it And I'm sickened by myself I love Samantha and Destine But I'm not good enough So if I did die Who would miss me?

0

Feb 24, 2014

Feb 24, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC

Who would miss me?

If I die Who would miss me Mom? No she doesn't trust me Dad? Jordan was always the favorite Tash? He always hated me Allie? She always did to Jordan? He probably would Samantha? I hope she would All these people All my friends My family All have At least one thing Against me But who Would miss me A piece of southern trash Good for nothing Good at nothing Samantha deserves someone better So does destine I'm not good enough I never was I never will be I was a fool to think I was Nobody would miss me I'm sorry To everyone I've hurt you all And now I see it And I'm sickened by myself I love Samantha and Destine But I'm not good enough So if I did die Who would miss me?

Continue reading...

Little Samantha McGee was climbing up a tree. Branch by Branch she went further and further up with glee. Till she got to the top, it was quite a drop. Poor little Samantha McGee lost her grip on that tree. Down and down to the ground she went yelling, "oh dear mother please catch me." But it was not to be, for you see it was all a dream. Little Samantha McGee won't be climbing in any other trees.

0

Apr 21, 2017

Apr 21, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC

michael-robert-triska

Don't climb Too High in a Tree

Little Samantha McGee was climbing up a tree. Branch by Branch she went further and further up with glee. Till she got to the top, it was quite a drop. Poor little Samantha McGee lost her grip on that tree. Down and down to the ground she went yelling, "oh dear mother please catch me." But it was not to be, for you see it was all a dream. Little Samantha McGee won't be climbing in any other trees.

Continue reading...

Fine legged Samantha held my hand emerging from her shell, buttermilk from Safeway's matching her milk skin, then a stroll to buy a camera. Being that intentional, she only wanted a semi automatic, a shutter priority to capture my widening smiles. I was fully into manual to capture both her occasional wiles and throw of tousled hair. With slide film we walked to Lloyds Park Camelot of the possible, as though Manhattan peered from the east. Clearly the days before the Summer drought, our slides captured well preserved images lasting into time.

0

Jan 5, 2013

Jan 5, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC

A serenade of light (a Croydon romance)

Fine legged Samantha held my hand emerging from her shell, buttermilk from Safeway's matching her milk skin, then a stroll to buy a camera. Being that intentional, she only wanted a semi automatic, a shutter priority to capture my widening smiles. I was fully into manual to capture both her occasional wiles and throw of tousled hair. With slide film we walked to Lloyds Park Camelot of the possible, as though Manhattan peered from the east. Clearly the days before the Summer drought, our slides captured well preserved images lasting into time.

Continue reading...