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"sept" poems
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.   Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them. Here then is what I might call                                                   My Reverse Bucket List Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere    Barcelona, Spain    Venice, Italy    Oxford, England    Jerusalem, Israel    Luxor, Egypt    Varanasi, India    Hiroshima, Japan Pompeii, Italy Other locations    Galápagos islands, Ecuador    Great Barrier Reef, Australia    North Woolwich, London Churches    St Paul's Cathedral, London    Sagrada Familia, Barcelona    Coventry Cathedral    Córdoba Cathedral, Spain    Blue Mosque, Istanbul Other structures    Taj Mahal, Agra    Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland    Royal Festival Hall, London    London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.    Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)    Bayeux Tapestry     "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England    "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil Events    Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife    St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)    Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997    Oberammergau passion play, 2010    Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
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Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
Bucket List? -- Not Me!
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.   Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them. Here then is what I might call                                                   My Reverse Bucket List Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere    Barcelona, Spain    Venice, Italy    Oxford, England    Jerusalem, Israel    Luxor, Egypt    Varanasi, India    Hiroshima, Japan Pompeii, Italy Other locations    Galápagos islands, Ecuador    Great Barrier Reef, Australia    North Woolwich, London Churches    St Paul's Cathedral, London    Sagrada Familia, Barcelona    Coventry Cathedral    Córdoba Cathedral, Spain    Blue Mosque, Istanbul Other structures    Taj Mahal, Agra    Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland    Royal Festival Hall, London    London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.    Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)    Bayeux Tapestry     "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England    "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil Events    Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife    St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)    Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997    Oberammergau passion play, 2010    Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
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38
dead bodies floating in our oceans from the Asian Pacific to the Mediterranean crumpled corpses lying on our beaches thousands drowned unknown overcrowded detention centers not unlike concentration camps behind barbed wires guarded by police and snarling dogs nobody feels responsible not  those who started wars destroyed whole cities made millions homeless and into refugees not those who take advantage of the chaos for their own gain abusing the names of their gods or some ancient figurehead to excuse their atrocities and greed not those who live in comfortable homes and wish the desperate crowds would just stay on the TV screen and not come close nor those who pretend to be the guardians of our great humanitarian heritage but show no backbone against nationalist fanatics it is the shame of the world to sit and talk and watch and not do enough those who turn away the needy and homeless could also quite suddenly lose their homes forced to rely on the kindness of strangers
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Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
THE SHAME OF THE WORLD (NOTHING has really changed since I wrote this poem on Sept. 6, 2015!!)
*ilang beses na ba akong ngumiti ng magisa habang iniisip ko ang mga panahong kasama kita ilang beses na ba akong umiyak sa aking kwarto habang tinitiis ko ang sakit at pighati sa aking puso ilang beses na ba ako umiling upang mawala ang alaala mo saking isip ilang beses na ba ako nagbuntong hininga upang mailabas ang lungkot na aking nadarama ilang beses na ba akong nagsulat ng liham na hindi ko naman naibigay kahit kailan ilang beses na ba akong gumawa ng tula tungkol sa pagibig na di ko naman maipadama ilang beses ko na bang binulong sa hangin na mahal kita, na mahal kita kahit magisa lamang akong umiibig* Sept 30, 2016
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Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Ilang beses na ba?
I was just in the closet July 1988 Not a word was said; 'sept a couple of whispers and an obvious desire to **** Mop buckets, the heat, and the stink of her ***** Petulant hands and harsh fingers as staggered breaths tell a tale; knickers and pants half pulled down, Hard truths pushing through, I had to **** her from behind, Very confined, quick, clumsy, ****** release. We both staggered out;  her mate was much older and waiting outside, bold as brass, she looks me up and down all tough and barks assertively "i'm next!" and **** I was back in the closet 1988
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Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
In and out the closet.
Hey guys I have found several Daily Poems from this site being shared externally with no acknowledgement to the rightful owner :( Head over here.... http://thepoetryden.wordpress.com/author/thepoetryden/ and if you find your original work there then I highly encourage you ask this person to either a) link the poem back to your original or b) remove them from his site. He claims to be a poet and is misleading people by not putting original names/original links to the works he is posting! Go through them carefully as the titles of the poems have been changed. Please share this because I have read at least 3 poems from this site from 3 different people over there with no acknowledgement to the original author! Update ~ Sept 6th 2014 ~ You are NOT going to believe this. I found Shane Linville on Facebook and you will never guess who is one of his favourites! Chris G Vaillancourt! That's right, the very same well known plagiarist from days gone by at HP. He was such an insidious piece of work ****** Not the way I'd like to see my name next to a Daily Poem but getting the awareness out there is a nice thing too :)***
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Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
Heads UP!!! More Possible Stolen Poems!!!
Melancholic vigilance can serve as a reminder That though we might be dying, the world is growing kinder; The flower's smile through rain and storm, as though it didn't matter, And rainbows fall benevolent, as storm clouds quickly scatter. A hand in yours is all you need, to get you through the night, And every day the world turns till the sky is filled with light. Be still my heart and trust this day to turn out for the best; The things I'm given I will keep, and never mind the rest. Sept. 7 2010
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Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Melancholic
They are checking their list and checking it twice Making a note whose leaning left or right The CIA is coming to town. They know when your cheating on your taxes Checking Facebook they know when your awake When your smoking Humboldt **** Or chatting online with the Russians So knock off for goodness sake With hidden accounts offshore Track and keep score They know exactly who you are voting for The CIA is coming to town. OOOOOOOOOO you better watch out You better not shout You better be good Check under the hood ( boooom) The CIA is coming to tooooooooooooown Dont panic........ its Political Satire folks @ copyright Tammy M Darby Sept. 6, 2018
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Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
The CIA
Sept. 29th, 2014 Is combing and brushing your eyebrows in the morning. It's leaning on the cold car window with earbuds and as the last notes play, thinking "Please don't make this a happy song I don't deserve a happy song." It's seeing ads for a clearance sale plastered on a store that almost never is occupied and seeming to just know that it's it's subtle way of going out of business. It's knowing and not believing. It's breaking out in a cold sweat when you finish a book. It's wishing I could go home and lie on my carpet and peel all my skin off then crawl back inside and maybe feel comfortable this time.
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Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
September 29th
He's broken, he's in pieces, he's trapped, in a black hole He's crying, he's heartbroken, he's dying of loneliness He's confused, his mind is overloaded, his todger is dropping off He's this and that and that and this projecting your ******* fears and insecurities on him Hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha You know what....He's NOT....he's laughing at you He's happy that you now realize there are still men out there who transcend your ******* stereotyping and imbecilic assumptions . He's still laughing because he now sees for ******* real how immature and mentally underdeveloped a lot of you are and how so petty, mediocre and easy to manipulate you are Not to mention how weak, spineless and unable to handle pressure so many of you are. He laughing because you just act without fully thinking You are a shallow lot, cowardly, infantile and narrow minded You lack sound reasoning capacity and a lot of you are neurotic He's laughing because most believe anything they are told Unquestioning drones like a Labrador thrown a stick Go fetch, off he runs, retrieve stick, pat on the head, good boy Just simple minded followers. He laughing because he's attained all he wanted Got a good education, good self understanding, good morality sensitivity, compassion, empathy, confidence and honesty A well drilled man, adaptable, flexible, courageous and brave A MODERN DAY SPARTAN. He's laughing because you can't ******* take that away He's laughing because he's shown you how a proper man is He's laughing because he's invalidated your stereotypical assumptions, your prejudices, your bigotry and your ignorance He's laughing because you have confirmed your inferiority exposed your fears and inadequacies and make others see how damaged and vindictive you are He's laughing because out of all only one woman has shown magnanimity and she didn't belong to the class of the mediocres Which proves the point that mediocrity goes hand in hand with ignorance, fear and lack of Dignity and Integrity. And he's laughing because he's got chutzpah a big package and a hell of "tener cojones" hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha [email protected] Sept 2018,Allrightsreserved.
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Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
Broken Tungsten Space Traveller.....
He's broken, he's in pieces, he's trapped, in a black hole He's crying, he's heartbroken, he's dying of loneliness He's confused, his mind is overloaded, his todger is dropping off He's this and that and that and this projecting your ******* fears and insecurities on him Hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha You know what....He's NOT....he's laughing at you He's happy that you now realize there are still men out there who transcend your ******* stereotyping and imbecilic assumptions . He's still laughing because he now sees for ******* real how immature and mentally underdeveloped a lot of you are and how so petty, mediocre and easy to manipulate you are Not to mention how weak, spineless and unable to handle pressure so many of you are. He laughing because you just act without fully thinking You are a shallow lot, cowardly, infantile and narrow minded You lack sound reasoning capacity and a lot of you are neurotic He's laughing because most believe anything they are told Unquestioning drones like a Labrador thrown a stick Go fetch, off he runs, retrieve stick, pat on the head, good boy Just simple minded followers. He laughing because he's attained all he wanted Got a good education, good self understanding, good morality sensitivity, compassion, empathy, confidence and honesty A well drilled man, adaptable, flexible, courageous and brave A MODERN DAY SPARTAN. He's laughing because you can't ******* take that away He's laughing because he's shown you how a proper man is He's laughing because he's invalidated your stereotypical assumptions, your prejudices, your bigotry and your ignorance He's laughing because you have confirmed your inferiority exposed your fears and inadequacies and make others see how damaged and vindictive you are He's laughing because out of all only one woman has shown magnanimity and she didn't belong to the class of the mediocres Which proves the point that mediocrity goes hand in hand with ignorance, fear and lack of Dignity and Integrity. And he's laughing because he's got chutzpah a big package and a hell of "tener cojones" hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha [email protected] Sept 2018,Allrightsreserved.
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42
We are absurd You and I Fragments   We have created a fermentative reality, Where words are symbols of relation That you and I falsify   And Bingo was his name-o!   Ah!   Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon   What do you mean? And how shall we bargain?   And mora is but a half step to a whole   Eek gad!   January Febuary March and April May I introduce you to June and July August, Sept Oct Nov Dec   Randomly systemized organs organized Abstract or… dissonant? But who is in charge?   12345 12345678 12345 12345678   12344 12344556 12344 12344556   “Why so serious?” said The Riddler Mellow dramatic Melodrama Melancholy     Pantomimes! Pantomimes EVERYWHERE! They are able to speak But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”   Together we fall! United I stand.   Backwards Upside down Inside out And grammar   What’s in a name? Please don’t be lame Sarcastic and the glamour   Synonymous nonsense Homophones and nyms Where are the polysemes? In the antonyms In the antonyms!   Repitition Exclamation Annunciation tions…   verbage verbage verbage syllables and such meaningless meaning defining definitions with such   True or False? Hide and Seek   Ring around the rosy We all fall down… We all fall down.   Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.   Salt Sour And bitter And dill And And And And And And Ampersand   Institutionalized poetry But I am for rhythmic prose! No, not you Listen to the hue that the colors protrude red green blue red green blue   Black is not a color Chrome is my favorite I will not believe otherwise   You are an alien. I have divided by zero Musical dissonance *(asterisk) A beautiful disaster A shadow without its owner Wild natured wilderness And naturally a wildcard.   **** **** **** **** **** Etcetera.
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Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Sermon Monsieur
We are absurd You and I Fragments   We have created a fermentative reality, Where words are symbols of relation That you and I falsify   And Bingo was his name-o!   Ah!   Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon   What do you mean? And how shall we bargain?   And mora is but a half step to a whole   Eek gad!   January Febuary March and April May I introduce you to June and July August, Sept Oct Nov Dec   Randomly systemized organs organized Abstract or… dissonant? But who is in charge?   12345 12345678 12345 12345678   12344 12344556 12344 12344556   “Why so serious?” said The Riddler Mellow dramatic Melodrama Melancholy     Pantomimes! Pantomimes EVERYWHERE! They are able to speak But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”   Together we fall! United I stand.   Backwards Upside down Inside out And grammar   What’s in a name? Please don’t be lame Sarcastic and the glamour   Synonymous nonsense Homophones and nyms Where are the polysemes? In the antonyms In the antonyms!   Repitition Exclamation Annunciation tions…   verbage verbage verbage syllables and such meaningless meaning defining definitions with such   True or False? Hide and Seek   Ring around the rosy We all fall down… We all fall down.   Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.   Salt Sour And bitter And dill And And And And And And Ampersand   Institutionalized poetry But I am for rhythmic prose! No, not you Listen to the hue that the colors protrude red green blue red green blue   Black is not a color Chrome is my favorite I will not believe otherwise   You are an alien. I have divided by zero Musical dissonance *(asterisk) A beautiful disaster A shadow without its owner Wild natured wilderness And naturally a wildcard.   **** **** **** **** **** Etcetera.
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94
Tes yeux sont si profonds qu'en me penchant pour boire J'ai vu tous les soleils y venir se mirer S'y jeter à mourir tous les désespérés Tes yeux sont si profonds que j'y perds la mémoire À l'ombre des oiseaux c'est l'océan troublé Puis le beau temps soudain se lève et tes yeux changent L'été taille la nue au tablier des anges Le ciel n'est jamais bleu comme il l'est sur les blés Les vents chassent en vain les chagrins de l'azur Tes yeux plus clairs que lui lorsqu'une larme y luit Tes yeux rendent jaloux le ciel d'après la pluie Le verre n'est jamais si bleu qu'à sa brisure Mère des Sept douleurs ô lumière mouillée Sept glaives ont percé le prisme des couleurs Le jour est plus poignant qui point entre les pleurs L'iris troué de noir plus bleu d'être endeuillé Tes yeux dans le malheur ouvrent la double brèche Par où se reproduit le miracle des Rois Lorsque le coeur battant ils virent tous les trois Le manteau de Marie accroché dans la crèche Une bouche suffit au mois de Mai des mots Pour toutes les chansons et pour tous les hélas Trop peu d'un firmament pour des millions d'astres Il leur fallait tes yeux et leurs secrets gémeaux L'enfant accaparé par les belles images Écarquille les siens moins démesurément Quand tu fais les grands yeux je ne sais si tu mens On dirait que l'averse ouvre des fleurs sauvages Cachent-ils des éclairs dans cette lavande où Des insectes défont leurs amours violentes Je suis pris au filet des étoiles filantes Comme un marin qui meurt en mer en plein mois d'août J'ai retiré ce radium de la pechblende Et j'ai brûlé mes doigts à ce feu défendu Ô paradis cent fois retrouvé reperdu Tes yeux sont mon Pérou ma Golconde mes Indes Il advint qu'un beau soir l'univers se brisa Sur des récifs que les naufrageurs enflammèrent Moi je voyais briller au-dessus de la mer Les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa.
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Les yeux d'Elsa
Tes yeux sont si profonds qu'en me penchant pour boire J'ai vu tous les soleils y venir se mirer S'y jeter à mourir tous les désespérés Tes yeux sont si profonds que j'y perds la mémoire À l'ombre des oiseaux c'est l'océan troublé Puis le beau temps soudain se lève et tes yeux changent L'été taille la nue au tablier des anges Le ciel n'est jamais bleu comme il l'est sur les blés Les vents chassent en vain les chagrins de l'azur Tes yeux plus clairs que lui lorsqu'une larme y luit Tes yeux rendent jaloux le ciel d'après la pluie Le verre n'est jamais si bleu qu'à sa brisure Mère des Sept douleurs ô lumière mouillée Sept glaives ont percé le prisme des couleurs Le jour est plus poignant qui point entre les pleurs L'iris troué de noir plus bleu d'être endeuillé Tes yeux dans le malheur ouvrent la double brèche Par où se reproduit le miracle des Rois Lorsque le coeur battant ils virent tous les trois Le manteau de Marie accroché dans la crèche Une bouche suffit au mois de Mai des mots Pour toutes les chansons et pour tous les hélas Trop peu d'un firmament pour des millions d'astres Il leur fallait tes yeux et leurs secrets gémeaux L'enfant accaparé par les belles images Écarquille les siens moins démesurément Quand tu fais les grands yeux je ne sais si tu mens On dirait que l'averse ouvre des fleurs sauvages Cachent-ils des éclairs dans cette lavande où Des insectes défont leurs amours violentes Je suis pris au filet des étoiles filantes Comme un marin qui meurt en mer en plein mois d'août J'ai retiré ce radium de la pechblende Et j'ai brûlé mes doigts à ce feu défendu Ô paradis cent fois retrouvé reperdu Tes yeux sont mon Pérou ma Golconde mes Indes Il advint qu'un beau soir l'univers se brisa Sur des récifs que les naufrageurs enflammèrent Moi je voyais briller au-dessus de la mer Les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa.
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40
It was after we passed Moby’s Dock that Ebony met her first thresher shark He was five feet long or so two feet shark, three feet tail, and had just been pulled from the surf to be proudly displayed by the fisherman who had caught him Ebony stood transfixed her every muscle poised her feathered tail twitched as she leaned closer to inspect and then recoiled from this cold-blooded beauty still dressed in fleetingly iridescent blues and greens and purples - As the sun’s fading beams highlighted the magnificence of this dying shark I mourned his loss that night. The noise and tourists in the Pier’s arcades and bumper cars did not detract from the peacefulness of the Pacific in her chaos for this was August and they would soon go home I watched a distant storm at sea flashing fire against the deepening twilight I stood, and Ebony, gazing at the flashes of lightning My hand felt her softness and warmth as I stroked the waves of her black fur relishing the cool wind on my face listening to the rigging of the boats resting at anchor off the Pier Thinking about thresher sharks Willing them away from this place with its fishermen and cold, baited hooks Cori MacNaughton 13 Sept 2000
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Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
The Santa Monica Pier
Of woman's strength Feminine emotion Novice poet of rhyme Wandering traveler in time A skilled hunter I am an outlaw Choosing not to embrace conformity Or integrate into the system Societies matrix The definition of normal Existing uneasily on the fringe Confederate born Southern bred I fly my flag with pride overhead Not out of hate To represent the heritage of my birth A scholar Obscurity is my chosen environment Connoisseur of the written word The yellowed paper soon obsolete   These are my many attributions I will not dispute it Indeed I am a maze of confusion In the conscious world I am a strange combination All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M Darby All Material Stored in Author Base Sept. 2013
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Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
I am a strange combination
We are absurd You and I Fragments We have created a figmentative reality, where words are symbols of relation that you and I falsify And Bingo was his name-o! Ah! Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon What do you mean? and how shall we bargain? And mora is but a half step to a whole Eek gad! January Febuary March and April May I introduce you to June and July August 28th Sept Oct Nov Dec Randomly systemized organs organized Abstract or… dissonant? But who is in charge? 12345 12345678 12345 12345678 12344 12344556 12344 12344556 “Why so serious?” said The Riddler Mellow dramatic Melodrama Melancholy Pantomimes! Pantomimes EVERYWHERE! They are able to speak But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?” Together we fall! United I stand. Backwards Upside down Inside out And grammar What’s in a name? Please don’t be lame Sarcastic and the glamour Synonymous nonsense Homophones and nyms Where are the polysemes? In the antonyms In the antonyms! Repetition Exclamation Annunciation tions… verbage verbage verbage syllables and such meaningless meaning defining definitions with such True or False? Hide and Seek Ring around the rosy We all fall down… We all fall down. Salt Sour And bitter And dill And And And And And And Ampersand Institutionalized poetry But I am for rhythmic prose! No, not you Listen to the hue that the colors protrude red green blue red green blue Black is not a color Chrome is my favorite I will not believe otherwise You are an alien. I have divided by zero Musical dissonance Asterisk* A beautiful disaster A shadow without its owner Wild natured wilderness And naturally a wildcard. **** **** **** **** **** Etcetera.
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Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
Sermon Monsieur
We are absurd You and I Fragments We have created a figmentative reality, where words are symbols of relation that you and I falsify And Bingo was his name-o! Ah! Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon What do you mean? and how shall we bargain? And mora is but a half step to a whole Eek gad! January Febuary March and April May I introduce you to June and July August 28th Sept Oct Nov Dec Randomly systemized organs organized Abstract or… dissonant? But who is in charge? 12345 12345678 12345 12345678 12344 12344556 12344 12344556 “Why so serious?” said The Riddler Mellow dramatic Melodrama Melancholy Pantomimes! Pantomimes EVERYWHERE! They are able to speak But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?” Together we fall! United I stand. Backwards Upside down Inside out And grammar What’s in a name? Please don’t be lame Sarcastic and the glamour Synonymous nonsense Homophones and nyms Where are the polysemes? In the antonyms In the antonyms! Repetition Exclamation Annunciation tions… verbage verbage verbage syllables and such meaningless meaning defining definitions with such True or False? Hide and Seek Ring around the rosy We all fall down… We all fall down. Salt Sour And bitter And dill And And And And And And Ampersand Institutionalized poetry But I am for rhythmic prose! No, not you Listen to the hue that the colors protrude red green blue red green blue Black is not a color Chrome is my favorite I will not believe otherwise You are an alien. I have divided by zero Musical dissonance Asterisk* A beautiful disaster A shadow without its owner Wild natured wilderness And naturally a wildcard. **** **** **** **** **** Etcetera.
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94
*how.the.simplest.of.things.swell to magnified.import* 1. no more drawing lines in the sea-sand frolicking with flirty fun-waves (like before) no more pure-playing in the fields chasing magenta-and-green butterflies   (like before) 2. Mama, come home . . . where are you? Papa, it’s time to plant the beans Sister … Brother … Gramps … Grand-ma … Cousin … Uncle, aunt . . . ??                                  please . . . where are you all? 3. all.not.well.on.earth (like.never.before) *even.this.small.voice.which.spake.wider.through.innocence lies.silent.now beneath.reddish.dry-mud . . . its.melody.of.truth.heard. only.in.a field.of.butterflies all gone* no.more.butterfly S T, 5 sept
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Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
field.of.butterflies
Remember Me If I were to leave this world today I'd want to be remembered its true, for going that extra mile just to show my love for you. I'd want for you to be proud of me and know I always tried, when you hurt I did too, your tears I also cried. I'd want you to be compassionate to never turn away, from someone who might need a hug or encouragement one day. I'd want you to know I'm sorry if I ever caused you pain, I hope you'd learn from my mistakes and forgive me just the same. There are no second chances when God says it's time to go, we only have today to let our feelings show. Remember this when you say your prayers and count your blessings tonight, and treasure every precious moment God gives you in this life. Written by Kathy J Parenteau copyright © Sept 2013 All rights reserved
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Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Remember Me
Two men, one poem. This day, on this site. Two men wrote to me. One called me brother. The other, an arrogant ***** Called me little. One shared his life, With humility and gratitude, Then, I lost it. Wept. Baby like. Honored me with trust. Swapped spit stories That bled into my brain, And a tattoo appeared on my Writing arm, one word, Humility. One boasted of his beans. His bean counting reads. Analyzed his trends, Predicting by Christmas (!), He would have this many. His **** poems he informed, Would be published. What need did he have For punk-u-ation, His rants, his **** stream of words. Better than mine, Just cause his stuff I said, Not my cup of tea. What a crazy place this place. Holy and ******** sided. Humble humble, always humble. He invoked, this arrogant one, God's name. Not knowing I talk to Him. So I rang Him up and said, How did a little peenus-genius Find his way onto this Holy Place, HP, of kindness. He smiled in brevity. Did I not create both, Angels and devils? I love God's brevity. His commas, his question marks, His pointed punctuation. I love that He could create A man whose sight of Me, unseen, but found capacity To love me in ways Undreamed. Because I peered in to the man's reveal, Saw quality, value, Saw humility. So of arrogance, I said, I would write. But it is of humility I will sing, Of loving human kindness extraordinaire. Of weeping endless. At the joy afforded me To read so many lovely poems, Here. If my poems never see the Imprimatur of a publishing house, It matters not, For I have seen a human being Weep real tears reading mine. I have shed rivers of my own Upon discovering yours. Humble, humble. If it is glory you seek, You will find it, All alone. ************ Me, I live here, in the midst of a Good Company. Sept. 7th, 2013
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Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Two men, one poem
Two men, one poem. This day, on this site. Two men wrote to me. One called me brother. The other, an arrogant ***** Called me little. One shared his life, With humility and gratitude, Then, I lost it. Wept. Baby like. Honored me with trust. Swapped spit stories That bled into my brain, And a tattoo appeared on my Writing arm, one word, Humility. One boasted of his beans. His bean counting reads. Analyzed his trends, Predicting by Christmas (!), He would have this many. His **** poems he informed, Would be published. What need did he have For punk-u-ation, His rants, his **** stream of words. Better than mine, Just cause his stuff I said, Not my cup of tea. What a crazy place this place. Holy and ******** sided. Humble humble, always humble. He invoked, this arrogant one, God's name. Not knowing I talk to Him. So I rang Him up and said, How did a little peenus-genius Find his way onto this Holy Place, HP, of kindness. He smiled in brevity. Did I not create both, Angels and devils? I love God's brevity. His commas, his question marks, His pointed punctuation. I love that He could create A man whose sight of Me, unseen, but found capacity To love me in ways Undreamed. Because I peered in to the man's reveal, Saw quality, value, Saw humility. So of arrogance, I said, I would write. But it is of humility I will sing, Of loving human kindness extraordinaire. Of weeping endless. At the joy afforded me To read so many lovely poems, Here. If my poems never see the Imprimatur of a publishing house, It matters not, For I have seen a human being Weep real tears reading mine. I have shed rivers of my own Upon discovering yours. Humble, humble. If it is glory you seek, You will find it, All alone. ************ Me, I live here, in the midst of a Good Company. Sept. 7th, 2013
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*where are women really safe? how is it that society-collect FAILS as humanity stumbles yet again.. and again? our lady-folk are not safe*.. Amaya-bai finds little comfort but in sibilant-twin as no eye of sun nor ginoo laid eye on this binukot Olga is the silent-saint; believes in charity at home yet chaos ensues too easily - she is wronged and just gets.. lost in the system Zandile fetches precious amanzi in her sun-soaked calabash her vigilant-sister falls.. roving guerrilla-men from the river's edge Michelle, la petite belle, survives the daily-grind via low-coin tubes to Champs-Élysées as assistante-de-pharmacie Aadita,  from the outset at 15, dons a veil hiding ****** acid-burns she has some relative-luck to escape sati later on Amy with downtrod-heart, grabs the tram to downtown family wearing dark glasses and gloves on rainy-day blues Emiko graced (yet cursed) with beauty struggles with ancient-practice despite the ban, silent-suffering lotus-gait in the tiny village Aisha may be alive but not well from ethnic-marking tragedy as irugu are outcast from all-too prevalent gishiri-cruelty *might as well take a trip to Vladivostok or be dumped in a sarcophagus beneath the Pyramids safer there* S T - 27 sept 2013 - freitag
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Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
Trip to Vladivostok
Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule: ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie; C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux.’ (Bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie, Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe). ‘Les saules trempés, et des bourgeons sur les ronces— C’est là, dans une averse, qu’on s’abrite. J’avais sept ans, elle était plus petite. Elle était toute mouillée, je lui ai donné des primevères.’ Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trentehuit. ‘Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire. J’éprouvais un instant de puissance et de délire.’ Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge … ‘Monsieur, le fait est dur. Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien; Moi j’avais peur, je l’ai quittée à mi-chemin. C’est dommage.’ Mais alors, tu as ton vautour! Va t’en te décrotter les rides du visage; Tiens, ma fourchette, décrasse-toi le crâne. De quel droit payes-tu des expériences comme moi? Tiens, voilà dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains. Phlébas, le Phénicien, pendant quinze jours noyé, Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille, Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d’étain: Un courant de sous-mer l’emporta très **** Le repassant aux étapes de sa vie antérieure. Figurez-vous donc, c’était un sort pénible; Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.
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3.5k
Dans Le Restaurant
Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule: ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie; C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux.’ (Bavard, baveux, à la croupe arrondie, Je te prie, au moins, ne bave pas dans la soupe). ‘Les saules trempés, et des bourgeons sur les ronces— C’est là, dans une averse, qu’on s’abrite. J’avais sept ans, elle était plus petite. Elle était toute mouillée, je lui ai donné des primevères.’ Les taches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trentehuit. ‘Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire. J’éprouvais un instant de puissance et de délire.’ Mais alors, vieux lubrique, à cet âge … ‘Monsieur, le fait est dur. Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien; Moi j’avais peur, je l’ai quittée à mi-chemin. C’est dommage.’ Mais alors, tu as ton vautour! Va t’en te décrotter les rides du visage; Tiens, ma fourchette, décrasse-toi le crâne. De quel droit payes-tu des expériences comme moi? Tiens, voilà dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains. Phlébas, le Phénicien, pendant quinze jours noyé, Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille, Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d’étain: Un courant de sous-mer l’emporta très **** Le repassant aux étapes de sa vie antérieure. Figurez-vous donc, c’était un sort pénible; Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.
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*we are witness to atrocities committed by regime over its peoples over time* 1. we are witness.. shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids disillusionment of history forever rewritten control supply-and-demand create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said 2. diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred feed visions stilted by politrix deception and manipulation propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards and yet, who is really being played! eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt can't even play with yourself alone your **** your **** your every move.. watched - surveyed - and studied by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape right opposite your low hard-bed you're broken into popping-parts that YOU won't recognise! thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP! 3. we are witness life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls we are witness children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely we are witness truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor we are witness dictata.. dictata.. we are witness austere existence in a tacky one-room flat we are witness subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast we are witness regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on (after a while, we end up half-believing.. ) *only the clock which strikes thirteen can smell the charred-reality as leftover-truth is shoved into incendiary obsolescence* tick-a-damn-tock and that would be.. one S T - 26 sept
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Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
we are witness..
*we are witness to atrocities committed by regime over its peoples over time* 1. we are witness.. shattering glass of reality arranged into chosen shard-feeds like omni-gov surveillance into meticulous mind-grafts spluttering eternal-stats for public mind control spewing mini-truths of perpetual war raids disillusionment of history forever rewritten control supply-and-demand create dark-cloaked dilemma and monitor shortage and famine make-believe elements so well played to auto-frenzied latch thinking is degraded and actions.. well, less said 2. diligent and loyal yet harbour secret-hatred feed visions stilted by politrix deception and manipulation propaganda is the oleaginous-game by wand-over-mind totalitarian is the kingpin-holder of cards and yet, who is really being played! eternal marionettes on a conveyor-belt can't even play with yourself alone your **** your **** your every move.. watched - surveyed - and studied by that ubiquitous-bulge eye you cannot escape right opposite your low hard-bed you're broken into popping-parts that YOU won't recognise! thoughtcrime-police is gonna accost ya get up, comrade.. get UUUUUUUUP! 3. we are witness life-tube covered in darkened vapour-swirls we are witness children conditioned to watch their parents.. too closely we are witness truth so smothered, now re-fed by repeat-metaphor we are witness dictata.. dictata.. we are witness austere existence in a tacky one-room flat we are witness subsist on black-wheat and imitation-repast we are witness regurgitate the party-dialect on and on and on (after a while, we end up half-believing.. ) *only the clock which strikes thirteen can smell the charred-reality as leftover-truth is shoved into incendiary obsolescence* tick-a-damn-tock and that would be.. one S T - 26 sept
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*je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) Have not chatted in awhile, me rutted in NYC, a city of constant tear down and sometimes flashy urban human renewal... While you, you getting on with life, growing up, growing down, buying clothes for a new school season, or growing children, or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories... falling in love, writing poetry all about it... You, in Nepal, Malaysia, India, Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle, the US Midwest sainted hinterlands, the South, that makes one love water, water that has travelled from the faraway, island continent of professorial Australia, Did I forget the Philippines? worse sin committed, is that in your poetry I have not toe dipped, quite the long erstwhile, after loving it with obsession devotion... so just a Saturday afternoon note penned just to you and you alone... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) So by way of apology, craft a poem for you exclusive, more than each word, letter, every syllable, tongue tasted for conjuctivity, breadth and thus discovered notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon, even a hint of sweet masquerading as a salty kindness in our veins, our unique vintage of connectivity Your hand to my lips raised, grasped twice, by mine both, slow lifting with stature, affection and respect, kiss it and whisper just enough for we two to hear... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) even this seems weakly insufficient, but care taken nowadays, a new economy of words, write less, think more, and give up the truly deserved words only as a mark of my fondness and respect these come on no schedule, often months in the making, so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences, accept them with easy knowing that je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) the summer man wintered in discontent, his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous, stealing his vision, jailing him in between walls of indecision, knocking down his own twin towers, but carelessly not making provision to tell you well and often enough je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)* Sept. 13, 2014
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Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)
*je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) Have not chatted in awhile, me rutted in NYC, a city of constant tear down and sometimes flashy urban human renewal... While you, you getting on with life, growing up, growing down, buying clothes for a new school season, or growing children, or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories... falling in love, writing poetry all about it... You, in Nepal, Malaysia, India, Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle, the US Midwest sainted hinterlands, the South, that makes one love water, water that has travelled from the faraway, island continent of professorial Australia, Did I forget the Philippines? worse sin committed, is that in your poetry I have not toe dipped, quite the long erstwhile, after loving it with obsession devotion... so just a Saturday afternoon note penned just to you and you alone... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) So by way of apology, craft a poem for you exclusive, more than each word, letter, every syllable, tongue tasted for conjuctivity, breadth and thus discovered notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon, even a hint of sweet masquerading as a salty kindness in our veins, our unique vintage of connectivity Your hand to my lips raised, grasped twice, by mine both, slow lifting with stature, affection and respect, kiss it and whisper just enough for we two to hear... je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) even this seems weakly insufficient, but care taken nowadays, a new economy of words, write less, think more, and give up the truly deserved words only as a mark of my fondness and respect these come on no schedule, often months in the making, so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences, accept them with easy knowing that je pense bien à toi (i think well of you) the summer man wintered in discontent, his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous, stealing his vision, jailing him in between walls of indecision, knocking down his own twin towers, but carelessly not making provision to tell you well and often enough je pense bien à toi (i think well of you)* Sept. 13, 2014
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Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan. Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country. Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts. The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.” Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited. We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond. According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
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Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Patricia Michaels' Line in NYC Sept 10 for Style Fashion Week
Taos Pueblo fashion designer Patricia Michaels returns to New York City for “Style Fashion Week NYC”on September 10th to present her latest 30 piece collection at aspecial RSVP eventat Hammerstein Ballroom, 311 West 34th St, Midtown Manhattan. Michaels was a finalist on season 11 of the Lifetime reality TV show, “Project Runway”, and “Project Runway All-Stars”, gaining thousands of admirers as the media world followed her success along with an excited and proud Indian country. Michaels will present her trademark PM Waterlily line and her latest collection for Spring/Summer 2017. Known for her use of Native-themed fabrics, hand painted or hand dyed, cut and fabricated at her Taos, New Mexico studio, Michaels says she is inspired by nature walks at Taos Pueblo among the trees, wildflowers and water plants, and “seeds” are important symbols of her designs and concepts. The following description is from the website, speaking of the “Modern Native” who inspires and wears her designs. “Patricia Michaels...will have a few pieces for colder climates as her woman travels to regions where during the summer the climates tend to be cold. She is a world traveler so one may made need that special look to freshen her palette.” Those living in or near the New York area that are interested in attending can visit toEventbrite to RSVP for the September 10 event. Seating is limited. We wish Patricia Michaels and PM Waterlily success in New York City and beyond. According to their site, Style Fashion Week, producer of globally recognized fashion events, provides top designers a world class platform to showcase their collections. Each year Style Fashion Week presents the season's must see shows, unforgettable performances and exclusive installations. Our expansive Style Marketplace immerses guests in fashion as well as art and design. Guests directly engage with brands throughout the week.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
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He taught them well ~for all the teachers here~ He cared enough, So much so,   Reasoned with them. Never diminishing their simplest prose, Even if it rhymed with rose.... He loved them in his way, Once his student, This year, then forever. Their woes he read, In every submission, No threat treated idly, He knew but one grade, Caring. One rule strictly observed, No touching, In this sad age, a crime without Any absolution. Then came a day. School arrived, pre-bell by ten minuets, His customary arrival time. This day different. The long corridor to the classroom entree, Lined like Noah's ark, two by two, On each side, His students past and present aligned, They would not let him pass, Till he hugged each and everyone. Thus, they taught him well the meaning of Just rewards For they were his, Yes, they were his, Not for the taking, But for the giving. His subject, Creative writing, of course!
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Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
He taught them well (Sept 2013)
. For some it is a poetic crime to ever use an imperfect rhyme. As the Emperor of enunciation I embrace differing pronunciation. So chain not words up in a prison let them go with their own rhythm. . © Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
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Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 5:00 AM UTC
Poetic Bigotry
*a child-heartbeat has such power to sway ideas and turn the tide hence - show adult-folly* 1. emperor bays the crowd to flatter invisible trappings of grandeur and prowess 2. when blind to the obvious talk is no good *och, man just freaking forget it* (what good is talk... when the COMMON voice is not heard?                                ...  when yet another child-heartbeat is lost?) S T, 5 sept
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Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
a child-heartbeat