Her hands are shaking.
Trembling, trembling as the box moves closer to her reach.
Her heart is racing just as fast as she used to everyday after school when she ran from the school bullies.
Her heart is pumping blood just as her wrists do after she introduces them to a blade.
Her heart is slowly being mended just like the reconciliation of her relationship with her psychotic sister.
Her hands are shaking so bad she can't make out the outline of them in this dimly-lit room.
The candle light ricochets off the walls.
All she can think about is how he has stood beside her this whole time.
The room smells of cigarettes, which reminds her of the first time she met him.
That night at the corner liquor store where she went after her grandad died.
Trying to drown the pain by drowning herself in
pills and alcohol.
She was approached by a man who smelt of death who tried to steal her money, and if he got any further, her virginity.
Just as the man went to put his hands on her, the boy stepped up and protected her.
That trend continued for years as he protected not only her, but their love as well.
She knew she had finally found something worth loving truly for.
No more hiding who she truly was behind drugs, lies, and a noose hung ready in her closet.
She realized that he made her complete.
She'd walk to the end of the earth for him and he'd crawl with broken legs all the world around to see her.
But as the bills piled high and the eviction notices multiplied by the hundreds, they didn't know how to move on.
She turned back to the drugs and the pills as she knew she was drowning,
Drowning deeper and deeper.
Waiting to feel his hand plunge deep in the water to save her life.
And he'd do it every time.
She realized that he took her sky high with his love.
This would soon overcome all her addictions, leaving her only addicted to his love.
She could barely breathe as her hands touched the box.
By now she was surprised they hadn't fallen off from trembling,
Trembling so much.
As she opened the box, her breath rapidly started to leave her body.
She could feel herself going numb.
She couldn't speak.
As he pulled the ring from the box, her body shook more and more from excitement and shock.
He asked for her hand in marriage, and she started to cry with joy.
After they kissed he whispered, "You've always been my addiction."

This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******.

How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.

But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.

What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.

For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.

How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******* Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.

But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.

'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.

It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.

O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).

you know that...
kramer vs. kramer
incident?

    the fran...

PRfprintf(err, "Usage: tail [-n <n>] [-f] [-h] <filename>\n");
    PRfprintf(err, "\t-t <n> Dally time in milliseconds\n");
    PRfprintf(err, "\t-n <n> Number of bytes before <eof>\n");
    PRfprintf(err, "\t-f   Follow the <eof>\n");
    PR_fprintf(err, "\t-h   This message and nothing else\n");
}  /Help/

tail C....
        waiter! waiter!
ah...
                garçon!
ergo?
             françaizes....

*****-nilly:
francis sayz...
or rather... said...

kinda picky, i must admid...
and i "thought"
the english were bad...
   minding the huguenots...
oh look who's coming,
a steamroller...
steamroller who?
              give it about an hour or
so... we'll get the crêpe in
the end...
                            it's like...
you really want to ask a question...
but ask it...
in the proliferate dimension?

you know what drunk munchies
looks like?
looks likes so:

oh ****...
     that croissant didn't do it...
think think think, man! think!
frying pan...
refrigerated butter...
two eggs, one slice of white
bread...
beat the eggs into a scrambled
egg goo...
then dip the slice of white bread
into it... soak it...
then fry it...
                attempt to melt some
brie onto it...
add some apricot jam,
    or honey into the composition...
**** me...
  in synch.! ladies and gentlemen!
we have ourselves....
                  a ******* orchestra!

It's lovely outside, I think I’ll go knickerless today.
You don’t want to do that, you might get knocked down by a bus.
Why would that make any difference.
You always have to wear clean underwear when getting knocked down by a bus.
Do you make these things up.
Did your mum never tell you, you always have to wear clean underwear when leaving the house, just incase you get knocked down by a steamroller or such.
My mum said a lot of things, luckily for me I grew up, unlike some people I may add.
Hardly my fault my mum has to come round and cook for me.
Cook, she cuts your sausages, you’re a child.
Sure she’d cut your carrots if you asked her.
Think I’ll wear pants now, you’re driving me nuts.
You’re not wearing white, are you.
Why, does mummy not allow white.
I’m more thinking of the guys in the office.
What, what's it got to do with them.
It’s got a lot, you don’t want the guys glimpsing boring white, put black on.
The guys in my office are too busy to be perving at my underwear.
Guys are never too busy, it's our job in life to check the girls out.
My last boyfriend was never like this.
That’s because your last boyfriend usually wore your knickers.
He just liked the feel of women's underwear.
How is his hormone treatment coming along, is he wearing your bra yet.
Get knotted mummy’s boy.
Talking about mummy’s, I’m taking yours running tonight. Hope she’s wearing the skimpy shorts.
That’s another thing, you told my mum she shouldn’t wear pants under her shorts, why would that be.
Might be something to do with the leg massage I give her after our run.
You are sick.
Your mum’s a cougar. Actually, just thinking about her is getting me hot, fancy a quickie.
Get stuffed, just get me to work without mentioning my mum, underwear, or any other perversions in your sick brain.
Do my best, white pants.
I’ll get you in the car, need to get something.
Nice legs lover, did I glimpse black ******* there.
Well, you said it, we need to keep the guys happy, any luck one of them will ask me out.
Well if they do, tell them you’re not available this weekend.
And why would that be.
Cos I’m taking you to Paris.
Maybe I don’t want to go to Paris.
Oh you will, five star hotel, tickets to see that weird female singer you love.
Okay, I’ll need a new outfit, maybe a few outfits. Will I need **** underwear.
Strangely enough no. Me and your mum bought you some.

everyone describes it as a sinking feeling.
i felt it more like a steamroller on my chest.
it squeezed my heart of all its contents,
my self-esteem rushed out like newly laid asphalt,
while my motivation shriveled up
under the unforgiving sun.
Love stuck to the steamroller
and got pulled out of me like
it was never there to begin with.
the only thing left holding together my crippled heart was
Sadness
who sewed me back all wrong;
too blinded by his tears to watch his stitching.

I am diametrically : opposed to the closure of night shelters,those helping hands that reach out to the disadvantaged,the homeless and those who have been savaged by circumstance.

What cost,the chance of some warmth,conversation,the realisation that all is not lost?

But
'we've gotta picka pocket or two...' Tory blue and Labour too,both are guilty in the dock.
The judgement said, 'we only followed where others led'

We have a way today to pay and finance those in poorer circumstance,we only have to open up our hearts and give a chance to them,the Women and the Men who have hit the harder times.

I've been there,done it,read the book and it is ****,don't let the press steamroller you and make you believe it could never happen,it's true it could be you out there,
and I don't care who you vote for but I don't like you if you close the door on those less fortunate because you've got more.

Mile after mile
the endless motorway
spews out its metal contortions

hum your V6 engine
rock with impatience
under branded lime-green
sun strip protectors
brimming with breeders
of brooding black BMWs
7-seater convertible prowess
gleaming off-roaders
go faster striped boy-racers
silver slick steamroller Range Rovers
revving executive supremacy
nestled annoyingly
behind a Grand Jeep Cherokee

all stop in motion
by a pedestrian button
for a little old lady
with shopping,
And me.

So many people
in so many cars
gas guzzling
un-muzzled bulldogs
drooling to be first
the excesses of acceleration
the freedom to roam
to gloat or to garner

well you can all stay in line
with the press of a button
and a finger like mine
Moses in green spandex
parts the Metal Sea
for a little old lady
with shopping,
And me.

The clouds roll and tear the sky.
Flashes of light
August on the highway
hot weather heat

Thump and thunder.

Under a construction hat, pour of sweat.
The jackhammer in concrete
cement spits
humidity so thick it mists.

The crew starts after sunset
no flag person on site
steamroller melting road up ahead.

A passenger says careful now
it’s coming up
dogleg
bump in the road
makes them sway.
A cloudburst, deluge
instant blindness
through orange cones
crash landing.

Thump and hit ground.

Back turned, hit from behind.
Pounding on pavement
shower of glass
August on the highway
running in rain
knees and elbows bruised
hard hat and head
cracked.

Grabble and thump and hit ground.

I'm a steamroller on a highway,
Unstoppable, and gripped by craze.

'Get out of my way! I'm coming through!'
My vision's blurred, I'm trapped in a haze.

I swerve to the left, then swerve to the right.
Through the windshield, I see the moonlight;

Bright and shining; shining, bright,
Everything is coherent in that bright light.

The bang shocks the ride, and the glass shatters;
It's that rare moment of clarity...

The weeping bark is my destiny,
And I swerve again to meet the tree.

I've broken through my shell,
And I stand exposed.

So this is how the levee breaks...
I can hear the river barging as it explodes.

My crystal barricade has been breached.
There's no escape, there's no defense.

The night's conspiracy is in fruitition.
And I rest my case, cease pretense.

The moonlight was a gentle kiss,
On this night, it wasn't alone...

You were the target I was destined to miss;
I'd lost the mortgage for my time loan.

--

My number was up, I was your slave
Funny how that worked out

On saving you,
My core reactor burned out.

The little boy in the moonlight
Was the reason for my demise.

Were you my personal demon?
Or my salvation, my prize?

--

You devoured me, I worshipped you.
Then up you got, and there you left.

Guess you were my demon then...
You abandoned me, bereft.

Is it ridiculous of me to ask you to turn the music down,
when it is midnight, and all it does is drown
out my reason, my voice, my power.
Yet, somehow I know I will endure this for at least another hour.
You've done it, you're right, you've reached your goal.
Far be it from me to be the one to fight you for control.
You claim that I'm the steamroller and take the happiness from your life?
Anyone can know who does that, all they have to do is ask your wife.
A simple plea is all I made, one taking both of our feelings into consideration,
so how is it that I am left feeling my house is comparable to our nation:
run by an idiotic ill informed bigot,
one who thinks that only all of their thoughts can be the ones right on the dot.
You hope you made it clear, the power you have over me.
We both know you have none, and now all that I can see
is a silly little man spouting nonsense, partially due to his choice of drink,
and if it is not, well I have truly nothing left to think.
Other than you are a disappointment, a sorry excuse for a father and a man
But you are right, I am a girl without a plan
I cannot fathom how to enlighten those who are as narrow minded and as you;
but don't get too comfortable, for I still have much work to do.

Love is a myth
A story passed down from
Generation to generation
Parent to child
The one emotion
With no proof of a reality

There’s some proof of
Every other emotion
When you’re happy
Your lips spread wide and you
Flash your teeth to whoever’s looking
When you’re sad unwanted
Tears roll down your face
When you’re embarrassed your
Cheeks flush bright red rose

Love is a fairytale
One that may or may not
Begin with a
Once upon a time
Rarely ever really ends up
Happily ever after

Love is a drug
Try it once you
Get hooked
Love makes you a
Happy kind of high
Oblivious to reality
When you breakup
Reality crashes you like a
Steamroller
Instead of going down
You can always take another hit





Love is every girls dream
Their vision of their future
It starts at a young age
Even  when boys have cooties
Then they grow older,
Scribble hearts with their
Initials in their notebook
Stare at their crush when he
Supposedly isn’t looking

As they grow older
Girls version of love
Starts with a perfect boyfriend
Probably during the high school or college years
Graduating high school
Going on to college
Getting their dream down, then
Finally settling down
Ends in a perfect marriage
They’ve dreamed out their whole life

In the end
Love is a letdown
Ultimately made to
Blindside you
Break your into a million pieces

Somehow people make love out to
Sound like the perfect escape
From a past of fear and loneliness
Yet not so great when you find it’s
Virtually impossible to find a
Guy who’s ready to
Get down on one knee
Ask to spend the rest of forever with you
One who isn’t afraid to commit

Yet people still
Have hope to find this
Elusive magic potion that
Claims to make your fear go away
Make you stronger
Claims the effects will last forever

Maybe one day this
Crazy theory of love
Will be proven
So we know we’re not all
Chasing a hopeless dream

Until then play love’s game
Who knows
Maybe you’ll be the one to hit the jackpot

There is no bigger ******* than the guy that does every spiteful, abusive, mean, and petty thing he can do to make you mad and then gets mad at you for fighting back. I can't do this anymore. It is killing me inside. I soooooo need justice. I need God( if there is one) to smite this ******* down. I want him to repent all the things he has done and said and plotted against me. I want him struck by lightning, mowed down by a tractor, I want him flattened by a steamroller, I want him gone. I want his tongue cut out and then burned and fed to rats. I hate him with every f** fiber of my being

if britain exiting the EU was supposed to be a revolutionary act with a worthwhile vote each, well... everything was thinking about a Ferrari, instead the people received a steamroller... these days it's one yawn (rather than one vote) in the most boring melodrama known to man in modern times... let's face it, journalists need to eat, and this is exactly that, but the sensationalism tactic doesn't convince me anymore.

you can separate the church
from the state,
  but it's simply impossible to
separate the state
from *the state -
    what that means is summarised
by the EU attack on
     whatever the people have
left to cling to with regards to
there actually being a state:
culture, ethnicity, history...
secularisation can only do so much,
afterwards in turns into
a cul de sac of ridiculous demands,
in effect: to bleach people
and reduce them to pronouns...
oh, but wait,
   the opposite side (i.e. the left)
has attacked the use of pronouns...
obviously the right will push its
weight around.

p.s. or rather, you can seperate
the church from the state,
but you can't seperate
the state from the state,
i.e. the people.

in his eye. Large as a bolder,
it rolled me over like a steamroller. And I,
the tar. He smoked me out

as my grandpa’s cigar. I, lit sitting in
the tray among my ashes. But he took
my and lit me up from a stub, with a

rub of hands. Then began to smoke me –
again.