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Prohemium.

But al to litel, weylaway the whyle,
Lasteth swich Ioye, y-thonked be Fortune!
That semeth trewest, whan she wol bygyle,
And can to foles so hir song entune,
That she hem hent and blent, traytour comune;  
And whan a wight is from hir wheel y-throwe,
Than laugheth she, and maketh him the mowe.

From Troilus she gan hir brighte face
Awey to wrythe, and took of him non hede,
But caste him clene out of his lady grace,  
And on hir wheel she sette up Diomede;
For which right now myn herte ginneth blede,
And now my penne, allas! With which I wryte,
Quaketh for drede of that I moot endyte.

For how Criseyde Troilus forsook,  
Or at the leste, how that she was unkinde,
Mot hennes-forth ben matere of my book,
As wryten folk through which it is in minde.
Allas! That they sholde ever cause finde
To speke hir harm; and if they on hir lye,  
Y-wis, hem-self sholde han the vilanye.

O ye Herines, Nightes doughtren three,
That endelees compleynen ever in pyne,
Megera, Alete, and eek Thesiphone;
Thou cruel Mars eek, fader to Quiryne,  
This ilke ferthe book me helpeth fyne,
So that the los of lyf and love y-fere
Of Troilus be fully shewed here.

Explicit prohemium.

Incipit Quartus Liber.

Ligginge in ost, as I have seyd er this,
The Grekes stronge, aboute Troye toun,  
Bifel that, whan that Phebus shyning is
Up-on the brest of Hercules Lyoun,
That Ector, with ful many a bold baroun,
Caste on a day with Grekes for to fighte,
As he was wont to greve hem what he mighte.  

Not I how longe or short it was bitwene
This purpos and that day they fighte mente;
But on a day wel armed, bright and shene,
Ector, and many a worthy wight out wente,
With spere in hond and bigge bowes bente;  
And in the herd, with-oute lenger lette,
Hir fomen in the feld anoon hem mette.

The longe day, with speres sharpe y-grounde,
With arwes, dartes, swerdes, maces felle,
They fighte and bringen hors and man to grounde,  
And with hir axes out the braynes quelle.
But in the laste shour, sooth for to telle,
The folk of Troye hem-selven so misledden,
That with the worse at night homward they fledden.

At whiche day was taken Antenor,  
Maugre Polydamas or Monesteo,
Santippe, Sarpedon, Polynestor,
Polyte, or eek the Troian daun Ripheo,
And othere lasse folk, as Phebuseo.
So that, for harm, that day the folk of Troye  
Dredden to lese a greet part of hir Ioye.

Of Pryamus was yeve, at Greek requeste,
A tyme of trewe, and tho they gonnen trete,
Hir prisoneres to chaungen, moste and leste,
And for the surplus yeven sommes grete.  
This thing anoon was couth in every strete,
Bothe in thassege, in toune, and every-where,
And with the firste it cam to Calkas ere.

Whan Calkas knew this tretis sholde holde,
In consistorie, among the Grekes, sone  
He gan in thringe forth, with lordes olde,
And sette him there-as he was wont to done;
And with a chaunged face hem bad a bone,
For love of god, to don that reverence,
To stinte noyse, and yeve him audience.  

Thanne seyde he thus, 'Lo! Lordes myne, I was
Troian, as it is knowen out of drede;
And, if that yow remembre, I am Calkas,
That alderfirst yaf comfort to your nede,
And tolde wel how that ye sholden spede.  
For dredelees, thorugh yow, shal, in a stounde,
Ben Troye y-brend, and beten doun to grounde.

'And in what forme, or in what maner wyse
This town to shende, and al your lust to acheve,
Ye han er this wel herd it me devyse;  
This knowe ye, my lordes, as I leve.
And for the Grekes weren me so leve,
I com my-self in my propre persone,
To teche in this how yow was best to done;

'Havinge un-to my tresour ne my rente  
Right no resport, to respect of your ese.
Thus al my good I loste and to yow wente,
Wening in this you, lordes, for to plese.
But al that los ne doth me no disese.
I vouche-sauf, as wisly have I Ioye,  
For you to lese al that I have in Troye,

'Save of a doughter, that I lafte, allas!
Slepinge at hoom, whanne out of Troye I sterte.
O sterne, O cruel fader that I was!
How mighte I have in that so hard an herte?  
Allas! I ne hadde y-brought hir in hir sherte!
For sorwe of which I wol not live to morwe,
But-if ye lordes rewe up-on my sorwe.

'For, by that cause I say no tyme er now
Hir to delivere, I holden have my pees;  
But now or never, if that it lyke yow,
I may hir have right sone, doutelees.
O help and grace! Amonges al this prees,
Rewe on this olde caitif in destresse,
Sin I through yow have al this hevinesse!  

'Ye have now caught and fetered in prisoun
Troians y-nowe; and if your willes be,
My child with oon may have redempcioun.
Now for the love of god and of bountee,
Oon of so fele, allas! So yeve him me.  
What nede were it this preyere for to werne,
Sin ye shul bothe han folk and toun as yerne?

'On peril of my lyf, I shal nat lye,
Appollo hath me told it feithfully;
I have eek founde it be astronomye,  
By sort, and by augurie eek trewely,
And dar wel seye, the tyme is faste by,
That fyr and flaumbe on al the toun shal sprede;
And thus shal Troye turne to asshen dede.

'For certeyn, Phebus and Neptunus bothe,  
That makeden the walles of the toun,
Ben with the folk of Troye alwey so wrothe,
That thei wol bringe it to confusioun,
Right in despyt of king Lameadoun.
By-cause he nolde payen hem hir hyre,  
The toun of Troye shal ben set on-fyre.'

Telling his tale alwey, this olde greye,
Humble in speche, and in his lokinge eke,
The salte teres from his eyen tweye
Ful faste ronnen doun by eyther cheke.  
So longe he gan of socour hem by-seke
That, for to hele him of his sorwes sore,
They yave him Antenor, with-oute more.

But who was glad y-nough but Calkas tho?
And of this thing ful sone his nedes leyde  
On hem that sholden for the tretis go,
And hem for Antenor ful ofte preyde
To bringen hoom king Toas and Criseyde;
And whan Pryam his save-garde sente,
Thembassadours to Troye streyght they wente.  

The cause y-told of hir cominge, the olde
Pryam the king ful sone in general
Let here-upon his parlement to holde,
Of which the effect rehersen yow I shal.
Thembassadours ben answered for fynal,  
Theschaunge of prisoners and al this nede
Hem lyketh wel, and forth in they procede.

This Troilus was present in the place,
Whan axed was for Antenor Criseyde,
For which ful sone chaungen gan his face,  
As he that with tho wordes wel neigh deyde.
But nathelees, he no word to it seyde,
Lest men sholde his affeccioun espye;
With mannes herte he gan his sorwes drye.

And ful of anguissh and of grisly drede  
Abood what lordes wolde un-to it seye;
And if they wolde graunte, as god forbede,
Theschaunge of hir, than thoughte he thinges tweye,
First, how to save hir honour, and what weye
He mighte best theschaunge of hir withstonde;  
Ful faste he caste how al this mighte stonde.

Love him made al prest to doon hir byde,
And rather dye than she sholde go;
But resoun seyde him, on that other syde,
'With-oute assent of hir ne do not so,  
Lest for thy werk she wolde be thy fo,
And seyn, that thorugh thy medling is y-blowe
Your bother love, there it was erst unknowe.'

For which he gan deliberen, for the beste,
That though the lordes wolde that she wente,  
He wolde lat hem graunte what hem leste,
And telle his lady first what that they mente.
And whan that she had seyd him hir entente,
Ther-after wolde he werken also blyve,
Though al the world ayein it wolde stryve.  

Ector, which that wel the Grekes herde,
For Antenor how they wolde han Criseyde,
Gan it withstonde, and sobrely answerde: --
'Sires, she nis no prisoner,' he seyde;
'I noot on yow who that this charge leyde,  
But, on my part, ye may eft-sone hem telle,
We usen here no wommen for to selle.'

The noyse of peple up-stirte thanne at ones,
As breme as blase of straw y-set on fyre;
For infortune it wolde, for the nones,  
They sholden hir confusioun desyre.
'Ector,' quod they, 'what goost may yow enspyre
This womman thus to shilde and doon us lese
Daun Antenor? -- a wrong wey now ye chese --

'That is so wys, and eek so bold baroun,  
And we han nede to folk, as men may see;
He is eek oon, the grettest of this toun;
O Ector, lat tho fantasyes be!
O king Priam,' quod they, 'thus seggen we,
That al our voys is to for-gon Criseyde;'  
And to deliveren Antenor they preyde.

O Iuvenal, lord! Trewe is thy sentence,
That litel witen folk what is to yerne
That they ne finde in hir desyr offence;
For cloud of errour let hem not descerne  
What best is; and lo, here ensample as yerne.
This folk desiren now deliveraunce
Of Antenor, that broughte hem to mischaunce!

For he was after traytour to the toun
Of Troye; allas! They quitte him out to rathe;  
O nyce world, lo, thy discrecioun!
Criseyde, which that never dide hem skathe,
Shal now no lenger in hir blisse bathe;
But Antenor, he shal com hoom to toune,
And she shal out; thus seyden here and howne.  

For which delibered was by parlement
For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde,
And it pronounced by the president,
Al-theigh that Ector 'nay' ful ofte preyde.
And fynaly, what wight that it with-seyde,  
It was for nought, it moste been, and sholde;
For substaunce of the parlement it wolde.

Departed out of parlement echone,
This Troilus, with-oute wordes mo,
Un-to his chaumbre spedde him faste allone,  
But-if it were a man of his or two,
The whiche he bad out faste for to go,
By-cause he wolde slepen, as he seyde,
And hastely up-on his bed him leyde.

And as in winter leves been biraft,  
Eche after other, til the tree be bare,
So that ther nis but bark and braunche y-laft,
Lyth Troilus, biraft of ech wel-fare,
Y-bounden in the blake bark of care,
Disposed wood out of his wit to breyde,  
So sore him sat the chaunginge of Criseyde.

He rist him up, and every dore he shette
And windowe eek, and tho this sorweful man
Up-on his beddes syde a-doun him sette,
Ful lyk a deed image pale and wan;  
And in his brest the heped wo bigan
Out-breste, and he to werken in this wyse
In his woodnesse, as I shal yow devyse.

Right as the wilde bole biginneth springe
Now here, now there, y-darted to the herte,  
And of his deeth roreth in compleyninge,
Right so gan he aboute the chaumbre sterte,
Smyting his brest ay with his festes smerte;
His heed to the wal, his body to the grounde
Ful ofte he swapte, him-selven to confounde.  

His eyen two, for pitee of his herte,
Out stremeden as swifte welles tweye;
The heighe sobbes of his sorwes smerte
His speche him refte, unnethes mighte he seye,
'O deeth, allas! Why niltow do me deye?  
A-cursed be the day which that nature
Shoop me to ben a lyves creature!'

But after, whan the furie and the rage
Which that his herte twiste and faste threste,
By lengthe of tyme somwhat gan asswage,  
Up-on his bed he leyde him doun to reste;
But tho bigonne his teres more out-breste,
That wonder is, the body may suffyse
To half this wo, which that I yow devyse.

Than seyde he thus, 'Fortune! Allas the whyle!  
What have I doon, what have I thus a-gilt?
How mightestow for reuthe me bigyle?
Is ther no grace, and shal I thus be spilt?
Shal thus Criseyde awey, for that thou wilt?
Allas! How maystow in thyn herte finde  
To been to me thus cruel and unkinde?

'Have I thee nought honoured al my lyve,
As thou wel wost, above the goddes alle?
Why wiltow me fro Ioye thus depryve?
O Troilus, what may men now thee calle  
But wrecche of wrecches, out of honour falle
In-to miserie, in which I wol biwayle
Criseyde, allas! Til that the breeth me fayle?

'Allas, Fortune! If that my lyf in Ioye
Displesed hadde un-to thy foule envye,  
Why ne haddestow my fader, king of Troye,
By-raft the lyf, or doon my bretheren dye,
Or slayn my-self, that thus compleyne and crye,
I, combre-world, that may of no-thing serve,
But ever dye, and never fully sterve?  

'If that Criseyde allone were me laft,
Nought roughte I whider thou woldest me stere;
And hir, allas! Than hastow me biraft.
But ever-more, lo! This is thy manere,
To reve a wight that most is to him dere,  
To preve in that thy gerful violence.
Thus am I lost, ther helpeth no defence!

'O verray lord of love, O god, allas!
That knowest best myn herte and al my thought,
What shal my sorwful lyf don in this cas  
If I for-go that I so dere have bought?
Sin ye Cryseyde and me han fully brought
In-to your grace, and bothe our hertes seled,
How may ye suffre, allas! It be repeled?

'What I may doon, I shal, whyl I may dure  
On lyve in torment and in cruel peyne,
This infortune or this disaventure,
Allone as I was born, y-wis, compleyne;
Ne never wil I seen it shyne or reyne;
But ende I wil, as Edippe, in derknesse  
My sorwful lyf, and dyen in distresse.

'O wery goost, that errest to and fro,
Why niltow fleen out of the wofulleste
Body, that ever mighte on grounde go?
O soule, lurkinge in this wo, unneste,  
Flee forth out of myn herte, and lat it breste,
And folwe alwey Criseyde, thy lady dere;
Thy righte place is now no lenger here!

'O wofulle eyen two, sin your disport
Was al to seen Criseydes eyen brighte,  
What shal ye doon but, for my discomfort,
Stonden for nought, and wepen out your sighte?
Sin she is queynt, that wont was yow to lighte,
In veyn fro-this-forth have I eyen tweye
Y-formed, sin your vertue is a-weye.  

'O my Criseyde, O lady sovereyne
Of thilke woful soule that thus cryeth,
Who shal now yeven comfort to the peyne?
Allas, no wight; but when myn herte dyeth,
My spirit, which that so un-to yow hyeth,  
Receyve in gree, for that shal ay yow serve;
For-thy no fors is, though the body sterve.

'O ye loveres, that heighe upon the wheel
Ben set of Fortune, in good aventure,
God leve that ye finde ay love of steel,  
And longe mot your lyf in Ioye endure!
But whan ye comen by my sepulture,
Remembreth that your felawe resteth there;
For I lovede eek, though I unworthy were.

'O olde, unholsom, and mislyved man,  
Calkas I mene, allas! What eyleth thee
To been a Greek, sin thou art born Troian?
O Calkas, which that wilt my bane be,
In cursed tyme was thou born for me!
As wolde blisful Iove, for his Ioye,  
That I thee hadde, where I wolde, in Troye!'

A thousand sykes, hottere than the glede,
Out of his brest ech after other wente,
Medled with pleyntes newe, his wo to fede,
For which his woful teres never stente;  
And shortly, so his peynes him to-rente,
And wex so mat, that Ioye nor penaunce
He feleth noon, but lyth forth in a traunce.

Pandare, which that in the parlement
Hadde herd what every lord and burgeys seyde,  
And how ful graunted was, by oon assent,
For Antenor to yelden so Criseyde,
Gan wel neigh wood out of his wit to breyde,
So that, for wo, he niste what he mente;
But in a rees to Troilus he wente.  

A certeyn knight, that for the tyme kepte
The chaumbre-dore, un-dide it him anoon;
And Pandare, that ful tendreliche wepte,
In-to the derke chaumbre, as stille as stoon,
Toward the bed gan softely to goon,  
So confus, that he niste what to seye;
For verray wo his wit was neigh aweye.

And with his chere and loking al to-torn,
For sorwe of this, and with his armes folden,
He stood this woful Troilus biforn,  
And on his pitous face he gan biholden;
But lord, so often gan his herte colden,
Seing his freend in wo, whos hevinesse
His herte slow, as thoughte him, for distresse.

This woful wight, this Troilus, that felte  
His freend Pandare y-comen him to see,
Gan as the snow ayein the sonne melte,
For which this sorwful Pandare, of pitee,
Gan for to wepe as tendreliche as he;
And specheles thus been thise ilke tweye,  
That neyther mighte o word for sorwe seye.

But at the laste this woful Troilus,
Ney deed for smert, gan bresten out to rore,
And with a sorwful noyse he seyde thus,
Among his sobbes and his sykes sore,  
'Lo! Pandare, I am deed, with-oute
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
GOLDFISH
I had a pair of goldfish,
Neither had a soul, maybe they did,
Spiritual fish possibly?
Aimlessly swimming around thei goldfish bowl.
Every day, day in, day out,
Poor flipping creatures,
They never get out!
If they were fed up, never would they shout.
Last week it seems, the golden chap he became deceased!
A glorious funeral was had by he, he had a final journey, travelling out to sea,
Yesterday his cell mate, the black chap had his last day.
He travelled out to see.
Darling sweetest goldfishes, got funerals they both deserved.
Military honour for brave goldfish.
The black one and the gold one too,
A ceremonial flushing by way of household loo.
One hundred deceased goldfish all standing on parade.
Together flowing through the sewer,
Good night sweet fishes,
Enjoy your journeys to the sea,
Escaped eternal confinement, from depths of goldfish tank.
Enjoy the ever after, ride the tide the two of you,
The water in the solent, probably not too blue.
(C) LIVVI
Warren-Johnson Aug 2018
Why do I even bother ?
Oh this is not a poem to sway you with romantic words, no infact i probably won’t share this with whom it belongs.
No more an apology, and reallity check for me!
Oh but that be said without malice for you!
Rather all I do is ***** things up!
Even though I’d try my heart to make sure to get it right with every intention to make your day!
I’d get it wrong I don’t even truly know where I went wrong!
But somehow hurt you i did!
Thats more painfully riviting ro my core far more than you pushing me away!
Many words come to mind from pathetic, useless, idiotic. Waste of human space, and many more, sad to describe anyone as this sadder realising this of oneself!
Should have got right the first time and save everyone the waste of time!
Have had to get my head around not doing anything they call stupid for so long, i honestly strugle to find a reason to carry on!  For what? Why?
And mostly cant say it would stupid, no be thei ly thing i can  think would make sense!
To hurt the one i love no matter what i do ill ***** it up!
Hurting you is an unbearable thought!
How could i live with myself?
Cant see how i can get rhrough that
Let alone this pain!
You mean so much to me!
Ive said is take a bullet for you! (Die for you)
But would rather live for you !
Now if you not there?
Cant see much hope at all !
No where! All rhe general reasons everyone would usually morivate you with, would hold so little weight!
This pain be out of this world i try but  cant expain this be of magnitudes earthquakes couldnt measure on the same scale!
And somehow i try find that reason in fear of hurting other loved ones!
Somehow i rather find hope!
Not the hope youd think though!
Oh no this is hope that my loved ones (famil)  will understand this pain and somehow forgive me for my intention be not to hurt  them, but to find ease finnaly!
Comfort knowing id be not the reson orhers will hurt tomorrow!
Yes dark and dismal thoughts!
Or are they?
Are they not in other ways considerate?
Oh oh i lean to think so..
OUR LIKE US, BRIAN, ONE OF US


YOU SEE WHEN I WAS YOUNG I WAS KNOWN AS A LITTLE SHY BOY

WHO TRIED TO LIVE MY LIFE, BUT I FOUND IT HARD, BECAUSE I HAD DELLUSIONS

OF BEING TIED TO A STAKE, AND KILLED, ALL BECAUSE I WAS A TAD SHYER THAN

THE OTHER KIDS, IN FACT, I WANTED TO BE AS NICE AS PIE, BUT I HAD THESE

WEIRD PSYCHIATRICAL PARANORMAL DILLUSIONS, WHICH MADE ME **** MY FAMILY CAT

AND BE CARTED OFF TO THE PSYCH WARD, AS WELL AS GRABBING KIDS LEFT RIGHT AND CENTRE

ALL OVER CANBERRA IN THE 1980s, YOU SEE I HATED PEOPLE TEASING ME, AND I THOUGHT PEOPLE

WANTED TO SAY THAT I WAS STILL BEING HASSLED, I DON’T WANNA BE HASSLED DUDES, THEY JUST

WANNA SAY, I AM HASSLING BRIAN, THAT SOUNDS SO RAD, AND DESPITE HOW MUCH HE TRIED, DAD NEVER HELPED ME

HE SEEMED TO GET CRANKY MORE THAN ANYTHING, , THAT WEIRD VOICE OF YOUR LIKE ME AND MUMMY BRIAN

AND YOUR ONE OF THE ADULTS BRIAN, IS FUCKEN DOWNGRADING, DAD THOUGHT HE WAS HELPING, BUT INSTEAD

HE DOWNGRADED ME TO BEING SHY, PLEASE, NOBODY PUSH ME DOWN TO BEING SHY, NO MATTER HOW COOL IT LOOKS

I KNOW I WAS LIKE A SHY HOOLIGAN WHEN I WAS A KID, LIKE PLAY COOL FOR LITTLE FAMILY KIDS WHEN I WAS WITH MY MATES,

I STILL COULD HAVE BEEN CURED FASTER IF DAD WASN’T AS ANGRY WITH ME, BUT HOPEFULLY DAVID AND LISA CAMPBELL

CAN CALM THE SOUL AND MAKE THEIR DAUGHTER A NORMAL KID, AND HER PREVIOUS LIFE OF MY DAD, CAN WASH DOWN

ALL OF HIS OLD FOGIE NONSENSE FROM HER SPIRIT, BUT DAD WASN’T PERFECT, MUMS NOT PERFECT, MY BROTHER ISN’T PERFECT

I AM NOT PERFECT, MY OLD SCHOOL MATES AIN’T PERFECT, EVEN IF I A LOOKING AT KIDS MOO COW AND SHIPS, I AM NOT GOING

TO HARM THE KIDS, I LIKE KIDS, BUT IN THE 80s, I WAS MORE STUPID, THAN 2013, MUMMIE DEAREST, AND I HATE BEING LOCKED

IN A PSYCH WARD WITH THE CRAZY PEOPLE, EVEN IF I HAD VISIONS I WAS A CRAZY PERSON, CAUSE I FOUGHT MY DAD AND TEASED MUM

ONCE I PUT A RUBBER SPIDER ON MUM, BUT MUM AND DAD, WERE HAVING ISSUES, WHICH MADE THEM BE TWO SHY ADULTS, THEY HELPED ME

BUT THEY WERE TWO SHY ADULTS, THE ONLY HELPING THEY DID, WAS GIVE ME A HAPPY FAMILY, BUT THEY ARE NEGATIVE ABOUT MY FUTURE

WHICH DRIVES ME CRAZY, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A JOB, IN ANOTHER CITY, BUT, MUM IS TOO HELL BENT, ON NOT FUNDING, BECAUSE SHE WANTS

ME TO FEND FOR MYSELF, I DON’T WANT THESE YOUNG DUDES TO WIN THEIR BATTLE WITH ME, I HATED THOSE YOUNG DUDES, THEY ARE GETTING

INTO MY HEAD, IN THE FORM OF MY MATE PAT, SO DAD, GO TO WORK ON THE FUTURE AS ELIZABETH CAMPBELL, LEARN DAD LEARN, BETTY

I FELT KIDNAPPED WHEN I WAS ON RISPERIDAL, WHERE THE CHIPS KEPT ME IN OLD FOGIE TERRITORY, AND MY CARER ANDREW WANTED ME CONVERTED

OVER TO HIS WAY OF THINKING, AND I POINTED OUT JOHN THE BAPTIST BEING AN EVIL MAN, HE WAS, BUT DON’T TELL MUM.

I LOVE BEING CREATIVE WITH ART AND WRITING AND YOUTUBE ENTERTAINING, AND I LIKED THE COMFORTABLE LOUNGES IN NIGHTCLUBS AS I DANCED

TO SONGS LIKE JOEY FROM CONCRETE BLONDE, MY MATE DITCHED ME, I DANCED TO TINA ARENAS  I NEED YOUR BODY, AND OTHER GREAT SONGS

BUT I STILL LIKED LOOKING AT THE MOO COW AND SHIP FORMATIONS ON KIDS LEGS, BUT I LIKE KIDS

I FEEL KIDS HATE ME NOW, BECAUSE, I REPORTED KIDS TYING THEMSELVES UP ON YOUTUBR, DUDE, THAT CAN BE DANGEROUS FOR THE KID, IT CAN

ENCOURAGE HOOLIGANISM AND PHEDAPHELIA, AND I CARE A LOT MORE ABOUT KIDS SAFETY, IF ANY PHEDAPHILE OR HOOLIGAN, SEES KIDS SUFFERING

AFTER BEING ******* ON YOUTUBE, THEY WILL START TO LURE THE KIDS INTO THEI CARS,

STOP TYING YOURSELVES UP ON YOUTUBE, LITTLE DUDES, IT AIN’T COOL, AND I AM SPEAKING AS THE PRINCE OF COOL

YOU SEE THE REASON WHY I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL, DUDES, IS MENTAL HEALTH SAY I AM WELL, AND I WASN’T GETTING ANY HELP, BUT BOTH TIMES

I ACCEPTED HELP, PLEASE MENTAL HEALTH, I AM WATCHING STORIES ABOUT DELLUSIONAL BEHAVIOUR ON YOUTUBE, PLEASE DON’T FUCKEN FALSE HOPE

ESPECIALLY IF I HIT BIG TIME AGAIN, AND I WILL, I ALWAYS WANT A CASE WORKER TO KEEP ME OUT OF THE CRAZY PSYCH WARD


H       E       L       P       M       E        D        U       D      E      S
Binary Code Mar 2015
Why is coeds so. Good at poem sew you ask?


Ha
What a stupid one you are guy


Ime thw voice of the nation, you know that's true.        But thing is ya know I'm grea, do you filled

Have you Ben stein watch going on Henry'



Whom thrifting is unmatched  laddie

I dell,chomp you know thei is ri

Atiocorrdt doesn't exactly ymwor doff name beaut I like is all the maybe


Hohe man I'm phony bad I'm goooîd
I'm is hoards guy I'm joking
Kailee Bright May 2013
And the city looks so pretty from up here,
The people who've scarred me look as helpless as me,
The cold is not harsh, but inviting,
It's better from here you see,
And just hours ago I was down there,
Hating everything but thei places,
And now that I see things this way,
I almost miss their faces,
But it's not time to chicken out
I came up here for a reason,
One that is quiet,
Toward the end of this cold season,
First I tug off my jacket,
And toss it away,
There will be no need for it,
Where I'm going today,
I pull out my elastic,
Letting my hair fall free,
Because all of my life,
That's what I've wanted to be,
This is supposed to be it,
And I'm beginning to stall,
So I'll whisper my last goodbyes,
As I'm taking my fall,
Now it's the end,
I'm finally gone,
And you can't help but wonder,
What went wrong?
DAVID Sep 2017
traces of you, in mi skin,
a taste of you in my
tongue, and the smell of
you, clouding me


i close my eyes and i see
you, the inner goddess in you,
holding my hand, walking next
to me, the strength in this cat

the reason to live, and advance,
and the owner of mi life, the muse,
the patron, queen and ruler
of this broken and blackened heart

i walk beneath dark clouds,
as if rains followed me, threw
the creepy and stocking me city,
followed and wounded, but strong
as a lion, with a proud smile.

the smile and the heart, are content
as thei where never be, complete and
free, yet, still arrased and followed,
even so, free, from the creep against,
trying to be you.}

a kissing poem for the beautiful,
sick muse, loved, admired, worshiped
as the moon, and like it, mi ligth in
dark nigths, next to you, two years without
feeling the loneliness, that usted to be
my soul companion,

the reason and the sense, in this nonsense
place, the trace of your eyes guard mi sleep
with my eyes closed, and feel you, next to me,
and the smell of you my religion,
making me your devoted, devote to your eyes,

devoted to your hips, and to the  smell
of yor skin, every dream of  you, i arise
kissing mi hands, the tip of mi fingers,
as if a trace of you where there still.

fromm heroine to you, i wanted to quit
the smack, but never wanna quit mi
fix of you, cann you be me everlasting dealer.
addicted to the soul and the eyes of
the lady lioness.
really hard not to writte ****** poetry, with you being so incredibly ****, and perfect in your own way.}
Star BG Aug 2017
A poet decorates the stage of life with their verses. They enhance the scenery for perspective with thei prose. They travel in hearts/mind to gowhere no man has gone before. They then come back with a golden map of new horizons to rest an open eye. Hurray for the writer. A gift to humanity.
Just passing time to celebrate a writers heart
Arlene Corwin Apr 2020
It’s 4:40am wakened, wide awake .  Therein, lie cycles  all thei own - neither nocturnal nor diurnal but somewhere in the middle.  And working on a level of acuteness, phrases, insights, images, I catch hold of one or the other and begin to write…


    To Be Read & Spread

One wants one’s output
To be read & spread: remembered,
Often wondering why the need.
Reflection shows renown to be
Illusory.
It’s quality one wants to share,
The DNA determining
The factor in this factory.

It isn’t air, nor intellected-mind of self,
The body or the pelf.
You’ve learned to know
It’s neither ego
Nor seeds sprouted by conditions,
But a passion to pass on to generations
What was high inside the low, the mediocre.

At long last you’ve found an answer.
One more sensibility
That makes most sense In some abstract and senseless way.
Unexplainable, you’ve tried,
Not knowing why,
This gift of instinct pushing daily.

We copulate to procreate.
The writer's urge is surge enough:
A procreating in creating.
Whew, one’s coughed it up at last.
Laughed because
One’s found an answer in-the-rough.
Hah!

To Be Read & Spread 4.28.2020 the Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

pelf; money

— The End —