"tweetie" poems - Hello Poetry

After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma. After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office. After My Step-Father Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains. After I Cried in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate. Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different. There Are Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen. There Are Hundreds of Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out. Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years Not Just Days. Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies. Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents. Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them. Kids Who Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over. Kids Who Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger. Kids Whose Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or *** Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room. Kids Who Never Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the Way to the Store. Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th Street and Still Don’t Know Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them. There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed. We Didn’t Euthanize My Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish. We Do a Lot of Things Because We Are Selfish. We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the Aneurysm Burst. My Sister is Getting Married in June and My Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s Place. My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health Problems Serious Enough. There Are Repercussions For Thinking You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.

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Mar 8, 2016

Mar 8, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC

taylor-st-onge

Sadie

After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma. After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office. After My Step-Father Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains. After I Cried in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate. Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different. There Are Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen. There Are Hundreds of Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out. Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years Not Just Days. Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies. Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents. Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them. Kids Who Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over. Kids Who Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger. Kids Whose Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or *** Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room. Kids Who Never Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the Way to the Store. Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th Street and Still Don’t Know Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them. There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed. We Didn’t Euthanize My Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish. We Do a Lot of Things Because We Are Selfish. We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the Aneurysm Burst. My Sister is Getting Married in June and My Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s Place. My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health Problems Serious Enough. There Are Repercussions For Thinking You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.

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Flap, flap two black wings staggered On two yellow clawed feet after stormy Weather and the tufts of cats fur left Like a white collar on emerald green. Inside the cardboard box with soft lining And scraps of bread, cheese and water On a little polythene transparent oblong There was chirping to be heard from within. On varnish floor he skids and skates about Putting newspaper down his legs got strong After a few days of feeding he began to fly Just a little spinning around the front room. Bright eyed with yellow beak eating worms He was nearly ready to be allowed outside To find his strength and freedom with others Tearily he was carried to park and released. A few days later , looking in our garden tree We saw him sitting on a leafy branch chirping And singing a thank you song of gratitude for A life he may never have lived without our help. Love Mary ***

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Jun 11, 2018

Jun 11, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC

mary-gay-kearns

Tweetie.

Flap, flap two black wings staggered On two yellow clawed feet after stormy Weather and the tufts of cats fur left Like a white collar on emerald green. Inside the cardboard box with soft lining And scraps of bread, cheese and water On a little polythene transparent oblong There was chirping to be heard from within. On varnish floor he skids and skates about Putting newspaper down his legs got strong After a few days of feeding he began to fly Just a little spinning around the front room. Bright eyed with yellow beak eating worms He was nearly ready to be allowed outside To find his strength and freedom with others Tearily he was carried to park and released. A few days later , looking in our garden tree We saw him sitting on a leafy branch chirping And singing a thank you song of gratitude for A life he may never have lived without our help. Love Mary ***

21

A changing pillow, so soft with its yellowness. A freshly laid outfit so fresh with the sweet smell of babies. A cowboy swinging with the joy of Christmas morning. The aroma of baby powder dancing in the air. The sound of a fist banging the wall. A cabinet filled with a collection of toys. A white Pooh Bear smiling at the chair with cowboys on the side. A rainforest setting singing italicrock a bye babyitalic. Tweetie, Sylvester, Bugs Bunny, and Daffy Duck swinging on a merry go round. The sound of a baby happily talking to angels. A happy baby laughing as he watches angels dance before him. I close my eyes and count to three. I open my eyes. Never will it be.

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Nov 27, 2011

Nov 27, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC

abbie-louise

A Baby's Room

A changing pillow, so soft with its yellowness. A freshly laid outfit so fresh with the sweet smell of babies. A cowboy swinging with the joy of Christmas morning. The aroma of baby powder dancing in the air. The sound of a fist banging the wall. A cabinet filled with a collection of toys. A white Pooh Bear smiling at the chair with cowboys on the side. A rainforest setting singing italicrock a bye babyitalic. Tweetie, Sylvester, Bugs Bunny, and Daffy Duck swinging on a merry go round. The sound of a baby happily talking to angels. A happy baby laughing as he watches angels dance before him. I close my eyes and count to three. I open my eyes. Never will it be.

14

Horror shop Porcelain and dust ... It's sits there Staring at me Porcelain It's ****** up freaky I watch it's eyes bleed Did my eyes deceive me The clown frowns Menacingly It sits there Four legs and a tail Porcelain feline Gives me the creeps I swear the ****** just purred Licked it's whiskers as it sleeps Moose heads stuck up on a wall Stuffed with stuffing Manicured horns I am sure this creature died in vain And it's crazy eyes Disguise it's missing brain It looks at me Am I going insane ? Dust and objects fill the space I don't see an exit Free from this place And a little old lady looks at me with a grin She's about to say something But keeps it in Offers me a cup of tea I accept with discomfort It sits in a carousel A porcelain horse Playing a concert The antique cup full of Water and .... roaches Dread filled heat Traps me as A new figure approaches I don't remember walking in Surrounded by dust and porcelain I search for the exits once again **** me There a cage in-between It's a dead stuffed Tweetie bird singing It's wings are together with Bad sewing I take a seat on a leather couch The dust springs in the air With the smell of musk and mouse This is a horror shop Not a house Not a museum I can not describe enough The details in what I am seeing A solid old piano With keys of ivory Start to play Hauntingly They call me There's no one behind the music I slowly creep towards it And a decapitated foot taps The foot pump Toes are mangled and daunting The tunes amazing I stand frozen The old lady encroaching Puts her hand on my shoulder And whispers the words She has been holding A handkerchief stained with blood She is folding Over and over In tiny little squares Until finally she Has the perfect edges Opens her mouth and I hear Dear sweet child Look around Look at the creatures The porcelains The distorted mannequins The dust you've been storing Now move aside the cobwebs See the window over there Open it child Breath some fresh air Then look back at the horror shop And think real hard ..... For it's important You must Or you'll sit on a shelf And you to will collect dust x

0

Mar 9, 2014

Mar 9, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC

freetowrite

Horror shop x

Horror shop Porcelain and dust ... It's sits there Staring at me Porcelain It's ****** up freaky I watch it's eyes bleed Did my eyes deceive me The clown frowns Menacingly It sits there Four legs and a tail Porcelain feline Gives me the creeps I swear the ****** just purred Licked it's whiskers as it sleeps Moose heads stuck up on a wall Stuffed with stuffing Manicured horns I am sure this creature died in vain And it's crazy eyes Disguise it's missing brain It looks at me Am I going insane ? Dust and objects fill the space I don't see an exit Free from this place And a little old lady looks at me with a grin She's about to say something But keeps it in Offers me a cup of tea I accept with discomfort It sits in a carousel A porcelain horse Playing a concert The antique cup full of Water and .... roaches Dread filled heat Traps me as A new figure approaches I don't remember walking in Surrounded by dust and porcelain I search for the exits once again **** me There a cage in-between It's a dead stuffed Tweetie bird singing It's wings are together with Bad sewing I take a seat on a leather couch The dust springs in the air With the smell of musk and mouse This is a horror shop Not a house Not a museum I can not describe enough The details in what I am seeing A solid old piano With keys of ivory Start to play Hauntingly They call me There's no one behind the music I slowly creep towards it And a decapitated foot taps The foot pump Toes are mangled and daunting The tunes amazing I stand frozen The old lady encroaching Puts her hand on my shoulder And whispers the words She has been holding A handkerchief stained with blood She is folding Over and over In tiny little squares Until finally she Has the perfect edges Opens her mouth and I hear Dear sweet child Look around Look at the creatures The porcelains The distorted mannequins The dust you've been storing Now move aside the cobwebs See the window over there Open it child Breath some fresh air Then look back at the horror shop And think real hard ..... For it's important You must Or you'll sit on a shelf And you to will collect dust x

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