"vic" poems
Vague recollections,
Of curio collections,
Salt and pepper shakers, unused
crystal ashtrays, reflecting rainbows
of northern prairie light on days bright.
A prairie girl, did you miss the place near the Arctic Circle,
your home? Did Odin and Freya call you away from here to
there, or was Thor, or Loki the thunder in your angry voice
that I feared and may have hid under the steep basement
stairs, quietly in the dark hoping you were unaware.
Some of your children, and
your spouse, left before you did,
I know that was tough, and a shame.
You were tougher, though, you did
suffer in you aging frame.
I know you loved us all, I know you knew me too,
very early you said of me "he is a sensitive child", which
I have found to be all too true, many years after you have
gone I miss you, grandpa and dad, Audrey and Vic too.
Did you all find Valhalla at Heaven's Gate?
So I will not stir up the past, nor
will I hurry, through each day, for
I will remember, and smile at those
memories that brought me joy, prose
and rhyme not of a child, but a Viking man.
©DWE032013
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
I had a red parrot with a long beak
It was a smart bird I aptly named Nick
One day, it caught a cold and fell sick
It refused to give a speech all week
Even its favourite words, it wouldn't speak
Dear parrot's future seemed very bleak
Off for a solution I went to seek
Out of many I made my pick
For the services of a vet called Vic
She was beautiful and brilliant, very chic
Just as I heard, her talents were slick
Her office was neat, her armpits didn't reek
During treatment, my Nick was quite meek
I excused myself to quickly take a leak
Suddenly, from the restroom I heard a kick
I hurried across the hallway to take a sharp peek
And what I saw made my shocked jaws tick
My skinned bird was hanging on a stick
Over a flaming fire laid on a burnt brick
What had I done to deserve such a trick?
Why would Vet Vic perform this flick?
I peered at her carefully but it didn't click
So I wrote this poem and put on lipstick.
REALLY:
Nick is healthy again, it was only a gimmick
I am so happy now, I always wear lipstick ☺
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
"Werewolves Of London"
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee ** Fook's
Going to get a big dish of beef chow mein
Werewolves of London
If you hear him howling around your kitchen door
Better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again
Werewolves of London
He's the hairy handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
Better stay away from him
He'll rip your lungs out, Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Werewolves of London
Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's
His hair was perfect
Werewolves of London again
Draw blood
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Your spine is a holy place
From the tip of your neck, to the cradle in your pelvis, it is baptized in your waters
Starting with cervical, a lucky number of seven sections
The number of days it took god to create the earth
Greek mythology tells me, Cer is the personification of a violent death
Vic means to substitute,
Therefore this section substitutes itself for your violent death
Holding up an unlucky number 13
Pounds.
Of skull, and flesh and
Blood. Which it facilitates the flow of
It has hollowed itself out for nerves
Hollowed itself out so that you may feel
Everything.
Thoracic.
A dozen protective pieces,like the disciples foundation
Hammered in by thor himself
God of the sky
The horizon within dotted by a heart, some lungs,
Spleen, stomach, diaphragm
Stars in your very own galaxy
Lumbar
Five little graces
Luminary
Holding enough weight so
that the sun could settle down
right between your hip bones
root within your nerves
Apollo has come to visit
Showing you just how much holy light you can carry
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
Every train and every nation,
Passenger at the station...
Life is a good delay,
****** train, ****** train.
Mountains with peace,
The train we will miss.
I just want to say,
I travel in a ****** train.
The sun come to your door,
Amazing life with decor,
Colored fields to be seen,
Your eyes of blue and green.
Rain in that day,
Kids want to play,
I just sit down without pain,
Travel in a ****** Train.
Vic Alex
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 5:44 AM UTC
I’m just a lanky lass from Wycheproof
Born on the right side of the tracks
Law degree and a stint at Racing Vic
I’ve risen well above the backroom hacks
I’m revered
and I’m feared
I’m Tony’s confidante
I scream, I shout, I rant
Back benchers quake
Ministers shake
I’m an armoured tank
You know I outrank
any one in Coo-ee
of super-strong me
Chief of Staff to the PM
I’m the ultimate femme
Murdoch grumbled, tried to call me to heel
I’m never humbled, I’m totally real
I am the ‘she’ who must be obeyed
I am the piper who must be paid
I’m the gate-keeper
I’m the scythe-reaper
Tony knows who makes and butters his bread
I keep him happy, I keep him well fed
I am Salome, when I call for a head
a platter it’s given, my enemy dead.
I was top of my game and top of the list
of Helen McCabe’s ‘Women of Power’
I’ve never cowered, brown-nosed or arse-kissed
I stand tall, over midgets I tower
Natural-born killer exudes from my pores
I suffer no fools, I banish the bores
I mark my territory, a ******* dog
Clear dry is my vision, no room for fog
Some say I influence all decisions
I’m an enforcer of rigid divisions
There is only ‘us’ in the battle of wills
Ride on my side, for the endless high thrills
Of course I agree I’ve had an impact
It’s true without me, poor Tony can’t act
But sad to tell you, it’s still more than that
I’m in charge of the ball and even the bat
I know there are some who cannot like me
Though I control the national psyche
So come Malcolm, Julie and sad sack Joe
I will decide when it’s my time to go
No-one can challenge Abbot, my hero
I’ll zap them to ashes, to dust, to zero
I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow their House down
Forever secure and wearing my crown
So don’t mess with me, you miserable crew
Just you crawl away in case I say, “Boo!”
I’m beautiful fearless, utterly bold
Remember, I serve revenge icy cold.
© M.L.Emmett
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Ansiar por ti no nosso doce leito,
Noites de prazer e cansaço,
Ter junto ao peito,
Vivo em teu regaço.
Calar doença sem cura,
Sentimento sem norte,
Sensibilidade e ternura,
Tolerante e com sorte.
O barco te conduz,
Os cedros no ermo,
Palavras com raios de luz,
Por ti estou enfermo.
Teu nobre coração,
Claro como a água,
Dar-te minha mão,
Terra e enxada.
Vic Alex
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 3:36 AM UTC
Flowers are dancing with liberty,
Missing imagination and love,
Looking at the sky above,
Susan, the ducks and me.
Flowers smelling perfum,
Dancers with lovely tunes,
Birds singing clearly,
Susan, the ducks and me.
Rainbow for you ...at first sight,
Churches and a lonely night,
The ocean and the dolphins are free,
Susan, the ducks and me.
Marte is near the moon all time,
Paradise of golden mines,
A rose I want to be,
Susan, ducks and me...
Vic Alex
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 5:58 AM UTC
Fight the fight! Win the win!
Gain the vic'try over sin!
Live a hero! Die a martyr!
Seek to be a solace starter!
Earn salvation by and by.
In the 'twinkling of an eye '
for your friends and virtue die
if that is the beckoned cry!
Sound the trumpet! Raise your voice
so that others may rejoice!
Dance your dance! Cheer your cheers
that it may throughout your years
unto you give peace and bliss
as a sweet and tender kiss!
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
Like a celebrity of the slums
She moves from crackhead to ********** status
******* ***** for rocks
Armed with her glass and copper apparatus
Times come when she's broke
She's got no coke to smoke
So she has to make a selection
Pick a good vic with a thick wallet
and an ********
She spots her mark
He looks pretty easy
She struts over to his car lookin
cheap and ******
She gets in and he tells her what he wants her to do
They see a darkened alley and start to drive through
He hands her twenty bucks and she discretely hides it
then she grasps his zipper and slides it
down
She looks at his **** and starts to frown
She says "This is too big,it just wont fit"
He says ***** I gave you my money,now work for it!"
Then he's got her hair in his hands and he's forcin it
She feels a split in her lip
She tastes the blood drip
He busts his nut
****** **** he shouts
She wipes her mouth and quickly gets out
Sherie's back on the street and it herself
she blames
Her mascara runs as she stumbles in the rain
down the pull off lane
She tells herself," One more trick!"
Just more hit!
But the next car she climbs in
gets her throat slit.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
Startoucher says things like 'thanks man',
Vic says 'roller-coasters are fun',
D.E offers wisdom and hope for us all,
Destiny speaks to us in rhythm and rhyme,
Donie could win the Triple Crown,
Unknown follows me,
Even if I'm not around,
Bala is the father I wish I had,
Vircapio Gale is a love unfound,
Shaqila incites a riot in me,
Francisco DH is a poet unbound,
Destiny scares me, so touches the heart,
P.G is awesome with opinions that smart,
Olga V. Is the first one I followed,
'I cannot hurt if I don't know
tomorrow',
If anyone is missed,
It is not by intent,
For all have provided,
My soul nourishment,
So I can say,
I grieve in that sorrow,
As all of you've said,
I don't lend,
I just borrow.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
If you want to be my hero, please go away.
I've been "saved" so many times
But my "heroes" never stay.
I will spend hours focusing on you
Only to watch you fail me
Like I know every hero will do.
I used to have a hero
I called him my sunshine
even though it often rained
He was my only lifeline.
He promised me the sun, moon, and stars.
thank God he isn't here,
The sky would be so dark.
Out of all my heroes
he's the only that I kissed
now that he's gone,
He's the one most missed.
I used to know a hero
and his name was Sam
He loved me like no other could
but he doesn't give a ****
He talked to me every single day
and opened my eyes
then he up and moved away.
He wrote me after a short while
to say that he was married
and expecting a child.
I remember a hero
who went by the name of Will
He gave the best of hugs,
I remember them still.
He whisked away my fears
and swept me off me feet
But he was hiding many tears.
With circumstances so grim
He tried to be my hero
But it was I who saved him.
There once was a hero
who did it almost right
he saved me from a dangerous fall
and left that very night.
Though his name was Vic
He called himself spiderman
Like the hero of some flick.
His one mistake was terribly small
he accidentally stole my heart
and never came back at all.
Call me a hopeless child
But I don't believe in heroes
Isn't that wild?
If you have the time
Do me a favor and **** your heroes
before they end up like mine.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
Percorrer caminhos sem destino,Bradar ás janelas fechadas, abertas.Escrever palavras erradas, certas?Amar Portugal e seu Hino...Simpatia única e sem igual,Parar em qualquer lugar,Gastronomia singular,Povo de Portugal.Gente simples de bem querer,Com exemplos de lealdade,A história nos adormece em saudade,Portugal até morrer...Descobriste mares sem ter idade,Fomentaste a globalidade.Somos povo, somos nação.Portugal do meu coração.Vic Alex
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 8:09 AM UTC
Earth is a paradise for men,
I try to have fun,
We make another try,
Old to live, young to die.
Young to die,
You always cry,
I dont know why,
I love the sky.
Dont say goodbye,
too young to die,
Im so glad,
That you are not sad.
Vic Alex
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
my husband, my lover
the man i hold dear...
you know the one
the sports zombie
who dress's so fine.
sauntered out to the back
deck and asked
"beer or wine"
as he is the chef of,
this evenings decline.
now, here is the conundrum
that often,plagues my mind.
wine, tonight, is not really, my palates delight
but beer, tho tasty and thirst quenching,
expands my quarters hind
and leads to wrenching and
writhing in midweek training or at least coniving
of how to be released from
exercise captivity
which way to go,
a cheeky pinot griggio
or a robust boutique beer.
which way, crisp chardonay
or mango ,belgium wheat,
micro-brewed pilsner.
oh, for the days
of the cask or the
slab of vic bitter.
when the biggest
problem was how
to drink fast enough,
to gather a blast.
the man mountain,
has become impatient.
....now i need to
make a decision.
so,with a women's precision,
i state with a smile,
wide and then wider.
"i'll have one of those
apple-pear ciders"
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Não há no mundo inteiro,
Sensibilidade nobre e grata,
Amor terno e verdadeiro,
Fio de ouro e prata.
Amor que alguém sente,
Carinho sempre infinito,
Prazer inédito e constante,
Flores, ramo bonito...
Nossa mãe Maria,
Flores doces e reais,
Beijos dados com alegria,
Querida por mim e teus pais.
Vic Alex
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 3:39 AM UTC
that I ran into my friend Vic was a good thing
because we leaned on the shadowy cars and he gave me
some new words: Faith, Reconciliation, Continuance.
But driving home, they began to fill me up with grief
so I tossed them out the window like a finished cigarette.
And I went down to talk to the creek, who was filled with a grief
of her own, a grief of too much water having fallen
in too few days. And she had me dash my empty beer bottles
against her tortured stones that night, had me make
the shrill cry of a hawk as I let each one fly.
And with each crash she gave me back my former words,
my old & tarnished words, the fs and ts
honed sharp enough to really hurt somebody bad. And sharp
enough to hack a trench into my chest, so the water could roll in
like freshened blood, roaring the way it roars against
the creekstones: girl you're alive, alive, alive . . .
I call the creek a woman because she had a woman's wisdom,
a woman's bitter tears, even had the housewife's old cliché
about how all love ends in either death, or separation
from those we love. And the creek made me remember
how they want you to believe the only way off the meathook
is by dying first.
She said: *whatever you do, whatever you do
don't let yourself be the one who dies first.*
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
ESPELHO COLORIDO DO TEU OLHAR
Victor Alex Magalhaes Mar
Estrelas em sinfonia,
Natureza em harmonia,
Animais com suas crias,
Olhares nas pradarias.
Ribeiros e lamentos,
Saudade doentia,
Brilho da nostalgia,
Cabelos aos ventos.
Cacho sempre excelso,
Musgo e feto.
Barcos que navegais,
Vinho que embebedais.
Elas constroem suas casas,
Cartas voam ser ter asas,
Sentinelas da noite, silêncio do mar,
Espelho do teu olhar...
Vic Alex
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 8:15 AM UTC
Sentimentos que se cruzam ao acaso,
Carinho sonolento do fado,
Pastagens com verde intransigente,
Pastagens do amor verdejante.
Emboscadas de devotos amores,
Amor de eternos pensadores,
Remoinhos de rios tricolores,
Rounxinois cantadores.
Olhares sentidos, maltratados,
Colher frutas amadurecidas,
Colher flores floridas,
Amor dos meus pecados.
Noites sem dormir ou ter sono,
Amor ao luar ao abandono,
Cavalos brancos com passo certo,
Amor nu num ceu aberto.
Vic Ale
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 3:15 AM UTC
You only got a buzz and a little fizz
'Cuz you became introduced to soda pop
I call it soda pop cuz you really "can"
Did everything you can to bottle up your hip hop life
So that you can appeal to some new fans
That's what that mountain do
You get to the top and start foolin with that cola
Shaking up the crowds
But you getting ran over
Then it all spills
So **** gets real
Then you figure that you false started
So you try to run over
You now follow 2 liters so here comes the Royce's and the rovers
Now you rocking with the rollas
Guitars and Crown Vic motors
Got you a six pack for the core
Security guards attached to your arms
Dr.pepper spray on his waist
You didn't spring from that kinda soil
You say that you were towing the 40 while you was drinking the 40
Now you root beer
And 7 up
Just forgot about us
No more grits and pop tarts
You doing it for the popular charts
But I call that **** minute maid
Cuz you getting paid to do sweet **** like lemonade
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Rascunhos eu faço e nem sei a razão,
Cintilar e canto de doce paixão,
Junto frases no horizonte da ilusão,
Pedaço de terra e solidão.
As palavras são as amas do amor,
Caminhadas com muito suor.
Pedras alheias, esbranquiçadas,
Palavras meigas, enfeitiçadas.
Nós temos um papel na mente,
Cansaço que não se sente.
Rascunhos da prosa , do mundo conhecido,
Parceiro de uma rota sem sentido.
Escrever com amor ao mundo,
Bater de leve no fundo.
A palavra é leve e tem pena,
Terra amiga, palavra amena.
Vic Alex
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 4:45 PM UTC
the old cruiser sat in his drive
tires as tired as time, the whole car speckled
with bird droppings from his oak
back seat still the same:
scarlet blood dried black from
the boy's brief ride
justified use of force
the grandest jury decreed; still they made him
put up his sword and shield
the sullied car part of his severance,
his Crown Vic replaced by a fat SUV, and he
replaced by his own deputy
he knew it less was a blessing
than a curse, the cruiser turned hearse
gifted to him
the men had tried it scrub it clean
but the boy he felled was eighteen; his blood
copious, stubborn, and a condign reminder
of the sheriff’s last night as the law,
of his frenzied futile attempt to save
the boy, the “deceased”
whose last testament was scrawled
in the bowels of the car that now sat still as stone,
alone with its red written tale
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
I wrote a book called "Useless"
a thousand pages long,
and every page is useless
a thousand letters strong.
And each disjointed sentence
on each disjointed page
makes up another chapter
that I could call a day.
And in this book called "Useless,"
each task I was assigned
took up another hour
I wanted to call mine.
But in this useless novel
where nothing lasts for good,
it made such little difference.
I wish they understood.
It seems most of my pages
were writ without my words
by many other people.
Oh, had I only heard
the voices of the others
who told me not to write
unless I was the author,
and never stand contrite.
The creases in these pages
were put there not by me,
but by the "Learned" people
who thought it best to be
the leaders of my charges!
The heroins and kings
that lead me on to vic'try --
the "freedom" that it brings.
And so they tore those pages,
divided from the spine
of that old book called "Useless."
I loathe to call it mine.
There each and every paper,
now added to their own
collection of these useless
thoughts, was ne'er made known.
'Till dust began collecting
upon the golden leaf
that read the title "Useless"
so powerful and brief,
until I dared to read it
and so lament each time
I had no say in rhythm,
in meter or in rhyme.
And there spread out before me,
each letter cold and black,
contained my very life, still
no life was reading back.
I wanted so to burn it
and send it to its grave.
'Till, better or for worse, I saw
this book is all I have.
I quietly replaced it
between the other books,
now something less embarrassed
by all the space it took,
and realized there with reverence
I needed a new page,
to change my manuscript and
above all else, engage.
And so I keep old "Useless"
so that they might believe
that I write in these pages
for them and not for me.
And here I write another.
It does not have a name
since only time will dictate
the nature of my game.
Now tired of that story,
monotonous and prose,
I altered my technique. now,
it, something like this, goes:
I wrote a poem called useless
though I dont think it is.
You see, it is a prologue.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC