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"vivian" poems
2018 Does it necessarily called sad even when there's no tears? Does it necessarily called scar even when there's no mark? Does it necessarily called pain, even when it doesn't show? Heart. Break. Heartbreak. I am used to hearing this word on a daily basis. Maybe a little too often, but my point here is, everyone knows someone 'utters' that they are in a heartbreak once in a while. So, what is heartbreak to you? "When someone can't keep their promises while they have the chance to." —Alessandra A. "Uncertainty." —Samuel Wijaya "Friends who leave." —Vivian Loo "Being a disappointment." —Ryon Regasa "When the butterflies are no longer there." —Calvina Izumi "Seeing him smile, but I'm not the reason." —Anonymous "When someone you love, has another name in his/her heart." —Evadne Richard "When an effort to love can't be seen anymore because it is sealed shut by a mistake." —David Halim "When you finally meet someone you love sincerely and somehow they start distancing themselves, and you don't even talk to them anymore and you don't even know why."—Natasha These are some opinions from my friends that probably represent some/most of your thoughts about a heartbreak, at least describe what comes first to your mind after hearing that word. And those opinions also described mine, and mostly represent some of the heartbreak(s) that had occured in my life. Now, concluding all the opinions above How would I myself define what heartbreak is? I would define it as an invisible yet irresistible pain. Headache is a type of pain. And heartbreak is also a type of pain. But we all know that both of them are completely different. When you're having a headache, you know exactly where it hurts. But when you're having a heartbreak, it just hurts. You don't know exactly where the pain came from, even when some referred to their chest ('cause it's where their heart is) or anywhere else, it's actually just the side effect of having a heartbreak itself. Just enough explanation to state that heartbreak is like a nowhere and everywhere type of pain. You can't see and you can't know where it hurts, but it's real. As if it was invisible as it is uncertain. Just because you can't really point out where it hurts, doesn't mean it's not there. And another thing about heartbreak is, you can't resist it. No matter how hard you try. There is no painkiller for your heartbreak, and even if you use something as a pain killer (such as alcohol?), it doesn't necessarily works as one. It doesn't make the pain go away, it just distracts you from what you're feeling, temporarily. It shifts your attention and feelings into something less noteworthy for a moment, and then the next day the pain is still going to be there. You can try to resist it, but only time that can make all of that fades. And even when it fades, it doesn't go away. It never will.
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Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
Definition of a Heartbreak
2018 Does it necessarily called sad even when there's no tears? Does it necessarily called scar even when there's no mark? Does it necessarily called pain, even when it doesn't show? Heart. Break. Heartbreak. I am used to hearing this word on a daily basis. Maybe a little too often, but my point here is, everyone knows someone 'utters' that they are in a heartbreak once in a while. So, what is heartbreak to you? "When someone can't keep their promises while they have the chance to." —Alessandra A. "Uncertainty." —Samuel Wijaya "Friends who leave." —Vivian Loo "Being a disappointment." —Ryon Regasa "When the butterflies are no longer there." —Calvina Izumi "Seeing him smile, but I'm not the reason." —Anonymous "When someone you love, has another name in his/her heart." —Evadne Richard "When an effort to love can't be seen anymore because it is sealed shut by a mistake." —David Halim "When you finally meet someone you love sincerely and somehow they start distancing themselves, and you don't even talk to them anymore and you don't even know why."—Natasha These are some opinions from my friends that probably represent some/most of your thoughts about a heartbreak, at least describe what comes first to your mind after hearing that word. And those opinions also described mine, and mostly represent some of the heartbreak(s) that had occured in my life. Now, concluding all the opinions above How would I myself define what heartbreak is? I would define it as an invisible yet irresistible pain. Headache is a type of pain. And heartbreak is also a type of pain. But we all know that both of them are completely different. When you're having a headache, you know exactly where it hurts. But when you're having a heartbreak, it just hurts. You don't know exactly where the pain came from, even when some referred to their chest ('cause it's where their heart is) or anywhere else, it's actually just the side effect of having a heartbreak itself. Just enough explanation to state that heartbreak is like a nowhere and everywhere type of pain. You can't see and you can't know where it hurts, but it's real. As if it was invisible as it is uncertain. Just because you can't really point out where it hurts, doesn't mean it's not there. And another thing about heartbreak is, you can't resist it. No matter how hard you try. There is no painkiller for your heartbreak, and even if you use something as a pain killer (such as alcohol?), it doesn't necessarily works as one. It doesn't make the pain go away, it just distracts you from what you're feeling, temporarily. It shifts your attention and feelings into something less noteworthy for a moment, and then the next day the pain is still going to be there. You can try to resist it, but only time that can make all of that fades. And even when it fades, it doesn't go away. It never will.
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42
I didn't know you were a piano player. This fact only came up while my palms burned with anticipation as I reached out into the stillness, searching for your hands. I found them beneath sheets and cold promises, where the fingers were dancing and the nails were scratching and you were looking to have a good time. You're good at playing the blues. A man by the name of Skye told me you knew all about snatching secrets from the moon, and as I felt the scars and scratches along your callous, quick fingers, I knew this was true. Your eyes never looked down at what you played, which is probably how they ended up this way: scarred and burned and stained a dark red. I never found out why you liked to play music so dark that it did nothing but leave bruises, ones you tried to wash away with old wash cloths and chardonnay. Or why your nickname was ***** even though your mother named you Vivian. Or why you sold me those tickets to that band you dreamed of seeing. Or why your hands started shaking whenever you were near me. Or why I'm in love with your fingers, and all the notes they've played and touched and stole. I don't mind the fact that their skin is burdened with slices of depressed, quiet peace, or the way your eyes turn blue even though they're supposed to be green. I can only hope in the wake of all these sad revelations, that your fingers will remain on those black and white keys, and tomorrow you'll still be playing.
0
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
fingers stained with finesse
I want that kinda love like the way Obama looks at Michelle I want that kinda love Like Cinderella in her happliy ever after fairytale I want that kinda love thats brings you Heaven in the mist of all hell I want that kinda love thats gonna be there for you at the lowest point in your life when you fail. I want that kinda love that if you start Looking into thier eyes you will be put under a spell I want that kind of love that Feeds your mind knowlege until you both feel Faded. I want That kinda of love that takes you high and gets your spirit Elevated I want That kinda of love that keeps you going and movatived. I want That kinda love where you keep on all your clothes but still be exposed like your naked. I want That kind of love thats scared Yes that kinda of love. I want that kinda love Fitting me like a cold hand to warm glove I want That kinda Love expressed through the lycis that Jill Scott sings, That kinda love of how much joy and life loves brings That kind of love Manifesting the many blessings That India Arie Compassionate kinda love That kindred Family soul kinda love That make soul glow, and your spirit Grow kinda love That poetic hip hop lauren Hill kinda love That Vivian and Uncle Phil, Jada and Will kinda love Yes That Kinda Love As it Washes away my pain and let me dance in your love like the Summer rain Kissed by a rose kinda love Let's Cherish the day as if were are lyrics to the music sung by Sade. Old school R&B; kinda of love That Smooth Jazz kem music kinda love That maxwell fortunate kinda love That Babyface Whip Appeal so I know its real kinda love That Cliff and Clair Huxtable Honorable and responsible Kind of love. That Unlimited, Unconditinal, Uncommon Kind of Love. That Purpose driven, On a Mission, Bringing The vision to fruition kinda love 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love You'll be My King and Ill be you Queen kinda of love That Hebrew Royalty Showing loyalty kinda love I want that nourish your soul like Grandmas Homemade Turkey and biscuits casserole kinda love. I want that Acts 6:3 kind of man with faith, prayer, and a plan. I want a God fearing man who genuinely understands. I want a Relationship like Boaz and Ruth, Taking the journey together living in the Truth I want a love that will fight for me just as Jocob did For Racheal and I promise I'll always be faithful. Let it be Pleasing to God's sight just as Leah But yet As wise As Solomon and The Queen of Sheba kinda love I want that 1 John 3:18 Kind of love That Unforseen kinda Love As we Build like Noah and Nehemiah, But Weep together like Jeremiah kinda of love I want that Serve like Sammuel And Pray like Daniel Kinda of love. That love me like Christ Kinda of Love. Yes That is my Kinda of love.
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Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
"Kinda Love"
I want that kinda love like the way Obama looks at Michelle I want that kinda love Like Cinderella in her happliy ever after fairytale I want that kinda love thats brings you Heaven in the mist of all hell I want that kinda love thats gonna be there for you at the lowest point in your life when you fail. I want that kinda love that if you start Looking into thier eyes you will be put under a spell I want that kind of love that Feeds your mind knowlege until you both feel Faded. I want That kinda of love that takes you high and gets your spirit Elevated I want That kinda of love that keeps you going and movatived. I want That kinda love where you keep on all your clothes but still be exposed like your naked. I want That kind of love thats scared Yes that kinda of love. I want that kinda love Fitting me like a cold hand to warm glove I want That kinda Love expressed through the lycis that Jill Scott sings, That kinda love of how much joy and life loves brings That kind of love Manifesting the many blessings That India Arie Compassionate kinda love That kindred Family soul kinda love That make soul glow, and your spirit Grow kinda love That poetic hip hop lauren Hill kinda love That Vivian and Uncle Phil, Jada and Will kinda love Yes That Kinda Love As it Washes away my pain and let me dance in your love like the Summer rain Kissed by a rose kinda love Let's Cherish the day as if were are lyrics to the music sung by Sade. Old school R&B; kinda of love That Smooth Jazz kem music kinda love That maxwell fortunate kinda love That Babyface Whip Appeal so I know its real kinda love That Cliff and Clair Huxtable Honorable and responsible Kind of love. That Unlimited, Unconditinal, Uncommon Kind of Love. That Purpose driven, On a Mission, Bringing The vision to fruition kinda love 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love You'll be My King and Ill be you Queen kinda of love That Hebrew Royalty Showing loyalty kinda love I want that nourish your soul like Grandmas Homemade Turkey and biscuits casserole kinda love. I want that Acts 6:3 kind of man with faith, prayer, and a plan. I want a God fearing man who genuinely understands. I want a Relationship like Boaz and Ruth, Taking the journey together living in the Truth I want a love that will fight for me just as Jocob did For Racheal and I promise I'll always be faithful. Let it be Pleasing to God's sight just as Leah But yet As wise As Solomon and The Queen of Sheba kinda love I want that 1 John 3:18 Kind of love That Unforseen kinda Love As we Build like Noah and Nehemiah, But Weep together like Jeremiah kinda of love I want that Serve like Sammuel And Pray like Daniel Kinda of love. That love me like Christ Kinda of Love. Yes That is my Kinda of love.
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54
this time, when i went to meet Death at his place, he showed signs of weakness. he was watching a cricket match relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched. yawns kept rolling in slow progression towards the boundary. 'are you well?’ i ventured. 'nothing wrong,’ said he. stammering, i quizzed him: which one do you fear most? allopathy, ayurveda, or homeopathy? dear wilson, have you observed sachin facing the ***** of shane warne? brian lara, wasim akram? chris gail, brett lee? i was thrown into confusion. death admitted, unwillingly, that like vivian richards confronted narendra hirwani, he was laid low by the secret herb of an old tribal man! aaha! the panacea became then a spin ball! (aaha…Nothing official about it!) i forgot to ask how our people smuggled away by him were faring now. he forgot to comment “you will see for yourself when you face it.”
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Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
Another rendezvous with Death
poetry isn't just for white people, Vivian isn't a girl's name, and I will wear these white jeans past Labor Day. we forget that we could touch the stars if we ******* tried, but instead we are here, drowning in atmosphere, choking on our inhibitions. there are ten pills tucked in the very back of your desk; you love them but they're about to become a crutch, and you are frightened. I don't **** with that new **** but it's not like you care. I'm still the same ******* idiot, total trash, I deleted your number and I won't send you snapchats, I wonder if you deleted my dickpics. lost intimacy, windowsill cacti, a Ziplock full of ******* stuffed inside your pillowcase; I went for a run, your name traipsing about my prefrontal cortex, smashing memories, beheading roosters, screaming incoherently about subprime mortgages and credit derivatives. the government is lying about 9/11 but no one really cares; the government is arming oppressive regimes in Missouri but white people don't care; would that I had such willful ignorance, the right to ignore the slaughter on our front lawns. my parents started from the bottom, they survived in America, decapitated birds on the doorstep. I do not have their strength and I am washing Xanax down with Gatorade and refusing to apologize.
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Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
spirit animal: maggot
in the annals of cricket those of greatness get a mention for what they've achieved on the wicket these men stand head and shoulder above the rest their contribution to the game has been written as the best three men have inspired younger players in their homelands they've accomplished much on wickets throughout the many cricket playing lands Steven Waugh(Australian Captain) the master strategist who had a captain's mind replete with brilliant tactics when he took to the pitch the opposition teams would quiver in their collective boots field placement   over deliveries the weather conditions all of these factors actuated in his mind so he could bring an innings of a notable kind Sachin Tendulkar (Indian Batsman) the king of the blade who none can equal in test matches his cuts and cover drives were worthy of an epic prequel his style with the bat twas magic to see he had a prowess of majesty Vivian Richard (West Indies All Rounder) he was never phased he held his nerve with the bat or the ball a tradesman who fielded what ever came at him and in his relaxed style chewed on a piece of gum and demolish the bails with a Caribbean hum cricket's hall of fame that 22 yard pitch where three greatest of the game performances   did of fans ever bewitch
0
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Cricket Greats
Hold my hand dear Benjamin don't let Professor Edwards catch me in a dreamscape challenging me off guard as we sit in math class hands clasped together for when you knowingly squeeze my hand tighter scribbling with your right hand the answer which is required to be erased so as not caught out but today as I look out onto drifting clouded skies I see the changes and I lose myself in shapes and smoke forging out homes, characters stories into my past, present and what could be in the future nothing is taken from me, distracted in an instant I'm Vivian Ward racing around Hollywood with my best friend Kit De Luca who eats cold pizza for breakfast and crawls the streets with me hop scotching across the Hollywood Walk of Fame, five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats blonde, brunette elegance Manolo's, mink coats, jewelled necklines of emerald stones we'd both dreamt as kids Los Angeles; the City of Angels we are the winged, we are the free inhabiting the land of opportunity the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat with bunk beds and a closet filled with 80's short tight spandex leg warmers, faux gold earrings bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus... oh and those perms and scrunchies fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell being courted by an older wealthier man living fast, dying young, a fugitive of the land broken The silence I succumbed to bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing "never change Lou lou!" he winked and smiled packing his rucksack leaving for the day. © Sia Jane “She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.” Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”
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Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
City dreamer
Hold my hand dear Benjamin don't let Professor Edwards catch me in a dreamscape challenging me off guard as we sit in math class hands clasped together for when you knowingly squeeze my hand tighter scribbling with your right hand the answer which is required to be erased so as not caught out but today as I look out onto drifting clouded skies I see the changes and I lose myself in shapes and smoke forging out homes, characters stories into my past, present and what could be in the future nothing is taken from me, distracted in an instant I'm Vivian Ward racing around Hollywood with my best friend Kit De Luca who eats cold pizza for breakfast and crawls the streets with me hop scotching across the Hollywood Walk of Fame, five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats blonde, brunette elegance Manolo's, mink coats, jewelled necklines of emerald stones we'd both dreamt as kids Los Angeles; the City of Angels we are the winged, we are the free inhabiting the land of opportunity the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat with bunk beds and a closet filled with 80's short tight spandex leg warmers, faux gold earrings bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus... oh and those perms and scrunchies fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell being courted by an older wealthier man living fast, dying young, a fugitive of the land broken The silence I succumbed to bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing "never change Lou lou!" he winked and smiled packing his rucksack leaving for the day. © Sia Jane “She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.” Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”
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54
Poor sailors and poor students parse the past Between the paper covers of poor Penguins Poor crumbling pages and crumbling civilizations Held together with rubber bands and Scotch tape And when in middle age The City of God At last succumbs to the barbarians of time A fresh one is built up in Oxford blue By Vivian Ridler, who saved for us the words And yet - the arguments of several Romes Were somehow fresher at $3.75
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Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 4:21 PM UTC
Penguins and Oxford Blues
**a tribute to Vivian Francesca Jarvis** Allow me please some bragging rights Of this I will attest My mom's a brave, accomplished gal She's one of the Best Born to be an actress A director and a coach She starred in Joan of Arc I have the right to boast She's been in countless films A career of great yield She played with Sydney Poitier In Lilies of the Field She is a character actress Won many awards To hear her tell her tales of stage & screen One is never bored! Not only an actress My mom's an activist League of Women Voters There is quite a list! She stood up for the poor man And during Vietnam She directed guerilla theater And was threatened with a bomb! Someone threw a rock With a note attached Saying a Molotov Cocktail Would go through our window next! She's had trials and tribulations Depression. Migraines long But she always rose above it The Show Must Go On! Now she is still acting! Though West Nile Virus took its share Of a once sharp memory And she's in a power chair! She starred in Mother Courage And truly this is she I am grateful for my mom and proud as proud can be! SoulSurvivor Catherine Jarvis (C) 3/6/2016
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Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Mother Courage
A view of the ocean reminds me of relationships  I watch the rocks either  being kissed by the waters ever so gently again and again Or the rocks being pounded  into a form of submission  by an insistent ocean ever so violently  again and again The rocks never move The ocean never gives up And yet...the rocks erode ...over time There's a lesson in there somewhere  I'll ponder it later...maybe in a poem I carry on with my walk under  the hot summer sun leaving rock and ocean  relationships behind me. ©Vivian Zems
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Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
Kisses and Blows
“stay low, go fast, **** first, die last, one shot, one **** no luck, all skill” (Unofficial Navy Seal Slogan) I stand at the graveside watching as each person steps forward to throw dirt on the coffin I study each face closely and marvel at all humanity What is it about funerals that causes all to attend? And yet in a life well spent not a visit, not even a scent I laid down my life, as you see laid it so they could be free It must be a sense of duty now they come to visit me Oh- the hypocrisy of humanity! And now another journey awaits me I soar to meet passing clouds caught in the upstream of wind a final glance, and just by chance I catch your eyes following me ©Vivian Zems
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Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 5:00 AM UTC
Sacrifice
Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive! Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice. “My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story. Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends. “Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.” The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved. “For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.” McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads. “I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes. Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range. “My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.” read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
0
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
Melissa McCarthy Says Her Daughters Are Already Trendsetters
Star and fashion designer Melissa McCarthy shares her guide for feeling fabulous and the emotional inspiration behind her new clothing line. Subscribe now for instant access to this PEOPLE exclusive! Melissa McCarthy‘s foray into the fashion world with Melissa McCarthy’s Seven7 is already a bonafide success — but that doesn’t mean her daughterswill start looking to mom for fashion advice. “My daughters have their own sense of style, which is a thousand times better than having mine,” McCarthy tells PEOPLE in this week’s cover story. Georgette, 5½, and Vivian, 8, McCarthy’s daughters with husband Ben Falcone, are already setting their own trends. “Georgie is very specific in what she wears,” McCarthy, 45, says. “Vivie can be more flexible, but she’s said to me on several occasions, ‘That’s my style, Mama.’ And I can tell when she wears something and feels good in it.” The actress says she only intervenes in the girls’ attire when safety is involved. “For me it’s like: As long as you’re not going to the park in a long skirt that you’re going to trip and fall on, you go for it,” she says. “If there’s no danger issue, wear whatever you want. I can tell you like it, I can tell you feel good about yourself in it, so knock yourself out.” McCarthy tells PEOPLE she’d support her daughters even if they wanted to wear a shirt “wrapped like a turban” around their heads. “I just think you’re going to have so many people saying, ‘You shouldn’t, you can’t, that’s not okay,’ that there’s no way I’m going to be one of those people. I’m gonna help fight that as much as I can. So turbans for everyone,” she jokes. Vivian is so fashion-forward that one of her designs is even featured on a t-shirt in McCarthy’s range. “My daughter Vivie drew that cat last year saying ‘Le Meow.’ Because, she explained, ‘everyone should have a fancy cat,'” McCarthy explains. “I can’t even think of what I’ll do when I see someone on the street wearing it. And when Vivie sees it? I’d better be standing next to her to watch her little heart fill up.” read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
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13
I can promise you that I rarely cry at photographs This is very new to me But these tears are true Just as your photos are true Your photos are the true America Thousands of photos Of lives you only knew I want to cover my house with your work I want to imprint your photos inside my eyelids So my dreams are filled with The magnificent contrast Beautiful simplicity The truth shown through your eyes and the eyes of your camera, held at navel level, as you look into the eyes of your subject What true art you have made! Art rarely seen Until after you passed I wished I could meet you A true beautiful soul Why do all the beautiful souls leave me here? Your pictures of the poor enlighten me Your scenery inspires me I can almost hear your faux French accent You worked as a nanny And you hid yourself With fake names Always a secret You locked the doors behind you For years your art was locked in boxes Boxes and boxes And photos of dead horses Crying children Extreme human conditions Photos of trashcans All was art You could truly see it couldn't you? You could see the truth Of which I wish to write I hope you were happy Or at least content I hope the nights weren't too dark I hope you are glad to hear The world loves what you have done I thank you We all thank you And I wish you well
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Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
Letter To Vivian Maier
Wish it could rain, raindrops always soothe my soul Wish it could rain, that angelic force deafens my sorrow Wish it could rain; I picture you dancing in the rain That smile, that smile heals my soul The tears patter-patter on your large frame Carefully convince the smile escape your lips Escape your lips into the lips of my heart; A welcome intrusion warming my soul That healing smile trickles in carefully in my heart Then you smile to another Your smile rudely escapes the catacombs of my heart Breaking it so Wish it could rain, the rain washes my broken sorrows away Wish it could rain, a sign that He hears my pain Wish it could, then maybe I’d grasp why, why my heart breaks so. Vivian Mule.
0
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
Feels like Friday and Sunday is on the way
Get on the ball Rustle up some food Celery seed Just make it up on the spot Circle "none of the above" Avoid all the **** blocks The **** swats And anyone who can read and write in reverse Visit the maddened mistress She's at the farm in the barn She's on birth control so it's okay She wants the same thing you do Instant gratification She has a surplus of lust and seduction
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Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
Vivian
*I drink away your absence I smoke in my nuisance I sleep to dream you To wake up to feel you You gave me a future I can only abjure You gave me a cause I can only pause You were my love now you’re my dove I was your Vivian now I’m your burden To you. Out there.by Lou*
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Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
what a solitary road to oblivion
A Shock from reading alfred hitchcock. Is it true a shrine displaying the brain of albert einstein? I feel so revived when I wear chanel #5. Titanic created chaos, confusion & panic. The white house is where the president Is a four year resident. Christina aguilera wears mascara. Madonna doesn't smoke marijuana. Cher has beautiful hair. Vivian leigh can scream as loud as a banshee. I never met marilyn monroe I would have wanted to say hello.
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Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Celebrities of TIME
Marian Brown and Vivian Brown were photographed oft on the street. Their identical faces and identical smiles City visitors found quite a treat. They dressed for effect In identical garb: indistinguishable from Heads to feet. They started their day Once the sun had gone down; when most people their age were asleep. But Vivian suffered a fall in July And her memories faded away. Marian mourns the loss of her twin along with the folks by the Bay. If Marian paused by a window of glass That Sunshine strikes just the right way- It might seem, for a moment, that Marian stands once again, with her twin by the Bay.
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Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
Soul Survivor
She is a caregiver. She who gives complete care is she whose care is completely given - So much care to give yet none remains for herself. Built 6 ft. tall she carries: A Rolleiflex 3.5T, A phony french accent And an enigmatical past. Ms Mayer. As her lens soaks up the quintessence of normality in A diluted Chicago suburb or The emphatic streets of Manhattan; She was wired to observe. Her nature, craving to sustain unrepeatable moments. Instances so human, A simple photograph just isn’t quite enough To capture them. V. Meyer. She relies unwaveringly on an object whose sole purpose is to Look through, To surpass. But to her it acts contradictorily as A barrier, A rationalized blindness. An outside eye peering into the lives of others But never within herself. She is the lady who would rather look through a lens than into a mirror Because her refracted self is slightly easier confronted than that reflected. Vivian Maier.
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Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Nanny
I seen them come and watched them go and I know not one of those spoke of Michelangelo, it was all about the latest date, the tricks of men and fate the risky business, foreplay for the afternoon, Spotify, don't come too soon, but never Michelangelo. When and what brings me to this junction of people, this queue of lonely, this hunger monger looks into space and he looks at himself and his face doesn't fit, mirror mirror on the wall **** you, **** but that's childish and so I edit childishly with lipstick from My Auntie V, which was short for Vivian and Viv died back in '74, not sure why I kept her lipstick but I also kept lots more. (sore points make for scabby wounds) And if I cough again I'll wet myself, jeez, you'd think the body could hold itself intact. I only lack the know how and I know that now and I know that no one talks of Michelangelo, just Bieber and Dicaprio, time to go? I guess it is and somewhat so touching on Michelangelo because no one else does.
0
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
The sitting room
Lonely boy, why didn't you close the door? deep down you knew i'd be coming back for more Banned from heaven's gate come and curse my fate Tell me if she also watches you sleep at night counting every beat of your wild heart I hope it's not too late come and curse my fate It's wrong to destroy someone's dream for your selfish desires Look what you've done, i'm begging you to set my soul on fire So pack your things and take the next train to the oblivion don't leave Valerie waiting, and please be good to Vivian And when i learn to fall in love with hate you can come and curse my fate
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Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Curse My Fate
Hey Vivian. Vivian, Vivian. Your name echoes in my veins Vibrating through my body Inhale exhale There you are again My nitrogen, crystal oxygen - I crave too much. In the dark of the theatre We gaze into the screen as it plays Wes Anderson silent films But half my mind is melted into the thought of our shoulders touching Warm warm warm I want to feel warm with you Closer, touch you, look into you. You whisper in my ears Closer closer then you drift All I can think of is your lips Soft, subtle, grazing lips Oh when will you introduce me? When I touched your hands I left it there And it felt so nice. Your piano hand, my violin fingers Don't you see the fit? Let's drive. If I could call you up right now at 1:55 AM and take you out god **** I would I want to drive into the night with you I want to rush into the city and find a hiding place Way up high. Where we can see the lights of our homes so far below. In the dark Maybe we could sit and lay next to each other for a while. Sigh into each other's rhythms Still and warm We'll find honesty, trust and symmetry You and I will completely forget the world and the people that judge, forgive me for being cliché. Maybe then I will finally tell you the truth. Truths. Truth! What is the truth. How do I even start with this? Your eyes will listen to my slow forming words Expectant But Oh **** In hale ex hale I cannot do this Nothing can stay the same You are too dear to me And I can't afford to loose you so Please will somebody tell me Tell me tell me What to do Because I'm dealing with moral imperatives and both feels like suicide to me. Perhaps you can uncode Me without any passing words Could we ever go back the same route then? Infatuation obsession  isolation You are my idol. I run across the river in flames but Can it be too late to save me? In too deep; Only I don't mind it one bit.
0
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
The worst part is you have no clue
Hey Vivian. Vivian, Vivian. Your name echoes in my veins Vibrating through my body Inhale exhale There you are again My nitrogen, crystal oxygen - I crave too much. In the dark of the theatre We gaze into the screen as it plays Wes Anderson silent films But half my mind is melted into the thought of our shoulders touching Warm warm warm I want to feel warm with you Closer, touch you, look into you. You whisper in my ears Closer closer then you drift All I can think of is your lips Soft, subtle, grazing lips Oh when will you introduce me? When I touched your hands I left it there And it felt so nice. Your piano hand, my violin fingers Don't you see the fit? Let's drive. If I could call you up right now at 1:55 AM and take you out god **** I would I want to drive into the night with you I want to rush into the city and find a hiding place Way up high. Where we can see the lights of our homes so far below. In the dark Maybe we could sit and lay next to each other for a while. Sigh into each other's rhythms Still and warm We'll find honesty, trust and symmetry You and I will completely forget the world and the people that judge, forgive me for being cliché. Maybe then I will finally tell you the truth. Truths. Truth! What is the truth. How do I even start with this? Your eyes will listen to my slow forming words Expectant But Oh **** In hale ex hale I cannot do this Nothing can stay the same You are too dear to me And I can't afford to loose you so Please will somebody tell me Tell me tell me What to do Because I'm dealing with moral imperatives and both feels like suicide to me. Perhaps you can uncode Me without any passing words Could we ever go back the same route then? Infatuation obsession  isolation You are my idol. I run across the river in flames but Can it be too late to save me? In too deep; Only I don't mind it one bit.
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62
I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God. I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder. I relinquished my rightful place to the bank’s Crippler Crossface taking everything until I lost grace going into a holocaust craze. I’m upset about the places I can’t go because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando when I ask the referee for a hand though he just responds with a ****** no. I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage. I gave up teaching class to my sister to fight an *** who’s a mister whose slaps can blister so he blasts this spinster. The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero. I start to take steroids because there are boys whose terror noise impairs my poise. I go all out performing flying headbutts fighting until I see the dead’s guts exterminating enemies like bed bugs but then I start to dread hugs. Now I assume a stranger’s spite so I can immediately fight I’m swallowed by night wearing these tights. In my rage I **** my wife and son now my anger is no longer fun even if it came from their gun it’s me who’s the loneliest one. I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines until I can’t find any grand signs and I’m anger defined.
0
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 5:20 AM UTC
From Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God. I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder. I relinquished my rightful place to the bank’s Crippler Crossface taking everything until I lost grace going into a holocaust craze. I’m upset about the places I can’t go because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando when I ask the referee for a hand though he just responds with a ****** no. I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage. I gave up teaching class to my sister to fight an *** who’s a mister whose slaps can blister so he blasts this spinster. The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero. I start to take steroids because there are boys whose terror noise impairs my poise. I go all out performing flying headbutts fighting until I see the dead’s guts exterminating enemies like bed bugs but then I start to dread hugs. Now I assume a stranger’s spite so I can immediately fight I’m swallowed by night wearing these tights. In my rage I **** my wife and son now my anger is no longer fun even if it came from their gun it’s me who’s the loneliest one. I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines until I can’t find any grand signs and I’m anger defined.
Continue reading...
48
Every day I'm not with you I die a little inside I feel the pain closing in Cornered up in my feeble mind Its the spirit in my eyes The moisture is running dry Sadness falls in my heart every night And its not your fault I am my own reason that I cry
0
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Vivian