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Lawrence Hall Dec 2018
What Child is this WHOP!  WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP!  WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP!  WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP!  WHEEP! WHOP!
WHEEP!...
In Mary’s lap is sleeping…

“It’s okay, folks; it was just the muffins.”

Whom angels greet…
                                          “I don’t want a muffin, thanks.”
With anthems sweet…
A note of seeming truth and trust
                      Hid crafty observation;
                And secret hung, with poison’d crust,
                      The dirk of defamation:
                A mask that like the gorget show’d
                      Dye-varying, on the pigeon;
                And for a mantle large and broad,
              He wrapt him in Religion.
                   (Hypocrisy-à-la-Mode)


Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
     When Nature’s face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn
     An’ ***** the caller air.
The risin’ sun owre Galston muirs
     Wi’ glorious light was glintin,
The hares were hirplin down the furrs,
     The lav’rocks they were chantin
          Fu’ sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad
     To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
     Cam skelpin up the way.
Twa had manteeles o’ dolefu’ black,
     But ane wi’ lyart linin;
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,
     Was in the fashion shining
          Fu’ gay that day.

The twa appear’d like sisters twin
     In feature, form, an’ claes;
Their visage wither’d, lang an’ thin,
     An’ sour as ony slaes.
The third cam up, hap-step-an’-lowp,
     As light as ony lambie,
An’ wi’ a curchie low did stoop,
     As soon as e’er she saw me,
          Fu’ kind that day.

Wi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
     I think ye seem to ken me;
I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face,
     But yet I canna name ye.”
Quo’ she, an’ laughin as she spak,
     An’ taks me by the han’s,
“Ye, for my sake, hae gien the ****
     Of a’ the ten comman’s
          A screed some day.

“My name is Fun—your cronie dear,
     The nearest friend ye hae;
An’ this is Superstition here,
     An’ that’s Hypocrisy.
I’m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,
     To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye’ll go there, you runkl’d pair,
     We will get famous laughin
          At them this day.”

Quoth I, “With a’ my heart, I’ll do’t:
     I’ll get my Sunday’s sark on,
An’ meet you on the holy spot;
     Faith, we’se hae fine remarkin!”
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
     An’ soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad frae side to side
     Wi’ monie a wearie body
          In droves that day.

Here, farmers ****, in ridin graith,
     Gaed hoddin by their cotters,
There swankies young, in braw braidclaith
     Are springin owre the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
     In silks an’ scarlets glitter,
Wi’ sweet-milk cheese in mony a whang,
     An’ farls, bak’d wi’ butter,
          Fu’ crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
     Weel heaped up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
     An’ we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show:
     On ev’ry side they’re gath’rin,
Some carryin dails, some chairs an’ stools,
     An’ some are busy bleth’rin
          Right loud that day.


Here some are thinkin on their sins,
     An’ some upo’ their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyl’d his shins,
     Anither sighs an’ prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
     Wi’ *****’d-up grace-proud faces;
On that a set o’ chaps at watch,
     Thrang winkin on the lasses
          To chairs that day.

O happy is that man and blest!
     Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whase ain dear lass that he likes best,
     Comes clinkin down beside him!
Wi’ arm repos’d on the chair back,
     He sweetly does compose him;
Which by degrees slips round her neck,
     An’s loof upon her *****,
          Unken’d that day.

Now a’ the congregation o’er
     Is silent expectation;
For Moodie speels the holy door,
     Wi’ tidings o’ salvation.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,
     ‘Mang sons o’ God present him,
The vera sight o’ Moodie’s face
     To’s ain het hame had sent him
          Wi’ fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o’ faith
     Wi’ rattlin an’ wi’ thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath
     He’s stampin, an’ he’s jumpin!
His lengthen’d chin, his turn’d-up snout,
     His eldritch squeal and gestures,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout
     Like cantharidian plaisters,
          On sic a day!

But hark! the tent has chang’d its voice:
     There’s peace and rest nae langer;
For a’ the real judges rise,
     They canna sit for anger.
Smith opens out his cauld harangues,
     On practice and on morals;
An’ aff the godly pour in thrangs,
     To gie the jars an’ barrels
          A lift that day.

What signifies his barren shine
     Of moral pow’rs and reason?
His English style an’ gesture fine
     Are a’ clean out o’ season.
Like Socrates or Antonine
     Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,
     But ne’er a word o’ faith in
          That’s right that day.

In guid time comes an antidote
     Against sic poison’d nostrum;
For Peebles, frae the water-fit,
     Ascends the holy rostrum:
See, up he’s got the word o’ God
     An’ meek an’ mim has view’d it,
While Common Sense has ta’en the road,
     An’s aff, an’ up the Cowgate
          Fast, fast that day.

Wee Miller niest the Guard relieves,
     An’ Orthodoxy raibles,
Tho’ in his heart he weel believes
     An’ thinks it auld wives’ fables:
But faith! the birkie wants a Manse,
     So cannilie he hums them;
Altho’ his carnal wit an’ sense
     Like hafflins-wise o’ercomes him
          At times that day.

Now **** an’ ben the change-house fills
     Wi’ yill-caup commentators:
Here’s cryin out for bakes an gills,
     An’ there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thick an’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang,
     Wi’ logic an’ wi’ Scripture,
They raise a din, that in the end
     Is like to breed a rupture
          O’ wrath that day.

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair
     Than either school or college
It kindles wit, it waukens lear,
     It pangs us fou o’ knowledge.
Be’t whisky-gill or penny-wheep,
     Or ony stronger potion,
It never fails, on drinkin deep,
     To kittle up our notion
          By night or day.

The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent
     To mind baith saul an’ body,
Sit round the table weel content,
     An’ steer about the toddy,
On this ane’s dress an’ that ane’s leuk
     They’re makin observations;
While some are cozie i’ the neuk,
     An’ forming assignations
          To meet some day.

But now the Lord’s ain trumpet touts,
     Till a’ the hills rae rairin,
An’ echoes back return the shouts—
     Black Russell is na sparin.
His piercing words, like highlan’ swords,
     Divide the joints an’ marrow;
His talk o’ hell, whare devils dwell,
     Our vera “sauls does harrow”
          Wi’ fright that day.

A vast, unbottom’d, boundless pit,
     Fill’d fou o’ lowin brunstane,
Whase ragin flame, an’ scorching heat
     *** melt the hardest whun-stane!
The half-asleep start up wi’ fear
     An’ think they hear it roarin,
When presently it does appear
     ’Twas but some neibor snorin,
          Asleep that day.

‘Twad be owre lang a tale to tell,
     How mony stories past,
An’ how they crouded to the yill,
     When they were a’ dismist:
How drink gaed round in cogs an’ caups
     Amang the furms an’ benches:
An’ cheese and bred frae women’s laps
     Was dealt about in lunches
          An’ dauds that day.

In comes a gausie, **** guidwife
     An’ sits down by the fire,
Syne draws her kebbuck an’ her knife;
     The lasses they are shyer:
The auld guidmen, about the grace
     Frae side to side they bother,
Till some ane by his bonnet lays,
     And gi’es them’t like a tether
          Fu’ lang that day.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,
     Or lasses that hae naething!
Sma’ need has he to say a grace,
     Or melvie his braw clathing!
O wives, be mindfu’ ance yoursel
     How bonie lads ye wanted,
An’ dinna for a kebbuck-heel
     Let lasses be affronted
          On sic a day!

Now Clinkumbell, wi’ rattlin tow,
     Begins to jow an’ croon;
Some swagger hame the best they dow,
     Some wait the afternoon.
At slaps the billies halt a blink,
     Till lasses strip their shoon:
Wi’ faith an’ hope, an’ love an’ drink,
     They’re a’ in famous tune
          For crack that day.

How monie hearts this day converts
     O’ sinners and o’ lasses
Their hearts o’ stane, gin night, are gane
     As saft as ony flesh is.
There’s some are fou o’ love divine,
     There’s some are fou o’ brandy;
An’ monie jobs that day begin,
     May end in houghmagandie
          Some ither day.
Fish The Pig Oct 2013
I am happy.
I am happier than one can be
If happy is another name for Misery
because then my Happy is endless.
It's a sick kind of misery,
a kind I've written of before.
It eats me from the inside out
but gives just enough
to keep me living off it evermore.
.
It's a ***** kind of misery.
One I can't quite place.
Each day I saunter from place-to-place
with such broken elegance
I feel as if I'm floating,
my puppeteer gently tugging at my strings.
.
It''s the kind of misery I cannot live without,
the kind of misery that taunts me
and keeps my mind occupied for hours
with thoughts of atrocities.
.
I focus on a spot,
I let that spot consume me.
The name,
*******,
it soothes me.
I'd never do drugs,
I'd never drink,
I claim this time and time again,
but why do I need it,
something I've never experienced,
something a naive young girl like me knows nothing about,
yet I dream of it.
I think about it all day long,
snorting
and an assortment of needles too
not to feel alive of course,
but to feel nothing-
to feel nothing at all.
Sometimes I sit in the dark
and I wheep,
I wheep for such atrocities as those
for they are horrid
but I want them
I NEED them
an addiction to something I've never known.
.
That is not all.
I'm in desperate need of hurt.
Desperate need of pain.
Desperate need of nothing-
need of death.
I do not want to die,
I simply want to feel nothing.
When I don't think of atrocities
My heart is pinned to dark Angels.
These dark angels change from time to time
but there remains a constant-
they are sick.
Bowie is my love,
my life,
my light,
he heals me in every which way
but there are other Angels too.
Those such as Joe Van Moyland
that sick little man
bone with a tight layer of skin
with floppy hair
have you seen that man
so sick
so grotesque
how can I not admire it.
I look at the healthy and I cringe,
I look at the sick and addicted
and I swoon.
I see these sick monsters whom
I've conjured up the idea that
monsters like them know the secret,
the secret to nothing
and secret to misery.
.
As my grades plummet
and quality fades
I leave friends behind
to spend my hours in a dark room,
starving myself silly
daydreaming of atrocities
and dark Angels
so that I may fill my body with misery
and maybe someday achieve the ideal
of nothing.
Vampyre Kato Dec 2016
Dec
Chills Shiver The Deepest Realm Of My Spine,
I Am Darkness I Am Light,
I Can't Breathe Some Times,
Suffocate Through The Night,
I Will Be Alright,
There Are Times ,
I Hold Her Side To Side,
Romance , Candle Light,
Speaking Eye To Eye,
Deeply She Starts To Cry,
She Feels My Pain Inside,
It Rains Dear,
This Pain Hear ,
Is The Poet And The Way I Paint Tears,
In My Minds Eye And Heart,
Its Me And You,
So Close Inside Of The Same Coat,
Feeling The Same Cold,
Breeze From That Strange Road,
Squeezing This Thorn Rose,
As The Blood Crys Down My Hand,
I Feel Sad, I Think Back,
If We Were Strangers Again,
This Wouldn't Feel Bad,
Theres Beauty In The Darkness,
We All Been Broken Hearted,
I Don't Want To Sail Away Alone,
Oh My Heart Is Bleeding For You,
The Woman Of My Dreams,
I Want You Here If Im Alone In This Bed Its Hard For Me To Sleep,
In This Silence I Wheep,
Its Been A Few Weeks,
The Way I Love You And Hug Wish You Could See,
I Breathe When I Think Of You Keila,
I'm Creating A Home, Vampyre Throne,,
Ima Save Up, Ashes On These Bones,
Time Me For Me To Keep My Head Up,
In Time My Passion Will Manifest Better ,
Healing, When My Beauty Is Set Up,
I Know We Will Cross Paths,
And The Desire Will Drip Passion,
I Will Drive You Back In My Tesla, To My Loft And Mansion,
Show You The Lair Where The Piano , Violin, Tones,
Reminds You Of That Sacred Safe Home,
Inside Of The Energy You Feel In Me,
Its Makes You Want To Cry And Heal Things,
Im The Real Me,
I Know Right Now Your Numb  And You Think Im Dumb,
Deep Down You Know Im The One,
I Am Romance, You Will Always Remember When Your Sad
How We Hold Hands,
And I Look, Focus Deep In Your Eyes,
And I Listen With My Vampyre Heart,
How I Be In Your Thighs,
Id Watch You Sleep So Fragile At Night
And Giggle When You Snore And Record It,
Show You In the Morning,
Now Your Gone,
Im Bleeding Songs Cant Ignore This,
I'm Pouring Seas Of Tears On My Pillowcase,
Your Away I still Feel Your Pain,
I Know You Lie, Been With Guys,
******* To Get High,
I Still Care People Wonder Why,
I Say Cos I Live Under Life,
I Been Dead Inside,
My Head Is Tight,
I Stay Alive For Reasons I Will Hug You Again,
Cross Path With Temporary Friends,
That Come And Go,
Im Just A Ghost,
To You I  Know,
I Still Hold On To This Rope Thats Around Your Boat,
So When Your On Dope,
Or Just Sad Af And You Don't Know Where To Go,
And Drownd, You Can Grab The Rope,
Ill Keep You Afloat,
I Promised No More Notes,
Text Or Emails On My Phone,
But I Am Poetry,
Theese Are Spells And Poems,
There is nothing I can say that hasn't been said
Just a different way of making you see the bigger picture in your head
The imagery is more vibrant and memorable
Something held closer to your heart to spark the love you still hold inside
For those who have maid you wheep and cry
whether it was girls or a guys
The realest feelings are the ones coming from your eyes  
In disguise
Covered by a smile to no ones surprise
Anthony Emmi Mar 2018
I am a saulker
I saulk the saulks
That the saulkers saulk

I am a wheeper
I wheep the wheeps
That the wheepers wheep

I am a writer
I write the writings
That the writers write

I am a jokester
I joke the jokes
that the jokesters joke

I am a waffle eater
I eat the waffles
that the waffle eaters eat

I am a pickler
I pickle the pickles
that the picklers pickle

I am a friend
I friend the friends
that the friends friend


A.Emmi 03/30/18
Sinai Jul 2013
She's too tired to walk,
so I carry her home.
Her soft face touches my neck
as I kiss
and kiss
and kiss
her.
She sometimes yawns,
or lets out a silent wheep.
And I am flattered by the
looks the people give me.
I remember when
I was in her place
in my mother's arms
(Only I was
pretending to sleep).
I envy her.
Nis Aug 2018
The sun makes me sneeze,
twice,
always.
Like Plato's prisoner I reach for the light
but I'm answered with closed eyes,
twice,
always.
Like Icarus I fly in my glory
only to fall to the unresting sea,
twice,
always.

I fall back on my seat,
a poet's seat,
and I write,
I write about the sun
and the cloud that just protected me
from the powerful influence on my nose.
I cry.
Funny thing, in English this word has two meanings
that not always go together.
I  could wheep, I could shout,
but I just cry,
twice,
always.
Andreas Simic Oct 2017
Tour of Duty©
I awaken from a fitful sleep
One where slumber was not very deep
The night before after counting many a sheep
My eyes closed and they did meet

A dream was had that made me sneep
You and I were there in a jeep
As I mentioned another tour you said nary a peep
But in your eyes I capture “what the bleep”
We both know the long stay at an outkeep
The enemy would be nearby and they are prone to creep

The sacrifice again would require a big leap
Is this a mistake or am I being wheep
Once again into our love my duty does seep
For a promise I knew I could not keep

Is the price for going to war really this cheap
The returns not guaranteed and the climb out steep

Or maybe we need to stop and make a clean sweep
And throw our relationship onto the scrapheap

Hearing those words make us both weep
For a promise I knew I could not keep

Andreas Simic©
Simon Soane Sep 2017
Your snore
does not allure
it's clattering cronk drives me mad,
every molecule of it forces me to sad,
I hate it when I think you've stopped and there's
a lull in the house of pain
but then it spluters back into life and invades my space again;
it's obtrusive to my slumber,  it disturbs my beauty sleep,
I try to hold back tears
but I can't help but wheep,
I have no recourse but to nudge you to try and stop the daemon howl,
I need to quell misery's guttural and halt this Hellish growl,
you startle and sit up but soon settle back into the cries of doom: the minions of Belzubub chanting about gloom.
But despite the fact that when you rest you chudder
as a foghorn lacking charms
I am glad when my eyes open I'm near to your arms,
because although you gurgle with terror
and blast a Witchfinder General coo
I'm always pretty happy when I awake with you.
Dakota Ginther Feb 2014
Taking a final breath
Comes from a thing called death
Death is not a choice
It doesn't come with a loud voice
It makes most parents wheep
because they know their children aren't asleep
Although in a hundred years
None shall shed tears
They will forget that you existed
Isn't that kind of twisted
Nis Aug 2018
Midnight’s sun rains down
my face, my tears, my happiness
like shallow birds that fall
from the ground
causing earthquakes of joy
on my paintings,
on the glory of beauty;
because the day is high
the poet writes and
I fall into the sky
and spread my dreams
and go where you take me,
to whom hours wheep.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Keiri Aug 2019
Help me get up from this sleep.
I didn't notice falling so deep.
I'm affraid to hear ''his'' reap.
I'm not ready yet, hear me wheep!

I don't want to end this way.
Keep death just a little at bay.
I will make it worth, just let me stay.
I know I have wasted every year and day.

I just fell.
But I'm not affraid of falling anymore.
Don't live once, a reflective poem about wasting my life by making it my own. The only way a person lives beyond dying, is by leaving something behind. This self reflecting poem is therefore my way of saying I'm not ready to waste my life, but it's so hard to leave something behind. I want to mean something, but I keep falling, and one day, I will not fear death anymore.
Puck Jun 2020
Oh my love even the walls wheep for us, the ghosts cry too

— The End —