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Yenson Sep 2018
CREOLE PIDGIN ENGLISH

wetin de call dis, wetin you go call dis
oyinbo com tiffy tiffy from ma yard
I no trouble yam, I no go knock on dem fer notin
but oyinbo an dem pally com de burglarise ma hice
you hear me so!
I say oyinbo com de steal from me home
Dem be thieves tiffing all over de compound
an when I go say why you tiff about the place
oyinbo tiffs them tell me I go be the *** whey go suffer
See palava see how dem de treat black people
in dem country.
If I go steal from oyinbos, na ma *** dem go trow in jail
yet for dem town, dem com steal your property
and when you go talk they slap you down
Dem go make me loose ma bread, loose ma woman
Dem spoil ma name, them abuse me
Dem tell al kinna lies against me
Dem make nonsense stories and fabu abot me
Dem harass me, discredit and disprofit me oh!
Dem become tomenters, dem say dem go drive me crazy
dem go ruin ma life, dem go make me sik in da head
And heavens know i never trouble any persons
I never put ma feet in anybody house to steal
I never see this kin ting before
where you go do wrong and destroy him whey he do no wrong
Dis is what dem do here now, make you people know
I no fit work, I no fit go anywhere without oyinbo and him
pally dem follow and harass ma ***, dem say dem want me dead
Dead for stealing from me, dead for me doing notin wrong
an them feel proud for all dem de do, dem feel right for wrong
De kin wickedness whey devil himself no fit do, dem don do
And I swear before man an God, dem go get their retributions
Every single one of dem whey involve
God go punish dem
God go bring the chaos of hell on dem
God go mash dem up like dem mash ma life
Except God no be God an tru an  real
Dem are evil people and evil will claim every single one of dem
who do dis to ma innocence.
Peoples wherefer you be, wherefef you go, make you know
That in london der are evil oyinbo thiffs dere
an them go steal and destroy your life if you talk
I beg jus pray for me, dem want me dead
Dem want blood.
De blood of an inoncent man who never trouble anybody
dem de make mockery of me now
Dem de call me Modern day Jesus....
An by de Grace of de real Jesus Christ
Each an every one of dem who hav made me suffa
Will get dem just reward, I wait on the Lord
He is a tru an just God and Him say
Vengeance is mine...
THE DEFINTION OF GANG STALKING
Gang Stalking is stalking by multiple perpetrators, most of whom are unknown to the victim, for the expressed desire to harass using psychological abuse and intimidation.

SYNONYMS FOR GANG STALKING
Synonyms for Gang Stalking are not limited to, but include the following; Group Stalking, Cause Stalking, Community Stalking, Vigilante Stalking, Organized Stalking, Multi-Stalking, and Gas-Lighting.

THE GOAL OF GANG STALKING
The expressed goal of Gang Stalking is to silence a victim, drive a victim insane and possibly to the point of suicide, or destroy the victims reputation and believability as the person will likely be viewed as mentally ill should they complain or report the abuse. Gang Stalking is also used to gather information on individuals as well as force individuals to move or leave an area.

MOTIVATIONS FOR THE ABUSE
Motivations for Gang Stalking vary. Revenge for a real or imagined offense, true or false accusations of a horrible crime of which the victim has gotten away with, silencing a corporate whistle-blower, defecting from a cult, a perceived enemy of a group or organization, and knowing too much are all examples of possible motivations. Due consideration should be used as the motivations of the stalking groups are in no way limited to the above.

WHO ARE THE STALKERS?
The stalkers, for the most part, are everyday citizens. Other stalkers are street thugs, criminals and hooligans who have been hired to harass and intimidate.
EXAMPLES OF GANG STALKING HARASSMENT
Slashed Tires, Threatening Phone Calls, Verbal Assaults by Strangers, Property Damage, Death Threats, Peeping Toms, Following on Foot or by Vehicle, Bizarre Notes and Drawings Left, Loitering, Anonymous False Accusations to Friends, Family, and Neighbors, Character Assassination, Smear Campaigns, Black-Listing, Psychological Abuse, etc.
mark john junor Feb 2014
she hovers over the handwritten letter
with maniacal grin gripping her face
as she devours his texted words
with weeping eyes
and she sings in unnatural tones a child's lullaby in some
forgotten french dialect
delightful reflections in song of the garden gate
leaning broken onto the rough hewn path
where the soulless cherubs cherish their seed

in haphazard rows cherub faces sling silent tears
and labour at the desires never felt and
the dark soils never fertile
seeking redemptions in the rebirth of the harvest moon
which decorates the far wall of the tomb

the cherubs brief delighted laughters
soon sputter and fail
as in the dying light of day
reveals that they must labour yet another day
to no useful end

she lives in this place
a cottage of straw with dark windows
and a wood stained door
she sits on its porch with knitting in hand
weaving futures for her beloved cherubs
weaving pasts for her own
she devoured him like she did his words
and came home to roost
like her innocent faced dragoons
she will someday march forth with this army of doom
but today she is content to be contrite
knitting porridge and whey wall hangings
from the tables of the
steampunk princess
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when the judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did—
you imagine His surprise

bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
—to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song,
might i’m called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb,i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don’t punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God,my name
is must and with the others i’ve
been Effie who isn’t alive

just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie’s little, in

(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjunctive crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs:
picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way—
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering ******)
—staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way.
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
g clair Sep 2013
About that starting lineup,
well I think I missed the gun
but just as well
took off for other places~
I longed for mountains majesty
and all those things I hoped to see,
while others stayed
and loved familiar faces.

Some married and they bore their young,
or college-bound for work and fun
or tragedy,
well sometimes God just loses me~
The question of my failure
to connect with just one sailor,
what the heck, but strangely so,
it still amuses me.

I ponder of a hope,
that it's still possible,
within your scope,
and grateful for eleventh hour breakthroughs~
Still don't get what you wrote to me,
I bungled at the spelling bee,
you say the thing I'll get, is what I choose?

My mind it travels to and fro,
the world it feeds the input though,
and we must press the whey out from the curds~
And so I speak in vagaries,
of things to come which I can't see
but speak into reality,
if only by my words.

The power of the word,
to mezmerize and heal the hurt,
your eyes are beautiful
they've looked into my soul~
The wonder of your gaze,
it touches places, Dear,
I'd rather not be writing of,
our love, like epic poetry,
too much to share in whole.
Little Miss Muffet
Sits not on a tuffet
But on a Le Corbusier chair.

Curds and whey
Are not for her
As she is a vegan
And rarely eats between meals.

Along comes Spiderman,
Sits down on a sedan
And questions her
On all things entomological
And graphic novels.

And do you know what?

She is not afraid at all!
And Ulysses answered, “King Alcinous, it is a good thing to hear a
bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better
or more delightful than when a whole people make merry together,
with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded
with bread and meats, and the cup-bearer draws wine and fills his
cup for every man. This is indeed as fair a sight as a man can see.
Now, however, since you are inclined to ask the story of my sorrows,
and rekindle my own sad memories in respect of them, I do not know how
to begin, nor yet how to continue and conclude my tale, for the hand
of heaven has been laid heavily upon me.
  “Firstly, then, I will tell you my name that you too may know it,
and one day, if I outlive this time of sorrow, may become my there
guests though I live so far away from all of you. I am Ulysses son
of Laertes, reknowned among mankind for all manner of subtlety, so
that my fame ascends to heaven. I live in Ithaca, where there is a
high mountain called Neritum, covered with forests; and not far from
it there is a group of islands very near to one another—Dulichium,
Same, and the wooded island of Zacynthus. It lies squat on the
horizon, all highest up in the sea towards the sunset, while the
others lie away from it towards dawn. It is a rugged island, but it
breeds brave men, and my eyes know none that they better love to
look upon. The goddess Calypso kept me with her in her cave, and
wanted me to marry her, as did also the cunning Aeaean goddess
Circe; but they could neither of them persuade me, for there is
nothing dearer to a man than his own country and his parents, and
however splendid a home he may have in a foreign country, if it be far
from father or mother, he does not care about it. Now, however, I will
tell you of the many hazardous adventures which by Jove’s will I met
with on my return from Troy.
  “When I had set sail thence the wind took me first to Ismarus, which
is the city of the Cicons. There I sacked the town and put the
people to the sword. We took their wives and also much *****, which we
divided equitably amongst us, so that none might have reason to
complain. I then said that we had better make off at once, but my
men very foolishly would not obey me, so they stayed there drinking
much wine and killing great numbers of sheep and oxen on the sea
shore. Meanwhile the Cicons cried out for help to other Cicons who
lived inland. These were more in number, and stronger, and they were
more skilled in the art of war, for they could fight, either from
chariots or on foot as the occasion served; in the morning, therefore,
they came as thick as leaves and bloom in summer, and the hand of
heaven was against us, so that we were hard pressed. They set the
battle in array near the ships, and the hosts aimed their
bronze-shod spears at one another. So long as the day waxed and it was
still morning, we held our own against them, though they were more
in number than we; but as the sun went down, towards the time when men
loose their oxen, the Cicons got the better of us, and we lost half
a dozen men from every ship we had; so we got away with those that
were left.
  “Thence we sailed onward with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have
escaped death though we had lost our comrades, nor did we leave till
we had thrice invoked each one of the poor fellows who had perished by
the hands of the Cicons. Then Jove raised the North wind against us
till it blew a hurricane, so that land and sky were hidden in thick
clouds, and night sprang forth out of the heavens. We let the ships
run before the gale, but the force of the wind tore our sails to
tatters, so we took them down for fear of shipwreck, and rowed our
hardest towards the land. There we lay two days and two nights
suffering much alike from toil and distress of mind, but on the
morning of the third day we again raised our masts, set sail, and took
our places, letting the wind and steersmen direct our ship. I should
have got home at that time unharmed had not the North wind and the
currents been against me as I was doubling Cape Malea, and set me
off my course hard by the island of Cythera.
  “I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the
sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eater,
who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. Here we landed to
take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore
near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk I sent two of my company
to see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they
had a third man under them. They started at once, and went about among
the Lotus-eaters, who did them no hurt, but gave them to eat of the
lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring
about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened
to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the
Lotus-eater without thinking further of their return; nevertheless,
though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made
them fast under the benches. Then I told the rest to go on board at
once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting
to get home, so they took their places and smote the grey sea with
their oars.
  “We sailed hence, always in much distress, till we came to the
land of the lawless and inhuman Cyclopes. Now the Cyclopes neither
plant nor plough, but trust in providence, and live on such wheat,
barley, and grapes as grow wild without any kind of tillage, and their
wild grapes yield them wine as the sun and the rain may grow them.
They have no laws nor assemblies of the people, but live in caves on
the tops of high mountains; each is lord and master in his family, and
they take no account of their neighbours.
  “Now off their harbour there lies a wooded and fertile island not
quite close to the land of the Cyclopes, but still not far. It is
overrun with wild goats, that breed there in great numbers and are
never disturbed by foot of man; for sportsmen—who as a rule will
suffer so much hardship in forest or among mountain precipices—do not
go there, nor yet again is it ever ploughed or fed down, but it lies a
wilderness untilled and unsown from year to year, and has no living
thing upon it but only goats. For the Cyclopes have no ships, nor
yet shipwrights who could make ships for them; they cannot therefore
go from city to city, or sail over the sea to one another’s country as
people who have ships can do; if they had had these they would have
colonized the island, for it is a very good one, and would yield
everything in due season. There are meadows that in some places come
right down to the sea shore, well watered and full of luscious
grass; grapes would do there excellently; there is level land for
ploughing, and it would always yield heavily at harvest time, for
the soil is deep. There is a good harbour where no cables are
wanted, nor yet anchors, nor need a ship be moored, but all one has to
do is to beach one’s vessel and stay there till the wind becomes
fair for putting out to sea again. At the head of the harbour there is
a spring of clear water coming out of a cave, and there are poplars
growing all round it.
  “Here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must
have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick
mist hung all round our ships; the moon was hidden behind a mass of
clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked
for it, nor were there any breakers to tell us we were close in
shore before we found ourselves upon the land itself; when, however,
we had beached the ships, we took down the sails, went ashore and
camped upon the beach till daybreak.
  “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired
the island and wandered all over it, while the nymphs Jove’s daughters
roused the wild goats that we might get some meat for our dinner. On
this we fetched our spears and bows and arrows from the ships, and
dividing ourselves into three bands began to shoot the goats. Heaven
sent us excellent sport; I had twelve ships with me, and each ship got
nine goats, while my own ship had ten; thus through the livelong day
to the going down of the sun we ate and drank our fill,—and we had
plenty of wine left, for each one of us had taken many jars full
when we sacked the city of the Cicons, and this had not yet run out.
While we were feasting we kept turning our eyes towards the land of
the Cyclopes, which was hard by, and saw the smoke of their stubble
fires. We could almost fancy we heard their voices and the bleating of
their sheep and goats, but when the sun went down and it came on dark,
we camped down upon the beach, and next morning I called a council.
  “‘Stay here, my brave fellows,’ said I, ‘all the rest of you,
while I go with my ship and exploit these people myself: I want to see
if they are uncivilized savages, or a hospitable and humane race.’
  “I went on board, bidding my men to do so also and loose the
hawsers; so they took their places and smote the grey sea with their
oars. When we got to the land, which was not far, there, on the face
of a cliff near the sea, we saw a great cave overhung with laurels. It
was a station for a great many sheep and goats, and outside there
was a large yard, with a high wall round it made of stones built
into the ground and of trees both pine and oak. This was the abode
of a huge monster who was then away from home shepherding his
flocks. He would have nothing to do with other people, but led the
life of an outlaw. He was a horrid creature, not like a human being at
all, but resembling rather some crag that stands out boldly against
the sky on the top of a high mountain.
  “I told my men to draw the ship ashore, and stay where they were,
all but the twelve best among them, who were to go along with
myself. I also took a goatskin of sweet black wine which had been
given me by Maron, Apollo son of Euanthes, who was priest of Apollo
the patron god of Ismarus, and lived within the wooded precincts of
the temple. When we were sacking the city we respected him, and spared
his life, as also his wife and child; so he made me some presents of
great value—seven talents of fine gold, and a bowl of silver, with
twelve jars of sweet wine, unblended, and of the most exquisite
flavour. Not a man nor maid in the house knew about it, but only
himself, his wife, and one housekeeper: when he drank it he mixed
twenty parts of water to one of wine, and yet the fragrance from the
mixing-bowl was so exquisite that it was impossible to refrain from
drinking. I filled a large skin with this wine, and took a wallet full
of provisions with me, for my mind misgave me that I might have to
deal with some savage who would be of great strength, and would
respect neither right nor law.
  “We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went
inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks
were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens
could hold. They were kept in separate flocks; first there were the
hoggets, then the oldest of the younger lambs and lastly the very
young ones all kept apart from one another; as for his dairy, all
the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked, were swimming
with whey. When they saw all this, my men begged me to let them
first steal some cheeses, and make off with them to the ship; they
would then return, drive down the lambs and kids, put them on board
and sail away with them. It would have been indeed better if we had
done so but I would not listen to them, for I wanted to see the
owner himself, in the hope that he might give me a present. When,
however, we saw him my poor men found him ill to deal with.
  “We lit a fire, offered some of the cheeses in sacrifice, ate others
of them, and then sat waiting till the Cyclops should come in with his
sheep. When he came, he brought in with him a huge load of dry
firewood to light the fire for his supper, and this he flung with such
a noise on to the floor of his cave that we hid ourselves for fear
at the far end of the cavern. Meanwhile he drove all the ewes
inside, as well as the she-goats that he was going to milk, leaving
the males, both rams and he-goats, outside in the yards. Then he
rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cave—so huge that two and
twenty strong four-wheeled waggons would not be enough to draw it from
its place against the doorway. When he had so done he sat down and
milked his ewes and goats, all in due course, and then let each of
them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside
in wicker strainers, but the other half he poured into bowls that he
might drink it for his supper. When he had got through with all his
work, he lit the fire, and then caught sight of us, whereon he said:
  “‘Strangers, who are you? Where do sail from? Are you traders, or do
you sail the as rovers, with your hands against every man, and every
man’s hand against you?’
  “We were frightened out of our senses by his loud voice and
monstrous form, but I managed to say, ‘We are Achaeans on our way home
from Troy, but by the will of Jove, and stress of weather, we have
been driven far out of our course. We are the people of Agamemnon, son
of Atreus, who has won infinite renown throughout the whole world,
by sacking so great a city and killing so many people. We therefore
humbly pray you to show us some hospitality, and otherwise make us
such presents as visitors may reasonably expect. May your excellency
fear the wrath of heaven, for we are your suppliants, and Jove takes
all respectable travellers under his protection, for he is the avenger
of all suppliants and foreigners in distress.’
  “To this he gave me but a pitiless answer, ‘Stranger,’ said he, ‘you
are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me,
indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do
not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so
much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your
companions out of any regard for Jove, unless I am in the humour for
doing so. And now tell me where you made your ship fast when you
came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off
the land?’
  “He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught
in that way, so I answered with a lie; ‘Neptune,’ said I, ’sent my
ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, and wrecked it.
We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are
with me escaped the jaws of death.’
  “The cruel wretch vouchsafed me not one word of answer, but with a
sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down
upon the ground as though they had been puppies. Their brains were
shed upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then
he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them. He gobbled them up
like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails,
without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our
hands to heaven on seeing such a horrid sight, for we did not know
what else to do; but when the Cyclops had filled his huge paunch,
and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk,
he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep,
and went to sleep. I was at first inclined to seize my sword, draw it,
and drive it into his vitals, but I reflected that if I did we
should all certainly be lost, for we should never be able to shift the
stone which the monster had put in front of the door. So we stayed
sobbing and sighing where we were till morning came.
  “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, he again
lit his fire, milked his goats and ewes, all quite rightly, and then
let each have her own young one; as soon as he had got through with
all his work, he clutched up two more of my men, and began eating them
for his morning’s meal. Presently, with the utmost ease, he rolled the
stone away from the door and drove out his sheep, but he at once put
it back again—as easily as though he were merely clapping the lid
on to a
Lucky Queue Dec 2012
Cheese
Simply fermented
Curds and whey, minus the whey
Fantastic with meat
And fruit
And bread
Creamy, sweet, and soft
Or
Sharp , hard, and strong
Fancy, or plain
Expensive, artisan, specialised
Cheap, processed, conformed
Cheesey, cheesey, cheese
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese. -Gilbert K. Chesterton

Well no longer Gilbert K. Chesterton, no longer...*I was feeling silly today*
A Mareship Sep 2013
(Not a home, I said.
An address.
The badges and the blossoms
Bragged ‘excess’.

Etched into every tree

The word:

S U C C E S S)

I am London
And he is me,
Not ever knowing which London to be,
A button eyed orphan,
A one man band,
A Dickensian madman
Whey-faced and untanned.

I was a Ruby Infant,
(Montpelier)
Via turreted school
(Machiavellian lair)
My conspiracy of ravens
The guardians of lore,
Falling in feathers
To a barbershop floor.

My mind is confetti -
From each Westminster wedding,
Each pill, each stumble,
A little be-heading.
I first kissed a girl in Trafalgar Square
And the memory of her is still there in the air,
In the backdrops of photographs snapped up by tourists,
In the lost eyes of pigeons,
(I know it, I’m sure of it -
because I know London
And he knows me -
We flow into each other
Like the Thames, to the sea).

Gobstopper ******* in Whitechapel lanes,
Knee-deep in the streets, leaving opal-ghost stains,
The bleeding graffiti of Mary Jane Kelly,
Our deaths, our murders,
So many, so many...

Bells,
Chiming,

Dark
Oubliettes,

Cradle me, London,
My bowed silhouette,
Settle me down
in your newspaper bed,
Love me,
Watch over me,
And when I am dead,
Make me a martyr,
Smooth out my head
Swallow me up in your gum studded streets,
Somewhere busy where I can feel millions of feet
Treading into me,
Over and
Over again,
And every so often, now and then,
Play out your bells for my syllables four,
Ding **** ding *****
Four and no more,
To remind yourself, London,
Of silly old me,
Who like you,
Never knew,
Which London to be.
um - unfinished and work in progress
Michael Parish Nov 2013
Pure whey protein tub.
Lets make boys body builders.
Gym memberships rise.

The mating dance changed
My testicles move a train.
Will you be my wife?
There was a street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey

The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break

The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars

The crocodiles were all peace and love
They wore velvet on their legs
Spending the days singing Jethro Tull
Eating organic cage-free eggs

Miraculously in a day
They smoked ten pounds of ****
And soon enough they were pretty broke
Living on the street

This was the street of crocodiles
Somewhere far away
The floor was made of dark blue tiles
And everyone ate curd of whey

The plastic palm trees and electric sun
Made everything seem Fake
Like in a second rate movie set
Where props would always break

The crocodiles cried a lot
They sold their tears in jars
Their tears were put in copper pots
And used as fueling for the cars
Julie Grenness May 2016
This is an ode for chicks who tough it,
About an empowered Little Miss Muffet,
Sitting alone there on her tuffet,
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her,
Or was he a predator?
What was he after her for?
So, she said to the spider,
Who sat down beside her,
"Rak off, hairy legs!
Don't even beg!
Less is more, less is more,
P.O.Q. , you naughty predator!"
And she ate her own curds and whey!
Empowering Miss Muffets these days,
Hopefully, us old bags do say......
Feedback welcome!
When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared,
Telemachus bound on his sandals and took a strong spear that suited
his hands, for he wanted to go into the city. “Old friend,” said he to
the swineherd, “I will now go to the town and show myself to my
mother, for she will never leave off grieving till she has seen me. As
for this unfortunate stranger, take him to the town and let him beg
there of any one who will give him a drink and a piece of bread. I
have trouble enough of my own, and cannot be burdened with other
people. If this makes him angry so much the worse for him, but I
like to say what I mean.”
  Then Ulysses said, “Sir, I do not want to stay here; a beggar can
always do better in town than country, for any one who likes can
give him something. I am too old to care about remaining here at the
beck and call of a master. Therefore let this man do as you have
just told him, and take me to the town as soon as I have had a warm by
the fire, and the day has got a little heat in it. My clothes are
wretchedly thin, and this frosty morning I shall be perished with
cold, for you say the city is some way off.”
  On this Telemachus strode off through the yards, brooding his
revenge upon the When he reached home he stood his spear against a
bearing-post of the cloister, crossed the stone floor of the
cloister itself, and went inside.
  Nurse Euryclea saw him long before any one else did. She was putting
the fleeces on to the seats, and she burst out crying as she ran up to
him; all the other maids came up too, and covered his head and
shoulders with their kisses. Penelope came out of her room looking
like Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms about her son. She
kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, “Light of my eyes,”
she cried as she spoke fondly to him, “so you are come home again; I
made sure I was never going to see you any more. To think of your
having gone off to Pylos without saying anything about it or obtaining
my consent. But come, tell me what you saw.”
  “Do not scold me, mother,’ answered Telemachus, “nor vex me,
seeing what a narrow escape I have had, but wash your face, change
your dress, go upstairs with your maids, and promise full and
sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if Jove will only grant us our
revenge upon the suitors. I must now go to the place of assembly to
invite a stranger who has come back with me from Pylos. I sent him
on with my crew, and told Piraeus to take him home and look after
him till I could come for him myself.”
  She heeded her son’s words, washed her face, changed her dress,
and vowed full and sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if they
would only vouchsafe her revenge upon the suitors.
  Telemachus went through, and out of, the cloisters spear in hand-
not alone, for his two fleet dogs went with him. Minerva endowed him
with a presence of such divine comeliness that all marvelled at him as
he went by, and the suitors gathered round him with fair words in
their mouths and malice in their hearts; but he avoided them, and went
to sit with Mentor, Antiphus, and Halitherses, old friends of his
father’s house, and they made him tell them all that had happened to
him. Then Piraeus came up with Theoclymenus, whom he had escorted
through the town to the place of assembly, whereon Telemachus at
once joined them. Piraeus was first to speak: “Telemachus,” said he,
“I wish you would send some of your women to my house to take awa
the presents Menelaus gave you.”
  “We do not know, Piraeus,” answered Telemachus, “what may happen. If
the suitors **** me in my own house and divide my property among them,
I would rather you had the presents than that any of those people
should get hold of them. If on the other hand I manage to **** them, I
shall be much obliged if you will kindly bring me my presents.”
  With these words he took Theoclymenus to his own house. When they
got there they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats, went into
the baths, and washed themselves. When the maids had washed and
anointed them, and had given them cloaks and shirts, they took their
seats at table. A maid servant then brought them water in a
beautiful golden ewer, and poured it into a silver basin for them to
wash their hands; and she drew a clean table beside them. An upper
servant brought them bread and offered them many good things of what
there was in the house. Opposite them sat Penelope, reclining on a
couch by one of the bearing-posts of the cloister, and spinning.
Then they laid their hands on the good things that were before them,
and as soon as they had had enough to eat and drink Penelope said:
  “Telemachus, I shall go upstairs and lie down on that sad couch,
which I have not ceased to water with my tears, from the day Ulysses
set out for Troy with the sons of Atreus. You failed, however, to make
it clear to me before the suitors came back to the house, whether or
no you had been able to hear anything about the return of your
father.”
  “I will tell you then truth,” replied her son. “We went to Pylos and
saw Nestor, who took me to his house and treated me as hospitably as
though I were a son of his own who had just returned after a long
absence; so also did his sons; but he said he had not heard a word
from any human being about Ulysses, whether he was alive or dead. He
sent me, therefore, with a chariot and horses to Menelaus. There I saw
Helen, for whose sake so many, both Argives and Trojans, were in
heaven’s wisdom doomed to suffer. Menelaus asked me what it was that
had brought me to Lacedaemon, and I told him the whole truth,
whereon he said, ‘So, then, these cowards would usurp a brave man’s
bed? A hind might as well lay her new-born young in the lair of a
lion, and then go off to feed in the forest or in some grassy dell.
The lion, when he comes back to his lair, will make short work with
the pair of them, and so will Ulysses with these suitors. By father
Jove, Minerva, and Apollo, if Ulysses is still the man that he was
when he wrestled with Philomeleides in ******, and threw him so
heavily that all the Greeks cheered him—if he is still such, and were
to come near these suitors, they would have a short shrift and a sorry
wedding. As regards your question, however, I will not prevaricate nor
deceive you, but what the old man of the sea told me, so much will I
tell you in full. He said he could see Ulysses on an island
sorrowing bitterly in the house of the nymph Calypso, who was
keeping him prisoner, and he could not reach his home, for he had no
ships nor sailors to take him over the sea.’ This was what Menelaus
told me, and when I had heard his story I came away; the gods then
gave me a fair wind and soon brought me safe home again.”
  With these words he moved the heart of Penelope. Then Theoclymenus
said to her:
  “Madam, wife of Ulysses, Telemachus does not understand these
things; listen therefore to me, for I can divine them surely, and will
hide nothing from you. May Jove the king of heaven be my witness,
and the rites of hospitality, with that hearth of Ulysses to which I
now come, that Ulysses himself is even now in Ithaca, and, either
going about the country or staying in one place, is enquiring into all
these evil deeds and preparing a day of reckoning for the suitors. I
saw an omen when I was on the ship which meant this, and I told
Telemachus about it.”
  “May it be even so,” answered Penelope; “if your words come true,
you shall have such gifts and such good will from me that all who
see you shall congratulate you.”
  Thus did they converse. Meanwhile the suitors were throwing discs,
or aiming with spears at a mark on the levelled ground in front of the
house, and behaving with all their old insolence. But when it was
now time for dinner, and the flock of sheep and goats had come into
the town from all the country round, with their shepherds as usual,
then Medon, who was their favourite servant, and who waited upon
them at table, said, “Now then, my young masters, you have had
enough sport, so come inside that we may get dinner ready. Dinner is
not a bad thing, at dinner time.”
  They left their sports as he told them, and when they were within
the house, they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats inside, and
then sacrificed some sheep, goats, pigs, and a heifer, all of them fat
and well grown. Thus they made ready for their meal. In the meantime
Ulysses and the swineherd were about starting for the town, and the
swineherd said, “Stranger, I suppose you still want to go to town
to-day, as my master said you were to do; for my own part I should
have liked you to stay here as a station hand, but I must do as my
master tells me, or he will scold me later on, and a scolding from
one’s master is a very serious thing. Let us then be off, for it is
now broad day; it will be night again directly and then you will
find it colder.”
  “I know, and understand you,” replied Ulysses; “you need say no
more. Let us be going, but if you have a stick ready cut, let me
have it to walk with, for you say the road is a very rough one.”
  As he spoke he threw his shabby old tattered wallet over his
shoulders, by the cord from which it hung, and Eumaeus gave him a
stick to his liking. The two then started, leaving the station in
charge of the dogs and herdsmen who remained behind; the swineherd led
the way and his master followed after, looking like some broken-down
old ***** as he leaned upon his staff, and his clothes were all in
rags. When they had got over the rough steep ground and were nearing
the city, they reached the fountain from which the citizens drew their
water. This had been made by Ithacus, Neritus, and Polyctor. There was
a grove of water-loving poplars planted in a circle all round it,
and the clear cold water came down to it from a rock high up, while
above the fountain there was an altar to the nymphs, at which all
wayfarers used to sacrifice. Here Melanthius son of Dolius overtook
them as he was driving down some goats, the best in his flock, for the
suitors’ dinner, and there were two shepherds with him. When he saw
Eumaeus and Ulysses he reviled them with outrageous and unseemly
language, which made Ulysses very angry.
  “There you go,” cried he, “and a precious pair you are. See how
heaven brings birds of the same feather to one another. Where, pray,
master swineherd, are you taking this poor miserable object? It
would make any one sick to see such a creature at table. A fellow like
this never won a prize for anything in his life, but will go about
rubbing his shoulders against every man’s door post, and begging,
not for swords and cauldrons like a man, but only for a few scraps not
worth begging for. If you would give him to me for a hand on my
station, he might do to clean out the folds, or bring a bit of sweet
feed to the kids, and he could fatten his thighs as much as he pleased
on whey; but he has taken to bad ways and will not go about any kind
of work; he will do nothing but beg victuals all the town over, to
feed his insatiable belly. I say, therefore and it shall surely be—if
he goes near Ulysses’ house he will get his head broken by the
stools they will fling at him, till they turn him out.”
  On this, as he passed, he gave Ulysses a kick on the hip out of pure
wantonness, but Ulysses stood firm, and did not budge from the path.
For a moment he doubted whether or no to fly at Melanthius and ****
him with his staff, or fling him to the ground and beat his brains
out; he resolved, however, to endure it and keep himself in check, but
the swineherd looked straight at Melanthius and rebuked him, lifting
up his hands and praying to heaven as he did so.
  “Fountain nymphs,” he cried, “children of Jove, if ever Ulysses
burned you thigh bones covered with fat whether of lambs or kids,
grant my prayer that heaven may send him home. He would soon put an
end to the swaggering threats with which such men as you go about
insulting people-gadding all over the town while your flocks are going
to ruin through bad shepherding.”
  Then Melanthius the goatherd answered, “You ill-conditioned cur,
what are you talking about? Some day or other I will put you on
board ship and take you to a foreign country, where I can sell you and
pocket the money you will fetch. I wish I were as sure that Apollo
would strike Telemachus dead this very day, or that the suitors
would **** him, as I am that Ulysses will never come home again.”
  With this he left them to come on at their leisure, while he went
quickly forward and soon reached the house of his master. When he
got there he went in and took his seat among the suitors opposite
Eurymachus, who liked him better than any of the others. The
servants brought him a portion of meat, and an upper woman servant set
bread before him that he might eat. Presently Ulysses and the
swineherd came up to the house and stood by it, amid a sound of music,
for Phemius was just beginning to sing to the suitors. Then Ulysses
took hold of the swineherd’s hand, and said:
  “Eumaeus, this house of Ulysses is a very fine place. No matter
how far you go you will find few like it. One building keeps following
on after another. The outer court has a wall with battlements all
round it; the doors are double folding, and of good workmanship; it
would be a hard matter to take it by force of arms. I perceive, too,
that there are many people banqueting within it, for there is a
smell of roast meat, and I hear a sound of music, which the gods
have made to go along with feasting.”
  Then Eumaeus said, “You have perceived aright, as indeed you
generally do; but let us think what will be our best course. Will
you go inside first and join the suitors, leaving me here behind
you, or will you wait here and let me go in first? But do not wait
long, or some one may you loitering about outside, and throw something
at you. Consider this matter I pray you.”
  And Ulysses answered, “I understand and heed. Go in first and
leave me here where I am. I am quite used to being beaten and having
things thrown at me. I have been so much buffeted about in war and
by sea that I am case-hardened, and this too may go with the rest. But
a man cannot hide away the cravings of a hungry belly; this is an
enemy which gives much trouble to all men; it is because of this
that ships are fitted out to sail the seas, and to make war upon other
people.”
  As they were thus talking, a dog that had been lying asleep raised
his head and pricked up his ears. This was Argos, whom Ulysses had
bred before setting out for Troy, but he had never had any work out of
him. In the old days he used to be taken out by the young men when
they went hunting wild goats, or deer, or hares, but now that his
master was gone he was lying neglected on the heaps of mule and cow
dung that lay in front of the stable doors till the men should come
and draw it away to manure the great close; and he was full of
fleas. As soon as he saw Ulysses standing there, he dropped his ears
and wagged his tail, but he could not get close up to his master. When
Ulysses saw the dog on the other side of the yard, dashed a tear
from his eyes without Eumaeus seeing it, and said:
  “Eumaeus, what a noble hound that is over yonder on the manure heap:
his build is splendid; is he as fine a fellow as he looks, or is he
only one of those dogs that come begging about a table, and are kept
merely for show?”
  “This hound,” answered Eumaeus, “belonged to him who has died in a
far country. If he were what he was when Ulysses left for Troy, he
would soon show you what he could do. There was not a wild beast in
the forest that could get away from him when he was once on its
tracks. But now he has fallen on evil times, for his master is dead
and gone, and the women take no care of him. Servants never do their
work when their master’s hand is no longer over them, for Jove takes
half the goodness out of a man when he makes a slave of him.”
  As he spoke he went inside the buildings to the cloister where the
suitors were, but Argos died as soon as he had recognized his master.
  Telemachus saw
W Mar 2015
if only radiowaves tasted like honey
or each incandescent laugh was lined with sugar

and I could close my eyes and dream away my burning forehead
being cooked by alien eyes

and these hilltops would finally yield milky wheat
in breathless smiles and airy sighs

hard teeth and candy apples might seem a bit less hateful
Rose Red's hair is brown as fur
and shines in firelight as she prepares
supper of honey and apples, curds and whey,
for the bear, and leaves it ready
on the hearth-stone.

Rose White's grey eyes
look into the dark forest.

Rose Red's cheeks are burning,
sign of her ardent, joyful
compassionate heart.
Rose White is pale,
turning away when she hears
the bear's paw on the latch.

When he enters, there is
frost on his fur,
he draws near to the fire
giving off sparks.

Rose Red catches the scent of the forest,
of mushrooms, of rosin.

Together Rose Red and Rose White
sing to the bear;
it is a cradle song, a loom song,
a song about marriage, about
a pilgrimage to the mountains
long ago.
Raised on an elbow,
the bear stretched on the hearth
nods and hums; soon he sighs
and puts down his head.

He sleeps; the Roses
bank the fire.
Sunk in the clouds of their feather bed
they prepare to dream.

Rose Red in a cave that smells of honey
dreams she is combing the fur of her cubs
with a golden comb.
Rose White is lying awake.

Rose White shall marry the bear's brother.
Shall he too
when the time is ripe,
step from the bear's hide?
Is that other, her bridegroom,
here in the room?
Taya Nata Jun 2014
Their truth was really a lie
Those three words that shaped your life
But when candor came to light
it was that one sprawl that broke you down
Whey you thought you would crumble and fall
For the first time in your existence
you smiled with your eyes
and they lit up the sky,
all of that happened
from a single lie
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
HOW BIG WE'VE SEEN YOU GROWN
YOUR BUILDINGS MADE BY ELLIS-DON
YOUR SKYLINE BY CAMPEAU,
THE MAYOR HAS KEPT EXPANDING
IT' TOO HARD TO BELIEVE
IF LONDON GETS MUCH LARGER THEN,
I KNOW WE'LL HAVE TO LEAVE.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'VE GROWN UP REALLY FAST
YOU SHOW NO SIGNS OF SLOWING DOWN
HOW LONG WILL THIS ALL LAST ?
YOUR ROADS ARE ALWAYS RIPPED UP
IT'S REALLY SAD TO SEE
TO FIND THE ROUTE THAT LEADS TO WORK
WE CALL THE P.U.C.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WE DON'T KNOW YOU NO MORE
YOU'VE GROWN SO BIG WE DON'T KNOW HOW
TO FIND THE CORNER STORE
WE THING YOUR PARKS ARE LOVELY
THE BEST WE'VE EVER SEEN
THE ONLY PROBLEM THAT WE SEE
IS THAT THEY'RE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'RE NOT MANAGED TOO WELL
'CAUSE EVERYTIME IT SEEMS TO SNOW
YOUR BUDGET'S SHOT TO HELL
YOU NEVER HAVE THE MONEY
TO KEEP THE STREETS SO CLEAR
YOU'RE BUSIER AT LABATT'S PARK
DECIDING TO SELL BEER.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WE KNOW YOU MUST EXPAND
THE PROBLEM THAT WE HAVE WITH THIS
WE'RE LOSING OUR FARM LAND
TO SHOW THE KIDDIES CATTLE
WE TAKE THEM TO THE ZOO
AND WHEN OUR KIDS ASKE WHY THEY'RE HERE
THEY MOVE WHEN LONDON GREW.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'VE ******* UP ONCE AGAIN
YOUR FOOTBALL FIELD HAS GOT NO LIGHTS
AND THAT'S TICKED OF TSN
IN ORDER TO PLAY NIGHT GAMES
YOU HAVE TO SPEND A LOAD
OF OUR FIRST FIFTEEN GAMES AT HOME
WE PLAYED SIX ON THE ROAD.
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU'TRE PEPPERED WITH STRIP MALLS
WE'VE MORE OF THESE IN THIS FAIR TOWN
THAN SPALDING HAS BASEBALLS
INSTEAD OF SPENDING MONEY
ON PLAZAS SUCH AS THESE
WHEY DON'T YOU HELP THE HOMELESS
SO THESE POOR FOLKS DON'T FREEZE
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
GETS BIGGER EVERY DAY
THE PROBLEM THAT I HAVE WITH THIS
IS WE'RE THE ONE'S WHO PAY
EACH TIME A NEW FIRM COMES HERE
I FEEL WE'RE GETTING HOSED
FOR EVERY ONE THAT COMES TO TOWN
THERE TWO MORE THAT HAVE CLOSED
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
YOU MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
YOU WANT TO RAISE MY TAXES UP
TO PAY FOR YOUR NEW POOL
AN AQUATIC CENTER
IS SURE A GOOD IDEA
TOO BAD THE **** THING COSTS SO MUCH
SO, WE DON'T NEED IT HERE
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
IT CHANGES BY THE DAY
YOU'VE ANNEXED UP WESTMINISTER
AND WE'RE THE ONE'S WHO PAY
YOU DO NOT WANT TO HIT THEM
WITH TAX HIKES REALLY QUICK
SO WE MAKE UP THE DEFECIT
IT REALLY MAKES ME SICK
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
WITH WHITE ELEPHANTS GALORE
YOUR CONVENTION CENTRE'S LOSING BUCKS
THIS CAN'T GO ON NO MORE
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEARNED YOUR LESSON
BESIDE CENTENNIAL HALL
YOU'VE GOT AN EMPLY PLAZA THERE
NOW YOU'VE AN EMPTY MALL
OUT LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
IS REALLY LIKE T.O
IT'S NOT AS LARGE IN SIZE JUST YET
BUT, GIVE IT TIME TO GROW
THE DOWNTOWN IS MORE DANGEROUS
WITH FOLKS SCARED FOR THEIR LIVES
JUST TELL ME NOW WHERE DO THESE KIDS
GET ALL THESE GUNS AND KNIVES?
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
PLEASE THINK ON THIS REAL WELL
'CAUSE IF WE STAY ON THIS SAME COURSE
WE'RE HEADING STRAIGHT TO HELL
YOU'RE ALWAYS TRYING NEW THINGS
THAT TURN IN TO A JOKE
REMBEMBER THIS NEXT TIME YOU TRY
DON'T FIX WHAT ISN'T BROKE!
OUR LITTLE HOME CALLED LONDON TOWN
TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED
SINCE I FIRST WROTE THIS EPIC POEM
NOW THIS VERSE IS THE LAST
REGARDLESS WHERE I TRAVEL
NO MATTER WHERE I ROAM
I'LL THINK OF LITTLE LONDON TOWN
THE PLACE IT IS MY HOME.
Korey Miller Jun 2013
i’m fighting with gravity
to the death- until my head rests,
empty as my belly
on this false-porcelain floor-
skin waxy as laminate over
these heavy hollow bones
waiting for freedom-
liberation from this sullen casing.

i shake, manic-
blood pressure in the basement,
nauseous from diet pills and anxiety.
jittery, stare at the ceiling-
a spider, stick-limbed, teases me,
but here’s the silver lining:
no curds or whey coating
my shining insides.

i am stronger and brighter than ever
as black swims in my vision-
light-headed from malnutrition,
i wrap fingers around my wrists
to make sure i haven’t escaped my limits.
the mirror doesn’t lie, but it won’t snitch.
we’ll keep this surreptitious.

spilling my bloodred guts, my blood,
won’t make me wither,
and confessing won't save me either.
this red ribbon stays tied around my wrist.
secrets kept keep me stable
clinging to my only success,
self-confidence cellophane-wrapped
in my absence, my transparence.

the whispers don’t mean a thing.
i am frantic on a wire frame,
white noise on parade.
the ground can only hold me for so long.
i'll sprout wings from my ribcage
and float away.
Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar?

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?

Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?

Will you stay in the Plains till September—my passion as warm as the day?
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play?

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay “thirteen-two”;

When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild *****; foreswearing the swearing of oaths ;

As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn ’mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.

Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a young Pagan, have praised

The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you.
Livingdeadgirl Apr 2015
Each has meaning to one or all of us
personally
all i learned of these
i read as i grew
these fun loving rhymes
have some meaning or other
so i put these up
to bring out the childish side!!
:) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3






Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When the nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark.
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
How I wonder what you are.

Jack be Nimble

Jack be Nimble
Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be quick,
Jack, jump over
The candlestick. Jack jumped high
Jack jumped low
Jack jumped over
and burned his toe.

Do You Know The Muffin Man

Do you know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man?
Do you know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane?
Yes, I know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man.
Yes, I know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Hush Little Baby

Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to buy you
a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Mama's going to buy you
a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's going to buy you
a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat won't pull,
Mama's going to buy you
a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama's going to buy you
a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover
won't bark,
Mama's going to buy you
a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest
little baby in town.

Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Kitty bow Aug 2013
The sun is hiding away from the Moon
The dish found the courage to divorce the spoon
Little Bo Peep is left alone with her sheep
But doesn't know if they are going to stay
Little Miss Muffet is crying into her curds and whey
Jack cheated on Jill
So she pushed him down the hill
The grand old duke heard the news
and locked her up in jail
Humpty Dumpty was having a snooze
Fell off the wall, now can't afford to pay the bail
The Poor old egg is yet to be mended
So the fairytale has ended
Goldylocks accused the bears of being violent
But she's a trespassing theive so the town stayed silent
The wolf got tired of knocking the pigs houses down
So they go to the pub and it's always his round
Some have broken hearts and some are befriended
One things for sure, the fairytale has ended
Allen Wilbert Sep 2013
Evil Tales

So you think, you know who I am,
I killed Mary, and ate her little lamb.
I killed Goldilocks and ate the three bears,
then dumped the porridge down the stairs.
I pushed Humpty Dumpty off that wall,
I'm the reason for his great fall.
I'm the one who killed Bambi's mother,
that deer tasted like no other.
I put the poison in Snow White's apple,
the blood from the seven dwarfs,
I put in every red Snapple.
I chopped off all of Rapunzel's hair,
yes I know that wasn't fair.
I'm the father of Cinderella's step sisters,
after midnight I gave her some cold sore blisters.
I put Sleeping Beauty fast asleep,
then ran her over in my new Jeep.
Georgie Porgie kissed the girls and made them cry,
that is the reason, he had to die.
Little Miss Muffet ate her curds and whey,
it was my spider who had a Muffet buffet.
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
I pushed Jack down and gave Jill a thrill.
Little Red Riding Hood went to Grandma's house,
then the big bad Allen pulled up her red blouse.
The Three Little Pigs never had a chance,
I huffed and puffed and ate pork til I **** my pants.
This old man, he played one,
knick, knack, paddy whack,
then my dog ate his thumb,
There was an Old Woman who lived in a shoe,
then one day, I filled it with crazy glue.
I killed Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy,
inside my head is very, very scary.
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Oh, I love so many peoples' words
They make me feel like I'm not alone
But my own feel like whey and curds
Sometimes good, but usually just fine
To be saved for a sucky nursery rhyme
Day 8 of NaPoWriMo.
Tatiana Dec 2013
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey.
The little dog laughed,
"Jack, jump over the candlestick."
Along came a spider,
the cat and the fiddle,
who sat down beside her
and frightened Miss Muffet away.

"Hey, ******, ******!"
"Yes sir, yes sir."

Jack be nimble
Who lives down the lane.

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring,
and one for the little boy
who lives in Drury Lane.
All the king's horses and all the king's men;
To see such sport,
don't say a word.

"Have you any wool?"
"Do you know the Muffin Man?"
"Three bags full."

And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Jack, be quick,
Mama's going to buy you a looking glass.

One for the master,
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.  
One for the dame,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.

Jack jumped high
The cow jumped over the moon.
Jack jumped low
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Jack be nimble,
Mama's going to buy you a cart and bull.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Jack jumped over and burned his toe.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
Hush, little baby,
one little Indian boy
couldn't put Humpty together again.

And if that mockingbird won't sing,
ring a ring o' roses,
and if that looking glass gets broke,
you'll still be the sweetest.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
did you ever see such a sight in your life,
as three blind mice
stole a pig, and away did run.

And if that billy goat won't pull
a dog named Rover,
see how they run,
they all ran after the farmer's wife,
and Tom was beat.

And if that cart and bull turn over,
and the pig was eat,
and Tom went crying,
Mama's going to buy you
A pocketful of posies.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark
down the street,
One little, two little, three little Indians,
Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart.
Much wants more, and loses all,
little baby in town.
Three blind mice,
who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
see how they run.
We all fall down.
All are lines from Nursery Rhymes:
Little Miss Muffet
Hey, ******, ******
Jack Be Nimble
Baa, Baa, Black Sheep
Do You Know The Muffin Man
Humpty Dumpty
Hush Little Baby
Ring a Ring O'Roses
Ten Little Indians
Tom, Tom, The Piper's Son
Three Blind Mice
The Man and the Golden Eggs
Kyle Huckins Feb 2013
Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only dirt that, like jellyfish, echoed away

A refugee of the Imperial Court once hid in the Zhongnan.
He survived in silk rags, and would ode The Way

Moss-haired men watch Magnavox in windows,
the evangelical salesman begging them not to toad away.

Across the street, near the top floor, a freshly-ex-student
sits at his desk in an IRS building, told five hours ago to code away

A face, topped with hot pink, brandishes her crop in a field
of signs, screaming at Wall Street's old way.

A yam of a man, braving his new home in the hills,
freedom from obligation, finds a stream to wash the woad away.

Along a country road, a man with a sandpaper'd
face counts his money, having just sold whey

Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only a past that, like jellyfish, echoed a way

Twenty one years have given me many names.
Call me Kyle, or the others I've borrowed away.
David Ehrgott Apr 2016
Ol' Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating his curds and whey
Along came a spider
That sat down beside him
Jack slapped that spider dead
Mixed him in with his curds and whey
And enjoyed the extra protein
"MMMMMmmmmmmm" said Jack
"Deeee-licious"!
Sam Hain Mar 2015
Oh, give to me the freshest drink,—
   A draught as smooth as silk
And whiter than the kitchen sink,—
   A pail full of milk!

Pour it with love, and watch it flow,
   (Nor spill a drop, for dread!)
Pour it precisely, enjoy the show,
   And give it a foamy head!

I drink it ere the morning sun
   Hath waked the early bird:
I wake and make a midnight run
   To taste the lazy herd.

I rise at dawn and drink again,
   And drink throughout the day;
Then drink a nightcap (or nine or ten)
   And dream of curds and whey.

I've heard it said I drink too much,
   And this is understood;
But man has never died from such,
   And oh! it's just so good!


Joel M Frye Apr 2016
It is a night where I must craft my words
or try to weave lines on a broken loom.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

Stillborn inspiration can't be stirred,
emotions drained away. I must assume
it is a night where I must craft my words.

My prayers to Muse fell back to earth, unheard.
All artistry has booked a separate room.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

Striving merely churns my brain to curds,
its thin gray whey runs down some gutter's flume.
It is a night where I must craft my words.

A cadenced resolution's been deferred,
the last two lines will surely be my doom.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

A peaceful flow of writing is deterred
until my buried spirit is exhumed.
It is a night where I must craft my words,
to think a poem will spring forth is absurd.
Ever had a time when you wanted to write in the worst possible way...and then did?
Aaron LaLux Jan 2018
It took,
one of the most beautiful sunsets,
I’ve ever seen in my life,
to get me to write again,

I’ve been taking a sabbatical from personal periodicals,
not that it was premeditated,
it was or rather is,
that I hadn’t felt motivated,

still don’t really feel inspired,
even after such a beautiful sunset,
which I watched from seat 1A,
in the front row of an aircraft,

another First Class flight,
this one shorter than most,
SFO to LAX,
been around the world but still I rep Westcoast,

the girl next to me missed the whole thing,
she was and is still fast asleep,
but the guy across from me saw it,
probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen,

see he’s a Navy Seal,
so I guess I don’t really know,
the Lord and He,
are the only ones that know what he’s seen,

at any rate the sunset was beautiful,
like I said one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,
missed the first half because my view was blocked,
by a gay couple and their cell phone screens,

jeez,

can’t we ever just have a moment with Beauty,
without having to feel like we have to capture it,
why is it the first thing most people think when they see something beautifull,
is “Oh yeah I should take a picture of this!”,

and then their interest usually only last,
as long as it takes to take that photo,
then they go back to doing whatever they were doing,
before they were interrupted with something so beautiful,

but I’ll take a Beautiful Interruption before a Mundane Day any day,
I’ve always been one for the inspiration that comes with impromptu moments,
I’ve learned to Love unconditionally Beauty in the instantaneous moments Beauty exists,
I’ve learned to be able to appreciate something without having to have the urge to own it,

lost a lat of Love before I learned that lesson,
but better late than never,
so now I write these memoirs,
to help us all act better,

because there’s always room to improve,
and that’s whey I stretch out in my yoga practice,
take moments to meditate and put it all in perspective,
because that’s the only way to stay balanced in a world off it’s axis,

see the US government shutdown today,
January 20th 2018,
and here I am on plane flying 1st class,
from San Francisco to Los Angeles,

and even though,
it’s only an hour long flight,
it was day when we took off,
and now we’re about to land and it’s night,

amazing how much can change in an hour,
sometimes an hour can change a whole life,
and I’m reminded of all of this on this airplane,
as I gaze amazed at an amazing site,

that of one of,
the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen in my life,

it took,
one of the most beautiful sunsets,
I’ve ever seen in my life,
to get me to write again,

I’ve been taking a sabbatical from personal periodicals,
not that it was premeditated,
it was or rather is,
that I hadn’t felt motivated,

still don’t really feel inspired,
even after such a beautiful sunset,
which I watched from seat 1A,
in the front row of an aircraft,

another First Class flight,
this one shorter than most,
SFO to LAX,
been around the world but still I rep Westcoast…

∆ LaLux ∆
Another True Story
David Nelson Sep 2011
Fractured Fairies

the stalk was tall but Jack climbed high
they said he was looking for a golden goose
but the giant wasn't keen on him getting by
he caught the little brat and kicked his caboose

old mother Hubbard lived in a shoe
she had lots of sole and a rather large tongue
her old man was proficient in kung foo
when she bent over he kung foo'd her ****

Alice lived in wonderland she was constantly high
her and that crazy rabbit eating mushrooms wild
they looked into the looking glass and my oh my
they both had golden locks so neatly styled

once upon a time there were three bears
they couldn't eat the pourage on their first attempt
they shaved their bodys except for their ***** hairs
found out they were Jewish and now verklempt

little Miss Muffet sat on tuffet eating her curds and whey
along came a spider and sat down beside her
and she stomped him good put a crimp in his day

Mary had a little lamb what a big surprise
the doctor's scratched their heads in disbelief
they just couldn't even believe their eyes
but when old McDonald had a farm good grief

Gomer LePoet...
Ate a plate of whey, with the weight of the nation
on my shoulder blade, away from any destination
so underpaid, my paychecks archaic
not even a quarter to go to arcades with
it’s outrageous!
misery must be contagious
haven’t seen happy faces in ages
It may just be time to vacate
break out like rosacea to the golden gate
every swig of this whiskey brings me to a bolder state
like Colorado
i weighed my options and hopped in my Silverado
like a desperado full of bravado
with the bottle, feeling tipsy now though
singing in staccato ‘**** an intervention’  
time to get uncertain,
speed full throttle towards the intersection  
laughing and swerving
through the red light cursing
and yelling interjections
with a bottle of bourbon
horns blaring, it’s deafening
my ******* ascending
just struck a deaf person
no ***** giving
i’m out of my mind, livid
get hired and fired in 5 minutes
from any job i was given
i’m tired of living
no one even knew i existed
until i started whizzing through traffic
causing collisions,
now i’m forcing decisions
on residents w/ moral convictions
who’d rather see me oral constricted
then remain mortal in prison
got these ******* endorsing petitions
to have me executed by poison injection
shot, hung, electrified, the above all mentioned
and did i mention-
My backseat looks like a knife convention
there’s an array of switchblades i had since fifth grade’s declension
Sketching art on the desk while serving detention
some kind of wonderful, no eternal reflection
i’m reflecting as i smashed into a connection
and see my reflection in the water
as i’m descending slow motion like deception
my body is in all different positions of flexion
this is met with favorable reception
hear the crowd’s exhilaration
i’m unwilling to indulge in anymore retrospection
just waiting to hear the splash
and waves crash then….
this is my rap song
z Feb 2016
enriched macaroni product
(wheat flour, glyceryl, mono
stearate, niacin, ferrous sulfate
(iron),
thiamin mononitrate (vitamin b1)
riboflavin vitamin b2 folic acid)
cheese sauce mix (whey, malto
dextrin, corn syrup solids salt palm
oil modified food starch milk
fat milk protein concentrate con
tains less than 2% of tomatoes
milk mediumchaintriglycerides sodium
tripolyphosphatecream citricacidsodiumphosphatelacticacid naturalflavour
* onions* tricalciumphosphatepartiallyhydrog
enatedsoybeanandcottonseedoil guargum monosodiumglutamate garlic**
yellow5yellow6spicemalicacid enzymes disodiumguanylatedisodiuminosinate artificialflavour cheeseculturemodifiedfoodstarchmaltodextrinpotassiumchlorideacety­latedmonoglyceridessaltmediumchaintriglyceridesapocarotenal(colou­r)contains;
wheat
milk
JoJo Nguyen Jan 2018
There is a Soldier I know

Her short cadence
with military precision
is always careful

At every bridge she
breaks step
to avoid foolish
oscillations a peeking midriff jog
pounding shoes
on asphalt pavement
hard could these send infatuated
hopes to destructive swing

Who knows what chasm
fantasized are crossed
Who knows what war
wages and what broken
battle of bulges lost
Why burn another Leader
ego living in some
Downfall Bunker

There is a Soldier I know

Her short cadence
in boots bare run faster
than legged strut

Every night she comes
through a backroom window
protected by a silver
Spoon at best
and every morning she
survives as golden tongue
poetry written on
our wired cages

There is a Soldier I know

Her name is Eden
and her hands are hot
with Dante's inferno

Her adolescent face is cool
and on each ear
a ring of Blue Herons

Every day her short cadence
brings rouge life
to our clay complexion
and every night
her milky whey
lips wonder lost
in our King Lear
kabuki song
Ramonez Ramirez May 2012
A wind screams through crepuscular fingers
of white trees
chalking cryptic graffiti over flaking paint
lacquered
by the spray of waves breaking
the shoal
spits pebbles against grimy windows.

The door latches -- front and back -- rattle
the whey-faced man
sandblasts his warm and whisky breath
against the glass
over his victims’ desperate little handprints
dappled in red
sand whispers from within the basement.

The house moans.
Aarya Jan 2014
We kissed
And it was nothing like fireworks.
Tell me again
Whey there is no time else like November
A vague remembrance of my childhood
I think I was supposed to be having the time of my life
Right
Time does not change what happens
The same things keep coming back
But it’s the same story over and over
I’ll just play along
I heard kisses were supposed to feel like fireworks.
Ahmad Cox Jan 2012
Bedtime stories we tell ourselves
Are actually quite funny if you really think about them
They all seem a little dark in their own way
Kind of like humpty dumpty
Who is this egg and why would be sitting
On a wall in the first place
And they always show the picture of him
Sitting with a pained grimace on his face
As his eggy innards are flowing on the ground
Or even the story of old mother hubbard
We sat in her cupboard eating her curds and whey
Who actually swallows a spider when they are eating
And if they did would they really die
Sometimes I wonder about the people who write these bedtime stories
And nursery rhymes
And wonder why parents keep telling their kids these stories
That seem to make little sense
But still seem to be very popular
Maybe we are just so used to telling them
That we don't actually sit and wonder
About what they really mean
Or how ridiculous a lot of them are
Maybe I just think too much about the little things
But I can't be the only one who thinks this way
Clammy creepy freaky fright
virulent vermin scary sight
tell me what is that.

Crawling craving webbing prey
frightens her when eats her whey
saved when pounces cat.

Ominous is its wicked lull
saintly sitting on the wall
mischief within skull.

Meditate in a stupored trance
quickly clinches preying chance
victory's joyous dance.

Brutish brownish bitter brat
worse than hornet bees and gnat
tell me what is that.

**** if you can in one slap
break its sticky ******* trap
hear hands' roaring clap.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
this feeds me: http://tinyurl.com/hvz44mr - sure, when you see flowers pollinate more frequently, and pigs slaughtered more so, you begin to wonder: this gentlemanly approach to things is really paying off... sure is... oh well, why are they born to necessitate such matrimony kindred to sadism? why?! by now i'm in the refugee camp: i really don't care, just get me off this orbital **** of pathos.

when bass and drums merge,
and soon overpowered rhythm guitars
all long gone...
                                    i don't have to be right,
or wrong,
                      Sacha Baron Cohen and the Cohen
brothers (albeit distinctive) and
     Mel Brooks still understand comedy:
has to do about something concerning genitalia,
but feel the rhythm,
                      it's slightly dangerous,
it's thematic according to a rheumatic
piston sharpening to pulverise you into
a state of being brain dead, that's dangerous,
skin-heads aplenty, with the fake dodo-extinction
of the left leaves the right ripe and open
to invigorate itself... just like
Urban the 2nd launched the crusades during
the first crusade... my ethnic cousins were not involved,
we waited for the Teutons, then the Mongols,
what a magical ethnic diversity,
                         you end up discarding English
media, even if or whenever they come up with a story
akin to *all the king's men
- whoop d d'ah:
               helium filled balloons...
                      because what you're speaking is: i'm not
discovering as a legitimate differentiation
basis for either Lenin or Lennon -
                            shoot the dummy,
well: you're all Clinton and California is orange...
                         you see, techno punk is vague...
i'm vague...
                     i loved being in brothels,
they told me about black boys with elephants *****
and tried to get me angry,
         hell, i passed the test when one ******* stole
my bank card and the **** showed me an *** array of
stolen cards in his plagiarism wallet...
                                many more examples...
why did i retire my youth and beauty to
encounter prostitutes?
                ever tried courting an English girl?
i dare say, gnarl?
                                             you'd sooner find a *******
leprechaun than **** an English girl...
                               the bony **** of my own extensive limb
curled got boring, university wasn't the 1960s,
               i didn't want to ****...
i didn't want a Clinton reputation...
                 what's the answer? am i gay? no!
brothel 999.
                          well: if you're not going to **** me,
and i'm tired of yanking the doodle and saying
*** is actually Switzerland, where am i to go?
          the only way is brothel-land.
                                  **** a nippy chicken off a supermarket
shelf? is that your idea of currency?
                  oh i heard, two guys drugged a girl
***** her then impaled her like a Polish-Lithuanian
          Commonwealth baron speaking Ukrainian
in Argentina... then the street protests...
           i'm convict for rightfully paying for ***,
paying an extra £10 for eating the genitals out,
         making a Jewish joke akin to Balaam -
getting what i want,
                                    telling the British girls:
oh here comes the Pakistanis, curry kebab dab in that?
sure!
               whey hey!
                                   Sinjit's your uncle!
why the **** would you wonder why i designate
myself as being misogynist?
                                   i conceptualised the idea by
splitting the Cartesian Siamese distraction
into two: ergo doesn't necessarily precipitate into
the arithmetic...
                    i coordinate otherwise...
                                        going to the brothel liberated
me from dating culture,
                          from dating apps,
                                  from that i call pork trimmings.
easy to say you're an atheist but have no atheistic
thought to back it up... and few hardly do:
    because it's easy to assume you are something
but have no agreeable thought to manage the throttling
being as such.
                  a man can masquerade his delving
into lost genital interaction for only so long,
but when you live in a society where women are deaf
and blind, and prefer the company of perverts...
hey **! the ****** are parading and knocking on your
front-doors...
                      because they can, and because they will...
            what, you want to date?
                       is that eating a date while breaking
the Raamadam fasting month?
                      you got to be ******* kidding me...
don't bother...
                                      you'll die a *******-load of
squatting ***** exercises that's politically merely a
handshake... if the English girl don't give to a man:
        then let the perverts come -
i'm done.... Bulgarian ****** taught me all i need to know,
and i even decided to pay an extra £10 to slurp up that
excess of Isaac's necktie on the altar of Abraham -
funny how the Aztecs built pyramids but where not
interrupted: 'cos they were palaces of capital punishment
not trivial tombs!
                                  they taught me more than
i could have ever learned...
             when it comes to dating these days?
i can't be bothered, should i be bothered? probably no.
well, there's that case of drugging a girl, ****** her
and then impaling her in Argentina...
                       with so many insects roaming the place,
you're bound to feel a desire to ****,
  and when not gratified and not interested in games,
you go the source of your woes and
                    desire to buy salt,
and you buy salt,
                 and oh god, it's so impersonal
and yourself so intact,  and then you leave,
                                      and then you have very or merely
little concern for keeping certain things memorable.
SøułSurvivør Aug 2015
There they are in all their glory!
Poems 'bout food to tell a story...

The sunny side up of a summer day
The yolk is rising to a fried egg whey!

There's plenty of grits
to fill the spoon...
With sizzling stars
and a flapjack MOON!

Pasta hills with pesto grass
Sure to give your hips some sass!

Fresh salmon salad on some greens
You're much more likely to be lean

Sensual fruits delight the eyes
And they're easier on the thighs!

Bread and muffins in a race
With cookies and cream
to stuff your face?

Cleanse the body! Cleanse the soul!
You can break the jello mold!

But I don't know if I can last...

I write about FOOD
whilst I do a FAST!



SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/4/2015
I'm doing a body cleansing fast right now and all I can think of is FOOD!

— The End —