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"williams" poems
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
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Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
there are only dates
i don't watch home movies hate them reason being because when i was young i was looking for a movie my mother had recorded for me and accidentally put one in the vcr that i'm not sure i was supposed to see i know the obvious response *"uh oh, **** sorry to disappoint they were only marked with dates   1991 on live television montel williams asks my father *"how can you just throw your child away like a piece of trash?"*    1994 i spend so much time in the emergency room that my parents stop penciling in growth marks on the frame of my bedroom door i always thought it was because they believed i would never grow out of this sickness sometimes i believe the reason that they never bought me a dream catcher was because they never thought i'd live long enough to see them come true    1996 i am eliminated from a spelling bee because i didn't know the 'dad' is silent in 'family'    2013 before i got into poetry i used to do standup none of my jokes were funny one of the other comics tells me my skits are dry sometimes sad he says *"why don't you joke about something like your family?"* so i say *"i never wore any sunblock because i didn't want anything to keep me from my father"* i say *"what do you call christmas without lights or heat?"* before he has a chance to answer i say *"1997. better yet why don't you make like a dad and leave"*    2014 every time we drive past the hospital my mother reminds me how much it cost to save my life like she'd rather have her money back she doesn't have to say that sometimes she wishes it was me who had died instead of my brother i can hear it in the way she says "love you" sometimes i imagine that if i were to die that she would pick out a casket for a child because she never loved the person i became yesterday i told my father how close i'd been to suicide lately and he said *"that's my boy, livin on the edge.."* and i can't remember if i laughed or cried
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91
Mark A. Williams                             SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018
0
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
Message to a Friend
Mark A. Williams                             SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018
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14
Men were considered to excel in education, But now women are taking up the tradition, Excelling in arts, science and commerce, Women have really made competition fierce. For household chores, Women were considered, But now you see, Sunita Williams flying high on earth. So let us all bear in mind, That women are never behind, They can conquer any situation, By showing sheer determination. Educate your girl child, So that she can fight her right, Make her very strong, So that she can distinguish right and wrong. ~Farheen zehra
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Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Women and Education
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about. When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”. The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide… But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
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Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
An article I read. "Robin Williams did not die from suicide."
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about. When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”. The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide… But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
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4
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams) <•> familiar that apple google and amazon have me under 24 hour surveillance e-specially now as I am in their geosphere of influence but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status, and is addressed to me personally (“you”), that’s just creepy so charged am I, obligated to oblige, to counter-compose a love song of mine own, under the pinot “influence,” (in a manner of speaking) which a love taught me to love what if, a new love song ecrit, to an old and loverly land, a woman-land designed to be desired, no difference - kissing a new girl first time, a wet and unforgettable compote when falling on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed now I tremble-tread for the line of great predecessors, “the land lover scribes” skilled in natures homaging, is like a line out the door, around the corner as if a new flavor ice cream has just been isolated and mined and I... <•> *I, but a novitiate in a far away, wild untamed world where my nature taken by her nature cannot deny paying my just due: selvage late middle English, from self + edge how perfect! “an edge, woven on a fabric during manufacture, intended to prevent unraveling” the pacific coast air the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding, god’s own forestry reserve, the cascades, a goal on the horizon, country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin all will be my own selvage! preventing the eastern unraveling disease, a nearly incurable permafrost low grade kate spaded infection, brought along with me for decades, my loon June companion, now stalling out, lost from my happy head a vineyard on every corner, marijuana growing next door, rivers that change like children growing up and down, cheek to jowled property line live the berries and the hazelnut groves, god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic like marshmallows dotting the landscape* all daring you to say I could love it  here
0
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 3 “you, far off there, under the wine-red selvage of the west!”
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams) <•> familiar that apple google and amazon have me under 24 hour surveillance e-specially now as I am in their geosphere of influence but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status, and is addressed to me personally (“you”), that’s just creepy so charged am I, obligated to oblige, to counter-compose a love song of mine own, under the pinot “influence,” (in a manner of speaking) which a love taught me to love what if, a new love song ecrit, to an old and loverly land, a woman-land designed to be desired, no difference - kissing a new girl first time, a wet and unforgettable compote when falling on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed now I tremble-tread for the line of great predecessors, “the land lover scribes” skilled in natures homaging, is like a line out the door, around the corner as if a new flavor ice cream has just been isolated and mined and I... <•> *I, but a novitiate in a far away, wild untamed world where my nature taken by her nature cannot deny paying my just due: selvage late middle English, from self + edge how perfect! “an edge, woven on a fabric during manufacture, intended to prevent unraveling” the pacific coast air the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding, god’s own forestry reserve, the cascades, a goal on the horizon, country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin all will be my own selvage! preventing the eastern unraveling disease, a nearly incurable permafrost low grade kate spaded infection, brought along with me for decades, my loon June companion, now stalling out, lost from my happy head a vineyard on every corner, marijuana growing next door, rivers that change like children growing up and down, cheek to jowled property line live the berries and the hazelnut groves, god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic like marshmallows dotting the landscape* all daring you to say I could love it  here
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70
I wish you detox from drunken heights, I’m jesus for today until my current shift ends and the next one begins, after many nights, in the garden centre of fallen south coast eden. Shine shine shine Light of mine For now everything’s just fine People’s faces glitter as I go by, memories of sinless youth, for my hands blind with nostalgia, that my being resurrects. The child Lazarus scurries past my side, to his home with his future in his hands, in my hands, cupped wide. Shine shine shine Light of mine For now everything’s just fine I can love the unfortunate, for my fortune is golden. Delivered in letters from North, West, East. My trinity circle who join me at my supper, breaking the garlic bread and sipping the borello, to top crab ravioli baptised in the stream of sauce. Shine shine shine Light of mine For now everything’s just fine The gates of heaven are open, unblocked by the deaths of Keats, Shelley and Williams, their souls not blocking the exit with an Underground Queue. I give my blessings to Livingstone and Charles Gordon The one native he changed and the others’ sacrifice at Khartoum Gained me my crown to modestly flaunt. Shine shine shine Light of mine For now everything’s just fine I float down the hall, to His Mighty Voice, as my gold becomes a donation on the alter, to gain the choral hymns of Mercury gilded rock gods that will brighten my days for now, oh glorious moments. Amen.
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Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
The Messiah In Miss Hart's Class.
Love Story byAndy Williams 'Unforgetable" "I'll Be Seeing You." "Can't get enough of your love" "Are You Lonesome Tonight." I'll Make Love To You" "What a wonderful world" Red red Wine At Last. "Yesterday" J.Lenon ~~~~ [ Nathan, Joseph-Pat-Rick ] Close your eyes, make a wish And blow out the candlelight For tonight is just your night We're gonna celebrate, all thru the night [Shawn Pat.Rick, J Paul Taylor ] Pour the wine, light the fire Guinevere your wish is my command I submit to your demands I will do anything, Karijinbba, you need only ask [ Joseph-Paul-Patrick-Richard] I'll make love to you Like you want me to And I'll hold you tight Angelina-babe all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Till you tell me to [Wanya, Shawn, Pat-Rick] my true love AnKarijin, relax let's go slow! I ain't got nowhere to go I'm just gonna concentrate on you the whole night through My Kariginny are you ready? it's gonna be a long night. Throw your clothes (Throw your clothes) on the floor (on the floor) [Shawn Wanja, Nathan, Pat-Rick] I'm gonna take my clothes off too I made plans to be with you queen bee mine Karin whatever you ask me, you know, I could do [Angel'Q Karijinbba Chinny Chin] I'll make love to you too Like you want me to Rickie babe And I'll hold you tight My baby Pat all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Till you tell me to! [Wanya,Shawn,PatRick, Nathan:] Angeli'q Babychin tonight is your night And I will do you right Just make a wish on your night Anything that you ask I will give you the love of your life, your life, your life love of my life. ~~~~ Boys To Men: For:Karijinbba. start 54-(74-95)-05.end.
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
Songs Played Upon My Head Stone
Love Story byAndy Williams 'Unforgetable" "I'll Be Seeing You." "Can't get enough of your love" "Are You Lonesome Tonight." I'll Make Love To You" "What a wonderful world" Red red Wine At Last. "Yesterday" J.Lenon ~~~~ [ Nathan, Joseph-Pat-Rick ] Close your eyes, make a wish And blow out the candlelight For tonight is just your night We're gonna celebrate, all thru the night [Shawn Pat.Rick, J Paul Taylor ] Pour the wine, light the fire Guinevere your wish is my command I submit to your demands I will do anything, Karijinbba, you need only ask [ Joseph-Paul-Patrick-Richard] I'll make love to you Like you want me to And I'll hold you tight Angelina-babe all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Till you tell me to [Wanya, Shawn, Pat-Rick] my true love AnKarijin, relax let's go slow! I ain't got nowhere to go I'm just gonna concentrate on you the whole night through My Kariginny are you ready? it's gonna be a long night. Throw your clothes (Throw your clothes) on the floor (on the floor) [Shawn Wanja, Nathan, Pat-Rick] I'm gonna take my clothes off too I made plans to be with you queen bee mine Karin whatever you ask me, you know, I could do [Angel'Q Karijinbba Chinny Chin] I'll make love to you too Like you want me to Rickie babe And I'll hold you tight My baby Pat all through the night I'll make love to you When you want me to And I will not let go 'Till you tell me to! [Wanya,Shawn,PatRick, Nathan:] Angeli'q Babychin tonight is your night And I will do you right Just make a wish on your night Anything that you ask I will give you the love of your life, your life, your life love of my life. ~~~~ Boys To Men: For:Karijinbba. start 54-(74-95)-05.end.
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64
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. When he was young Mom and Dad would come too, but each Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. Sometimes on Saturdays or Tuesdays they would go, but Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. Sometimes through the rain, sometimes through the snow, sometimes through the fog, and especially through the sunshine, each Sunday, Jim would walk in the park. When Jim was 12, his parents allowed Jim to adopt a puppy from the Animal Shelter. Jim named named the Puppy Al. Each Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park Soon after Jim's parents stopped walking in the park because Jim felt he was too old to walk with Mom and Dad . Each Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park and Jim would think about his Mom and Dad and carry them in his heart Jim and Al got older and went off to College in Boston. Each Sunday Jim and Al would walk in the Park. One Sunday Jim met Sara in the Park, from then on each Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara and Sara's dog Charlotte would walk in the Park. Soon Jim and Sara graduated from College and found jobs and each Sunday, Jim Al, Sara, and Charlotte would walk in the Park. Soon Jim and Sara had a baby girl they named Emily, and each Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the Park. But one year as Al got older he was unable to make the walk any more and soon he passed away. But each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the park and carry the memories of Al and Mom and Dad in their hearts. And soon, Jim and Sara had another child that they named Bob. Each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily, Charlotte and of course Bob would walk in the Park And because dogs don't live as long as humans Charlotte too got older and and soon she too passed away. But each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Bob would walk in the park and carry the memories of Al, Charlotte Mom and Dad with them in their hearts.And the years passed, Emily and Bob got older, but each Sunday, Jim and Sara and sometimes Emily and Bob would walk in the park. Then Emily left and went to College and soon after Bob did too, but each Sunday, Jim and Sara would walk in the park and talk of Bob and Emily and sometimes of Al and Charlotte and Jim's parents and Sara's parents." Then Sara passed, Cancer, inoperable stage four, Still Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park and think about Sara and Bob and Emily and and Al and Charlotte, some Sunday's Jim would get a little tear, other Sunday's a little smile as he remembered the good times and the bad. Copyright 2010 Michael Lee Williams.
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Apr 26, 2011
Apr 26, 2011 at 11:46 AM UTC
Sunday Jim
Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. When he was young Mom and Dad would come too, but each Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. Sometimes on Saturdays or Tuesdays they would go, but Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park. Sometimes through the rain, sometimes through the snow, sometimes through the fog, and especially through the sunshine, each Sunday, Jim would walk in the park. When Jim was 12, his parents allowed Jim to adopt a puppy from the Animal Shelter. Jim named named the Puppy Al. Each Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park Soon after Jim's parents stopped walking in the park because Jim felt he was too old to walk with Mom and Dad . Each Sunday, Jim and Al would walk in the Park and Jim would think about his Mom and Dad and carry them in his heart Jim and Al got older and went off to College in Boston. Each Sunday Jim and Al would walk in the Park. One Sunday Jim met Sara in the Park, from then on each Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara and Sara's dog Charlotte would walk in the Park. Soon Jim and Sara graduated from College and found jobs and each Sunday, Jim Al, Sara, and Charlotte would walk in the Park. Soon Jim and Sara had a baby girl they named Emily, and each Sunday, Jim, Al, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the Park. But one year as Al got older he was unable to make the walk any more and soon he passed away. But each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Charlotte would walk in the park and carry the memories of Al and Mom and Dad in their hearts. And soon, Jim and Sara had another child that they named Bob. Each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily, Charlotte and of course Bob would walk in the Park And because dogs don't live as long as humans Charlotte too got older and and soon she too passed away. But each Sunday, Jim, Sara, Emily and Bob would walk in the park and carry the memories of Al, Charlotte Mom and Dad with them in their hearts.And the years passed, Emily and Bob got older, but each Sunday, Jim and Sara and sometimes Emily and Bob would walk in the park. Then Emily left and went to College and soon after Bob did too, but each Sunday, Jim and Sara would walk in the park and talk of Bob and Emily and sometimes of Al and Charlotte and Jim's parents and Sara's parents." Then Sara passed, Cancer, inoperable stage four, Still Sunday, Jim would walk in the Park and think about Sara and Bob and Emily and and Al and Charlotte, some Sunday's Jim would get a little tear, other Sunday's a little smile as he remembered the good times and the bad. Copyright 2010 Michael Lee Williams.
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43
Beat the Congo Blow the horn Wave your hand Out of many one people What a vibration In a this little island Even though we can’t live as one But when a party time We unite Nuh matter the culture (it doesn’t) We a full joy we self You have Rasta talking Christians praying Bay song playing (in the context Bay means a lot) Smiles on everybody faces Out many one people So come the Chinese, British, Syrians, Americans, Indians Every Caribbean and rest of the world Come to Jamaica And feel alright Listen some Bob Don’t carry no jewelry Because you will get rob But come and eat Have a feast Enjoy we beach Entertainment Energy a shot Drink a cold beer Relax under the coconut tree Feel free We have **** chicken Curry goat Festival, rice, Bammy Fry and steam fish Come enjoy we cultural dish Food galore Go back a your country Tell every boy and girl Say Jamaica nice We know say crime and violence Corruption A plague But don’t let that stop you Cause everybody welcome Nuh matter taste (It doesn’t) Come in a haste Cause we have a celebration Jam dung vibration Me a tell the politician Say me a send out a special invitation But first we yard need renovation Build up Jamaica And education Cause we live in a paradise Black, green and gold We proud and bold As we motto say Out of many one people. CHRISTENA ANTONIA VALAIRE WILLIAMS ©2012 JAMAICA
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Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Out of many one people
Love is patient Love is gentle and kind True Love is never near-sighted or blind It never boasts It never brags It doesn't matter If your in riches or rags Love is not rude It does not say, "Me!, Me!, Me!" When two become one its, "We!, We!, We!" Love is not easily angered It keeps no records of ugly words & wrongs It only cries out, "How Can We Make It Strong!" It does not dance with darkness But serenades the light To grow stronger is its only appetite Love always protects Always hopes and trust True Love, will never rot or rust It always perseveres Through life's storms of thorns & nails Because, True Love Never Fails. By Buddy Williams
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Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
Love Never Fails
Unsaid I m wearing out this pencil lead. Trying to capture tears I’ve bled Trying to leave nothing left unsaid. The things unsaid piled up until you were gone All that, it took to admit I was wrong You had feelings for me but I responded with apathy Now I m alone sad but that’s how it’s got to be. All the things I left unsaid, All the things I left unsaid, I’m wearing out this pencil lead Trying to capture tears I’ve bled Trying to leave nothing left unsaid. But you’re already gone. Can’t bring myself to believe you’re already gone I can’t believe you went ahead and moved on All because of simple words Locked away that you never heard. It’s too late now those words might as well be left unsaid But…. These words unsaid pound in my head with every beat and measure of my heart. Headache sets in trying to figure out where to start My heart, I never told you but you have my heart. I’ve loved you from the start I just didn’t know how to express it I couldn’t let you know how much I cared for you, Or else I would risk scaring you away. Scare you away I did but it was my silence that drove as apart And I m not asking for a new start, Just.. At least you know now when this is read, All the things I left unsaid. Rain Williams
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
Unsaid
You should have been the soul that Edgar Allen Poe loved, So that he wouldn't have died miserable and alone, You are the Morticia to my Gomez; deadly in love, We would make a quirky Addams family, bar none, I love the nerds in us and the banter of annoyance, I love the moments of radiant love and our nature of being different, 'Cause we did meet exceptionally over persistence, And we accept each other regardless of difference, I wish that our love will remain eternal, Narrated by Obi-Wan, With a theme song by John Williams, Directed by Lucas, nah, we don't need direction, I do know, we need a Queen, and that's you my puddin'! Leia to my Solo, A Queen-B-lovin'-Quinn to my Joker, A die-hard Drake lover with a heart for the Dark Side, This Vader loves his Amidala, xoxoxo, We would revel on any side but the holy! May this love never fade, and be full of surprises, But not the kind where there is nasi lemak with no ikan bilis! But you make the best **** nasi lemak, sigh, I'm forever grateful for my Babloo I'm forever grateful that you're by my side, My Annabel Lee, I'm grateful Poe never met you, 'Cause you're all mine!
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Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
Unconventional Love
** A new poetry posting site from God's own country, Kerala in India Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence. In this era when the soul wants to go on a spree, imagination and creativity are all merged to serve and let you fulfill your wish to express. The pen, mightier than the sword, is free and can conquer hearts all over the world. So here is a site which allows unity in diversity and considers not cultural and racial barriers. It welcomes professionals and amateurs equally as poetry believe not in prejudice. Human beings are free to write their feelings and emotions. We therefore invite here people from all over the world to celebrate under the ipoetree. Feel at home here under the shade of this tree which pines to have as fruits your poems. Williamsji Maveli (Williams George Maveli) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released by H & C Books,Trichur, Kerala in India, which is a collection of lyrics. If anyone is interested, please email to [email protected] or write to WILLIAMSJI MAVELI PO BOX 3 ANGAMALY ERNAKULAM DISTRICT, KERALA - INDIA **
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Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
ipoetree - a new poetry site from Williamsji Maveli
** A new poetry posting site from God's own country, Kerala in India Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence. In this era when the soul wants to go on a spree, imagination and creativity are all merged to serve and let you fulfill your wish to express. The pen, mightier than the sword, is free and can conquer hearts all over the world. So here is a site which allows unity in diversity and considers not cultural and racial barriers. It welcomes professionals and amateurs equally as poetry believe not in prejudice. Human beings are free to write their feelings and emotions. We therefore invite here people from all over the world to celebrate under the ipoetree. Feel at home here under the shade of this tree which pines to have as fruits your poems. Williamsji Maveli (Williams George Maveli) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released by H & C Books,Trichur, Kerala in India, which is a collection of lyrics. If anyone is interested, please email to [email protected] or write to WILLIAMSJI MAVELI PO BOX 3 ANGAMALY ERNAKULAM DISTRICT, KERALA - INDIA **
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amidst Jeffersonian opulence the Prez broke bread with his GOP poker face friends to solve government gridlock and sequester predicament trends citizens of the republic hopeful for nonsense to cease sat at the table asking “would you pass the biscuits please?” Obama perused the wine list boldly choosing a luscious Merlot senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres the guests were all aglow numerous delectable dishes were liberally splayed on the table revelers sipped flowing vintages wine a surefire icebreaker sparkling crystal Lennox flutes tinkled with convivial release while America’s disenfranchised voices ask “would you pass the biscuits please?” chutney meat, curried hens and sweet walnut rainbow trout the table a horn a plenty the guests gorged on fine cuisine a blessed nations bounty the feast consumed the Senators sated said it was some of the finest ever served but the taxpayers only got a peak of the banquet a whiff of senators nerve and asked “would you pass the biscuits please?” the dessert cart was rolled in with custards, cakes, creme brulee cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes rounded out the wholesome feast when the check was presented for payment all guests headed for the door with haste they told the waiter the bill of fare was covered by the guy asking... “would you pass the biscuits please?” Music Selection: Andre Williams: Pass The Biscuits Please jbm Oakland 3/7/13
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Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Pass the Biscuits Please
Sometimes, when you listen to their enounciation. You realize, just how beautiful they speak in their British accent. Every word expressively spoken. That you're mermorized by each vocal. Maggie Smith, the lady of class. Cary Grant, the man of taste. Oh, that British voice. That you might chose , if had you that choice. Or seek ways to adapt them to yours. Michael Redgrave/Michael Rennie/Vanessa Regraves All of them had that lovable voice. Then you notice the beautiful Julie Andrew. Words spoke so you see the greatness of the phase. Which we notice too in Richard Attenborough. Who reminds many of Richard Burton? Yes, the British accent. You just got to love it Similar to loving Honor Blackman when she speaks. A great difference from Jacqueline Bissett. Except written about them with great respect. Who can't admire the British Accent? Yes, there's the French. And I'm not kicking it. Then , there's Spanish. Which has more trying to learn it. But this is about the English and the various style of vocals. Colin Barker and Prince Williams the Royals speaks so wonderful. Just like, the man called Michael Caine. I just have to mention Deborah Kerr. That also goes for Joan Collin. It's something about their style of speaking. Maybe because you understand every spoken word. Which is level toward the great Timothy Dalton. And Samantha Eggar and **** Jagger. Plus, the late David Niven. And honorable mention to Julie Christie. Jane Asher, Hugh Grant and several more. Have you wishing to make their voices be yours. Yes, the British Accent just so lovable. And the greatest things about it. You don't have to be famous to be adored.
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Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
The British Accent
Sometimes, when you listen to their enounciation. You realize, just how beautiful they speak in their British accent. Every word expressively spoken. That you're mermorized by each vocal. Maggie Smith, the lady of class. Cary Grant, the man of taste. Oh, that British voice. That you might chose , if had you that choice. Or seek ways to adapt them to yours. Michael Redgrave/Michael Rennie/Vanessa Regraves All of them had that lovable voice. Then you notice the beautiful Julie Andrew. Words spoke so you see the greatness of the phase. Which we notice too in Richard Attenborough. Who reminds many of Richard Burton? Yes, the British accent. You just got to love it Similar to loving Honor Blackman when she speaks. A great difference from Jacqueline Bissett. Except written about them with great respect. Who can't admire the British Accent? Yes, there's the French. And I'm not kicking it. Then , there's Spanish. Which has more trying to learn it. But this is about the English and the various style of vocals. Colin Barker and Prince Williams the Royals speaks so wonderful. Just like, the man called Michael Caine. I just have to mention Deborah Kerr. That also goes for Joan Collin. It's something about their style of speaking. Maybe because you understand every spoken word. Which is level toward the great Timothy Dalton. And Samantha Eggar and **** Jagger. Plus, the late David Niven. And honorable mention to Julie Christie. Jane Asher, Hugh Grant and several more. Have you wishing to make their voices be yours. Yes, the British Accent just so lovable. And the greatest things about it. You don't have to be famous to be adored.
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This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll This song it ain't bout country things Like pickup trucks and cars You'll never find me writing About getting drunk in bars There's no mention here of Taylor Swift or The Charlie Daniels Band I wouldn't write of how the banks are taking our farmland This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff like hunting dogs and guns I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes showing off some hot babes buns I won't write 'bout the Opry I don't know all that stuff Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones And Mr. Roy Acuff This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon or of Racing through the fields I don't know much about farming or crop futures or of yields I listen to The Rolling Stones Trace Adkins I don't like Lady A can go away Kid Rock can ride his bike You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band or of food thats Chicken Fried I might go to a hoedown If I'd  just  up and died My music, it fulfills me It makes me who I am But I'll stay away from country songs, Cause I don't give a **** No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here Hank Williams I won't buy I'll never buy a Dixie Beer It's a drink I'll never try I won't sing about Kentucky or of a Texas Yellow Rose you know this aint no country song Good god I hope it shows There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie no  fishin' in the dark No Everything is Beautiful No songs by Terry Clark I'm really open minded My friends they are the same We won't buy country music To us it's just so lame This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll I won't mention stuff you'll find in songs by Nashville bands There's nothing here about watching football in the stands I'll never write a country song Cause country just ain't fun Oh crap I just read this thing And I think I just wrote one This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll
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May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
This Ain't A ****** Country Song
This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll This song it ain't bout country things Like pickup trucks and cars You'll never find me writing About getting drunk in bars There's no mention here of Taylor Swift or The Charlie Daniels Band I wouldn't write of how the banks are taking our farmland This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff like hunting dogs and guns I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes showing off some hot babes buns I won't write 'bout the Opry I don't know all that stuff Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones And Mr. Roy Acuff This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon or of Racing through the fields I don't know much about farming or crop futures or of yields I listen to The Rolling Stones Trace Adkins I don't like Lady A can go away Kid Rock can ride his bike You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band or of food thats Chicken Fried I might go to a hoedown If I'd  just  up and died My music, it fulfills me It makes me who I am But I'll stay away from country songs, Cause I don't give a **** No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here Hank Williams I won't buy I'll never buy a Dixie Beer It's a drink I'll never try I won't sing about Kentucky or of a Texas Yellow Rose you know this aint no country song Good god I hope it shows There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie no  fishin' in the dark No Everything is Beautiful No songs by Terry Clark I'm really open minded My friends they are the same We won't buy country music To us it's just so lame This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll I won't mention stuff you'll find in songs by Nashville bands There's nothing here about watching football in the stands I'll never write a country song Cause country just ain't fun Oh crap I just read this thing And I think I just wrote one This Ain't a ******* Country Song You know I love my Rock and Roll I wouldn't write a Country Song 'Cause that's not how I roll
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My Godmother being Emma Williams A woman who died at 98 A God fearing Godmother to whom I truly appreciate I still remember her even to this date Mrs Emma Williams was more than a Godmother as I always called her Aunt Emma My Godmother was a woman of true love She was born in Barnwell, South Carolina having hospitality to think of I remember going to her house, she would always cook me a meal At one point, we lived in the same Brownstone in Brooklyn, New York My Godmother lived on the Second Floor We lived on the First Floor What happy memories I have and remember When my Godmother moved away to another location, I still visited her I remember one afternoon she pulled a bag of laughs out, and all I could do was laugh uncontrollable I also remember when my Grandmother died, and I called my Godmother for encouragement, I told my Godmother I wanted to cry She stated, “Don’t you cry as you are never alone”. I felt inspired, and saw a world that I never known Now my Grandmother and Godmother were good friends But my Godmother is being remembered, and will never ever be forgotten “My heart extends into Heaven, and my focus being on my Godmother. The joy you gave me here being on Earth. You enriched with my life full of goodness and blessings beyond. I will remember you now and forever more.
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Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
A GODMOTHER PROSE
Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on I'm just paying my rent every day Oh in the Tower of Song I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get? Hank Williams hasn't answered yet But I hear him coughing all night long A hundred floors above me In the Tower of Song I was born like this, I had no choice I was born with the gift of a golden voice And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond They tied me to this table right here In the Tower of Song So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all I'm standing by the window where the light is strong Ah they don't let a woman **** you Not in the Tower of Song Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong You see, you hear these funny voices In the Tower of Song I see you standing on the other side I don't know how the river got so wide I loved you baby, way back when And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed But I feel so close to everything that we lost We'll never have to lose it again Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone I'll be speaking to you sweetly From a window in the Tower of Song Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on I'm just paying my rent every day Oh in the Tower of Song
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Tower Of Song
Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on I'm just paying my rent every day Oh in the Tower of Song I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get? Hank Williams hasn't answered yet But I hear him coughing all night long A hundred floors above me In the Tower of Song I was born like this, I had no choice I was born with the gift of a golden voice And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond They tied me to this table right here In the Tower of Song So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all I'm standing by the window where the light is strong Ah they don't let a woman **** you Not in the Tower of Song Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong You see, you hear these funny voices In the Tower of Song I see you standing on the other side I don't know how the river got so wide I loved you baby, way back when And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed But I feel so close to everything that we lost We'll never have to lose it again Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone I'll be speaking to you sweetly From a window in the Tower of Song Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on I'm just paying my rent every day Oh in the Tower of Song
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42
Softly, gently, I  sipped your red cherry-lip petals patiently, silently, I grabbed your brown nip-let buds deeply, knowingly, I drowned into your blue eye-oceans The feminine body turns to be  a dates garden amidst my own barren desert ! Williamsji Maveli Email: [email protected] * KGA (UAE Chapter) Literary award for Poetry declared for Williamsji Maveli’s   “Arramviralthumbath…” The Kallettumakara Gblobal Association (KGA), UAE Chapter has announced their first poetry award for excellence to Williamsji Maveli's  third  poetry collection   titled as “Arramviralthumbath …”  (On the tip of the 6th finger,  published by H & C Books, Trichur) .The award has been declared  by Mathew David, Chairman of KGA at their Executive Committee meeting held recently in Sharjah Emirate of United Arab Emirates.  The award has  also been considered for his poetic works scattered in his recently published book named  as “Maa Salama."  ( means "With peace"  in Arabic). The poems have been gathered from different desert sketches,  focusing on his real-time life experiences ,while he was working in UAE for more than 30 years.  Williamsji, (Williams George),   former Ras Al Khaimah based Journalist and lyricist of tester-years has been nominated for a literary award for the first time for literature. The Award is being formulated by KGA  (Kallettumkara Global Association, UAE Chapter) for  outstanding contributions to literature  from the native writers  of Kallettumkara,  a village town in Trichur, Kerala in India.  The award will be presented by the KGA’s UAE Chapter on the grand occasion of their 10th anniversary, which is being scheduled to be held during September, this year, according to Mathew David, Chairman of Kallettumkara Global Association.
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Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
The Dates Garden
Softly, gently, I  sipped your red cherry-lip petals patiently, silently, I grabbed your brown nip-let buds deeply, knowingly, I drowned into your blue eye-oceans The feminine body turns to be  a dates garden amidst my own barren desert ! Williamsji Maveli Email: [email protected] * KGA (UAE Chapter) Literary award for Poetry declared for Williamsji Maveli’s   “Arramviralthumbath…” The Kallettumakara Gblobal Association (KGA), UAE Chapter has announced their first poetry award for excellence to Williamsji Maveli's  third  poetry collection   titled as “Arramviralthumbath …”  (On the tip of the 6th finger,  published by H & C Books, Trichur) .The award has been declared  by Mathew David, Chairman of KGA at their Executive Committee meeting held recently in Sharjah Emirate of United Arab Emirates.  The award has  also been considered for his poetic works scattered in his recently published book named  as “Maa Salama."  ( means "With peace"  in Arabic). The poems have been gathered from different desert sketches,  focusing on his real-time life experiences ,while he was working in UAE for more than 30 years.  Williamsji, (Williams George),   former Ras Al Khaimah based Journalist and lyricist of tester-years has been nominated for a literary award for the first time for literature. The Award is being formulated by KGA  (Kallettumkara Global Association, UAE Chapter) for  outstanding contributions to literature  from the native writers  of Kallettumkara,  a village town in Trichur, Kerala in India.  The award will be presented by the KGA’s UAE Chapter on the grand occasion of their 10th anniversary, which is being scheduled to be held during September, this year, according to Mathew David, Chairman of Kallettumkara Global Association.
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18
Born Robert Nesta Marley on February 6, 1945 In nine mile, St.Ann Emancipate yourself from mental slavery none But ourselves can free our mind I grew up on that prophetic message and philosophy And it never left my soul or mind You have left a legacy World renowned This dreadlocks man left his mark Permanently I believe you were before your time I was not yet born When you departured But your music was my friend I was built on your roots Something music lacks today Your words emanate so powerfully That builds faith and tear down injustice It inspire greatness I remember the man who chants words of ball of fire Hitting beyond anyone’s imagination Or comprehension of his God given talent He has touched hearts from Jamaica to America Europe to India to Africa all over His music is worldwide It’s like a life’s guide Whether ball head or Rasta man Bob Marley music lives on I have yet to see someone like him His legacy continues with his sons and daughters With every Jamaican His message was deep, spiritual and philosophical To the soul and mind. R.I.P The Great Reggae Legend. All Rights Reserved. Christena Antonia Valaire Williams Jamaica W.I
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Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
The Great Reggae Legend
Among pelagian travelers, Lost on their lewd conceited way To Massachusetts, Michigan, Miami or L.A., An airborne instrument I sit, Predestined nightly to fulfill Columbia-Giesen-Management's Unfathomable will, By whose election justified, I bring my gospel of the Muse To fundamentalists, to nuns, to Gentiles and to Jews, And daily, seven days a week, Before a local sense has jelled, From talking-site to talking-site Am jet-or-prop-propelled. Though warm my welcome everywhere, I shift so frequently, so fast, I cannot now say where I was The evening before last, Unless some singular event Should intervene to save the place, A truly asinine remark, A soul-bewitching face, Or blessed encounter, full of joy, Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan, With, here, an addict of Tolkien, There, a Charles Williams fan. Since Merit but a dunghill is, I mount the rostrum unafraid: Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask If I am overpaid. Spirit is willing to repeat Without a qualm the same old talk, But Flesh is homesick for our snug Apartment in New York. A sulky fifty-six, he finds A change of mealtime utter hell, Grown far too crotchety to like A luxury hotel. The Bible is a goodly book I always can peruse with zest, But really cannot say the same For Hilton's Be My Guest. Nor bear with equanimity The radio in students' cars, Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!-- Girl-organists in bars. Then, worst of all, the anxious thought, Each time my plane begins to sink And the No Smoking sign comes on: What will there be to drink? Is this ma milieu where I must How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig! ****** from the bottle in my bag An analeptic swig? Another morning comes: I see, Dwindling below me on the plane, The roofs of one more audience I shall not see again. God bless the lot of them, although I don't remember which was which: God bless the U.S.A., so large, So friendly, and so rich.
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4k
On the Circuit
Among pelagian travelers, Lost on their lewd conceited way To Massachusetts, Michigan, Miami or L.A., An airborne instrument I sit, Predestined nightly to fulfill Columbia-Giesen-Management's Unfathomable will, By whose election justified, I bring my gospel of the Muse To fundamentalists, to nuns, to Gentiles and to Jews, And daily, seven days a week, Before a local sense has jelled, From talking-site to talking-site Am jet-or-prop-propelled. Though warm my welcome everywhere, I shift so frequently, so fast, I cannot now say where I was The evening before last, Unless some singular event Should intervene to save the place, A truly asinine remark, A soul-bewitching face, Or blessed encounter, full of joy, Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan, With, here, an addict of Tolkien, There, a Charles Williams fan. Since Merit but a dunghill is, I mount the rostrum unafraid: Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask If I am overpaid. Spirit is willing to repeat Without a qualm the same old talk, But Flesh is homesick for our snug Apartment in New York. A sulky fifty-six, he finds A change of mealtime utter hell, Grown far too crotchety to like A luxury hotel. The Bible is a goodly book I always can peruse with zest, But really cannot say the same For Hilton's Be My Guest. Nor bear with equanimity The radio in students' cars, Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!-- Girl-organists in bars. Then, worst of all, the anxious thought, Each time my plane begins to sink And the No Smoking sign comes on: What will there be to drink? Is this ma milieu where I must How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig! ****** from the bottle in my bag An analeptic swig? Another morning comes: I see, Dwindling below me on the plane, The roofs of one more audience I shall not see again. God bless the lot of them, although I don't remember which was which: God bless the U.S.A., so large, So friendly, and so rich.
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63
The Man in Black The Silver Fox Brad Paisley shows That Country Rocks Western's gone But Country's not Remember those Who time's forgot From Red Georgia Clay To the Tennessee Hills From Kentucky Blue Grass I still get the chills When the music goes through me It's a feeling so strong That can only be born From an old country song Loretta Lynn Dottie West Patsy Cline They were the best Old time country Tennessee tunes Mountain Bluegrass My favorite tunes From Red Georgia Clay To the Tennessee Hills From Kentucky Blue Grass I still get the chills When the music goes through me It's a feeling so strong That can only be born From an old country song The singers change The tunes do not They still sing the music That others forgot Williams and Jones Acuff and Dickens Old Buck and Roy Still Pickin' and grinnin From Red Georgia Clay To the Tennessee Hills From Kentucky Blue Grass I still get the chills When the music goes through me It's a feeling so strong That can only be born From an old country song
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Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
An Old Country Song
Maybe it's been written somewhere in the constitution      of the waning moon                                          ― When somebody loves you,                                                you can never be lonely ― But, appearances   to the contrary, the moon is sometimes blue; ***counting stars alone in a sky full of stars*** is just about as lonely as 'once in a blue moon'                               can be ― Like when the night is yours alone                   or feeling alone                in a crowded room hearing Hank Williams moan within your silence        "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"                                          ― When it's hard to say                                                you love someone,..                                                but it's harder to say                                                when you don't ―                 • • • A coyote's pleading howl breaks the silent twilight engulfing trance cast by the dappled moonlight; like there's some kind of lonely madness     swallowing him whole,..                      as     these two hollow eyes                  gaze out through                                      the chilly,                                             sobering                                                  refreshed                                                    Autumn air                                                                  spilling                                                                   in through                                                             the open window,                                                                    ***counting stars ― alone                                                                         in a sky full of stars***                                                                     the crackle of the fireplace                                                                    echoes, startling the silence                                                                          of a feigned warmth                                                                           from the other side                                                                  of an otherwise hollow room and i feel frayed as a hole in an empty pocket with nothing left to lose the impending dark winter nights are lonesome             and  linger longer than before ...    seeing the empty space beside me    I remember how it really really aches to just be ...                                                             ***lonesome as a blue moon ― ***                    ✩                        ✩                                                         ✩                                       ✩                            ✩                                                                ✩                                                                                                            moonless ― rivers ... 2017
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Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
Lonesome as a Blue Moon ☽
Maybe it's been written somewhere in the constitution      of the waning moon                                          ― When somebody loves you,                                                you can never be lonely ― But, appearances   to the contrary, the moon is sometimes blue; ***counting stars alone in a sky full of stars*** is just about as lonely as 'once in a blue moon'                               can be ― Like when the night is yours alone                   or feeling alone                in a crowded room hearing Hank Williams moan within your silence        "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry"                                          ― When it's hard to say                                                you love someone,..                                                but it's harder to say                                                when you don't ―                 • • • A coyote's pleading howl breaks the silent twilight engulfing trance cast by the dappled moonlight; like there's some kind of lonely madness     swallowing him whole,..                      as     these two hollow eyes                  gaze out through                                      the chilly,                                             sobering                                                  refreshed                                                    Autumn air                                                                  spilling                                                                   in through                                                             the open window,                                                                    ***counting stars ― alone                                                                         in a sky full of stars***                                                                     the crackle of the fireplace                                                                    echoes, startling the silence                                                                          of a feigned warmth                                                                           from the other side                                                                  of an otherwise hollow room and i feel frayed as a hole in an empty pocket with nothing left to lose the impending dark winter nights are lonesome             and  linger longer than before ...    seeing the empty space beside me    I remember how it really really aches to just be ...                                                             ***lonesome as a blue moon ― ***                    ✩                        ✩                                                         ✩                                       ✩                            ✩                                                                ✩                                                                                                            moonless ― rivers ... 2017
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