"yearly" poems
When i was 13 I thought that gay and straight were things that other people were
People that weren't raised christian
People that didn't have dads
People that were abused
People that i should pray for but not get close to
when i was 14 my best friend came out as gay
i didn't see it coming but i probably should have
she wore ties every day
and plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up
and cut her hair short as soon as she could
but i didn’t see it because gay was other people
when i was 14 i watched as the news spread like wildfire
“did you hear? that girl is gay.”
I watched as people slowly backed away from her
people that knew her all her life
that is, the people that didn’t cut her off instantly
I watched as the youth group we had both attended asked her to leave
I watched as her drama group kicked her out because they were afraid of the yearly camp we went to
that somehow knowing that she was gay made her more likely to attack the other girls in their beds than the year before
I watched.
I didn’t do anything.
what changed my mind wasn’t a change of perspective on queer people
it still took me a year to decide being gay wasn’t wrong
but i decided that my best friend was someone i would stick with
because i loved her
I quietly stayed.
didn’t make a fuss, didn’t call people out when they called her names behind her back.
I should have.
but i didn’t.
I didn’t join in, but i didn’t defend her
i didn’t say to these people
**** you
that girl is beautiful and amazing
and if you can’t see through your hatred then i don’t want to be your friend either
but i didn’t .
I didn’t go through what she did.
I didn’t get kicked out of anything, i didn’t lose friends
When i was 15, i got fed up
I left that drama group.
I stopped going to that church.
I stepped away from those friends and even though i never said why
the look on my face when i ran into them and they asked, “how’s she doing?”
answered that question for them.
I spent 24 hours examining my bible
trying to find the verses that say being gay is wrong
there were barely any
and they were right next to verses that said eating pork was wrong
or planting crops next to each other
or wearing two different fabrics
there was my answer.
this isn't a story of my journey.
This isn't me building myself up
“hey, I wasn't as bad as those other people
I’m good now”
this is a story of how one person can change your life forever
if i didn't have a gay best friend
what a way to start a story, huh?
if i didn't have a gay best friend then I would still be there
quietly praying for the sins of others, but not trying to understand
so don’t look at all Christians and say
they’re awful
they’re bigoted
they’re judgmental
because we are
but often it’s because we don’t know any better
teaching us kindly works
leading by example.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
Most schools have projects, in science classes and such.
Most of us, mastered the science of surviving in projects.
It's those at the bottom who need the most help, but cant even get proper school supplies.. where's the logic ?.
But oh, the rags to riches story is prevalent isn't it? Nope, the only rich I know is Professor Richard.
And that's not even something worth mentioning, he does more lessening than lessons lets paint the picture..
But these young kids don't understand, they try to curse them, place them in prisons, its a trap from birth..
Give them these Rick Rosses as role models, knowing they don't have fathers, instead of Tupac Shakur, showing them worth..
My bestfriend Tony once questioned his dark skin, just like i once questioned my brown.
how profound, a couple 4th graders at the time, having to prove that they were "down".
Crazy how Tony proved he was down, now i visit his site yearly on November the third.
And things aren't getting better, but nobody gives a **** haven't you heard..
The prayers our mothers chant, ritually every night.
Praying to the Sun gods, perhaps one day we'll all unite.
-afj
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
Eyes meet with exchanged smiles from across a room
Laughter at the same jokes and nightime walks; who knows what may loom?
The meeting we both attend is a mutually interesting theme
Someone who likes it AND is realistic? This cannot be what it seems.
Once weekly at college we hold each other’s gaze
Meeting for awful campus dinners to vent about our days
From my hometown, although years separate our leaving
This is too good to be true, of course I must be dreaming
I keep talking myself down; she already dates someone good
Although that doesn’t stop me as much as it should
But just as I’m willing to put up with that fight
She tells me she rejected someone the previous night
While thankful for my silence and no resulting pain
I can’t help but wonder why this has happened again
Why do people seek in me their emotions to confide
Without at all thinking I may want to be by their side?
Years go by and we remain friends, though truly only in name
Her interest in that topic has deepened; and things just can’t be the same
Contact dwindles down to a yearly fundraising letter
Finally I toss it aside, I deserve better.
A recent interview in the paper brings her to mind once more
Only this time I feel nothing down deep in my core
With her eyes “opened” and trust from Above
I see that she has now found a groom to love
I’m happy for them and their worthwhile cause
Hopefully they will help others put life’s challenges on pause
But when all is set and done at the end of the day
I have the people I want around me every step of the way.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so viveamus per camenam nostram.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
MY COMPUTER IS INFECTED WITH A VIRUS
FROM SURFING TEEN AGE **** SITES LATE AT NITE
SOME OF WHAT I'V SEEN, IT LOOKS QUITE NORMAL
WHILE OTHER THINGS THEY JUST DON'T SEEM QUITE RIGHT
I'D JUST STARTED CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
WHEN I LEARNED THAT I'D BEEN HACKED
THERE APPEARED BEFORE ME QUITE THE PHOTO
OF A REINDEER WITH **** ELF FOLK ON HER BACK
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PHOTO
AND I LOOKED DEEP IN THE TREES
I SAW JUST A HINT OF SCARLETT
THAT LOOKED JUST LIKE MRS. SANTA ON HER KNEES
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PICTURE
SHE HAD A LOOK, BUT NOT OF PAIN
AND I SAW WHAT SHE WAS *******
WAS NOT AN ALLANS CANDY CANE!
AS I TRIED TO LEAVE THE WEBSITE
A NEW PHOTO CAME MY WAY
AND I STARED HARD IN AMAZEMENT
THINKING, CORR I NEVER KNEW THAT ELVES COULD BEND THAT WAY
ONE WAS DOING **** GYMNASTICS
WITH HER *** HIGH IN THE AIR
SHE HAD SOMETHING IN HER "OUT" HOLE
AND I THOUGHT, "I DON'T THINK THAT THING BELONGS IN THERE"
SO I SHUT DOWN MY COMPUTER
AND THE SCREEN FADED TO BLACK
I THOUGHT I'D LOST ALL MY FILES
AND THERE'S NO WAY IN THE WORLD TO GET THEM BACK
I'D BE OFF LINE WELL PAST CHRISTMAS
AND THERE'S NOTHING MORE TO SAY
I'D BEEN BURNED BY SURFING **** SITES
SEEING THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T SEE ON CHRISTMAS DAY
WHEN MY HEAD DID HIT MY PILLOW
I SWORE FROM **** SITES I'D REFRAIN
BUT I WOKE UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
AND FOUND A HALF SUCKED STICKY CANDY CANE
I COULD NOT HELP BUT WONDER
WHO HAD LEFT IT HERE BESIDE
BUT I KNEW DEEP DOWN IT CAME FROM
SANTA ON HIS ONE NIGHT YEARLY RIDE
WHEN I TURNED ON MY COMPUTER
I KNEW I'D KEEP IT TO MYSELF
NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE IT IF I TOLD THEM
OF **** SITES FULL OF DEER AND NAKED ELVES.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
There's this special seed inside of us
That glitters, shines, and grows
Planted by an equally special person
One that everybody knows.
The one that woke up early this morning
And downed their coffee for the day
While you dig out your favorite shirt
And they keep their nerves at bay.
The person that decorates for new children
Hangs up posters and note cards
Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim
And clears the weeds from the school yard.
Stands and greets equally nervous kids
Hands them name tags and a book
And hopes that their anxiety melts away
To be excited like they should.
The history and math books open
Pages are assigned
They're there to help you through it
To make problems easier to find.
To journey across another dimension
Of equations and butterflies alike
That prepares you for ACTs ahead
And tests that you'll probably dislike.
Well, that's all fine and dandy
All these books and passing grades
But what's more important is the seed inside
That's planted in your brain.
The seed that fuels your drive to learn
Creates a light to help you grow
Makes you crave another book
Acquire everything there is to know.
And I know a certain farmer
That specializes in these seeds
Who wants to make you reach the top
So you'll realize everything you can be.
These farmers go by 'teachers'
The most amazing you can find
Because of them, I try to be my best
So I thank my teachers for their time.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
fishnet pantyhose
mexican dinners
men with a big noses
competing, being the winner
women scented like roses
words of praise
cats
getting a yearly raise in pay
the sound outside my window and knowing it's bats
calling in sick to work, and spending the day at play
seeing stupidity and smiling
the laughing of my nieces
writing a good poem without trying
hug by my fiance and falling to pieces
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
We sighing said, "Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him;
The Genius of the wood is lost."
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
"For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose.
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent
And turned to poetry life's prose.
"Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine,
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
"To him no vain regrets belong
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen,
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene;
Seek not for him -- he is with thee."
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It was great for a time
*** and wine
Wine and ***
Then commitment and open and shut curtains.
Special delivery of child made the bond complete
Six months down the line
Breast feeding was action watched from a distance
Intimacy was a tired look
The neighbours cat looked hot
Killed the lonely nights
Killed the commitment outright
Got to know the lawyer through rapid bank withdrawals
Weekly child visit watched over by Brutus
Bar visits watched over by the world's condemned
Special occasion became a twice yearly treat
Birthday and Christmas, bit of hate thrown sideways.
Then the new man.
Felt good for her.
Maybe some pressure off.
Maybe missed that lobotomy bar lecture.
Years dragged the hate forward.
Time moved on.
One day I wrote her a letter expressing my anger.
She wrote back in triplicate.
I wrote back in double triplicate.
She sent a thesis on men and *****
Suddenly without thinking, we had dialogue.
After a while, we moved on from the anger.
We became human again.
I actually liked writing her letters and receiving them.
We never got back together.
But the letters kept us close.
Sometimes there would be a kiss at the end.
The little bit of love I probably never deserved.
I would mention it to her in my next letter.
Even an *** deserves a solitary kiss now and again.
The bar room lawyers would probably agree.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
Twas a southern Christmas and from the front porch to the outhouse, everyone was stirring, even a field mouse. Socks were hung over the fire place with care, hoping they would soon be dry there. Grand maw was in the kitchen holding juniors nose, so he would take some caster oil I suppose. Mom was running around with curlers in her hair, if old Saint Nick saw her he would get quiet a scare. Dad and his brother in law were out of the house, hunting for a trophy buck to brag about. While grand paw was out in the barn, turning the yearly corn harvest into moon shine. A little home made spirit to give all some good cheer. So when you think Christmas is strange at your house, just remember how we celebrate Christmas down south.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
SPRING
Spring is the king of the seasons
Ugadi is the first of the festivals
We wear new clothes
And eat delicious broths
Mother prepares the customary mango pickle
Father worships the sickle
Nature is in her full bloom
There is no room for any gloom
The cuckoo sings early in the morning
The farmer is ready for harvesting
There are new born leaves
And pleasant breezes
Every tree has a flower
There is flowing water in the river
The wind blows very softly
The birds fly very swiftly
The winter was very cold
But the spring is very beautiful to behold
Ugadi brings in new hopes
The farmer depends on yearly crops
May this new year bring in peace!
I am able to write a poetic piece
by JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Tuna sandwiches on white bread
Carried in a paper bag
Josh Groban on the CD player
Season Three of 2 broke Girls
Matching shoes and purses
Vacation in the Pocanos
Subscription to People Magazine
Pennies in a piggy bank
Silver-beige 4-door Accord
A little college but no degree
Always ten pounds overweight
Celebration meal at Sizzler
Artificial Christmas tree pre-lit
A mole that wants removing
Off white walls, pale green carpet
Outfits from mail order catalogs
Paydays with no yearly bonus
Jeopardy and Wheel of fortune
Polyester perm press everything
Bic Stik ball point pen
Swanson's TV dinner
Flip phone with no camera
*** two times a week and Sunday
Writing verse nobody reads
ljm
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC
Wal, Thanksgivin’ do be comin’ round.
With the price of turkeys on the bound,
And coal, by gum! Thet were just found,
Is surely gettin’ cheaper.
The winds will soon begin to howl,
And winter, in its yearly growl,
Across the medders begin to prowl,
And Jack Frost gettin’ deeper.
By shucks! It seems to me,
That you I orter be
Thankful, that our Ted could see
A way to operate it.
I sez to Mandy, sure, sez I,
I’ll bet thet air patch o’ rye
Thet he’ll squash ’em by-and-by,
And he did, by cricket!
No use talkin’, he’s the man—
One of the best thet ever ran,
Fer didn’t I turn Republican
One o’ the fust?
I ‘lowed as how he’d beat the rest,
But old Si Perkins, he hemmed and guessed,
And sed as how it wuzn’t best
To meddle with the trust.
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To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots,
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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-The modern day is poor as people continue to act wild
-Lack of accountability been running rounds
for miles
-Marching marathons in remorse for awhile
-Watching expectations come up short as it starts to pile
-Its been a long time that its been a good time now
-Happiness is hard to be found
-Life has emotionally been roller coasting in the pandemic trials
-And time is racing pass the finish line, hoping to make this life count
-I talk pro about growth cause it’s important to me
-But letting go certain habits is a con i’m avoiding in me
-Praying towards my come up. Patience is slow, but surely
-I’ll manage to overcome those traits one day with the burning desire in me
-I know the potential is in me
-Been supporting free speech to damage people to speak out like it’s therapy
-But hold up, who’s volunteering their time for me to hear my story?
-Life’s crazy causing pressure on me
-Single making 50k yearly, but the office career is unhappy
-The girl I love right now not even mentally ready for me
-Of course I love myself but now who’s gonna love me?
-My heart holds hope while beating lonely, and yet
-Waiting patiently for something new and more
-Chances of getting married now is betting a craps game on the floor
-Can’t continue to sleep with this women I have deep feelings for
-If it’s 50/50 we’re not going to be together moving forward
-And if there’s zero chance for us in the future,
then allow me to close our paradise door
-Back to the drawing board of this single world tour
-Letting go is hard, but good for the soul i’m sure
-Healing these deep wounds is speaking straight to the primary source
-So I started writing my confessions in multiple letters to the Lord
-Hoping my sins don’t cast the next stone, which I can’t afford
-Asking God how further away am I from my reward?
-Once I take that first step to obedience, then his light will shine from the door
-This the start when I stop “starting over” and gain a little more
-This the start when blessings touch my hands as they begin to pour
-This the start when feeling apart turns my part into love and adore
-This the start when the heart can fully be restored
-And if there’s a high chance of life turning around, this the time I walk further towards more in store
-Growth is what i’m fighting for
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 11:49 PM UTC
The love, the rain, the sight
Of this place,
I might see only once a year
Brings me the happiness
That no other has brought
To leave it and go forward
Isn’t as easy as it may seem to you
The fun, the memories and the amazing journeys
Seems to be etched into my heart
For what seems like eternity
But I know I need to go on
And come back to see it yearly
Although,How much it means to me
Can no words convey to you
But this love I shall have
To this place forever
Go and come, I wish to
Forever and forever .....
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
in my lover's garden
wait for late
May
to bloom
these ***** pink flowers
burst out of their bush
Quick
round up
every crystal vase
empty wine bottles
galore
before their heads
get too heavy
these vibrant days
are numbered
until their yearly
swan dive
face down
to the fertile ground
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
In these dark days the bleak December sun,
rises tired, the more to lie down drear.
By rain, or snow, or chill we are undone
and plod towards the ending of the year.
We hope in the returning of the light;
that soon again there'll be another spring.
Another year is coming into sight;
with dreams and plans and fears that it may bring.
I wish, in every way my joys to share.
I hope for comfort in the times of pain.
In fear, let consolation be found here;
and let love live in all the world again.
To ponder all this, I am yearly cursed;
whenever it's December 31st.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC
Misery is the cruelest companion
Cultist killer
Of the elite
Emotional destroyer
Part-time
Full-time
Every time
Depression hits
Hourly
Monthly
Yearly
Sporadic fits
Or eternal duration
The darkest god
The deepest fraud
Prince paralyzer
Possibly inspiration
But in end
Can be the end
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
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Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
They say it's the distance that kills the flame
Puff sizzle and pop
The dying ember of love screaming its last breath
To the stars
The moon
Heavens ears are muted
These wailing screeching tryst
Happen daily
Yearly
The product of love that laid to close
Curdling like sour milk in the jealous heart
Burning like rancid acid
Chinese water torture to the brain
Maddening mundanity to fill the void of meaning
Like monkeys their minds seek to dull it's own screams
Love left rotting
Stinking in the distance that dragged it further spreading the filth
But the distance isn't the deceiver at least one can see the evidence of betrayal
Before it sneaks behind
And stabs them with their own thoughts
Confuse them with their own feelings
And drag them under to feast on their own flesh
No distance doesn't ******
It is the heart that deceives
It is the heart that renders false reality
Blinds the eyes to its own pain
And tricks the tongue to speak
Where it has no place
It is the heart that is its own martyr
The godly victim
Whom's motive is selfish
To **** what wounds it
But it's justice is the death of itself
And these sheets held love
Whispered melting
Scalding devotions
Held the iron hot to brand itself the dutiful
But in obligation left once more
Leaving blood fresh
The heart murdered once more
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
We set their air afire,
Just as they'd set our ships
Afire,
So,
With a great killing,
We brought to a stop,
Their killing,
A fairly rapid stop,
Perhaps too fast a stop,
Too fast for some,
For sure,
But who could know,
That these horrendous things,
Would come to pass but once more,
Thankfully.
And now that bell tolls yearly,
Its lonely voice sings
“Never again,”
“We hope.”
Let us be sad For those who died,
But let us not regret.
Their deaths bought life,
For others
Who did not have to fight.
Let revisionists glory in their guilt,
Their guilt is not ours.
We can pay our respects
To Enola Gay,
And to this day
Say “well done.”
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
Oh my word, I remember
every little part of that weekend,
right down to the three-piece outfit
I had purchased at Bloomingdale's
the evening previous.
You know, ya hear stories
left and right about people
winning tickets to this n' that,
but ya never imagine actually
being the nineteenth caller!
When I revealed the occasion
this baby blue ensemble would
be worn in, the cute little saleslady
paused, looked up, and said,
"Why bother seeing him anymore?"
And I tell ya, there's plenty
other, less Christian yearly
Graceland attendants who woulda
flipped their lids had they heard
such malarkey!
Still, I just couldn't deny it.
She had a bit of a point.
This was mid-70s Elvis,
mid-50s Elvis' drunk uncle.
He had gone from Rolling Stone
to National Enquirer in nothing
flat, it seemed.
So all I could muster was
an understanding smile, because
she couldn't help but join the
bandwagon, especially when his
gut got larger and the rumors
became more outrageous.
Still, their loss!
I say that to this day,
because what Little Miss Shopgirl
and the legions of non-believers
did not think to consider
was the charm in "has been" Elvis.
A week before this legendary
concert experience, I had been
forced by circumstance to purchase
my very first pair of bifocals!
It was also around the time,
I'm sure, Harry left me.
So, the main event, I'm there,
third row from the main stage,
seeing Elvis for the first time
since our crazed youthful years-
a bedazzled jumpsuit walks on stage,
and I'm on my feet before I know it!
There was a little less swivel in his
hips. He looked a little tired, too,
all those years of singing do that.
How did it feel, then, to see the King
make his way across a cheap fog
machine, mutton chops and
love handles galore?
It felt like two lifelong friends
growing old, losing all those
frivolous people together-
"Are You Lonesome Tonight"
was still asked with the same
dreamy passion in 1973.
I've still got the handkerchief
he threw to me that night,
**** near lost it when I
caught the thing.
It's blue with polka dots,
ya wanna take a gander?
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 5:21 AM UTC
I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair:
I brought them home unheeded;
The hue was not the wear.
So up and down I sow them
For lads like me to find,
When I shall lie below them,
A dead man out of mind.
Some seed the birds devour,
And some the season mars,
But here and there will flower,
The solitary stars,
And fields will yearly bear them
As light-leaved spring comes on,
And luckless lads will wear them
When I am dead and gone.
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