Sweeny Smith, and Dizzy May.
Lauren County grand motel
It’s a weird old place to be
I used to go there quite a lot
It really pleasured me
To know that nothing’s what it seems
It’s a scary kind of place
Where one meets the dregs of life
And none there have much grace.
There’s Sweeny smith, he’s big and strong
And he’s a scary guy
He really doesn’t like the world
And no one knows quite why
They Say his father dropped him when
He was a tiny lad
And now the man is not himself
Most people think he’s mad.
Now Sweeny, he is quite a man
But he hasn’t learned a lot
But most they can put up with him
Though one thing he is not
He’s not the cleanest of the men
Who live at that Motel
And though folk try to like the man
They hate old Sweeny’s smell.
One day the others got old Sweeny
And put him in a tub
They got a great big scrubbing brush
And gave him such a scrub
Now Sweeny did not like this much
And he caused such a stir
With people flying round the room
Such a frenzy did occur.
Then Dizzy May came on the scene
And Sweeny loved her so
He wanted her to stay with him
He would not let her go
Old Dizzy, She quite liked the man
But she didn’t like his smell
So she came up with a little plan
And she did Sweeny tell
‘Now look here Sweeny, here’s the deal
If you really love me so
Then you must take a bath each day
Or out the door you’ll go‘.
Now Sweeny didn’t like that much
But he loved old Dizzy may
And so he told her lovingly
‘I’ll take a bath each day‘.
And now the people look at Sweeny
With a different kind of air
Cause when he’s with his Dizzy May
You can smell them everywhere
But it is such a lovely smell
Of the sweetest kind of flowers
And now When Sweeny walks on past
There’s none that from him cower.
18 June 2013 @ 1635hrs.
Copyright © Peter Duggan
A beach captivating deprived eyes,
Fascination, grandiose haven in July,
Keeping lovely mountains nearby,
Of Pacific, quixotic, refulgent sunset/sunrise.
Tarry! Unwind! Vast waves eXtrudes Yuletide-like Zephyr.
Written: Aug. 16, 2012
This is a beautiful beach in Tamurong, Candon, I.S. It is located near my place or compound just a walking distance from my house. Its name was officially given by the people living in that area who are mostly relatives. The word "namagyan" means "relatives." Many visitors are going to this place and enjoy the nature, their moments and most especially the whole day of Sabado De Gloria (Black Saturday) and ecumenical services are held on this beautiful beach on the dawn/sunrise of Easter Sunday! It's a very fantastic place to visit! Come and see!
Copyright © Leonora Galinta
Against barren cliffs, daylight enters , finding
glistening horizons ,iridescent jewels keeping
lovely minarets near Olympic peaks, quietly revealing
snowbound turrets under velvet winds ..
Xanadu, you'r Zion
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick
Apples.. beetles.. caterpillars..
fertile ground.. hollyhocks..
Ivy jumbled kegs..
leafy mint.. nematodes..
quiet rest sunsets.. tomatoes under vines..
wheelbarrows.. xanadu yearning zeal!
Copyright © Patricia Sawyer
Africa, beautiful continent
Dreamy echoes fascinate
Giraffes heighten inclines
Jurassic known linger
Madagascar nestles offshore
Primates quest reform
Savannah tribes umbilical
Visioned waves x-ray
Copyright © James Fraser
Summer is here once again.
The breeze is warm,
I smell salt on the wind.
The same sandy beach between my toes,
The same waters I learned to swim.
Sun burn on my nose,
To the Ocean I dive in.
I submerse myself in the waters of the Atlantic
Warmer than the West Coast Thankfully
Cold, I simply cannot handle it!
Further out I paddle faithfully,
For my mother ocean to keep me sane,
this is my therapy,
to soothe this migraine.
This place gives me energy,
a weakness with a name.
Pleasure Island, NC.
A place hidden with fortunes
and undiscovered fame.
Never could I stray from the ocean
my passions would never be fulfilled
and I would never be the same.
Dedicated to my Dad on Father's Day 2013
The man who introduced me to the ocean and educated me about it and gave me reason to love appreciate and respect it.
Copyright © Andrea Rose
Among Bethlehem’s crowded dwellings
existed few good hearted innkeepers.
Joseph, knowing lovely Mary needed only privacy,
quietly rented stables
Virgin’s wonderful Xmas yield
Copyright © Nigel Fawcett
On that cloudy weekend in June
I hear a soft and graceful tune
from the grey bird on the tree
Singing sweet lullabies felt
blessed in the moment
My body tingles of joy at sight
Gazing out through
my open door,
Letting thoughts fly free
Releasing love out into the horizon
Heart filled with emotion came
Grey bird stood playing its tune
for awhile and on the wings of
Then as the rain fell from the
sky the grey bird flew away
I blew a kiss to the clouds and
utterd these simple words of I
Love You father ( who's now in
heaven ) and yet I hope to hear
that grey bird sing again once
more for me
Farewell, love your son
Poem contest for Debbie -referential
Copyright © Brian Otoole
Paris city of love and romance
Take a stroll around its famous streets
Have coffee at a pavement café
Cruise along the beguiling Seine
Allowing time to savour it all in
See wondrous sights of Parisian life
An eyeful of the Eiffel
A visit to Notre-Dame
What a shame not every where’s the same
Treat yourself and experience it all
A tourist’s dream
With cobbled winding streets
Charming houses, majestic churches
Enjoy the atmosphere
And fall under the Paris spell
As did Monsieur Eiffel
Copyright © John napier
Above Barley, Clouds Dance Enchantingly. Flooding Glorious Hills In Jubilant Kaleidoscope. Lending Motion, Natural Opulence, Peacefully Quiet. Ranges Slumber Tranquilly, Undisturbed. Vibrant Wheat Xylan Yellow. Zetland.
World English Dictionary
biochem a yellow polysaccharide consisting of xylose units:occurs in straw husks and other woody tissue
former name of Shetland Islands.
Copyright © Margaret Foster
Our barn sits
so quiet and empty
yet as I stand inside listening
it starts to talk softly
whispering of yesterday
telling me of past times
how proudly it stood as it was made
so tall and grande
it speaks to me of the many people
it has held sheltered
throughout the years
of smiles and laughter
on the floor all the tears
that have fallen
o how many people inside
some losing themselves
others finding themselves
in this old barn
Copyright © Melisa Karpinske
A Blizzard can drive even flurries graciousness hard intensifying journeys kingdoms laboring missions neighborhoods overridden pure quests reveal storms terrorizing unknowing victims with xenobiotic yielding zoothapsis.
Snow can be so beautiful and serene.
Though wet and bitterly chilling.
Unifying the countryside in brilliancy,
Victimizing the ground in slumber,
It must truly be experienced to appreciate its wonders.
ps I wrote one of both type : ABC
Sponsor yasmin khan
Contest Name SNOW ABC
Copyright © cecil hickman
I was looking down at the waves
bicycling along Salerno.
A sea-breeze is the air
from the seafront to the mountain
in every corner of the city.
Passing people enjoy the stroll
being born in a city to be rich.
Copyright © Eleftherios Ioannou
READ ALL ABOUT IT
Stories all of 100
They have to be
Definitions of words
have surely changed
as Kilts And Reefers
are now explained.
Two Kinds Of Success
That Work Both Ways
Stealing From Cities
and the Faithful
No Poison In The
is History Rewritten
With A Humble Helper
Like a Scene In A
The Counterpane Got
He Raised The Bid
was a story so funny
Striking A Light was
but Obeying The
is a true story
Like A Woodpecker’s
and Another Pair Of
Wakening In The
while Lost In The
and a Costly
for you and your dog
We learn of
and How Best To
The story of Tree
and Village Gossip
Stories of over a
Let us watch them
all right here
With many bringing
you to tears
Taking you back
through the years
Doris Anne Beaulieu
Copyright © Doris Beaulieu
THE DOUBLE moon, one on the high back drop of the west, one on the curve of the river face,
The sky moon of fire and the river moon of water, I am taking these home in a basket, hung on an elbow, such a teeny weeny elbow, in my head.
I saw them last night, a cradle moon, two horns of a moon, such an early hopeful moon, such a child’s moon for all young hearts to make a picture of.
The river—I remember this like a picture—the river was the upper twist of a written question mark.
I know now it takes many many years to write a river, a twist of water asking a question.
And white stars moved when the moon moved, and one red star kept burning, and the Big Dipper was almost overhead.
Share on facebook Share on twitter Share on google Share on print
Copyright © ramsha aarif
The Erie Lackawanna.
Was a friendly mamma!
The friendly service route.
Ran across the Southern Tier of New York.
Then across the Susquehanna.
Choo Choo went the train.
Down along the lower part of the state.
The great flood of 72...
Caused a bankrupt attitude, to date.
Now the tracks, they lay at rest.
Silencing all..by whos rails they quest..
Railroad Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
All rights reserved..
Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards
I ate dinner last night and felt fine
It was leftovers at 9
The next day I decided to go out to eat
I get a rumble in my stomach and begin to feel the heat
What did i do wrong, ate out tonight
Now I feel like a crazy bird in flight
I feel the pressure as I am stuck in a traffic jam in my Kia
Now I know your restaurant gave me diarrhea
I make it to the toilet, I sit in the stall
Plenty available at the Southern Hills Mall
Too much salt, piss and vinegar
I begin to feel dizzy, my sight begins to blur
I am not in the jungle and I am not Sheena
But facts are facts, your restaurant gave me diarrhea
My business is finished, I wipe and leave
I have a runny nose and blow it on my sleeve
As I depart the john I leave behind a green smog
The overall experience was too much for the toilet, it clogged
Good thing there is employees at six dollars an hour
I get home and take a shower
Too busy to talk, so I will see ya
Won't be another customer there, that restaurant gave me diarrhea
Copyright © Eugene Carmen
Across the Swiss and Austrian Alps
brutal gusts steadly blow,
calling for heavy snowflakes
dancing as lost butterflies...
falling as summer's lonely stars.
Ginger bread smells good,
honey in tea is superb;
I inhale the steamy swirls that
jackrabbits love to smell.
Kaffe Klatsch is strong
lurching through their nostrils,
making them too hyper.
Northern Italy's wooden shacks
over the wide, frigid vallies...
point to a warmer South
quiet only at evening or night.
Roam as deer on snowy slopes,
stunning is the alpine scenery:
trees as tall as redwoods
ululate louder than hungry wolves...
vulnerable to snowdrifts' attacks.
Watch the skiers having fun,
xelophones making music,
yummy polenta being eaten...
zealous alpinists singing.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
America, so vast and the land of the free
Brazil, carnivals and beach beauties
Canada, untouched, with the mighty Niagara Falls
Denmark, with the mermaid, luring sailors with her call
Egypt, under Cleopatra, and her historical power
France, so romantic with its Eiffel Tower
Germany, the perpetrators, of the Holocaust
Haiti, sadly, counting her lost
Italy, with its architecture, like the Trevi fountain in Rome
Japan, and its little Bonsai trees, so very much at home
Kenya, on safari in her national parks
Lebanon, a country, full of political sparks
Malta, so brave, its why they won the George Cross
New Zealand, and the Maoris, their culture to never be lost
Oman, the Sultanate, lies beside the Arabian Sea
Portugal, a golfing Mecca, as i stand on the very first tee
Qatar, an Arab emirate in the Middle East
Romania, Nadia Comaneci and her Olympic gymnast feats
Sweden, the home of Abba, and their wonderful pop songs
Turkey, has Istanbul, where two continents get along
Uganda, in Africa, where Idi Amin ruled
Vietnam, where nineteen year old soldiers were schooled
Wake Island, a most beautiful coral atoll
Xanadu, because i ran out of countries to call
Yemen, a Republic, to the south of the Red Sea
Zimbabwe, with Mugabe, a country ruined by he
Copyright © James Fraser
Able bodies come..
dig .. excavate.. find gold..
how I jumped..keep looking..
ore... picks..quick rising
settlements.. tents.. Unbelievable..
Vigilantes.. Worries... xenophobic..
Copyright © Patricia Sawyer
Artfully arranged articles:
Books beside bedding,
Clocks, camera, china cups clinking,
Dishes, decanters, dining damask,
Gardening gear. Gaudy
Handwoven hats hide
Jute. Junk jewelry,
Kitchenware, kite kits,
Linens laying lopsided.
Marbles, magazines, menswear,
Nice needlework, necklaces,
Pots, pans, pretty plants put parallel.
Reasonable. Rickrack, ribbons,
Sewing sack spilling
Thread, thimbles. Toys
Copyright © Sue Mason
We all know what living is
We all had our lives given to us.
On a silver platter, a road for life mapped out for us,
but we aren't always serious
about the people near and dear to us,
because we're usually delirious about the life we take for granted.
When we have roofs over our heads
and sheets on our bed
then how come on the streets people
are frozen with defeat and have to compete for some food.
How can we watch people's lives fall when they stand against a wall with a sign?
No use at all, praying to god as their pride crumbles.
We watch them stumble with their heads down low and nowhere to go and I think,
Where is the kindness planted?
Why do we take our lives for granted?
How could we stoop so low while we live in houses they have nowhere to go
- couldn't we lend them something...
Oh no, one person could make a difference if they spoke out loud
show their faces to the crowd.
A difference could be made
all of us could be of aid.
So dear reader I hope you see
the message that coming from me
and as I've gone on and almost ranted
Why do we take our lives for granted?!
Copyright © Ella Marley
Sit beside me.
We will travel far away.
There are not limits for the dreams
Don't wake me up baby
Copyright Constantinos Grigoriadis © All rights reserved
Copyright © Constantinos Grigoriadis
The long lonely nights, the endless mundane days
This all feels like hell
The rules and regulations, mean and cruel ways
I know this torture well
I put myself here, I have heard it all before
For you my soul I’d sell
I am tired of crying, my eyes are sore
No more secrets to tell
I miss my family and all of my close friends
From this hellhole I will bail
I am tired of being lonely, no shoulder to lend
I am tired of this smelly cell
Now I know that I’ve been through hell
Copyright © Angela Arnold
Walking these streets of manhattan so aimlessly
All alone in the dark only lights by the city shops
I'm scared alone feeling out of love now lost the knife was rough
You stabbed me in the back all I can do is Cry on my knees veins hot as fire
With mixed emotions running through
It's Like this dagger killing me more inside all this love and all this hate burns me away
Deep inside passion urning for another lusting after another
As if I were a lion in a jungle taking that prey and burning up with tense desire
It's like a knife with loves wounds after the lust
This is very hard for me in a world you left me bleeding alone
Never picked me up left my heart to die out
With my tears hitting the city pavement times like this just burns me away
Love can go off like a loaded gun a love vanishes just like a knife with lust
-- by Brian OToole jr.
Copyright © Brian Otoole
On the shore he sits….
With his wits…he feels the grits…
Through his feet…and in his teeths…?
Having the determination…with some affection…
Cherishing the urge…with the intention to splurge…
And the sea waits …preparing for his dates…
What will his future hold…?
Will there be stories untold…as his destiny unfold…?
The testimony of a man…who, for so long…
Has travelled…the globe…
The fishes …the boats…the sinks…the floats…
The ships …the sailors…the bunkers…the freighters…
The oils in craters…the servings of waiters…
From the bows…to the sterns…he learns…
It’s difficult…no doubt…
The experience…like mountains…
The incidents…no fountains…
No parents could teach…the limits of his reach…
A young man…his dreams…his lifelong…it seems…
To be daring…no fearing…his only caring…
On the sea…to be…where he’ll always be free…
Through strong winds…and pouring rains..,
The glaring of sunshine…the severity of pains…
The channels…the straits…
The landscapes…the oceans…
The bearings…the emotions…
Where the South…no doubt…
Is a path…to the north…?
The successes…the disasters…the writhing of waters…
Some men…gods help them…
They stare…no fear…
Yet disappear…like thin air…
His wisdom…it’s like a kingdom…
No scare…to share…
No Ivy League…or premier league…
No university…what an audacity…
No Buckingham…no Yale…
Could pass…or fail…
The vision…to sail…
Of a seaman…his tale…
Copyright © Michael Robertson
Copyright © Brian Strand
Throughout the world's history,
we read compelling stories
of the defending soldiers of the tenderest age;
and we can be moved to tears
by the purity of their courage:
they died on the battlefield,
never breaking their promise
or fall short of integrity...
Defending soldiers of the tenderest age as handsome
as the daffodils of the undulating fields,
nothing scares you when it comes
to protecting your motherland with that freedom:
as intrepid as the eagles in the open skies...
Defending soldiers as true as warriors,
you push forward with the victorious thought
of becoming nothing more
than the boldest soldiers:
seeing the smokey sky blast;
rescuing the wounded and closing the eyes
of the fallen ones bleeding on the burned grass...
If I were younger, and I had the same resistance,
I would fight with the indomitable spirit you own;
but my contribution is merely sympathetic words on paper,
which one of you will read on your return
to the homeland when all wait on you united in fond prayer:
with ribbons on trees and flags in their hands....
Defending soldiers of the tenderest age,
all past heroes had one special trait:
the persistance and will to prevail,
and the final victory on their breath;
when everything else seemed to fail,
an indisputable faith prevented another threat...
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci
It's urgent I see the ocean,
Ask me why?
I'll tell you I haven't a notion,
Lately I hear her call,
And the way she says my name,
The gallop of white horse waves,
Place were loneliness is tamed,
Maybe I'll go and just listen,
Sight for sore eyes I'm missing.
Copyright © Karl McDonnell
One day when I was working in a furniture store
What do you know, he comes walking through the door
He starts off by saying hookers are a dime a dozen
He says he knows because he has a hot cousin
Now listen to his conversation, he talks like a kidergardener
Well we will just call him the Court Street Philosopher
He starts back up- You know chewing gum won't come off the bottom of your
That's why I buy mine at the Goodwill, never brand new
The sun is damaging, so I stay inside, that's why I am so pale
Hay is cheaper when you buy it by the bale
Where is he going with this talk, he makes no sense, it's coming from nowhere
There is nothing you can do when you start losing your hair
He keeps on with his continuos blabber
A young lady walks in, he whispers to me I could have had her
He tells me about how many men she has slept with, now he's a gossiper
But still he remains the Court Street Philosopher
Hair looks better when it is tapered
He pulls out a hankee and blows his nose, it's cheaper to carry one of these than
waste all that paper
The hankee was stiff and crusty
He looks around and says if you sweep each day, this place wouldn't be so dusty
I tell him to put away his hankee before one of the stiff pieces cuts you
He looks at me and says this conversation is going nowhere, we're through
But now I am graced by his presence even more, I made the mistake of marrying
Now he is family and a close Court Street Philosopher
Copyright © Eugene Carmen