Poem | |
It is thirty six years ago, and I am with her in the garden,
where July is a picnic of egg sandwiches, cress-stippled,
the fuzzy down of peaches, acid-yellow tang of lemonade.
Her fingers have the delicacy of dancers
as she deftly mixes paint on a palette blue as the sky -
blobs of acrylics bright as sweet shop candy.
Summer is a sizzling colour wheel, spinning in its heat hues -
cadmium orange, pyrrole red, gold ochre -
those fever flames that blaze across her page.
My small world is warmed by the sun in her smile.
Russian vine stitches a delicate doily over the shed roof.
The heat-glazed garden shimmers and buzzes.
There is a twilight world under sweet clusterings of lilacs:
a cool shock of shade, pendulous-legged black flies
hovering in the murky mauve.
China white stars of jasmine light my way.
Please keep me close. Let me stay.
It is twenty six years ago, a morning of mourning,
and the notes of the dead bells toll
as, mist-muffled, they roll
through November's sleet streets.
I close my eyes and the sun in her smile parts the clouds.
Sober-suited people crush and cluster in pews;
row upon row of perylene black, winter-pale faces titanium white.
Stained glass windows filter and warm the ash-grey light
until her coffin is a vibrant palette of rainbows.
There are stories - lots of stories - anecdotes,
a crimson-backed journal she wrote,
a painting she painted, coffin-propped,
a poetry reading - one of her own -
Tapestry is a wondrous thing, in it the lovely colours sing. . .
Creamed rice-colour roses heap sweet
on her stone - a slate plate serving up a dead name -
and carnations splash cadmium scarlet
like blood throbbing from the gash of grief's raw wound.
It is now, and I am alone, taking a short cut home
through evening's rich palette.
Elegiac elms shed viridian tears,
and the sky is a burnt sienna explosion.
October's umber seeps into November's sepia tones.
My mind is coloured with her and then.
I hold a small cameo box that held
the colourful spill of her pills: kaleidoscope planets
orbiting my loneliness, spinning off into nothingness. . .
Dark figures fill the park: silhouettes, shadows
following me home; spirits stepped from her portraits,
faces pushed down into coat collars, crinkled with frowns.
Paint-pinned people in their primaries and pastels,
on canvas, under glass; stopped heartbeats of the past.
Trapped moments on paper and boards.
I close my eyes and see the sun in her smile,
recall how, since her passing, life has become a free fall,
a parapet leap without parachute.
And the smudged charcoal lines of memory
are beginning to blur, fading like her watercolours. . .
in memory of my grandmother
More great poems below...
Poem | |
Dmitri Mendeleev of Russian descent
Designed a table for each element
Periodic symbols he inserted for flavour
Was his a chemical or human behaviour?
Contest: Periodic Table of Elements
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Poem | |
The hand that tempts
With the shadows
Silence that lurks
Through cobwebbed paths
At self belief
Slowly in drips
Contest: Mussetle Train
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Poem | |
When Hell Froze Over
Trees shed their leaves,
the worms dig in deeper
Mothers cry and grieve
woman is the best weeper
Cold blasting each night,
birds froze on the ground
Sad hell was the fight
no hope was ever found
Winter ate their souls,
the keepers of evil hearts
Soldiers fought epic goals
the dead filled the carts
War or cold killed more,
dead is dead, hope gone
Wasted prayers to implore
heroes frozen all alone
Trail, path frozen dead,
winter sent home too soon
asleep but not in a bed
never to sing another tune
Retreat frenchmen knew well,
as their army frozen there
Now germans found this hell
in the frozen land of the bear!
Robert J.Lindley, 09-20-2014
Hitler's armies were frozen out just as were Napoleon's in the previous century. Russian winter was an enemy that killed mercilessly.The winter of 1941-42 was one of the worst in recorded history. Daily temperatures fell to 40 degrees below zero. German soldiers had not been issued with warm winter clothing as Hitler believed that the invasion would be over by the winter. Soldiers froze to death in their sleep,
diesel froze in fuel tanks and food was in very short supply. Russian soldiers had been issued with winter clothing and did not suffer as badly as their German enemies....
Poem | |
EXERPTS FROM HITLER’S DIARY 1941
"I never travel without my diary, one should always have something sensational to read . .
. " Oscar Wilde, 1891
Tues May 9:
Just when I was busy with plans for Russia, Rudolf Hess dropped by with crazy notion of
flying to UK for peace. Said he bought some new boots yesterday for the trip -
dead shiny . I’d like a pair like that. I told him - forget the trip and tell
me where you got the boots.
Wed June 22:
Invaded Russia. Eggs for lunch - hard boiled again - I hate that. Must speak to Eva
Thurs June 23:
11:00 am - heard Chamberlain on radio again – that dreary voice! that paper-waving
droopy-moustached old gopher! My small black moustache is much neater.
12:30 pm - inspected new bunker in East Prussia with smoother concrete walls . Eva
wants to wallpaper them (nice little red flowers) and why not?
8:00pm - after dinner, practised arm-gestures for big Nuremburg speech on Saturday.
Rehearsed a few ad libs. . . . Eva liked them.
Rained all day. Slow day (almost invaded Egypt) - stayed in and read. Eva dyed her
hair creamy-yellow. ( I’m gonna start calling her Blondy.) That new german
shepherd Bormann gave me - I took her out for walk. . . . she's called Blondi too
(Joke there - the guys will like it) . After dinner we all listened to Franz Lehar’s
“Merry Widow” again. I love it. Eva fell asleep; so did the dog.
Sat June 25:
Nuremburg speech went ok. Got all the ad libs in except one. Rommel was on the phone
talking about Africa and Libya, and some place called Tobruk. Must make a note – where is
Tobruk? P.S. Must find out where Libya is.
Sat Dec 6:
Just read the latest in the newspapers....almost four million Russian prisoners now.
Sun Dec 7:
Those crazy Japanese have gone and done it. . . . oh boy, they’re gonna be in trouble!
Thurs Dec 11:
Oh, what the hell. . . in for a dime in for a dollar : this Russian war is too easy, I
need a bit of a challenge. Think I’ll whiz down to the Reichstag tonight and tell ‘em
we’re declaring war on the USA. Might get a pair of those shiny boots there too.
Written by Sydney Peck
for Constance La France ( A Rambling Poet ) - Contest Name: The Diary
More great poems below...
Poem | |
It is the evening I have waited for,
stiletto heels three inches high adorned my feet,
real nylons hung from garters beneath a
skin tight, leather skirt of maraschino cherry-red.
A blouse of white silk, with a cascade of ruffles,
played peek-a-boo with my décolletage.
Outdoors, the rain pounded the asphalt
making the reality of his arrival even more bizarre.
A Harley barrels into the driveway.
Apparently, he thinks
he is Marlon Brando
and I am Stella?
I stand on the porch, a black umbrella
covering my new do, and watch as he
saunters through the puddles on the concrete walk.
The color of the umbrella my only
non-incongruent element in the frame, the scene made.
His smile was like a box of Chiclet's
on his clean shaven face.
He kisses me.
I lick the raindrop
from the tip of his Roman nose
and take hold of his Russian fingers.
He tosses my umbrella on the porch,
throws his black leather jacket over my shoulders,
lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bike.
The sun breaks through the clouds and the rain stops,
just in time for the neighbors to glare at the sight of my legs
reflecting on the bikes chrome work.
Shake their respective heads
and donate a few wolf whistles.
Poem | |
A solitary sail of contrasting
White in a salty sea of blue.
From its own land, to disconnect,
Why seek a land that's new?
In a friendly sea where the mast bends
From soothing winds it takes heart.
However; it seeks not happiness
Nor from happiness does it depart.
The sea glistens much brighter
Than the warm sun filled sky,
Yet rebellious, it seeks a storm,
As if to find peace within its eye.
Translation by Connie Marcum Wong
Note: A melancholic soul often feels more at home
surrounded by chaos when one has been raised in
constant chaos on the edge.
By Mikhail Lermontov
This site would not print in Russian text.
?????? ????? ????????
? ?????? ???? ???????. —
???´ ???? ?? ? ?????? ????????
???´ ????? ?? ? ???? ???????
?????? ?????, ????? ??????,
? ????? ?????? ? ???????;
???! — ?? ??????? ?? ????
? ?? ?? ??????? ?????! —
??? ??? ????? ??????? ??????,
??? ??? ??? ?????? ???????: —
? ??, ????????, ?????? ????,
??? ????? ? ????? ???? ?????!
A lonely sail shows white / against the sea's blue mist. / What does it seek in a distant region? / What has it abandoned in its own land?
The waves play, the wind whistles, / and the mast bends and screeches… / Alas, it does not seek happiness / and is not running away from happiness.
Beneath it the current is brighter than the azure, / above it is the sun's golden ray… / But it, rebellious, asks for a storm, / as if there were peace in storms.
(Literal tr. Donald Rayfield, with Jeremy Hicks, Olga Makarova and Anna Pilkington)
Poem | |
Times of old dwindle throughout captured in leaves of parchment sewed individually into bounded Moroccan, Spanish, and Russian Leathers, seeping the smells of old centuries wisdom enclosed.
Taking the mind into the beyond where great stories are forged and fantasies made.
Smells of musk, vanilla, and tobacco fill the air with the sweet hymms of melodies playing from a far.
Dripping wax from candles burnt fall upon parchment, and the taste of whiskey near the crackling of the fire leave one's mind lost between worlds.
The setting of the sun glides down in an array of colors throughout the land, sweeping all that is, all that is known, and all that was, as the crinkle of every page turns.
Poem | |
My twisted mind
Had everyone blind
Not a single sign!
I want to forget everything,
Living a life of no regrets,
Facing the sun
Ignoring my debts
Wiping of the cold sweat,
Taking another drink from my sweet tea set.
My life, a game of “RUSSIAN ROULETTE,”
there is no positive or negative.
A game of slip and slide,
Put a gun inside
Staring down the barrel
A quick pull trigger, gone sterile
I give thanks to another day.
Madness, I've gone insane
Lots of money down the drain.
Initiated gum pops,
Broken lemons drops,
Upon another turn,
I dream of no shame!
Always saying 'NEVER!'
To this life, I scream “WHATEVER!"
HIT ME AGAIN!
I wrote this poem,
and dedicate the poem to my gambling addiction...
ha ha, I miss it... he he he.... JK
Poem | |
I thought I could love a Russian Girl.
Her lips were divine, pretty like a rose
She was lovely, with the cutest curl.
Why couldn't I stop looking at her toes?
I swear they were twisted, not one was straight.
Sure her dress showed off her sexy form.
Those open sandles, they didn't look great!
Within my mind, I was completely torn.
I may be shallow, a horrible guy.
My foot fetish is far from a joke
Staying with her I would surely die.
If I sucked those toes I'm sure I'd choke
Some like big boobs that flop all about.
For me it's a foot, perfect and petite.
Still others prefer a woman more stout.
I'm cursed to be a man attracted to feet
For Dr. Ram Metha's Chastuski Me contest. ABAB form
Poem | |
I am like
embraced by serpents many
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
I am like
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize,
for courage, was
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
handwriting over typewriter
I am like
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
between men and women
listening to beat poets
as a great Prime Minister of India
you were heard
I am like
drew the worlds attention to
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you
Poem | |
A grey cloud in holes
flew in the sky alone,
headed for its dole
all the time along.
Brilliant sunlight spots
fell onto the ground.
Jumped as little balls,
run as a greyhound.
With the insects brittle
rushed along the meadow,
an’ there a May beetle
made another circle.
An’ sounds everywhere
rang out as in a jungle,
the guests in the air
lavishly got jumbled.
crowded all together,
organ-grinders – flyers
played in fair weather.
Suddenly black clouds
gathered in the sky,
blew away round dance
in the near dry.
Soared in the bounds
of the vault of heaven,
the cloud on the ground
fell to form forever.
My page on a Russian site:
Poem | |
(on the basis of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata)
Be calm, because it's vanity of vanities,
reach harmony taking a truce.
Be generous, despite “in vino veritas”
all in the world forget the truth.
Remember that all have their rights –
an ignoramus here or there a fool.
And are you right with all your stereotypes?
So, take then theirs in blood cool.
For evil leave that everlasting fall,
obsequiousness and arrogance – a fuss;
As all affected will be ground at all
by millstones-years first or last.
And give yourself up to a labor of love,
depends itself on you your destiny.
In lieu of victor's wreath a head above
will be a crown of thorns eventually.
But if one day some utter fraud
floods flourishing in blossom land,
let it not devastate your soul
with all abstracted from your bank.
Remember, love is never bought,
you'd better flirt with haughty divas,
in style be good at getting old,
as all the beauty fades with years.
Enjoy the time not passing by,
this moment's not reversible.
Strengthen your spirit to be high,
your fears all alleged impossible.
At last a child you're of the universe,
as those trees, stars and our heaven.
You're given to explore your place,
though you take all for gospel ever.
Your God – it's peace within your soul,
you, cherish as the apple of your eye.
Let it be love here in a cottage small,
and be vivacious till you die.
There is a war on for your mind: http://www.infowars.com/
My page on a Russian site: http://www.stihi.ru/avtor/boreaus
Poem | |
He should have gifted something else
the gifts brought her an instant fame
as she saved those on her 'blue dress',
Zippergate was the scandal name!
Placement: 6th;(March 2012)
Contest:Chaustushka Form-Russian Poetry
Poem | |
Let's play a game
of Russian Roulette.
I'll go first,
you can pull the trigger.
Look me in the eyes
as the muzzle
the temple of my skull.
I'll probably be fine,
more than alright in fact,
as I watch you
It'll look like you love me.
It'll look like you care.
Poem | |
This feeling dragging myself to the lowest standards
the horrible feeling of being ruled by the man who has me face down on the mat
and when i give in,, the craving go into the deep dark abyss..
i only see one way out and the cold steel is in my hands,,,,
playing Russian roulette with my emotions..
not knowing when my next craving is going to hit me over the head.....
But then i realize that i have a purpose on this earth,, and i don't have to give in to
"the father of all lies" and that i do have a way out, and i do have people who love me
so what can i do??
Let the pen bleed out onto the papers who have no way of judging my defects of character
and take it one day at a time
Poem | |
attacking inner depths
savagely i ride
on the crest
unfurling high winds
battered and torn
rolling in the chambers
pulling on feelings
to a lovers emotion
in you died
Poem | |
Left And Right
Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally
Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade
The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night
The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul
Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes
And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence
The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags
Down The Valley
Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance
On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander
On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame
When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride
Poem | |
Very steamy hot thoughtful stuff
get me hotter sure enough
getting hard to keep it down
feral ferret will swim or drown
would you like to eat a chop
as i'm fumbling at your top
lamb is good but tiddley's better
cannot get the catch unfetter
can we have a cuddle now
moving closer to the chow
tween your thighs I could slip
panties dinna wanna slip
things are damp its getting harder
no way to get between
in a rotten Russian Lada
gear stick jabs me so obscene
finally i'm in the passion pit
plunging driven just to it!
yes i'll make you moan a bit
but i'm only dreaming :)
Yes Trace :)
Poem | |
Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.
Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.
Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate,
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play.
First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.
High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.
Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.
Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.
OK fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.
Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.
Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eying the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.
The crack of the bat and off the ball went,
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine Coon cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.
Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine Coon cats throw just a bit late.
Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.
The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.
We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.
Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.
Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.
Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.
Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.
Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.
The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed.
The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.
The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one,
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, Downtown Strays win was sealed.
Poem | |
Land of the Lost
Time in time out
What's it all about
Got no freedom
Drunk on rum
Russian roulette full of fun
Empty barrel, trigger gun
Bust a cop
Life's a steal
Keep it real
File for divorce
Finger peace trace
Where's my justice
Body full of lies
the truth dies
Failure to communicate
Achieve to hallucinate
Judged by hypocrite
3 seconds, 3000 kilobits
Every minute matters
For jugglers and gamblers
Every life has a cost
Land of the lost
Poem | |
(This is a true story from 2001, when I let my
hair grow back to dark, and I fooled a few people
who thought the wig was still my own hair but with
a different shade of blonde!)
Growing roots meant bad hair each day;
bought a wig to stay blonde at school.
One guy loved my color that way.
Said, "Your hair's never looked so cool!"
For Rick Parise's "A Bad Hair Day" Contest
using Chastushka (Russian form of poetry
with trochaic tetrameter).
Poem | |
Notes: I am putting the notes upfront, suicide is no laughing matter, however, anything that makes it something that can be discussed I think is a good thing. Humor really is an aid to many an illness. Note the poem starts with a reason, when someone is at the point of suicide, there is NO reason. It is an illness like any other. Also inside humor and innuendo is meaning. Enough said.
I went to the casino of love last night
I placed a bet on romantic seven
Lost all my chips, ain’t going to heaven
Broke me heart
Lowered head, I walked back to the car park
Next morning I woke up
Put a gun to my head
I can’t even win at Russian roulette
Need a change, to get away
Mending the pain or soul, some might say
Took a plane to Bengal
Ended up in beuruit
Walked right into the middle of a war or 2
Explosions all over, around me head
Thank god, soon I shall be dead
I saw a terrorist with a real mean look
I waved hello, shoot me, shoot me!!!
I am sure he would have given a chance
But someone else tossed into him a lance
Seems even in a war I can’t make myself dead
Sadly I lost at even this deadly dance
Then an explosions tossed me sky high
Was i going to heaven, was this my grand demise?
No, I landed in the sea and just on time
For a cruise ship to save me, soul and all
Off too Florida it seems
Death sure has some gall
I was walking along a sunny beach
When all of a sudden two gangs appeared
One Cuban, one Mexican, they sure looked mean
Two gangs known as killing machines
Here is me smack in the middle
My lucky day, for how could I lose
Suicide was assured, come on, you know it
I yelled to both of them
I am DEA, and I think all of you queers are very very gay
That out to get me the bullet I wish
What the hell, they all dropped their guns and surrendered
I admit I was starting to be mighty offended
So now I have this Medal of Honor
For saving a community of drugs and plunder
I just can’t win at the casino of life
I can get myself killed no matter the plight
So back home I go
What the hell
I’ll fill the bathtub
And give that a go
You think I’m bragging or boasting of death
I am serious, this will work, why drowning for sure
What could go wrong? with such a fine plan?
All I want to be is a dead dead man
So yes, I fill up the tub with water and suds
I down some pills, some booze and some bud
I am drifting off, to my purgatory bliss
When I hear an alarm the wakes me
What’a darn bitch
The buildings on fire, ok I can burn in my sorrow
Except the bathtub collapses and doses the fire
I am a loser, this is for sure
They gave me Medal of Honor again
For saving all the seniors by making it rain
I am not dead, and I am not happy
Seems I can’t accomplish
Even my death
Even this task I make a mess
Now I am curious, I have to ask
Have any readers killed themselves yet?
This tale that’s a mess, being alive is giving me stress
If not read on, it’s gonna get better
Someone I will succeed at this suicidal adventure
OK now a bridge I hear is a good place to die
Not to hard, you jump and say good bye
I can do that, doesn’t seem hard
So now I stand on a Golden Gate Bridge
Happy at last that life will be over
All of a sudden a huge shaking occurs,
An earthquake , oh lucky me maybe the bridge will collapse
Not to be and you know that now, it tosses me infront of a car
The car brakes and halts and honks its horn
Till it sees the crack in the road just up ahead
If not for me falling right right there
That car would be the one drowning in the ocean of despair
They jumped out and hugged me and kissed me with thanks
Apparently I saved an ambulance full of pre mature babies
You know what happens next, and don’t you go crying
Another Medal of Honor for me, a hero without trying!
What the hell I give up
This suicide profession is harder than you think
Hell I might as well go back to my whiskey and drinks
Live in the darkness, and pray that one day
Life has enough meaning that I wish to actually stay
So now that these ideas so dark and so deadly
I have discarded without hope, so now I will be friendly
I will join the world of human souls and laughter
Even if inside I still lack such basic character
No more silly ideas of death
I need to move on and make life the best
So off to the store, to get me some groceries
A new leaf I have turned and I confess to a smile
When I am crossing the street, I see to my horror
That I am hit by a bus, and finally no damn tomorrows
Poem | |
You shine like the stars in the sky,
You are the sparkle of my eye,
Like the rays of the sun,
You give life with your touch,
And with a slight brush of your cheek,
You make me weep,
I weep for your presence,
At the base of a lone dark tree.
But when I see you get close,
I give it all my strength,
To be perfect for you is all I seek.
I have waited for you my entire life,
and now I will never want to leave your side,
Nourish me with your loving touch,
And I will shower you with the sweet scent of my nectar veins,
With your care krasivaya,
Your red rose will never die.
Poem | |
SHE IS LADY ZOYA
From rich bucket bills of grandeur bliss
Dawns wobbling chills from cruel treachery
Harsh is the murmur of the night, my Lady
Has Aidos spang slain as disgrace ink reign?
Swarm of bees threats and afire the days
Seems... to live life, one must be on break away
Gowns and golds gone like a storm
Tears a rain clouding the seeds of reform
Never-say-die attitude the tarring rock
Ah! The Lady Zoya got this trait in blocks
Shut down on countless turbulent thuds
Still, she arise like a Monarch from the mud
Royal blood dance viscous to her veins
But to burlesque shows, she swayed in vain
For her children: Nicholas and Sasha.
Her picturesque-like the late Princess Diana.
Huge fire almost killed her children
She changed. Later became, a fashion designer
Simon Hirsch saw a diamond from a spread of roughs
He married and dressed her in lovelier stuffs
The tambourine music of war took her husband life
Penthos again bathe her ever wounded thrive
Yet, love abounds never did she succumb
She strive to strum melodies from the crumbs
**Zoya Konstantinovna Ossupov is a Russian countess,
a young cousin to Czar Nicholas II during the Russian revolution and World War I..
Aidos: shame, can range from a sense of respect
Penthos: grief, suffering
©O. E. Guillermo
9:38pm; November 11, 2014