Long poem by
Ralph Sergi | Details |
By the lamppost at night
with the pale moon shining bright
but obscured by the fog
I saw her in the harbor
standing where my boat lay moored
but she knew that
her azure eyes beckoned me to come
smoke from the cigarette in her hand
trailing upward and blending with the mist
and the gold braid around her wrist
I remembered my gift
I stood transfixed
if only for a moment
then I walked to her slowly
and tipped my fedora
and the little joke we shared in love
I asked,"Where have you been all my life?"
Waiting for you, she said
I laughed at her resentfully and said
You left me here from this place
without a note, without a trace
I scoured old haunts, you weren't there
you left as if you didn't care
Remember our walks along the shore
your favorite drink,that special place
in the cafe by the window
where the sun would shine on your hair
and leaving a golden glint
like it did on my boat
when it was in full sail
Then one day you went away
our love became a mystery
that was never solved
now your'e here and I ask you why
There was a war, she said
I lost this guy and you came along
to fill the void and share my sorrow
I loved you, Jake, your silly hat
the way you tipped it, the boat , the cat
who begged for fish after each catch
she paused and lit another smoke .
took a puff and exhaled and said
Then one day , he showed up , his name was Clive
the guy I mentioned had survived
and left his tags with a guy who died
and he became an MIA
he was hiding out in Mandalay
involved in something, he wouldn't say
but he wanted me there, he promised me fame
I was a singer, you know
and all the dough that I could want
or all I could take
I just had to know how to play the game
Then I thought of you Jake
and what we had
and I told him , No
He got mean, Jake
and threatened to expose me
for what I really was
and I couldn't bear for you to hear
my sordid past, my constant fear
we're both alike, you and me, he said
We'll take what the world has to give
and grab it by the throat
or I’ll destroy you if you don’t
As time went by,it didn't take long
to see he was singing a different song
His lies and schemes, the other dolls
I lost my respect and I didn't care
I had to get out, I needed a plan
to rid myself of this rotten man
There was this guy, Buck
who ran the bar, he pitied the plight
that I was in, he hated Clive as much as I
I told him I watched Clive at the end of each night
the cash he hid in a special place
no doubt to leave in a hurry in case things got hot
he would check to see how much was stashed
if it was worth the dare, we would split down the middle
and make our departure at the crack of dawn
I knew a Burmese captain who owned a scow
who asked no questions for a fee
he'd have some cabins for you and me
Just before closing , I feigned getting ill
and called for Clive to aid me somehow
to stay awhile and give me a pill
and while he was there, Buck went to that spot
took the cash and lit out that night to wait for me.
at a pre destined place
My bag was packed in another room
I told Clive I would rest and join him soon
But as soon as he left, I slipped out
to the back, grabbed a cab
headed for freedom away from that man
thinking of you and to make things right
She paused for a moment and put out her smoke
and I thought I saw a drop of blood
form on the corner of her mouth
she quickly wiped her hand across her face
and continued her story at a slower pace
I arrived at the pier where the scow lay docked
took one look behind me and looked at the clock
of the building where we were to meet
checked my watch that matched the time
I saw a jeep pull up and he saw me
two grips in his hand and a smile on his face
he said, I got his dough, I'll leave his jeep
It's the least I can do for that miserable creep
I said there's no time to waste
just show me the dough
we'll split down the middle and get ready to go
he said, "Oh"
I'm ready to go but my plans have changed
I'm traveling alone
but I'll leave just enough to change your luck
this one's for you and this one's for Buck
I suspected as much and I scowled as he grinned
but his mouth shaped an O as he looked down below
the knife in his stomach pulsed blood from his guts
too late I saw his gun come up as he fell
I fell a pain in my side and clutched my coat
I picked up the bags
and summoned up strength to get onto the boat
I looked at the captain and said
There's double the price
if we can get away soon
get up some steam
and head for Rangoon
the captain patched me up
as good as he could
with the aid of some rum and a smoldering wood
to cauterize the wound
I knew it was wrong to take his life
but I was prepared to kill him
to end this strife
as a precaution, I took the knife
that we used to cut bait with
a long time ago
the knife stirred up memories
that you and I had
that pressed my decision to leave that cad
but the wound didn't heal, the lead lay impacted
I was resigned to my fate to see you once more
before it's too late... and here you are
She collapsed in my arms and I held her tight
with tears in my eyes , her audible sighs
gasping for breath and leaning toward death
And before she expired, her hand on my face
Where have you been all life, babe
waiting for you, I cried
waiting for you
A tribute to the black and white movies and dialogue of the late 30’s and 40’s
© Ralph Sergi
Long poem by
Debbie Duncan | Details |
PART One,,,, as she saw it.
The mountains and the meadows were always so beautiful this time of year.
It seemed as if a fresh new world always came to life. The high cliffs turned sharply downward. As I sat listening to the ocean tides smashing against the walls of the mountain below. There was a mild breeze blowing from the south. The grass in the flower covered meadows moved with the breeze. The sun shined so brightly I thought it would melt me at times.
As I stood up from the log where I was sitting by the emerald forest, the breeze pressed my dress against me. It formed to the soft round curves of my breast, down through the curves of my waist pushing against my yielding hips. As I blinked from the sun, I saw him there in the distance. I had thought I was alone. But there he was, starring straight at me. What would I do and where could I turn? I knew what kinds of thoughts men had, my mother told me all about them. I saw that he was beginning to move my way !
I saw him there as he saw me. I was paralyzed, not knowing what direction to move. Though as I watched him from afar, he did not seem dangerous as my mother always warned. Still, I could hear her words like a tape recorder in the back of my mind.
Should I dare take my eyes from his? I could see his eyes were dark, maybe brown, or even midnight blue. What ever the color, I could tell they were smoldering with restrained passions. His hair was long to his shoulder blades. I knew that because it moved with the wind. He had broad shoulders with long legs. I knew I must not let him reach me. If his arms entangled me , surely I would never get loose. And, I'm not sure I would want too. Even though I heard the words of my mother, running in my head.
I could feel the tiny beads of sweat trickling down between my breasts. I was not sure I should take my eyes from him as I leaned down to pick up the fan that had slipped from my hand to my bare feet.
PART ONE,,,, As he saw it .
The winter snow had melted and yielded to the bright warming rays of the spring sun. The bears had come out of hibernation with their new born looking for food. The mountains and the meadows were born again, new, fresh and alive with life. Everything was beautiful and as it should be. Birds singing, their mating songs blended with the crash of the surf against the steep cliffs of the mountain. Nature was at peace with itself, and I came here to share in this peace. To be alone with the earth, or so I thought.
I found a place to sit on the grass hidden among the flowers in the high meadows. So I could enjoy the gentle breeze blowing while watching the forest animals. The warm sun caressed my body and warmed me. It was a prefect day, yet something was missing. A day like this needed to be shared with someone, someone special. Stretching, I caught a slight movement out of the corner of my eye, just across the enchanted forest. Of a beautiful women. It couldn't be possible as no one knew of this place. I had come here for years and had never seen a another person before. Yet, there she was. Dressed in a dress the wind made love to, pressing it to her body. Clinging to the sensual curves of her breast, down to her firm waist and full inviting hips. I suddenly felt drawn to her and stood up. I knew she had seen me as she was starring back at me, as I stood staring back at her. She was a vision. And I was afraid she would vanish if I approached her. Yet, she seemed to be smiling, calling to me as I started walking towards her. I remember the stories my grandmother had told me of the enchantresses that lived in this forest, but I did not hesitate. I would give to her anything she wanted, anything she desired.
As I approached her I realized she was real. She seemed to be looking at me, daring me to come closer. All the stories of the enchantress my grandmother had told me flooded my mind with a warning. Yet, she was so beautiful, so inviting and I couldn't take my eyes from her. I was slowly losing control with each and every step that brought me closer to her. I knew I was lost as I felt the heat of my desire to be with her, starting to take control. It was a struggle not to run to this beautiful creature , with the golden hair, and angelic face. As I came closer I couldn't help but notice her sensual breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. She seemed to be smiling, challenging me with everything that made her a beautiful, desirable woman. A woman this sensual, this beautiful, this desirable was surely the enchantress, and I was hers. As a bee is drawn to the flower, I was being drawn to this women.
Suddenly she reached down to pick something up. It was just then I noticed she was barefoot. As she bent over to retrieve what she had dropped, the sun reflected off her spun gold hair. and radiated a golden brightness that was almost blinding. Her dress shifted allowing me to see that her body enhanced her dress, rather then the dress enhancing her body. She would look beautiful in anything she wore. The heat of my desire for her was beginning to consume me with it's fire. I felt the beginnings of ,,,,,,,,,,
Nov. 18 1992,,,, Short story I started to write, A friend ask if he could write from a males point of view.
Long poem by
Maurice Yvonne | Details |
LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION
I cried yesterday
and I think I broke the world
so I braided some words into twine
planted some sweet and sour coated seeds
I grew free standing expressions and then I joined
them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces
in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt
to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment
It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine
WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST
I loved you centuries before we were born.
You lived in my dreams before I ever slept.
When others wasted time picking flowers
I waited for when it was time to pick you.
Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner.
You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space.
Your desire for them would melt away the ice age.
I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I
could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright
it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital
as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past.
I want to be that magician who does not bother with
illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden.
We were at the fair, joviality in the air.
A memory filed, I was a young child
holding balloons floating round like full moons
in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight
I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine.
If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them
as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower
I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt.
Hope gloats, hope floats.
either your way or just away.
sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot
to walk barefoot........on the concrete path
still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat
I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that.
sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer...
with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as
I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle
peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock...
revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever
ours was a paper mâché love
living in a cut out cardboard home
with a macaroni art painted lawn
and nothing real to call our own
nothing solid that we could hold.
we tried stacking lego bricks
but you have to be able to pop your cheek
to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build.
the castle we assembled didn't pass the test.
so much for fairy tales - hello reality check.
we rolled the dice but our thimble went
straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped.
can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where
are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might
as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!"
we fell through
the bunny hole
where i - jack fell ddddownnn
nnnnnnn and broke my crown
and you - jill came tumbling
it is a choreographed ballet our love
legs at the base digging deep
delicate hands branched out
long slim fingers define twigs
the body of our trunk thick
music fills our human needs
wind pixies dance meticulously
sunlight leaks effectively through
lifts carries holds and shapes
it is a choreographed ballet our love
our bodies their senses once immersed in I
I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on
mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch.
no matter the roar or intensity of the storm
how severe the attack even out of the norm
i offer my hand with sincerity
aim to deal with it peacefully.
then suddenly it hits
like a swarm of locus.
a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind
my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom.
every bone stiffens,
when I move, a sound
of dead dried out forest twigs
breaking against the boots of hikers
echoes in the confined space of my skull.
i reach for a pill
slowly it dissolves
under my tongue
my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap.
i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature
depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive
...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive.
there is a deafening hush...
silently raging through the core
of my existence...still...I am humbled
by the light and the love I have witnessed
in my brief appearance...........here on Earth
there is a river...that walks at my side...
walks with me........at the same stride...
April 14 2015
Long poem by
James Kelley | Details |
For every step I take toward the sun,
the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles.
History slated on unforgiving stone erodes;
A weakly chiseled dream.
But I will remember it all,
and tongues shall breed these words
and hold them with intent.
Oh, how we have fallen!
Mighty and meek alike.
We were once just, and strong.
But greatness has cast down it's
poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts
that once bled for glory.
It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words!
Remember the reason we set foot outside
of our city gates.
Remember the certainty in your hearts;
that we men would give people hope!
Hope for life without malice.
Hope for a life of freedom!
A chance for prosperity!
...but what prosperity have we given?
Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured
the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear?
Does a just King rule with the might of fear?!
Or does a King rule with compassion?
I ask you men,
you loyal few.
What would you have me do?
Would you have me slaughter this woman;
this beautiful princess of her people and take her
home as a prize for conquest merely because her
husband was the one that stood in the way?
Is her beauty the cost of her life?
She has wronged not one of us,
and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of
her surviving her King. Why?
Here I thought men of honor followed me,
I thought men of courage swung my blades!
And, yet you fear this woman who could no
sooner do you harm than your own from the
bed that you left her in!
No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King
and remain here with her people.
I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant,
only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality!
If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Princess Xavia's Response
I stand with humility before such valor
My people have borne
the burden of swords and arrows,
they are silent with fear and trembling before you
Which would be yours
to burden them with once again
yet you offer them freedom
and me my life...when you could shame not only me
but those who are entrusted to me
I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men
than to become flesh passed amongst them
the destiny of a woman
who has became the chattel of a lost victory
My blood be shed before such shame
be cast upon me
Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom
and restored my name
Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night
beneath the dark stars
where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city
provide any warmth for my grieving people
You have offered them hope
through a frail vessel such as myself,
such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men
in days such as these
Your compassion is a light in this darkness
these times inscribed with blood
such is this age,
when the voice of stones speak more gently
than the hearts of men
Dark are these days and black is the moon
of these nights,
in these lost reveries we journey through
dreams that have become nightmares
Yet strength has arisen in one man,
a leader who throws light back
at the fallen stars
granting the nights a moment of solace
for your honor has returned hope
a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun
And as I take back my broken people
we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights
shall we rebuild this Kingdom,
our sanguine ties shall bind us
and we will rise.
I gratefully accept my life
returned to me through your kind hands
And secretly, within a whisper
it is my prayer
that when I look upon your countenance
and the time comes
that I shall gaze into your eyes again
it shall be as the queen you have restored
to her throne and to her people
and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats
and the hope that she will share her throne
should you find her efforts and her heart
(c) Katherine Wyatt 2013
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
Your past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Washington was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of commerce, barrooms and boards of directors, the known and unknown. No one of course is completely unknown. I was known for my tragic love life. She had found another man, a backwoods man, living on the land but not above a night on the town, who according to her would wipe snot on his pants, a statement of poverty or thrift or anger against the niceties of society. All of us heated our hovels with wood but only the rich burned hardwoods, me and probably this guy were softwood gatherers.
There were few aspects to my life. First, I can remember a nook in the kitchen of the house I shared with a beautiful faceless woman who wore a ring in her nose where I wrote and watched flocks of unidentified birds comb a tree for seeds. This particular day the sky was blue with clean pillowy cumulus clouds floating toward Puget Sound. I believe all the poems written in that nook have been forgotten by their author.
Nights, for entertainment, I would wander the aisles of the supermarket, admiring everything and buying nothing. I had no money. The fluorescent lighting, clean straight neat shelving and floors, warmth and the fact I could identify nobody attracted me. I lived on cream cheese and honey sandwiches eating them leaning against the kitchen sink. Thinking go back to New York City which is what I ultimately did. Drove cross country nonstop three days and three nights seeing and feeling nothing.
This was during the Reagan recession inherited from Carter. I'm unclear how presidents affect your life but good or bad, democrat or whig, alive or dead you've got to get a job, which I did. I supervised the living arrangements of developmentally disabled adults in what I thought were humorous contexts that gave no offense. They were beautiful and incorrigible having regular sex without protection. Normally harmless they'd sometimes have altercations with their neighbors. I balanced the checkbooks, paid the bills. Supposedly teaching living skills, I had few of my own as evidenced by my sleeping on the floor, I had no bed. One mature woman colleague judged me a short-timer living a useless fantasy about big cities. Still lost in my own history, still didn't know the calculus.
I had a dog, Shade, black lab, leftover from my near-marriage until she realized I had no economic prospects, no interest in further sex or her logger boyfriend, and a complete inability to translate or imagine nesting and gestation. Like Aaron, my homework comes to me in daily disconnected increments. Shade lived in my gray van, a Dodge slant six, which I could never afford to fix. Once the driveshaft disconnected from the rear axle and I tied it on with rope. Drove 60 miles on a knot. Shade was hyper and sad, both. He smelled bad but was a good dog with a lonely heart. When my wife who wasn't a wife finally found a boyfriend who wouldn't wipe snot on his pant leg they took Shade to British Columbia where I believe he runs free on a vast estate by the sea. I once beat Shade like a slave because he attacked a small dog out of frustration and loneliness and until I had kids and started saying and doing things just as bad to humans it was the lowest meanest moment of my life. The farmer who saw it will never forget or forgive it.
Having confessed all this there's just one last fact to tell. The mountains were cold, the waters clear, deep snow and shadows.
Long poem by
Maurice Yvonne | Details |
in vibrant intensities
with unique undertones
of green acquirable only in a
few forests. A ruby red swirls within
its petals beckons awareness of those very
strokes that live in the lustre of your shapely lips
like fantasy realized. Mirthful yellows in all those lacquers
barely ever seen as one would scorch their eyes to gaze lastingly
directly at the Sun - though I have been fortunate to witness identical
iridescence in strands of your hair you unintentionally flip and like dainty
fingers wave me on to move closer to your flawless frame - memorized easily.
paints the flower they
say exists only in certain
singular gemstones yet l know
this tincture for I have seen it in your
cheeks when we play and laugh. Oh your
laugh how it fills me - replacing noise surfing
the waves of sound in the surrounding atmosphere.
How enchanting when your laughter there - dwells to
tickle molecules invisible to the eyes but felt by the human
heart. Parrot tulips with their soft myriad shades become stunning
against a deep black backdrop which shimmers bright like your ebony eyes.
Sparkle like your smile and I grin happily just thinking of you, just thinking of us.
white that also
adorns the flower a
special light effect I have
found in your complexion - dazzles
my mind each and every time I see you.
Parrot tulips a miracle of nature, a special
breed I admit are as remarkable as any offering
that grows in our gardens but rarer still - you the flower
I share my life with. No one, no thing, no life compares to you,
your approach - for every time I even think of you, the joy it brings
completes the meaning of my existence full. If not for you no other delight
would have that extra zest I feel from the sharing of your love and light always.
what joy it
brings. How the flower
draws these words from
me. Ironic how true allure felt
fills our glass so I thought I'd share
with you how it uplifts my days - knowing
confident in our love as one - you'd never resent
me speaking of an elegance other than yours. So you may
know - understand what the fibres of ones constitution compels
them to write. Now - about a mystique other than the one you sport with
humility. Finally I have written a poem on aesthetics that does not mention you.
Just above and
beneath the dirt grows
riches unimaginable. Made to
be absorbed by senses recognizable
only by a few. They are free for the taking.
An appreciation, a love of a natural essence.
A flower, a person, romance you breathe incomparable
to anything real or imagined. It alone are the wings we humans
seek...as real and as precious as all else consumable. How lucky I
am the magic handed out daily on these pages. The people I could never
find anywhere else then here. I am in love with their words in love with them.
the re frain
is a par r a
ot tu lip m
hid d a
en u j
r r r r
o o oo
o o o o
t tt t
s s s s
r r r r
o o o o
o o o o
t t t t
s s s s
April 27 2015
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
How many poetry books = 1 Nissan Pathfinder exhaust system.
How many bluebirds? Money is how we thank people for what makes
How we express our love and gratitude.
Weight and moods, up and down, with weather and outcome of
I am so sick of humanity, people. Wouldn't I prefer chickadees?
Then I get home, that is the comfortable tree hole I've been longing for.
Aaron pitches and plays piano. Zach likes lacrosse and math.
The mound was soft, sand, with a hole big enough for an urn or to hide a
But Aaron pitched carefully anyway, slow strikes and the opposing team
What would God's work be? Meaningless question. Today's schedule:
Write fund raising letters, conserve small farms. Local food, local jobs.
Don't transport food coast to coast. Save fuel, less CO2.
In my opinion the dislocations resulting from climate change and global
warming will be within man's adaptive capacity. On the other hand.
Also, green industry will open a vast employment market, a job for every
The good life, unsustainable, we're poisoning our children although my
children are not so poisoned. They're bald. Unusually bald. Good
looking bald. Future of man bald. Happy bald.
Bald eagle. Nesting, mating near Karen Sheldon's, a conservationist,
philanthropist, on the river, whose husband recently died. During
romantic dinner on a second honeymoon in Paris, so I've heard.
That's Jake's spirit come home as an eagle, Karen said. Isn't that
great, I said, and the she-eagle he's nesting with!
-I'm gonna kill that bitch.
Compare Captain Carpenter and In a Prominent Bar in Secaucus One
Day. In each case the hero's (heroine's) body declining
Under life's duress. Anything located in Secaucus, NJ could not be
considered prominent, could it?
In the end, clack clack takes all. Hard to end a poem better than that.
Clack clack the crow's beak, upper and lower mandibles meeting.
From hunger, or it just does. Crows clack clack to communicate.
Whitman's greatest poem is Out of the Cradle . . . also involving
communicating birds, in what is initially an embarrassingly emotional
display. All that italicized moaning and yearning. Get away.
Then, clack clack, he turns on you. Death lisping, straight into your eyes.
Suddenly you realize you should have taken him seriously, been
In the meantime, traffic, corn, new exhaust system, ask for money, save
farms, poor people, sun on garden, whole wide world, wars, stars.
I gave up long ago on a quiet world. Now going deaf. Then it will be
quiet, too quiet.
No more birding by ear. "No more fucking." I mean really . . . I was
moved as anyone by Hall's honest poem about Jane dying and I
guess fucking can be music to someone's melody, stand for living,
but not me.
No more birding would have had more meaning. I'd rather bird than
fuck. No more fucking, no more worry, no more war.
Which is why I'm gonna kill that bitch is so funny, such a life-affirming
At first I worried Karen really believed the eagle is her husband. Maybe
But that punch line makes her the kind of woman I want to know.
Long poem by
SIMON M MATLOU | Details |
GUILTY AS CHARGED!
Justice Romantic Romeo : Stand up in court!
Case No 345/03/2012
Accused: Ms Provocative Dishonest
Address: 197 Mpopotwane Street
Sun Valley, Mamelodi West
(1) PARTICULARS OF CHARGES
(1) Charge 1: Sweeping my heart away.
(1)(a) Alternative charge to charge 1: Stealing away my soul.
(2) Charge 2: Provocatively hijacking my feelings.
(2)(a) Alternative charge to charge 2: Playing continuously in my dreams.
In terms of the Constitution’s Bill of Rights and Ubuntu Regulations 14(3) that reads with Batho-Pele Principles and Corporate Governance Regulations 18(3),
You performed an act that constituted an offence and you therefore stand accused
Unlawfully and intentionally sweeping my heart away on 2012/03/16 at 16:00, On my birthday, on Sunday at 197 Mpopotwane Street, Sun Valley in Mamelodi West, and alternatively stealing my soul on that day, time and place.
You unlawfully and intentionally, provocatively hijacked my feelings in broad daylight, in full view of the people, and alternatively played continuously in
my dreams every 12:00 midnight from that day until present!
Justice Romantic Romeo: How do you plead Ms Provocative Dishonest?
Guilty or not guilty?
Ms Provocative Dishonest : Eh.........eh...........guilty , my Worship !
Justice Romantic Romeo : Guilty as charged! Guilty on all the charges!
Justice Romantic Romeo : Since you pleaded guilty to all the charges,
I will slap you with this light sentence:
(1) Be the apple of my eye and my lover for life!
(2) With NO PAROLE and NO LEAVE TO APPEAL for this sentence, be the keeper of my dreams!
(5) COURT ADJOURNS:
Justice Romantic Romeo : All stand up in court !The court is adjourned,
And we will live happily ever after.
Long poem by
liam mcdaid | Details |
Always a Dream
A little fairy princess one day sits resting on a most beautiful sunflower,
And magically she begins stretching her wings for anticipatory flight
While capturing a vision assortment of most bright flying colors,
Of one gentle and soothing rainbow promise—a shining and a light to delight;
As the ground begins to tremble and crumble underneath her tiny feet,
She takes flight on her splendid little wings—quite magnificent to behold
Through the colors of mist and the veil of magic she sees a bright sparkling shine,
And then all becomes clear—she sees gold, and even more gold on the horizon
Radiantly gleaming in front of her very eyes and charming her senses entire.
Then a most curious little green man with curved ears pointing heavenwards
And possessing remarkably strange and yet soft mesmerizing green eyes,
Presents himself both kindly and boldly to the little fairy princess in person;
He jumps right in the pot alongside her dancing a jig to his heart's content,
And the princess shines all colors of love and warmth over him under the mist
Of a most dazzling and enchanting dream to behold, know, and cherish.
With this the little green man reveals his true nature to his new found princess,
And with a most proud alacrity bearing a quaint princely nature, he declares:
“Me Darlin’ little princess so near and so dear to Me own little heart,”
“You must know I’m your Leprechaun always obedient from this very start,”
“At this moment most precious Me knows you’ve captured Me little heart,”
“And with this you’ve captured too Me overflown’ Pot of Gold now in part,”
“With Me undying love and devotion to you always carried in Me little heart.”
With this the Leprechaun and his little fairy princess danced a mystical old
Irish jig together while singin’ and laughin’ both so gently and contentedly;
All the while his soft green eyes and her sensual eyes azure locked in a
Most romantic gaze and affection when they began kissing one another,
And brushing inside and both sharing heartfelt fluttering emotions and a
Swelling with a deep beauty and a most passionate love in Heaven born.
With the genuine passion-felt affection and the romantic kisses exchanged,
The Leprechaun and his little fairy princess began to transform themselves
Right before each other’s very eyes, and Behold!!—in a quick moment, the
Leprechaun became a most handsome and sweet-loving young prince, and
His little fairy princess, in a flash of blinding light, lost her wings and changed
Into a most radiant and quite beautiful young princess with long-flowing
Beautiful black hair, and a very lovely smile as resplendent and sweet as any
Angel in Heaven above.
Now the handsome young prince and his beautiful young princess were an
Elegant and most wonderful couple to behold and cherish—kind, smiling, and
Deeply in love.
The young prince with his Irish blessings began sparklin’ and sprinklin’ star dust
All over his young princess and they both lived happily ever after with pronounced
Passion and love, emotion and devotion, kindness and charity, vision and purpose,
Forever to their end on Earth and later by the Lord God himself in Heaven.
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem (October 29, 2014)
Long poem by
arthur vaso | Details |
Ah the cake before the icing!!!!!!
Aimee Semple McPherson (October 9, 1890 – September 27, 1944), also known as Sister Aimee, was a Canadian born in Salford, Ontario. She was a Los Angeles–based evangelist and media celebrity in the 1920s and 1930s.She founded the Foursquare Church. McPherson has been noted as a pioneer in the use of modern media, especially radio, and was the second woman to be granted a broadcast license. She used radio to draw on the growing appeal of popular entertainment in North America and incorporated other forms into her weekly sermons at Angelus Temple.
In her time she was the most publicized Christian evangelist, surpassing Billy Sunday and her other predecessors. She conducted public faith-healing demonstrations before large crowds, allegedly healing tens of thousands of people. News coverage sensationalized misfortunes with family and church members; particularly inflaming accusations she had fabricated her reported kidnapping, turning it into a national spectacle. McPherson's preaching style, extensive charity work and ecumenical contributions were a major influence in revitalization of American Evangelical Christianity in the 20th century.
Verse 1 Salford is the town in which she was born
Verse 2 As a teenager she would question visiting preachers about the existence of God
Verse 3 As a child she would often play “salvation army”
Verse 4 She was known to understand men speaking in tongues even they did not know
She married a man Semple, thus the play on words, simple, Semple, they traveled the world preaching, where he does of malaria in Hong Kong
Verse 5 Her husband Semple left her with child, whom she named “Star”
Verse 6 She remarried and tried to be a good wife, however her calling was to preach, during this time she was known to be obsessive about cleaning, however her children say that she was also a very loving mother, as a housewife as well as when she went back to preaching.
Verse 7 In Los Angles she formed the the “Temple of Angelus”
Verse 8 Is about her disappearance from Venice Beach in California, and re emerging in a town in Mexico
Verse 9 The ultimate Kiss was a famous song by a Mexican group in the 1960’s from the town where she re-appeared “ Aqua Prietas” Brown Water in English. Echos, refers to Echo Park a place in Los Angles where she formed her church.
Verse 10 sensuous sermonizer is a quote by Cole Porter describing Aimee. She was known for feeding the poor during the depression, something the government was failing to do, as well s healing the sick, and although not always successful, there are some famous accounts of her success. She was known for using theater, music and radio to bring the world of god to the people, thus bring ancient ways to modern times, and many an Evangelist would copy her style, both the sincere and the false.
Verse 11 She was a known insomniac who could not sleep, and died of an over dose of sedatives. “a splendid score” refers to her ability to put on Broadway type shows to deliver her message, people would line up for blocks to see her productions.