We met in 8th grade...We became great friends and
She Dared Me To Write my First Poem January 21, 1948...we were both 16...I on January 9th and she on January 20th same year.
"I bet you can't write the second verse to this poem!" she said to me in sassy manner...
She shoves a note book page to me with a scribble in her handwriting.
The title was "I Love To Dance!"
How absurd I thought, after all, I was a "singer!"
Without hesitation I took the paper and began to write..."I'd love to be held close in your arms where only I could share all your charms..."
I followed with a few more line of "poetic bliss", to my thinking, and her respone was..."How did you do that?"
I replied, hands on hips, "Well you wrote the first so I wrote the second!"
Eloise replied in evident astonishment, "Girl, mine was from a song sheet!"
We fell out laughing as any 16 year olds would do.
Of course, I've written thousands of poems since then and I often say, "It's like breathing to me!".
My friend Eloise will be laid to rest tomorrow, March 16, 2013...Such a sad song for me. We stayed in touch over the years and often still laughed about that dare for me to write a second verse...Who knew?!
My heart is filled with the sorrow of Eloise's demise
Yet I sing still
Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013
My love for you will never fade
You locked the door; my bed I’ve made
A face in the crowd reminds me: so you
The smile at tilt; the voice that lilt
The auburn hair; the skin so fair
My tender heart skips a beat: Hallelujah
Your eyes held mine, a magic spell
The pain I felt was a pleasing hell
No one could e'ver compare to you
You touched my face with your hand
The time all round came to a stand
From my soul I moaned: Hallelujah
Love’s tender touch now in the past
Around I’d see: Nothing e'er last
The things I did could’ve blew’ you
The cars I drove at such high speed
The fast life our friends would lead
We did not understand the Hallelujah
I tempted you with a bit of *snow
You didn’t at first want to know
If y' didn’t know how I’d show you
The surreal dream showed on your face
Everything moved at a faster pace
You shouted my name: Hallelujah!
You pulled away then from me
I was begging for you please to see
What this was doing to us; to you
All that mattered was the crave
Your life given over to a rave
You’ve shut me out in this Hallelujah
Your beauty faded before my eyes
The pain you caused with all your lies
I couldn’t bear to see what we did to you
Your dreams had fallen and paranoid
The reality, now null and void
A syringe, your only Hallelujah
On our true love I will always dine
To’ve turned back to another time
To happy times I loved and knew you
For bringing you into this ruin
Sorry! This was all my doin’
For me there will be no more Hallelujah.
NO MORE HALLELUJAH, © 17 January 2013 Suzette Crous
*snow: slang for cocaine
Inspired by the song HALLELUJAH copyright © Leonard Cohen
"You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well, really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah"
>b>Sung by ALEXANDRA BURKE (If this does not move you, check your pulse...): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSgsW9GLerA (X Factor winner) and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQpod0tKOfE (at the Royal Albert Hall, London)
For those who can play guitar: "Hallelujah chords best version":- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jN6qD45gtA
For Frank H's Contest: Hallelujah
17 January 2012
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2013
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015