the vampire ball will be held in Salem for a lark
a place where witches don’t like to be after dark
I went anyway, with my cousin Glud
For he loves gruesome stuff, gore and blood
I was dressed in the brightest purple I could find
with homemade black tulle ruffles, the stiffening kind
it was low cut, so my neck could be easily bled
In case a vampire needed to be diligently fed.
I am wearing a garter belt that is satin with a bow
Attached are old world hose, silky ones that flow
My high heeled shoes are painted red on the bottom
The vampire ball is held, of course, predictably in autumn
I am expecting a blood-letting, without benefit of leeches.
I have already had that happen at one of the beaches
a handsome vampire will dive down and take my hand
And lead me through his silver tongue to the promised land.
My cousin Glud has been told to get lost when he arrives.
I expect my handsome prince to come down in fancy dives
He will be wearing a tuxedo that matches my satin dress.
We will be such a great twosome, I’ll have to attend church and confess.
I would see him die, rather than saving him.
I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.
If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.
But I will have the thought that he will have a better afterlife—what many people don't know about.
But if I save that person, I don't know what major change I will cause in his stormful presence.
He is looking dead into my eyes, like his eyes are telling me that I am the last living person who hasn't seen him with disgust.
I saw him jump over the bridge.
At first, I thought a thief or a burglar took his wallet and pushed him off.
But now I am questioning what I should believe—
The fake thought that I have created, or the reality that he wants to die in.
And at that point, I would let him die, rather than saving him.
It’s 2022, we’re in the final battle for the soul of the world.
There is no Indo-European root for soul,
the Greek and Germanic roots mean quick-moving, fleeting, mercurial.
I’d add evanescent, impermanent, ephemeral
disappearing, diminishing, dwindling
tenuous, brief, short-lived.
Whatever forever—that’s where we’ll be after WWIII.
World, home, think, breathe: man,
woman the vital force in man, the Anthropocene, men together
violence, virtue, virility. Also, werewolf.
War: to confuse, mix up, make worse.
The old are paying close attention but my sons ignore the thunder,
plate tectonics, gamma ray bursters and mortars on the Eurasian front.
Peace out—the end, limit, boundary, never to have been. So long,
sayonara, shalom, salaam. Take into eternity my hail and farewell.
… do you love me, woman
it is cloudy in this street
as that sandalwood perfume
stretching between our arms
here everything of it is gone
with the floods and good
you are the only tree left behind
and love is the dewdrops
even the axe that cuts them
into pieces, remains a noble soul
falling slowly from the last leaf
to the bare ground of mire
somewhere in the mist behind the bridge
a brain is smouldering with the request
to return this soul
to its former position
and retains its fragrance
in the trap, unaccompanied
thinking about a lover is sweeter than kissing
because love is not feeling
and I cherish that moment in itself
when I am alone but through a subsequent passage
that’s why I illustrate
your perfume filling the dig we create
woman, do you still love me
I’m one of the connexions, though really why
it should be, after all, is none so apparent
your body is a cloth I wear
in this cold weather I’m
struggling with my broken left leg…
Blooms that I see today fade the next day.
Green leaves turn yellow. They dwindle and fall.
Fruits that are ripe fruitlessly find decay.
Nature stands alert to an unknown call.
The flora and fauna feel paranoid.
Curiously, creatures here cogitate.
By expirations, nature is annoyed.
Every being confronts the games of fate.
I search for the sense of my existence.
What's the purpose of my life here on earth?
Against aches, I've my innate resistance.
Will there be, after this life, a rebirth?
Where, when all is said and done, will I go?
Like dried leaves, with the wind, will my soul flow?
If I ask you once to shower thyself
Would you choose to be my heart or soul of yourself?
If I permit you my innocence to manifest oneself
Would you decorate it with the flowers or pant with itself?
If you are blessed to mold your figure
Would you choose to be my thought or muse of yourself?
If I edict your radiation to the garden of life
Will you breathe like a blushing rose or the petals of your own self?
If I insist on the wholeness of your being
Would you choose to be a dove or your own love ?
If you are ever visible for once
Will you be after the world or the world itself?
Ps: PalwashaSharif
Is this really what it seems?
Has by some miracle our past found a home in my dreams?
Can it be after all this time together we are again only in this lifetime.
Across centuries I held in my heart your promise to me,
How you assured me we’d be together that the spirits said it was meant
For us to be.
We were chosen to spend many lifetimes together and our love would have
No end.
You take my hand and together again we stand.
Together we will follow this new path that has been planned for you and me.
Knowing that how ever this length of time we are given we will make it
An eternity
aint our anniversary on the 29th.
you best get me something this year.
!
fat tuesday and Valintines Day.
Three gift's mista!
I need sumthang to brag to them
unmarried broads about
so they can envy me!
The two pretty gals think they cute
but when I get to the office with these words
them pretty thangs
will frown and envy me!
just like I envy them
when they talk about
the adventures of
Brave tricks. They the worst,
and them pretty boys be after them
wild azz chix's. This world
is on it's head.
Guess it's alway been that way!
Don't buy me no tuba this year
get something senual.
I feel like Loving.
Make them punks who rejected me
curse you out!
Do you remember the way Christmas was,
when we gathered with our family and friends.
Cutting down a tree from out in the woods,
and hot chocolate never coming to an end.
When a string of lights came in three colors,
of those giant bulbs in blue, red, and white.
All the decorations would not go up,
until sometime after Thanksgiving night.
But each year it comes earlier it seems,
while all the pressure mounts higher than high.
As we try to fulfill our children’s dreams,
we watch our credit card bills reach the sky.
Used to be after Thanksgiving we’d start,
now it’s Halloween when we begin to buy.
Yet still we don’t have enough time to shop,
next year, will it be the Fourth of July.
Help me Mum I'm stuck up this tree,
I thought it was Bamboo I just couldn't see,
It's getting quite windy, so I gripping much tighter,
And I don't want to worry you but my grips getting slighter,
Come and get me Mum and I'll promise I will be a good little Panda,
Well I will be after I've eaten my tea.
MY LATE NIGHT CONFESSION
Nocturnal calls for my lifetime detention.
So...here is my true confession.
Note: it's rather literal than figurative,
even as I now become a fugitive,
scarred from the sight of known men.
Let it be known that I killed two women;
My neighbour, and my best friend.
I hasten their journey and decide their end.
The police should be after me after this.
Forgive me Lord for I've lost my peace.
Good luck if justice finds me before mercy does.
April fool to everyone I've tinkered with their pulse.
#Aprilfool #Dontbeafool #Aprilisfull #fullofblessing???? #mylatenightconfession #vickmanuelpoetry #vmp #poetking????
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 1st April 2023.
The rat was astounded, he had expected the stork today.
But his mail was delivered at two by a sweet blue jay.
“No other delivery birds in sight?” Mr. Rat asked, expectantly.
“Maybe in the afternoon, but it would be after three,”
*** Scat, Cat! ***
No! Cat, don’t paw
That yarn ball
I use to crochet. Go!
Scat, cat! You won’t like so
much my scolding you more at all.
Stop! Scat! Don’t sit
on the stove
To warm your legs or I’ll
Find hairs in the eggs and scream in a fit.
‘Scat! Cat, just don’t think of it!’
Here, cat, swat at this yellow feather
I’m swaying below to tickle your nose.
No! Stay down! You’ll scratch
the soft sofa’s leather!
It’s not my hand’s waving that you’re
meant to be after!
Scat! I’m trying to sleep
And you will NOT squeeze me
Off MY pillow! Scat! Find your own!
Leave me here in dreamland alone!
Just scat! What’s that, cat?
You want to hear a story before going?
Okay, then, here’s an old-told cat tale
Shared outside along on the fences of your roaming:
“Meeeee-owl, meeee-ewe meeee-Yowl! echoing
Out over all the lawns in a feral greeting, Hi and hail!”
Thus, cat, so it goes and enough is told, enough…
Scat!
——————————————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022
Thanks be to God…
***a poem to illustrate one of my
“Living with Cats” drawings.
I have a story to tell
How they lived well in the dark age
How freely people studied as a sage
That school wasn't a hell
There was a time
A time when the cheers are true
When everyone is duly sublime
With care far to reach the blue
I have some views to question
All comes out of my suggestion
Why has it become early to school?
Can't there be evening classes so cool?
We all have changes to make
To design a story of our take
In the aqua aura process, grace sees to live
It savoir the best regards for love
Whence unreturnable love is a good night
And chaos greets it good morning; it alerts fright
I know people peopled evil
Plans so disaster don't make themselves
What if earth is empty ?
Can it be this seeming ambiguous in its duty.
Unbearable to some,
Hanging over their collars.
Taking onto challenges that come,
Makes many see it a better ground for scholars.
Growing wings,
Impeaching kings.
But it used to be after the death of one,
Comes another at his turn.
Moments of change
Picture itself strange
Syria, my lovely
Asma al-Assad, the wife of the president in Syria
her crime is to be married to Bashir al- Assad.
Since the president of Syria is sitting pretty, they had to find a softer target hence his wife.
Hadn´t she defended the Syrian army, said they were brave
they must be after ten years of war?
Remove her British citizenship, and we shiver by the thought.
There was an insurrection, and it was crushed.
It could have stopped there if the west had not meddled and
American bombs terrorized the civilian population.
This endless war many Syrians fled, who can blame them?
NATO, too, got involved, this dangerous beast full of generals looking for a fight.
any action, as long it has a pre-fix, “democracy.”
Assad´s chemical attack on the civilian population, surely a war crime.
A Canadian reporter said it didn´t happen, it staged by the white helmets, and no one was reported dead.
The lady reporter had upset the narrative, was sent home in disgrace and now covers handball matches in Seven Rivers.
I Denmark they are sending the Syrians back they say it is safe, they will be safe if the west will stop interfering
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