Best Charlotte Poems
She is born not of British Royalty
but that of Movie Star, Grace Kelly
Gucci Equestrian rider and her
friends Athena Onassis, Jennifer Gates
Charlotte, far prettier than her grandmother
She came back like she said she would.
Great grandma was not a typical ghost
She was a kindred spirit guiding for good
Just when we needed her the most
She saved a life by invading a dream
Until uncle was woke and went to search
How she did it from beyond a mystery
Like a bible story from church
She insisted that he get the baby
That she was very ill and could die
Even though he thought it crazy
He took action from his bedside
Across town baby was found
A deaf mute she was you see
Also brown so hospital around
Took her straight to surgery
The infant child's appendix burst
And her sleeping family didn’t know
What pain the babe must have hurt
That grandma’s ghost came and told.
Now this story is true that I tell you
But there is no fear on my face
For this ghost was grandma so true
Full of love joy and grace a ghost with lace.
*This really happened in my family in Charlotte, NC and the babe who was saved has the scar from surgery till this day. The then colored hospital site was Good Samaritan Hospital. Now it is the site for the Carolina Panther Football Stadium. Great grannie’s name is Mary McGee and she was seen by another aunt as a bright light playing peek a boo as that aunt was then a tot. McGee had always told her kids she would visit one day beyond her grave. I am Mary McGee's great granddaughter.
10/16/2021 WRITTEN FOR GHOST LACE CONTEST
SPONSOR Chantelle Ann Cook
Me: Say Charlotte, is your story true?
C: It’s fictional, now are we through?
Me: So are you rich from telling yarns?
C: I’ve got nice threads, but live in barns.
Me: Are you a speedster in disguise?
C: I took a spin; I won a prize.
Me: So what’s your sport now, with your size?
C: Baseball, I guess, ‘cuz I catch flies.
Me: Do you take trips by ground or air?
C: I went by truck, seemed pretty fair.
Me: I hear your love of school is big?
C: I learned to spell and saved a pig!
Me: I hear you were a diplomat?
C: I once coerced a nasty rat.
Me: At this point, what’s your great concern?
C: I’m losing it; I talk to ferns.
Me: So is your life now on the skids?
C: You ever kept a thousand kids?
Me: Surely your life’s not been a dud?
C: You’ve clearly never sucked fly’s blood.
Me: So you’re concened with mental health?
C: I often try to hang myself.
Me: What helps most with life's flow and ebb?
C: I sit a lot and surf the web.
—————
(Inspired by Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White)
FIRST PLACE WINNER
for ‘a conversation with a fictional character’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
Submitted 2/4/22
Ode to Miss Charlotte
I read about some verbal wars
That brew among some poets.
It’s fought between the ‘know-it-alls’
And those who just don’t know it.
I came upon your essay
On this sacred hallowed site
And after reading what you said
I am convinced you’re right.
Man, in his poetry must apply
Some elementary rules
Lest those who seek our legacy
Will think we all were fools.
Who makes the rules by which we write
May always tease our minds
But poets’ hearts will always be
The source of all we leave behind.
Haikus are a special breed
But we’ve known all along
That Japanese write differently
Yet sing their haunting songs.
So, let life stand and judge me
As I travel the poets’ road
While I’ve not only butchered haikus,
I have devastated odes.
Author’s note: Listed below are some of my posts that will clarify some confusion.. Jake
On Raisin’ Haikus, Haiku Hell, Haiku Shoppe, Haiku Town Dog, Haikuville, Haiku Hash, Haiku Omelet (1 and 2), Haiku Hound
Written by: John Posey 10/05/13
Inspired by: Haiku Fanatics, a poem by Charlotte Puddifoot
Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
You can still see the stars from your streets
A city so charming
And filled with delight
This southerner sure can compete
Unlike other cities
With tall buildings and more
You still have the grace of a gal
Who stands center and strong
To a heart filled with song
Who cares if you’re a femme fatale
For the glory is yours
Each day you do rise
To the sounds of the cafes all bustling
And tighten your boot straps
For Nascar, perhaps
Where Jeff Gordon will surely be hustling
Yes, the Speedway is here
With its cars and bright lights
And legends are made on the tracks
But even momentum
Some beer and adventure
Won’t stop you from feeling relaxed
Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
But soon it will be football season
And the Panthers will play
The foe they will slay
Sweet Caroline plays for a reason
Your spell is cast nicely
On those who pass through
For your wonder will captivate
Just shy of the Mountains
Or East to the sea
Our Charlotte is Queen of the State
The Blue Ridge is glory
The landscape sincere
The small towns are doing quite well
The farms and small places
With warm familiar faces
The stories those mountains will tell
But if you drive East
Of this sweet Charlotte town
You will find country charm by the sea
Where sweet tea is custom
And corn bread is bakin’
And Carolina love sets you free
Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
You can still see the stars from your streets
A city so charming
And filled with delight
This southerner sure can compete
By Mary Susan Vaughn
Said contrary and crabby Miss Muffet
“Hey eight-legs! Kiss my bare Tuffet!”
From above and beyond, Charlotte dropped a fine line
And bit the old bag where the sun doesn’t shine…
For Andrea’s clerihew contest
In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,
She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,
She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,
The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,
No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,
The hapless cripple, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,
The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?
In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,
She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,
She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,
The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,
No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,
The hapless cripple, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,
The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?
When she saw the economy brought
naught but poverty; said Ms Charlotte,
"Let us revitalize;
I can still improvise
a harlot for each empty car lot."
There was a girl by name of Charlotte
Whom some thought of as a harlot
But she was petite
And so very sweet
She never got the Letter of Scarlet
In the garbage lilies may bloom
Yet in its odor will always loom
Faint traces of its abused past
Wounds may fade but traces last
Had heaven pity on this fool
And struck her down dead where she lay
That she did not see another day
Mourned in loss and wasted away
If I tore out these eyes of mine
And blinded to the sight divine
That caught my eyes, I will not sin
By yearning love not mine to keep
When I first tasted love’s venom
How enflamed passions burnt anew
Love pulsed through my soul, a fiery hue
Yet overcomes now solemn Fate,
I am innocent no more.
I will ne’er be what I was before
I depart now, wretched heart
From the remainders of my waste
In hopes that in my death regain
What love I sought and sought in vain
Your lady fair sure owns your heart
Yet your remorse mine for evermore
In the shadows I will meet thee
In your darkest hours to greet thee
Midst deadly silence, fancies free me
Whisper, but my name, you’ll see me…
I will always right remember
days that went all through September.
Days so innocent and meek
swinging, chasing, hide-and-seek.
We were just children, eight or nine
no cares or worries, concerns for time,
just common roots and common ways
and homes alike in which were raised.
Country children, best of friends,
both had chores in which to tend.
Feed the cows or sweep the floor,
"No running inside!" or "Shut the door!"
Forever we are such close cousins,
always laughing, never fussin'
Our friendship may it never part,
occupied within our hearts.
For days move on, much older now,
Fine lines rest along our brow,
But time it cannot ever steal
The love we have, and always will.
Sweet cousin, oh so very kind.
Sweet, sweet cousin. Sweet cousin
of mine.
When I’m smoking outside bars
And the ash falls in the rain,
The alloy wheels of passing cars
Spin blurring down the lane;
It takes no sense of reason,
Still the gutters murmur tales,
Cartons greased of gastric treason
Make their happy trails.
When she smiles down from the screen,
From the plasma on the wall,
The dirty brickwork seems more clean
And light shines on us all;
I find it leaves me pining
For a dream that doesn’t fail,
Gorgeous eyes in dusk defining
Of the fairest nightingale.
Chazz your like my kitty
Phoebe
With your act of the witty
And your dance so crazy
I am enchanted with
Your "bubbly-Wubbly'"talk
Your the girl to be with
During A Dead Zone walk
Now my bro's making
My cat Rap
O god For saking:
"Sufyan,Cut the crap"
I will miss your
Blue baby Dips
And what's much more
Than You I'll miss?
I saw death
He was wearing a shirt
It said"Go take a bathe
And stop being Such a skirt"
But he aint the One
That stopped my negative ways
It was You!My Love=)
That cropped my Drama-Queens Days
I Go all insane around
You My Chick
Its my music sound
That'll make you go "Whicka,whick"
I still want Nad'z
Apple bottom Jeans
But you'l probably goes
"Saj,You've got an a*s!O jeez =,=' "
I Love you Blondie
For making My day
If it weren't for all your "WOO-Zie"
How will I be so glad today?
Gorgeous Charlotte was the goddess of illegal sex,
no restrictions applied to her naughty affections;
I met her last December at the Platinum Dolls...
she drove everybody crazy, even policeman Alex!
Here's the question they asked me frequently,
" Why do young girls prefer mature gentlemen? "
Is that because they are generous, not stingy? "
I noticed one of them brought in his oldest son!
Charlotte was a run-away and hung out with tattooed trolls,
on most nights she looked for customers in the darkest halls;
and without a plan for tomorrow, she trusted her distorted belief...
Fentanyl took her worthless life leaving her parents tons of grief!
What satisfied Charlotte completely was a large sum of money,
it certainly tamed the hungry beast dwelling inside her instantly;
and selling her body to the elite gave her access to deadly Fentanyl...
she binged on a bottle of Vodka daily, her outlook on life was cynical!
Ah, Charlotte...I could have saved you from a tragic death not anticipated,
so little sleep and Fentanyl took you to the shallow grave of the disgraced;
ah, Charlotte...you decided to live shamelessly: living it up and caring less,
and laying in a coffin colder than stone, I whisper, " Charlotte, feel my caress!"