Best Cora Poems
Dear Ava Rose and Cora
I’m so sorry my babies for making you cry.
Mommy didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.
Sometimes important tasks are left undone.
But I will be up here watching you with God’s loving son.
I will be in your hearts as you continue to grow.
Mommy loves you so much, and this you will always know.
Your family and friends will always be there.
They will fill in for Mommy when you need extra care.
Work hard at school and take care of each other.
You are your sister’s keeper, so love one another.
Both of you are special, there is nothing you can’t do.
Hold onto each other, I will always love you.
Love, Mommy
In Your Neighborhood
Local
Opal
Also in Your Neighborhood
Near a
Vera
Combat Lady
Sniper
Piper
Girly Girl
Frilly
Tillie
The Boxing Girl
Bobbin’
Robyn
Fashion Setter
Trendy
Wendy
Miss Competitive
Trophy
Sophie
Guys will Do Anything . . .
For a
Cora
For a
Dora
For a
Nora
Ben and Cora Green had seven children, like calendar pages turning;
Each one born on a different weekday, like mango sun, forever burning.
Zoe was pretty, with big eyes and dimples, while Leah loved dancing,
Yet, Bill was sort of a pessimist; like when mystic trouble is glancing.
Edward had a zeal for jogging, while Ruth ran many errands for free.
James always had a part time job. Pete was all sunshine, very happy.
Fun barbecues attracted friends, to lawns of families and red flowers;
When fluff, sleepy clouds wandered, during deep green, golden hours.
Hues of fall leaves were fawning, when flying on crisp air, like family;
Visiting the days of fuming flora, of cool chrysanthemums, so pretty!
The Greens lived in a house of calendars, as mystic prisms flash color;
The life sundered into separate hues, like in gardens of blissful wonder.
Saffron sun shone on their street, as they smiled at people they'd meet;
When silver willows whispered surrender, to warm breezes, of no retreat.
Neighbors were a part of noon memoirs. Shadows were national heroes,
In ruddy times of heat and desperation! In the heyday of burgundy rose.
'Lady Leigh' irises sizzled in red, with the fruity beauty of 'pineapple lily,'
While insects snacked on 'goldfish' plants, beneath pink clouds, so frilly!
'Starfish' flowers had big highs and lows, in strawberry days of summer;
While 'Peruvian apple' cacti bloomed, on a single, dark night of slumber.
The Green children conveyed nostalgia for joyful childhood, into old age;
As colorful fall remembers summer just left, so flower strewn and sage!
Zoe grew up to be a model, while Leah became a famous ballet dancer.
Bill became a happier TV weatherman, for after rain, sun is the answer!
Edward later ran in marathons, and Ruth founded a charity organization.
James worked hard for conservation, as Pete, a clown, toured the nation.
Like the smiles that charm each seven day week, as a teal world waltzes;
Or like satiny peace of pearl moon charm, when the purple world pauses!
'Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.'
This was my favourite friend
when I was growing up
a black Labrador dog
especially at first being a pup
But like all of us
dogs will always want to walk
always needing exercise to grow
but sometimes their bark is their talk
My lab has such a lovely coat
love to run my fingers through her hair
so dark but so awfully smooth
brings a feeling much too rare
You'll be wondering about my friend
if this pal has a name
well yes it's called Cora
call it and it always came
This friend died many years ago
I still miss her so very much
indeed renowned as man's best friend
I can still remember her familiar touch
poetgord@2013
I hear it snowed at home today
while I basked in the sun.
I don't care, I cannot wait
to hold my little ones.
Edna my precious first born
with your hair of flaming red.
I miss talking things through.
The wise things you've said.
Cora with that bear hug
I love walking into.
Tight embrace, I'm encased
in the love flowing from you.
Rena my baby now and always.
Turning twenty soon.
The joy you've given, I'm smitten.
Love you to the moon.
And back!
09/04/2016
Mr. William Finch had a lot to remember.
What was he doing in the attic in late November?
Wondering about his antics was his wife Cora.
William was covered with the scent of sarsaparilla.
He journeyed to a world they left forty years ago.
It was a more cheerful life than the one they had come to know.
All William had to do was let his imagination flow.
Just think about the past, and off he would go.
“That is all nonsense” is what Cora had to say.
Well, Cora could find no trace of her husband today.
Based on the short story “A Scent of Sarsaparilla” by the late Ray Bradbury
...a tribute to British novelist and illustrator
Mervyn Peake, and his trilogy, 'Gormenghast'
Behold his birth, a brand new Earl,
the Guardian of the Halls of Groan!
yet 'til he reach the age of seven
his father Sepulchrave will own
the ritual and the royal robes
of office o'er this shadowed realm,
'til Titus, as is writ in stone,
shall supersede him at the helm.
Yet all the while another boy
has set his sights on majesty,
Steerpike, lowly kitchen hand, who's
bound to foil this sovereignty.
A narrow-shouldered, evil lad
with schemes to murder and to burn,
to render chaos, anarchy
and withal the throne to earn.
The Library engulfed in flames,
Lord Sepulchrave's most favour'd spot,
his sisters Cora, Clarice too,
locked in their rooms and left to rot.
Barquentine, who minds the Books
'til Titus is to come of age,
succumbs to death at Steerpike's hand,
fated to drown, the trusty sage.
The faithful old retainer, Flay
is banish'd by the this lad's design,
and Swelter, Master Chef, is slain
no more to cook, no more to dine.
The Lady Fuschia, Titus' kin,
is fooled by Steerpike's boyish charm,
confused, beguil'd by lover's eyes,
she cannot keep herself from harm.
It falls to Titus to engage
this devil with a devil's rage.
In mortal combat he doth strive
'til he's the one who's left alive.
Though Master of the Sacred Halls,
he's overcome with grief and woe;
alone and with a saddened heart
he quits his home, it's time to go.
Cora was my favourite pet
a black labrador/Doberman dog
we loved to walk in the fields
in all weathers except when fog
We lived out in the countryside
enjoying the nature all around
Cora was my constant companion
travel miles aplenty together abound
Cora had amazing sound hearing
could hear parents car a mile away
good watchdog barked real loud
obedient to your word quick to stay
In my mid 20s Cora passed away
during it's latter years would take fits
so vet advised mercifully to put it down
thinking back now my heart still hits
The memories of Cora still linger on
happiness and contentment it did bring
my black lab had such smooth coat
such great thoughts of it so to cling
Cora and Captain Hook arrive in Once Upon a Time.
They’re not looking for happily ever afters, but
to rock the boat. One is evil; the other’s out for revenge.
She’s an old bat and he is charming, but
not in a Prince Charming kind of way. He’ll lean in
and provoke a heart beat - is he jesting or real,
you never know. You have to wait to find out, but
meanwhile he steals the heart of the savior,
Emma Swan, but she’s mostly onto him. Charming
is her father and Snow White, her mother, so
she knows what true love is and is
not. Hook’s a dashing pirate, not
the look of Dustin Hoffman. So Hook appeals
to Emma’s adventurous, not virtuous side, and
she gets burned by his kiss - *a dream
is a wish your heart makes.*
1/14/2023
*Disney song, Songwriters:
Mack David / Jerry Livingston / Al Hoffman / Oliver Wallace
There is a certain comfort that comes to me
every spring, from perennials I planted years ago, that still pop up, beneath dark soil.
I often wonder how in the world they survived the harshness of winter and his unforgiving and relentless frozen lashings, year after year.
It makes me think about my own survival as a young girl. Buried beneath my tender exterior, I also found a way to comfort and warm myself beneath the unforgiving cold and darkness.
I was just a child bride when the harshness of winters
lashed into me, frozen punishments that were warrantless, relentless and unforgiving. But, like a perennial I always found the strength to survive and bloom bigger and stronger every spring.
Maybe that is why today, my garden is full of hostas, lavender, cora bells and black eyed susans. Yes, there is a certain wanting that comes to me every year, beneath dark clouds of winter.
Having lived in Scottish Countryside
during my early formative childhood
a river flowed behind house
many moments there I stood
On a sunny summers day
there watched time go by
so peaceful tranquil setting
makes one want everlasting high
This is the river Irvine
running round it's every bend
taking it's streaming tide along
this stream never to end
Many a walk I've took
with Cora my friendly dog
along this on spring night
taking rest on wooden log
These are such precious memories
one's that need kept in mind
so to be thankful always
for these moments always shined
(This River Irvine runs from Lanarkshire/Ayshire border in south west Scotland ending at the town of Irvine in North Ayrshire.)
Behold his birth, a brand new Earl,
the Guardian of the Halls of Groan,
yet 'til he reach the age of seven
his father Sepulchrave will own
the ritual and the royal robes
of office o'er this shadowed realm,
'til Titus, as is writ in stone,
shall supersede him at the helm.
Yet all the while another boy
has set his sights on majesty,
Steerpike, lowly kitchen hand,
who's out to foil this sovereignty.
A narrow-shouldered, evil lad
with schemes to murder and to burn,
to render chaos, anarchy
and withal the throne to earn.
The library engulfed in flames,
Lord Sepulchrave's most favour'd spot,
his sisters Cora, Clarice too,
locked in their rooms and left to rot.
Barquentine, who minds the Books
'til Titus is to come of age,
succumbs to death at Steerpike's hand,
fated to drown, the trusty sage.
The faithful old retainer, Flay,
is banish'd by this lad's design,
and Swelter, Master Chef, is slain,
no longer will he cook or dine.
The Lady Fuschia, Titus' sister,
fooled by Steerpike's boyish charm,
confused, beguil'd by serpent's eyes,
she could not keep herself from harm.
It fell to Titus to engage
this devil with a devil's rage;
in mortal combat he did strive,
one of few men left alive.
Though Master of the Sacred Halls,
he's overcome with woe and grief;
alone and with a saddened heart
he quits his home, it's time to leave.
The morning sun’s oppressive; a nasty b*tch in heat on Rizal Avenue,
Where vendors hawk their cigarettes, baloot, and dog meat barbecue.
The jeepneys buzz the intersection like a hornet’s nest,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Olongapo is waking. Magsaysay Drive gives up its dreams.
It’s six AM in Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.
A sailor slouches back to base, hung over and depressed,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
His head is stuffed with sawdust. His mouth’s as dry as peanut shells.
Last night he guzzled mojo on top of all those San Miguels.
At midnight he responded to the curfew’s harsh request,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since he’s been stateside, a year since he’s been home.
Just another duty station, and another port to roam.
When he hears a stand-up comic, he reacts indifferently;
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
He’d picked a girl named Cora, and booked an air-conditioned room.
He’d paid her fifty pesos to revel in her raw perfume.
He spoke a few Tagalog words, but she was not impressed,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
He held her like he knew her; embraced her warm skin tenderly.
His dreams were of Missouri; his nightmares, of the open sea.
He’d found a lonely refuge with his hand upon her breast,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
A new day brings its promise of beauty and of poverty;
Of cockfights in the province, and monkeys in the mango tree,
But Subic is a working port, and work must be addressed.
Still, it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since she divorced him; a year since she’s been gone,
Just another disappointment, and another West Pac dawn.
If he laughs, it’s nothing funny; it’s the sound of irony.
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
And that chip upon his shoulder’s like that ancient, fabled boulder;
He’s a victim of his own mythology.
Mary Lou Sims was young and enterprising, like stars routing dark;
Or mauve dawn on the verge of discovery, awaiting time's remarks.
Mary Lou's best friend was Cora Mann, ever since sweet childhood;
When they'd sat in zesty school together, in the town of 'Wildwood.'
They dreamed of opening an antique shop, like an old rose garden;
Awash in butterscotch sun's long memory, scents roaming, wanton.
Other friends visited Mary Lou frequently, like frilly clouds visit sun;
Avid for frothy, plum memories, like formal moon, beyond the fallen.
Family favored Mary Lou with visits, on flowering Fridays of her life;
As raspberry filled a backdrop of days, and plumed flocks were rife.
She lived in the house of tasks and haste, like pink stars, ever shining;
Or butterflies laboring in flowers, near the place of wisteria, climbing.
Striped scarlet seized colorful dawn, on a street of transient starlings;
Where sassy Mary Lou resided, when ravens spread their dark wings..
And neon hues lit noisy nightfall, when nomad neighbors came calling;
In now moments of now and then, when time notably, stops crawling.
'Elephant foot' plants shook earth, while swan flowers glided, moonlit.
Then 'mermaid plants' dove at dusk, as weeping begonias cried a bit.
'Sorceress blue rose' bewitched all, as jade spiral cacti dizzily twirled;
And 'curly locks orchid,' combed her tresses, under starlight, pearled.
Mary Lou and Cora, were closer to their dream. A loan was approved;
And Mary Lou wrote a note to friend, Cora, like colors of joy, suffused.
Mary Lou gathered other letters to be mailed, and also the one to Cora,
With joyful news of the rest of their lives, like mulberry skies of aurora.
She toted and mailed the letters, using a basket, of yellow and green;
Yet, with no word from Cora, worried she was having doubts. Unseen!
But, elation returned when a boy rang her bell, with the letter she'd lost,
For, some acts of kindness are so great, that you could not place a cost!
'A-tisket a-tasket
A green and yellow basket
I wrote a letter to my friend
And on the way I dropped it,
I dropped it, I dropped it,
And on the way I dropped it.
A little boy he picked it up
And put it in his pocket.'
...a tribute to Mervyn Peake and his trilogy
Behold his birth, a brand new Earl,
the Guardian of the Halls of Groan,
yet 'til he reach the age of seven
his father Sepulchrave will own
the ritual and the royal robes
of office o'er this shadowed realm,
'til Titus, as is writ in stone,
shall supersede him at the helm.
Yet all the while another boy
has set his sights on majesty,
Steerpike, lowly kitchen hand,
who's out to foil this sovereignty.
A narrow-shouldered, evil lad
with schemes to murder and to burn,
to render chaos, anarchy
and withal the throne to earn.
The library engulfed in flames,
Lord Sepulchrave's most favour'd spot,
his sisters Cora, Clarice too,
locked in their rooms and left to rot.
Barquentine, who minds the Books
'til Titus is to come of age,
succumbs to death at Steerpike's hand,
fated to drown, the trusty sage.
The faithful old retainer, Flay,
is banish'd by the this lad's design,
and Swelter, Master Chef, is slain,
no longer will he cook or dine.
The Lady Fuschia, Titus' sister,
fooled by Steerpike's boyish charm,
confused, beguil'd by serpent's eyes,
she could not keep herself from harm.
It fell to Titus to engage
this devil with a devil's rage;
in mortal combat he did strive,
one of few men left alive.
Though Master of the Sacred Halls,
he's overcome with grief and woe;
alone and with a saddened heart
he quits his home, it's time to go.