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Art - Anne-Louis Girodet

Description of The Funeral of Atala (Funérailles d'Atala or Atala au tombeau), 1808, Louvre

I sauntered through the Louvre, observing art.
One painting struck me for its quality
of sadness; I could see a young man’s heart
was clearly broken by a tragedy.

The man is Indian; he’s in a cave
with an old man who holds the shoulders of
a woman they’ll be putting in her grave.
The Indian is mourning for his love.

He’s sitting, clinging to her draped knees, and
though for me this image was unclear,
a crucifix is clutched inside her hand.
Outside upon a hill, a cross is near.

The artist was recalling the sad scene
of Atala, a woman who was mired
in mental conflict. She was torn between
religious vows and the one man she loved.

Although the heroine wears virgin white,
some sensuality is shown with grace.
The day is waning, and the sun’s last light
caresses her fair bosom and her face.

The focus is this woman, but my eyes
go to the half-nude Indian whose skin
is brown, in contrast to the girl who lies
dead by her own hand for fear she would sin!

The novel that explored Atala’s woe
inspired more than one painter in the time
romanticism had begun to grow,
but Girodet’s work of art for me is prime!

Written May 9, 2017 for the Celebration of Art Contest of  Kim Rodrigues
Note: I can't find a French syllable counter, but English puts the artist's name Girodet at three syllables.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017

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Battle of the Sexes

battle of the sexes

Picture Oil painting worthwhile 
Leonardo DA Vinci, look out!
What is she really smiling about?

(((The popularity of the Mona Lisa increased in the mid 19th century 
because of the Symbolist movement. The painting was thought to 
encompass a sort of feminine mystique.)))

His award winning voice, rough like stones
Darth Vader, Mufasa, stuttering jubilee  
When I die can he be the one narrating my eulogy?

(((I love James, I'm a star wars freak... <--- yup that's me)))

Were very bad, bad men
Causing chaos throughout America & Afghanistan,
HATERS OF THE USA: they should be called the Arab ku klux klan

(((Occupation: Terrorist~ makes me wonder if they went to the same school.)))

The world worse killer
Commander of the oxymoron  Nazi  
Losing at his own game of Yahtzee 

(((The Most Hated Murderer of all time)))

Her diary worth more than any bank
Famous Jewish victims of the Holocaust
Her legacy teaches that hate is an exhaust 

(((Anne Frank's diary remains one of the most moving and widely read 
accounts of the Jewish experience during the Holocaust.))) 

Angel in an era so dark
an epic hundred year war
her visions is what she payed for.

(((Joan of Arc, also called the Maid of Orleans, a patron saint of France 
and a national heroine, led the resistance to the English invasion.))) 

Can really sing
Stand by me...
But, can he sting like a bee

(((BB KING~ could not help but wonder if he was a lover and a fighter.)))

Is no piano sonata,
Madonna wannabe, is she.
Watching her videos make me laugh till I pee.

(((Lady Gaga is Unique as can be!)))


for battle of the clerihew

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Mother's Bookmark's

My thoughts they roil like waters dark 
in the abyss of blackest night, 
with memories of mother’s bookmark,
of Longfellow read by lamp light.
She called, in the room around me,
the patter of other small feet.
Her gentle voice fetched angels	.
Oh, the rhymes, they astounded me 
like lullabies soft and so sweet.
All fearsome shadows, she’d dispel.

Maxine, my queen, read Tennyson
and the Charge of the Light Brigade.
A little girl dreamt of caissons
roll, and thunderous cannonade.
To be so brave, the small child mused,
mother her precious, heroine;
what would it take to stand so strong	
without father, and not confused.
What words could be the linchpin
to right mother’s tell-tale wrong.

Such sad inspiration, mother,
oh, how I wronged you by being born,
though I loved you above all others.
Some thoughts of you make me forlorn.
Bring back the tales of mother goose,
three small kittens and their mittens.
Return the vision of your smile
the happiness your warmth induced,
let your spirit comfort, lighten
night, if only for a little while.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013

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Sleeping beauty

Locked in her tower our heroine sleeps alone
This beautiful flower has been kidnapped from her throne
She stares at the moonlight then drifts off to sleep 
To dream of a brave knight scaling the castles keep.
Her flaxen hair frames her delicate ivory skin
Vivid dreams of her hero reveal her beauty within
Steadfast and strong and ready to fight to the death
To rescue this beauty he will forgo his last breath.
Her chivalrous knight enters the abductors domain
Soon she'll taste the sweetness of freedom again.
His shield raised high and broadsword drawn
With every step he takes, for her hope is reborn
Caught off guard with a blow he is swept of his feet
He fights blindly on until his quest is complete
To vanquish the captors is his goal and last wish
Sweep the princess off her feet with a tender kiss
He slashes the ropes that bind her to the bed 
Making passionate love for hours now they are happily wed

19th May 2014
Written By Jan Allison & Darren Watson
~submitted to Dave Wood's Imagination Contest~
Awarded 1st place - am so delighted to have won this with Darren he 
is my inspiration 

Copyright © JADAZZLE UNITED | Year Posted 2014

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Legendary Lady Leaders I salute you

I am like
embraced by serpents many
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
I am like
Eva Patrón
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Wilma Mankiller
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of 
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a 
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize, 
for courage, was
a must
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
toughened her
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
to electricity
handwriting over typewriter
and poetry
I am like
Indira Gandhi
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
between men and women
listening to beat poets
like Ginsberg
as a great Prime Minister of India 
you were heard
and understood
I am like
Rigoberta Menchú
drew the worlds attention to 
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
 the night
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
age nineteen
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
rare jewel
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010

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I did not know that one could feel death cold in summer sweat,
as images of you flash lightning fast, the wind remains still and vigils
past the midnight hour, no relief comes from the short rain shower.

But images are not enough when the cold of the night yearns for warmth;
for the bed never used to be this big, the sheets this chilly to one’s touch,
the hours never used to be parched lips waiting to be moistened by your kiss.

If only dealing with feelings was as simple as watching scenes from old movies
where in despair, the heroine can just crumple the letter to throw in the bin,
only to pick it up later and lovingly remove the creases, to be read again.

So as a patient farmer waits for the grains to grow from green stalks
and a mother who calmly expects to see the face of the child in her womb,
I will soothe the sorrow in my breast, till fate deigns for me too, to rest.

12 July 2015
Open Poetry Contest - 6th Place
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012

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Emotions Touch

Emotions that have touched this man’s soul and have given life to that which had none. Loving your divinely heavenly inspirational touch. It’s rejection is like an infection like Chiron whose wound never heals. Emotions that have touched this man’s soul You are my Lilith who tasks me all night and the days sun which radiates me whole. Loving your divinely heavenly inspirational touch You are my moon in the vaulted sky Illuminating my most darkest nights Emotions that have touched this man’s soul You are the Lioness to my Neo. The heroine in this virtual matrix Loving your divinely heavenly inspirational touch You have given this old heart a jump start with a loving heart that is Universal Emotions that have touched this man’s soul Loving your divinely heavenly inspirational touch

Copyright © Steven Henderson | Year Posted 2017

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___I'm glad you do___

I'm glad you feel me
I'm glad you free me
I'm glad you do help me
‘o sing again.
I'm glad you move it
I'm glad you roll it
I'm glad you do pop it
‘nd make me whole.

In the history, those days won’t soon be forgotten
‘till this time, your words still worth a fortune
They will go nowhere; they will be with me forever
Those nights we shared, they will grow in me as ever.

I'm glad you feel me
I'm glad you free me
I'm glad you do help me
‘o sing again.
I'm glad you move it
I'm glad you roll it
I'm glad you do pop it
‘nd make me whole.

As ever, you're the light I use to see
You're my savior, the one that set me free
You're an angel, that angel at the fore
You're a heroine, that heroine of the war.

I'm glad you feel me
I'm glad you free me
I'm glad you do help me
‘o sing again.
I'm glad you move it
I'm glad you roll it
I'm glad you do pop it
‘nd make me whole.

You set me free and still stay by me
You let me feel… the fresh of where I be
You succor to the battle you do not begin
You let me live… though you do not commit a sin.

I'm glad you feel me
I'm glad you free me
I'm glad you do help me
‘o sing again.
I'm glad you move it
I'm glad you roll it
I'm glad you do pop it
‘nd make me whole.

You're my light, the one I use to see
You're my savior, the one that set me free
You're an angel, that angel I met at the shore
You're that queen, my queen for sure.

I'm glad you feel me
I'm glad you free me
I'm glad you do help me
‘o sing again.
I'm glad you move it
I'm glad you roll it
I'm glad you do pop it
‘nd make me whole.

I'm glad about what you do
You make my heart brand new.
I'm proud of you
I'm glad you do...

Follow this link to see songs that inspired the poem:

Now entered into G.V's Contest.

Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013

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Gazing deep into my eyes, into the dark she offers flowers on threads upon my hands for coins to keep her warm through the night, wondering where else to go from here torn slippers walking along bare streets, past 1am with no exact home to go. I ask her to buy some food, some soup; the 6 year-old girl shakes an unkempt head counting thin bills, dreaming of school without reservation or taste of fear; and her face smiles at the comfort of confiding that a good teacher she raves to be, someday leaving me alone and discontent, my faith in life she dares as I cup the tiny buds sprawling on the ground like trickles of prayer, a hallowed whimper to the gods for one heroine who longs for calmer stars. . ……….. . *in praise of streetchildren who survive each poverty-stricken day to live their dreams by nette onclaud for David William’s Heroes and Heroines 3 june 12

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012

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Death Eternal

Smith and Wesson’s cool steel kisses my right temple.  I cock the hammer. The slow clicking of the cylinder’s turn is amplified through the barrel into my ear. Finger resting on the trigger; and I reminisce.   
Striking that young maiden and the bright red trickle from her cheek, giving my flesh the appearance of eternal youth.  How lovely it was to immerse in the warm blood of so many young virgins sacrificed for my vanity. And being left to die alone in my castle.  What a waste.
In my lust for recognition I relished in terrorizing the streets of London.  What a rush it was to baffle the authorities, putting my handy work on display; artistically arranging the bodies for my twisted desire.  They say it was around twenty women strangled and mutilated, if they only knew the real number.  But that passion weaned quickly.  In my urge for a grandeur macabre I overdosed on heroine in hopes being able top that in my next incarnation. 
As Feuer of an entire nation the delegation of wholesale slaughter didn't quite measure up to the ecstasy of someone else’s existence being extinguished through my own hands.  
The era of free love lent to an easy spree of killings in northern California.  In my need for some recognition, I teased the authorities with cryptic messages; to this day and my great disappointment they have not been able to decipher.  The most that came out of it was a marriage of Clint Eastwood and Hollywood in the name of Dirty Harry.
Hugging my finger to the trigger giving it a strong, swift pull I can’t help but wonder, how do I achieve a higher satisfaction than when I delivered the Kiss of Death, sacrificing the Son of God for just a few shillings?

"Everything Halloween Contest"

Copyright © lori hopkins | Year Posted 2013

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Dancing with Joan Jett

Dancing with Joan Jett
Dancing close with Joan Jett is so wild, it’s 1989 and we go head to head. I’m the teen kid by the juke box and she is my wet dream in black leather, one foot in front of me. Pure bloody ecstasy. Garage music blares out of the speakers and we spin around, my arm catching her waist. Closer we draw; a kiss. First of many. 
Joan and Nick. Who would have thought it? Rock n roll music heroine meets a Lancashire lad in an intimate spit and sawdust gig venue in a nameless town. It happened, was happening now. 25 July 1989. A day before I was eighteen. 
By chance I got her gig ticket, last minute rush. Left my crap job and mental northern town and took the train to see Her, Joan Jett. My teen rock goddess singing live. How many guys wanted a piece of her? And a few gals too. Black leather, boots and an awfully short skirt...
And that black hair. Joan looked like a Goth. Her music wasn’t as dark and was more accessible. Darkness would come later, lots of it. 
For now, I danced close with Joan Jett. My head in her hair, eyes shut. Holding her like there was no tomorrow. Another kiss and I was smitten. No one would ever believe me, if I told them: ‘Hey, I danced close with Joan Jett. And we kissed...’
Never mind what happened later... that’s our secret. Yes I still do love her, am in love... 
...with Joan Jett.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2014

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This lust is like being hooked on drugs

I disappointed God by living a life where I should have died
Many times often times I wanted to commit suicide
Because of the shame that wouldn't subside
Meeting people I didn't know
My affections I couldn't let go 
I could only imagine that it's like being on drugs
I Only really wanted was for somebody to show me love
Hooked on it like heroine
Loving that thing God hates and so does most of the world
Loving boys when it should have been girls
Sometimes Most of the world does what i did as well
But what do you do when your lust and your emotions
Are boiling over burning like coal
Or like a pot on the stove 
And when people throw verbal blows 
But don't you know that God will put a block on you
Cause He will keep them away and keep them at bay
I could have been destroyed and I should have been
Cause God will give you over to your sin 
Cause you don't know where I've been
Both emotionally and sexually 
My disruption was apart of my destiny

The way to your destiny is pain
Like child birth but dont sin against God keep God first
Lest you be worse yea I know it hurts
Don't let beauty of men and women devour you
Or overpower you 
love the inner you as well as the outer you

Copyright © Anton Brockenbrough | Year Posted 2010

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.                                 H
                                   / /
                                 / /
                          {HEROINE IS NO HERO}

Copyright © JADE EXIT | Year Posted 2009

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Womb Man

Woman, discarded remnant of Adam?
Fe-male, not to be given her own name;
her own identity, other than, a part?

Receptacles, empty bowls, hollow holes,
to be filled only with necessary roles?

Necessary for man.
Primero uno, cock of the walk,
strutting, scratching, with his third leg dangling.

Womb man, so they, the male God’s called her.

Earth Mother, heroine, holder of hearts and hands, 
no man, nomad, nurturer of new life;
from the warm, wet, darkness to the Light. 

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009

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This Is My Line

Family is a noun,
One that connects 
Me to you.
Bound by blood
And DNA.

I looked up
To you.

I thought you were
My heroine,
Come to save me
From the aches and pains
That rocked me
To the bone

Far more than what was known,

To sweep me away
From all my
Nightmares and fears
	Monsters and tears
That were all too real
To deal with in the 

Let alone the 

You were a monument
Of beauty and grace
Strength and compassion.

Everything I could ever 
Hope to be.

But then 
I started to see
Past the cracks
Of your porcelain face,
Behind your false grace, 
Deep down where
You truly lay.

And I realized
How little I knew 
Of the true you
Besides the bad habits
That you keep
When you refuse
To eat.

And when I hear you
Scream and weep,
    Gone is the strength 
    You used to keep, 
As you try to 
Convince yourself
That her love is true.

Because you love her too. 

And I realized
Love is a verb.
One I hadn’t seen you
Act upon in quite
Some time.

Show me,
Don’t tell me.

Because as you claim
That you love me
And you love her too
There comes a time
Where you have to draw 
A line between
The word and 
The action.

Because you don’t 
Know me either.

You know I will be 
There at your 
Beck and call
	Wreck and bawl,

But you refuse 
To hear a word
Or try to see into 
My mind
The way I try to see
Into yours.

It’s not revolution
I ask for.
It’s simply evolution.

As I hear your cries
For help
I’m suffocating softly,
Because I know 
It’s not help you seek.
It’s pity.

And it’s a pity,
Cause I’m out.

Now it’s time for
The kid in me to

You were once
My heroine.

Now I can see that 
You don’t even care 
Enough to be my

Copyright © Kara McLain | Year Posted 2013

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Black and White

Lights are low.  Reflections flicker on the wall
Mirror images of those from long ago.
Dead so many years, yet who are still alive...
Here, black and white, this dark room

Bergman and Grant.  I watch them as they struggle with emotion
She deceives him.  He believes betrayal...
How is it possible...that he cannot see that her love for him endures?
My small screen evokes such love, bitterness, sadness and pain...
But once again...our heroine will be redeemed, and the end.

Oh yes!  I know the outcome.  I've seen it many times before...
Even so..I must watch love conquers all....
Oh Mr. Grant!  You must see how she loves you!!
Why can you not see how her heart breaks??
Ahh.....finally, yes...he carries her in his arms down the stairs to safety..
And I am curled in my chair...breathless once again.

Bergman, Grant, Stewart, Hepburn, Bogart...the list goes on and on.
We have lost them one by one, ....yet...we never really did...
They have left their presence in black and white for us to relish, ...again and again...
To take us to war torn the Rhine, the ends of the earth...
Yet we've never had to leave our chair

Those beautiful faces that never age
Like black and white etchings, that can be brought to life..
Tonight brings a teardrop, or terror, or a love like no other...
Tomorrow, they will take me to another place...another time...
As they live on and on and black and white...

note....Just watched one of my favorites last night on TCM

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

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Until the Black Dove Flies

ivory skin with ebony eyes, 
         you feel my silky skin; 
just hypnotize, don’t patronize, 
            find my darkness hidden within.

feed my hunger with your sin, 
           quench my thirst with those lies; 
don’t rescind, I’ll be your heroine-
                                      until the black dove flies...  
                                      until the black dove flies. 

May 30, 2017

Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2017

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	Oh, My Love—  Oh, My Love
You seem to have come from Above
	You are my dear Angel
But you are now Such a Stranger
	Our Life here was So Short
Yet So Long we did really surely Court
	I was going to give you My Last Name
But now you would of put IT to due Shame
	I Still do love you with All my heart
Every and All of my heart Every Single Part
	Wish you would bring your Life back to me
And Together Forever we could now Forever be
	You found a New true Love that Stuck
It killed your Heart for me—  and no Luck
	Heroine—  who’d she save??  She’s not a heroin
She Killed us;  deep with- in!!!! 

Travis ""Ceijaeh" Klein

Copyright © Travis Klein | Year Posted 2017

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Queen Esther

(Esther 5: 2)

The King Held Out To Esther
The Golden Scepter
That Was In His Hand

She Was His Queen
The Woman Who Fulfilled His Dreams
One of The Most Beautiful In All His Lands

But It Was Persian Law For All
That Those The King Did Not Call
Would Be Struck Down Where They Stand!

Yet Brave & Beautiful Queen Esther
Whose Godly Faith Never Left Her
To Save Her People, Entered As Planned

Because There Was A Plot
Devised In Anger So Hot ...
By That Prideful, Wicked Prince Haman

To Kill All Esther's People
Haman Schemed So Evil
But The King Didn't Know Why It Began

... Or That Esther Was A Jew
In The Line of Hebrews
Who Worship The One GOD So Grand

But There Was No Hesitation
In Ahasuerus' Heart Designation
Towards This Woman Who Stood Royal & Serene

She Held Ahasuerus' Affection
and Did Not Suffer Rejection
As She Humbly Walked In, As His Queen

I Imagine All Got Quiet
Waiting For Swords To Riot
And See Esther's Head Roll Across The Floor

But At The Sight of Her Dignity
The Scepter Pointed Implicitly
To Grant Esther Whatever She Implored

And Oh, The Interplay
of Emotions That Day
Between This Woman & Her Loving Man

When The King Held Out To Esther
His Golden Scepter
... That Was In The Power of His Hand

* * * * * * * * * * * *

(Part 2)

Oh, And That Wicked Haman Was Hanged
And His Family Shared The Blame
But Esther's People Were Saved From Judah To Benjamin, To Dan

( Walk-On Hadassah - Walk-On ! )

                    Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/15/2013 
                    by:  MoonBee Canady

I have always loved the story of Queen Esther ... This is a love story that has it all - - a lovely-hearted, modest girl, (replacing a vain and arrogant queen) ... then getting royally pampered, massaged in expensive, perfumed oils, lots of clothes and jewels, winning a beauty pageant, finding true love, conflict and suspense and lastly the heroine saves the day (and oh, did I mention that she was an orphan?) ... 'Com' on Movie-Makers - we could enjoy a lot more of this ... MoonBee 

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

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Madeleine the Spy

Sonia Esmee Florence Butt   ( work in progress )

The year 2014 comes to a close
Another unsung hero passed on, from a time long ago
Poets free to express our thoughts
Due to the bravery of Sonia D'Artrois

The day was may 28, 1944
A parachute and Sonia fell from the sky
Cropte, France, behind enemy lines
Her code name Madeleine, terrifying times

Explosives, and weapons, she understood
Training the Maquis to fight, in Charnie the forest hood
A woman who earned the respect of all around
For she was the leader of the underground

Great distances on Bicycle she would ride
Courier and messenger delivering supplies
Right in front of  the Nazi eye
They never discovered this lady, Blanche the spy!

D'artois she met in  the war in France
Explosions of love, this great romance
After D-Day, more explosions too
Many a Nazi was felled in his shoes

This British heroine when victory was assured
Across the sea to Canada she went
Married her lover
Met in danger, in the resistance of France

Notes Sonia d'Artois passed away on Dec 21, 2014 at the age of 90, a British woman who at a very young age joined the SOE ( Special Operations Executive ) She was parachuted behind enemy lines in France nine days before D-Day to lead a group in the french resistance (The Maquis) There she met a Canadian an officer in the Canadian army Guy d'Artois. They fell in love and later settled back in Montreal Canada.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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An Introduction: an introduction

Considering how many times I set out to pen a small,
Master piece of art, a gem that might underwrite,
The utter liability of being just that stamp,
Or tramp, or whatever other denomination one might reliably take into use,
To put me in some camp,
By way of classifying the contingent being -me- 
Whose eagerness presently strives to present 
Himself as himself as truthfully as Truth writ large,
In terms, of course, both endearing, flattering and “brutally honest”,
(Which, parenthetically, is what my soon to be deceased ex-step-mother-in-law once Said,
Would be the way she would have to describe some of My more salient character flaws)
To you my reader, my chosen few, my undeniably very few chosen few,
As a being in the here and now,
As living flesh and burning spirit,
As a man of substance and substantial capacity 
To transmit radiant rays of thoughts,
That reside, quite Evidently, 
And in no doubt to some degree by Providence,
Within an interior space- MySpace- where nothing gets elbowed around-
Nor for that matter ever gets liked, commented upon, shared,
Or, even worse, put at risk of going viral-
For this is after all an authentic  space, 
Not a virtual race to create a face,
Nor a terrific place to leave a cyberlinear trace
But a true mental galaxy, 
An individual-wide web of self-associating neurons, 
Where all and everything is self-made and dependent upon Nothing more, 
Than a small light switch which I alone am the master of-

This then will indeed be far from the grandeur of the art I imagined.

Therefore my fair friend
I humbly ask,
With hand on heart,
Notwithstanding those fingers so inclined to be bent and crossed,
And hat in hand 
(That would be the other hand)
For your forgiveness and forbearance
And do solemnly promise to get this little ritual over with
As fast as a cat on a motor scooter- 
Which is an image I kind of like by the way
Because it reminds me of Sally,
The old toothless Steinbeckian woman who lived alone above the basement apartment,
A dank little hole I might add, 
Back in 1992,
Where my ex-wife, now an Artist, used to live in a snotty little town called Westport.
Sally uttered those timely words
With a Cheshirean grin to boot her point home
Because her landlords were kicking her out
Not only for going sour apple on three months rent
But for being a rotten apple to begin with in a part of the world
Where only Golden apples were entitled to reside.
Sally had to get the hell out.
Faster than a cat on a motor scooter.

Oh toothless rootless Sally how I celebrate you!
Hardly a master of your own destiny
You were at least a Masterful speaker
Unlike those marginal creeps,
Mr. and Mrs. Somebodyimportant, 
Whose sharp noses wedged you out 
Of their little cash crop cottage 
And who no doubt live comfortably  
This very day
In some vaulted tomb under Floridian myakka 
While you 
My little friend 
Are but dust in the wind.

With that aside now put aside 
I now commence
To end quickly this brief debriefing 
And by way of Introduction
Will only add the most necessary details to conclude 
What urgently needs to be concluded as rapidly as possible,
Faster even,
To paraphrase our heroine in modern idiom,
Then a cat going global on youtube.  

One important detail to get over with,
A small but relevant 
Fact of the matter,
Is confessional by nature:
I hate introductions because they do 
In fact Matter
Under the unique circumstances
Which with bated breath and increasing alarm
I have come to recognize
As not only necessary
But obligatory
To outline
In a way-
How do I say this?-
That will not only defy
The very conceptual idea 
Of brevity
But defy it in such a way
As to peel its meaning down
To its very atomic anti-structure
Semantically speaking
Which is to say,
That brevity in my hands
-Drum roll please-
Is brevity in geological time.

Why you ask?

My reader,
I suffer from nothing less 
Then a syndrome, 
Unique upon this earth-
(Oh wretched wretched earth you are!)
Unique among all earthlings,
(With some note-worthy exceptions among 
Those posturing, lumbering humanoids called writers)
And certainly unique among all rational creatures
(Who Nature by way of de-evolution has so endearingly
Immunized against MyDisease by way of social nurture 
And social constructions that protect humanity’s bloodline from madness),
In proper taxonomic terms-
“Ican’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingIcan’tstopwritingeizer’s Disease”

Copyright © Yorn Called | Year Posted 2014

Details | Heroine Poem | Create an image from this poem.

With this needle, I thee wed...

So now little man you're tired of grass,
LSD,PCP, cocaine, speed and hash.
You think you've tried them all, think again.
When someone pretending to be a true friend,
Says "I'll introduce you to Miss Heroine."
You'll need lots of money, haven't you been told?
For darling, I am more expensive than gold.
You'll start by inhaling me one afternoon.
Then You'll take me into your arms very soon.
And once I'm deep, deep in your veins.
The cravings will drive you insane.
The chills, the cold sweats, the pains.
Which can only be eased by my little white grains.
The nightmares, the guilt, your guts in knot.
Begging and screaming, for just one more shot.
You'll swindle your mother for less than a buck.
And end up in an animal vile, and go corrupt.
You think you've got the mystical knack.
Just try getting me off your back.
Keep telling yourself you're not a disgrace.
Only to find out you're addicted to poppy seed waste.
In the end you'll give up your mind, body and heart.
And then you'll be mine till death do us part.

Copyright © John Scanio | Year Posted 2005

Details | Heroine Poem | Create an image from this poem.

No Happy Ending

Bright lights, big city...
bright lights, big city dreams...
please just take me away tonight
Let me rest on your elegance tonight
I have no energy left to spend in reality
so please knock me unconscious
just to be in the place that makes me...
I wanted to sing
so loudly, proudly of a heroine
put aside a feeling of haste, of hate
of Juliet turned Medusa
now my Medusa Juliet turning Rapunzel
Strange it may seem, I'll explain a different day
something betters my attention
begs my words to form a letter
Veronica...once my Veronica
in this play, in this scene
we were able to make amends, stay friends
20, we are both 20
Life is confusing
all these convoluted schemes it throws our way
How are we supposed to seize the day
how about she seized me instead
A story, a flashback inside another story
remember 'If Your Reflection Could Kill'
a memoir asking questions and banishing Juliet from my life 
if only for a while
I just wanted answers but she fled away
from what she believed to be cancer
though it gave a chance for Veronica and I to be consistently happy
but there is no happy for me
We hit a cosmic rift, a cosmic shift
a month after a daringly rushed proposal
someone got lost, got scared, turned ghost, just shutdown completely
Months go by and we reconciled
you'd think there'd be a happy ending in silver lining
yet a month maybe three weeks from present day
arrives Juliet atop her steed of do-overs and repeats
a fresh start
I didn't buy a single word
I don't subscribe to politics but I know how hers works
still I couldn't banish her again
I couldn't, I can't
Myself, I've been running away
pointing if only an ounce of blame her way
knowing full well I fell in love with the girl for three years
who was just words across a screen
a voice from a phone
I only dreamed of who she could be
now I know
and in her eyes I still felt that same bitter love 
I wanted to keep 4 years back
so Juliet wanted my audience
my ears and my eyes to acknowledge she was finally here to stay
here to play no games
I had no good reason to deny
so my answer was obvious
but Veronica, she caught wind of this
and there went my attempt to gain back what time has torn apart
Veronica, she tore down my walls so she knew
I could hear her scream with disdain, curse my name
What was she angry for
an entire year, she tried to see my face again
an entire year, I had a list of excuses to keep her at bay
It was never because I didn't trust myself
it was all because I couldn't dare stare in the face
someone of importance
knowing it was me that once dared to keep a promised
and succeeded in the quickest time to break her and it 
making her cry
What made her angry
She believed I chose Juliet over her
and I tried to defend myself with armed words
justified explanations
but I had no explanation to give
I was unarmed in these verbal fights
I didn't know what was right
what to say
that day changed everything
Juliet took Veronica's place
as the conversationalist, the smiling heroine
as the one I could compliment
the one I could make happy
the one I could just be me
Veronica, she just spent two weeks
taking jab after jab at Juliet
taking jab after jab at me...till yesterday
a bad day turned nightmare
when I unbottled truth built up for weeks
I confessed my reasons, my seasons
why she hasn't seen my face, a long list of apologies
so the weight of my shoulders would leave
so she would know, so we could grow
as like me, you would hope for a naive understanding response
as like me, you would hope for a silver lining
hope she'd understand
but I know all too well
there is no happy ending for me
The deities all laugh at my scorn
never happy till they see me destroyed
never satisfied till they, in awe, watch me weep
Veronica, I think I may have lost a friend in Veronica
I called it fate, I called it destiny
since she made it all to be my fault
that I'm a liar
when she knows full well I just want everyone in the world
who steps in my universe to be happy
Forgive me for my selfish desire but it's true
I may now talk about myself too much
but it doesn't compare to how much I cared about her
or want her to be happy
Oh no
She pressed the button, she pressed the button
Did she really say that she doesn't know who I am
did she really say that I'm not her old sweet best friend
does she really have the right to say anything? ! 
She left me behind! 
When we were kids, she left me behind
for the religious remarks of my cousin tore her apart
She could've came back at anytime
She left me behind
For years, I waited for her return with baited breath
though each time she came back
once to tell me at 2 in the morning that she got lucky
once to accompany me through my second tour of Juliet 
as freaking spectator
she left and never said anything else
If it wasn't for a mutual friend
she would've never talked to me again! 
She left me behind! 
She wasn't there when I needed her the most
when I needed a friend the most
but that doesn't matter no cause oh I'm a liar
cause I have a selfish desire to be miserable
while I want the whole world who steps into my universe to be happy
All these words I never said to her, to Veronica
I just sat defenseless, sat stunned, sat fed up, sat done
tried to defend myself again but there's nothing to defend
told her good night, good life
hope to talk again
but if she was done with me, tell me so
cause I'd rather not spend another night
getting cussed out, getting yelled at
trying to muster up a defense case 
for something I do that doesn't directly effect her
but in her eyes this friendship isn't worth it
I'm not worth it
freaking perfect...
Bright lights...big city...
just take me far away from here
give me amnesia or just omit her from my memory
I'm sick of this
of everything inadvertently being the fault of me
Are you happy deities? ? ! 
Are you happy? 
There is no happy ending for me

Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016

Details | Heroine Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Song of Deborah

Formed from the seed of love their feelings prime,
a girl child was woven heroine,
biblical prophetess in time;
Deborah was such, the name chosen, mine.

Like a lightening bolt was she conceived,
a joining of aspirant souls,
seeking other primal roles,
into controversy; she was received.

This fiery woman, a rousing Queen Bee
Debbie was raised, the mothering maid.
A leader, biblical judge conveyed
hers the responsibility to creed.

Matriarch of Jews, she, from the tribe Ephraim,
A mother of Israel was she.
The equal of every he,
This, the burden given me, by name branded. 

Upon the shoulders of such a frail form
this ancestral burden was laid.
The unknown outcome heaven made
all of life is tested when Deb "bees" are born.

date 4/17/15

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015