Best Mary Poems
*Had to bring this one back. Like my Poe poem, this one follows me wherever I go. It is my favorite lyric that I've written thus far. It is loosely based on a real person and deals with the issues of mental illness and homelessness. To bring it up to date, a fresh audio was recorded this evening by none other than Thomas Woodward, who will readily admit that he can't bloody sing, though he takes a stab at it during the last stanza.
Couldn't pay the rent, could you Mary?
Back out on the street, dearest Mary.
Winter's in the air/once a girl with pretty hair,
And the days are shorter now, my sweet Mary.
Where will you go, Mary Rogers?
Parks can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Out into the night/shadows everywhere a fright,
(Tell me) where will you go, Mary Rogers?
Store clerk turned her head, will you Mary?
Run fast as you can, dearest Mary.
Cops are on the way/daddy's calling you to play,
And the gun you dropped they found, my sweet Mary.
What will you do, Mary Rogers?
Jail can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Throw away the key/pray to God on bended knee,
(Tell me) what will you do Mary Rogers?
Stranger took you in, did he Mary?
Promised you the moon, dearest Mary.
Black eyes gave away/what an awful price to pay,
And nobody held your hand, my sweet Mary.
When will it end, Mary Rogers?
Men can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Needles always lie/mommy's back home baking pie,
(Tell me) when will it end, Mary Rogers?
Slept under the bridge, did you Mary?
Zero Fahrenheit, dearest Mary.
Peaceful dreams hold sway/fly across the Milky Way,
No more worries for the pain, my sweet Mary.
When will we learn, Mary Rogers?
People can be cold, Mary Rogers.
Turn our heads away/it may be our child someday,
(Tell me) when will we learn, Mary Rogers?
Time to wake up now, won't you Mary?
Paradise is here, dearest Mary.
Old world passed away/it's a bright and lovely day,
And the sun shines just for you, my sweet Mary.
A curvaceous lady named Mary
Just loved having sex in the dairy
When smothered with whipped cream
Her beau would lick her clean…
His Calorie intake was scary!!!
14th June 2016
Couldn't pay the rent, could you Mary?
Back out on the street, dearest Mary.
Winter's in the air/once a girl with pretty hair,
And the days are shorter now, my sweet Mary.
Where will you go, Mary Rogers?
Parks can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Out into the night/shadows everywhere a fright,
(Tell me) where will you go, Mary Rogers?
Store clerk turned her head, will you Mary?
Run fast as you can, dearest Mary.
Cops are on the way/daddy's calling you to play,
And the gun you dropped they found, my sweet Mary.
What will you do, Mary Rogers?
Jail can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Throw away the key/pray to God on bended knee,
(Tell me) what will you do Mary Rogers?
Stranger took you in, did he Mary?
Promised you the moon, dearest Mary.
Black eyes gave away/what an awful price to pay,
And nobody held your hand, my sweet Mary.
When will it end, Mary Rogers?
Men can be so cold, Mary Rogers.
Needles always lie/mommy's back home baking pie,
(Tell me) when will it end, Mary Rogers?
Slept under the bridge, did you Mary?
Zero Fahrenheit, dearest Mary.
Peaceful dreams hold sway/fly across the Milky Way,
No more worries for the pain, my sweet Mary.
When will we learn, Mary Rogers?
People can be cold, Mary Rogers.
Turn our heads away/it may be our child someday,
(Tell me) when will we learn, Mary Rogers?
Time to wake up now, won't you Mary?
Paradise is here, dearest Mary.
Old world passed away/it's a bright and lovely day,
And the sun shines just for you, my sweet Mary
I hope your worries will end
and you'll suffer no wrath
Searching for the light
Even in the darkest times
No more tears or aching soul
Then you'll know not to worry
If only we could be happy forever
Be strong and brave keep on walking
Magic it seems
But
God sends His special angels
05.01.2016 A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- Mother Mary is not my mother, but a friend's mother -
Mary Godwin -- soon to be Shelley --
Writing with Percy, Byron and Polidori
To create the scariest horror story,
Gave life to a monster of immortal glory.
Part One of Two
Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
Part One
(1.)
Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth
Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!
Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!
Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
I hear in not too distant background, hell's loud ringing bells!
As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.
Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem
(2.)
Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits
Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!
Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!
Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.
So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.
Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
Total # Syllables: 210
Total # # Words: 142
She sits and listens
Intent on every word
Not once does she visit the kitchen
Where I need her help, her assistance
There is so much to do, so many tasks
And she simply won’t help me
She sits at His feet
Listening and heeding
His every word brings a peace
To her expression…
What could He be saying?
She looks so content there at His feet
Smiling her love, so attentive
She should be helping me, shouldn’t she?
I think I’ll go in and tell Him…
Mary isn’t helping me with the meal…
He’ll surely make her come in and help me
When I told Him I needed her help with these things…
Jesus told me…
**“Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things… but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”
Yes, she sits at His feet, breathless with pleasure
She sees that this is what she needs…
His light poured out over her soul, shining in hope
Whispering love, coloring her thoughts
In brilliant rays of faith that comes to life with His words.
Just being with the Lord. This is our greatest need!
** Luke 10:41-42 (KJV)
Turbulent impervious obsidian lifeless world clouds God's compassionate
betrothed faithful prayer family.
Moonlight joy havens awestruck love elation.
Aquamarine wave spirits hot desire
beyond passion.
Lilac crescent sky petals.
Life bliss vows hope peace freedom melody.
Azure northern light winds kiss calm stars.
poetry in Motion : Marty Owens Tag you're it! use same words. :)
Dear little insect
«Our Lady's Bird» bring good luck
~
Aphids for supper
a red robe with seven dots
Virgin Mary sent from God
08.07.2018
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Tanka: 5-7-5-7-7 syllable
One summer eve in Galilee
I stood before my open door;
to me it seemed just one more night--
like all the others gone before.
Someone would come and, passing by,
would hear the tinkling of the bells,
would see the garish harlot's robe
and painted eyes beneath my veil.
Someone, a man like all the rest--
it did not matter much to me--
a nobleman, Samaritan,
a Roman or a Pharisee,
someone would pause and with one glance
strip me again of maiden pride,
and leaving, later, never know
the shame and shattered dreams I hide.
O, he would think me very gay;
he would not see my hollow heart
nor hear me curse him for his pay.
Just then I saw a band of men
approaching down the narrow road;
there should be one among that crowd
aho wants the favors I bestow.
Kind eyes met mine, and with one look,
He saw what others could not see;
He saw the hunger of my soul,
my loneliness and misery.
I only know that since that day
I live to walk along with Him.
His look of love has changed my life;
I need not sell my love again.
Tonight He dines at Simon's house__
all day the dusty paths we roamed;
but, still he waits, unwashed, unkissed;
small courtesies no one has shown.
My love for Him! It rolls and swells
till from His side I cannot stay;
I will wash His feet with tears of love
and with my hair wipe the sand away.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
(Duo rhyme in Honor of Mary Ports)
Butterflies & Moonbeams
Of things that inspire I will write
Whether things of day or by night
Butterflies and silver moonbeams
Upon the quiet water gleams
Azure heavens where a hawk screams
Sunsets repainting awesome themes
Trees shade meandering cool streams
Yellow Stone where old faithful steams
Fireflies & double rainbow dreams
All made of magic so it seems
Enchantments entice my delight
With wonder I will dream tonight
©Diana Dalton 15 July 12
__._,_.___
Modeled by the skilled and clumsy hands
of artists and artisans into an ideal state of she-ness,
a penniless waif appears on a stool
last week a stranger called her Mona Lisa.
Statuesque upon the betrayer
warmed by the lemon-lolly light from
bays of north facing windows, blinded;
she can but blink.
Surrounded by a
cog-notched cyclical wheel of nubile artists—
blooming buds of wildness, vertical sprigs
flail softly on the breezy bounty of
illumination.
Brush and trowel, thick and thin,
the artists stoke her—semblance
canvased by millennium brush biters
maudlin Mary is returned to the pre-historic stew
by the likes of Claude
polished to a pearly perfection
by type A, Hieronymus’.
They were all strangers to her posers,
every bit as much as she.
Royal pretenders in a world
where only the artless
are paid.
Moneylenders rise on their discarded carapaces
beauty sucked dry by the doers and shakers
who spread like choking bittersweet through
the lollypop-light from the bay windows facing north
consuming Mona.
Julie ford Oliver - Famous Models
Ekphrasis
First Appeared in Illumen Magazine Fall of 2014
Mary Ann had a boyfriend that she
gave affection and great loyalty.
Since the age of sixteen
no one else had she seen
but she wanted more at thirty-three!
Her boyfriend, of course, had it made
since regularly, he would get laid.
So excuses he gave
when Mary Ann would rave
about marriage. . . and unwed they stayed.
Getting pregnant was her coup d'etat
when she said, “You will soon be a pa!”
She said, “Furthermore, Bruce,
I don’t need an excuse.
In my mind we’re a pair - common-law!”
For Black Eyed Susan's Excuses Poetry Contest
DURING MY WORLDLY TRAVELS, I MET ARTHUR ITIS.
TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH HE WASN'T THE BRIGHTEST.
HIS GOAL IN LIFE IS DISTRIBUTING PAIN.
HE LOVES TO ACT UP DURING WINTER AND RAIN,
I WAS ONCE AT A PARTY, HOSTED BY MR. GRIM REAPER.
I WAS BOUNCING AROUND WHEN I SPOTTED A KEEPER.
FASCINATINGLY ATTRACTIVE, WITH A SCIENTIFIC TYPE NAME.
SHE SIMPLY PREFERRED, BEING CALLED MARY JANE.
HER PURPOSE IN LIFE IS TO DRIVE AWAY PAIN,
FROM THOSE PLAGUED WITH ARTHRITIS EVEN MENTALLY INSANE.
HER WORK IS AMAZING, ESPECIALLY HER JELLS.
QUITE THE RELIEF FOR THOSE LIVING IN HELL.
SHE'S THE LIFE OF THE PARTY, WITH A BAD REPUTATION.
IN THE MEDICAL WORLD, SHE'S KNOW ACROSS NATIONS.
SO HERE WE STAND BETWEEN RIGHT AND WRONG.
AND ALL WE WANT IS ARTHRITIS BE GONE.
(Well, St. Patrick's DAy is nearly upon us, so now is the time to start rolling out the limericks.
I'll try to show one a day until the 17th. One year I went nuts and used all my friends' names
to make limericks with their names. Here is the one for Mary!
A typically staid lass named Mary
told everyone she’d seen a fairy.
One part she left out
which might cause some doubt:
She’d first drunk a bottle of sherry.