Charlie was dead
Charlie was dead: to begin with,
There is no doubt whatever about that.
I leave my residue to Carol for Christmas
and Little Dorrit his faithful Tom Cat.
There’s been hard times here in Bleak House,
Villainy and miserly crime capers,
I spent my fortune in shops of curiosity,
Pickwick wrote of it, in his gossip papers.
You gather here with great expectations,
Of bequeaths, chattels and yield.
But listen well to my loyal Trustees,
Messrs Chuzzlewit and Copperfield.
To that twister and Street Urchin Oliver,
and to show I bear him no grudge,
I do leave a Crown and one Farthing,
and a sixpence to Barnaby Rudge.
To our mutual friends Dombey and Son,
Please accept my cane and fine silk scarf.
May you prosper all the year round,
As comfortable as a Cricket on a hearth.
So, here is my last Will and Testament,
Yes, I’m worthless, so whimper and brood.
Where did it all go, there is no mystery,
Lost at Cards to Nickleby and Drood.
KS 6/11/2017
David Copperfield
the epitome of life and love,
from another era
created by Dickens.
David Williams
the epitome of life and love,
from all eternity
created by God..
© Harry J Horsman 2012
He drifts among fireflies and splits the rain
A haze walking through Great Wall’s domain,
Twists of Copperfield’s runes whirls a relay
Under kliegs of stars, mind’s eye becomes prey.
Sweet alchemy washes real world’s strains
Where human life transcends the bleak of pain,
On enchanted tours, he eludes flames’ slay
Stuffing dreams with awe like quick pirouettes
He drifts among fireflies.
Like our David whose challenges reclaim
True firmness blazing amidst night’s restraints,
His magic of hope strengthens with love’s gains
Miracles nourish through divine stream’s ray
With spirit lit by heaven’s grace, time obeys
He drifts among fireflies.
Dear David, may you continue to believe in the magic
of fulfilled wishes and endless love
------------
*David Copperfield—renowned illusionist and magician
Cyndi MacMillan’s Contest: Davids for David
By nette onclaud
turn our hearts into shields
let freedom liberty ring
when
justice step upon the battlefield
when
the lamp of courage glow
beyond the green hills of copperfield
How do I escape my life of misery. Do I run away or do I hide away. None of my
choices seem feasible because where can I go to escape tradegy or how conceal
could I be so that no one can see me. How could I be like the great Houdini who
escape traps; as for I, How can I escape life. Or how could I be like the incredible
David Copperfield who eluded object making them invisible, so that ,no one can
notice me. All my notions are idealistic and not realistic, so the best thing to do is to
expire, that will do the trick. Therefore, making me the greatest illusionist and
escapist artist that ever been - to create more than illusion and to escape the
greatest escape... and that is cease to exist. That is how I will escape my life of
misery.
From the very beginning of life,
God allows us choice
And, it’s the fundamental gift
From which we weep or rejoice
And from this, I have chosen
To pursue each one of my dreams
Knowing only of probabilities,
Which are limitless, it seems
Through the conquering of each,
I learn a little more of me
And, find that I’m rehearsing
Parts of my life yet to be
Each dream begins with wondering
“Could it be this or that?”
Then manifest to wonders
Of illusion mixed with fact
Wishing is stagnation and
Dreaming is to do
And doing it with passion
Is the success of me and you.
***Dedicated to David Copperfield after one of his performances.
Thirty street urchins, faces dirty....
Thirty outstretched hands....
With thirty tin cups,
With thirty over-active glands,
Looking like thirty sad faced pups...
All thirty pounding at my door
All thirty begging, "Please, sir, more!"
That's what I get, as I hand out
Thirty dimes,
For reading David Copperfield
Thirty times!
My Daddy scuttles across the ocean floor,
Let tons of seawaters flow past him,
Over him,
As he makes subsonic noises
Protesting my sins.
The waters listen,
As do fish and sharks
And other predators of the sea,
The sea horse dances its traditional dance.
Seaweed’s weave and sway,
As if in chorus.
The villainous dragon from Monsters Inc.,
Changes color and does his disappearing,
Shrek awaits luncheon in his swamp,
Daddy is late, he has ‘diver’s’ cramp.
I patiently explain to him
The phraseology of Rap,
The mechanics of whoring
Just outside the Kremlin,
But with magnifying glass,
He still looks for gray in Lenin’s beard.
A thousand Pol Pots were David Copperfield,
No less, spinning agrarian dreams for Daddies like
him,
And other Daddies like Uncle Ho,
Paddy growing from the barrel of a gun.
Gorbachov had the world on his head,
But ultimately, the Drunk pointed cannon at the Duma,
And won.
‘Daddy, understand the dialectics
Of the spinning wheel in Atlantic City,
Otherwise as Donald Trump would say,
You’re fired!’
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