Close friends don't know the pain I feel
My broken heart can never heal
Your sudden death was long ago
The pain I feel, close friends don't know
I can't forget your dying breath
Was long ago your sudden death
To think of you makes me upset
Your dying breath I can't forget
Alone each night, I feel so blue
Makes me upset to think of you
To laugh or smile does not feel right
I feel so blue alone each night
I'm depressed, there's no denial
Does not feel right to laugh or smile
I can't be bothered getting dressed
There's no denial, I'm depressed
Copyright © Jan Allison | Year Posted
Lyrics Totally by Jan Allison
I poop every morning after a Pizzelle slathered in Nutella
it is nine am in Italy and not a good time to eat mortadella
I poop after lunch after eating pizza with spicy pepperoni
it is twelve o'clock and way too early to eat my macaroni
I poop in the evening after my pasta al forno with cheese
its much too early for my salami sandwich, " Jeez Louise!"
I poop before bed and I let out a great Ah Ah, Mama Mia
as the neighbors yell out the window keep it down " Maria! "
Of course I poop like a proper Italian and here's the squeeze,
when we use the Latrina we fan ourselves to get a tiny breeze!
Please play a song for me Jan, in flashback
A song that brings lovely memories back
I well remember days from long ago
How we adored our musical maestro.
We'd stand round the piano as you played
Mesmerised by the sounds your fingers made
And here you are many decades gone by
Tickling the ivories, and still we sigh.
.
I read you az if the angelz
were add'n new
scriptures
in
God's Inspired Words
I write az if thuh angelz
left room
for i
'bout you
,)
*well, at least here dear poet ']
ox
Edvard's exile could not deter
the course as it flowed
or blood that drove
through his body
life had to change
when the soldiers came
bringing tanks and arms of oppression
machines of war rolled and crushed
Europe was hushed
marching on the 15th
raising flags and ideals
London resigned to opening doors
a haven of sorts
for a few
families and friends
were left to defend
breaking cogs to dismantle and hinder
the view
hiding to assemble
coded messages
that were shared and leaked
though aggression peaked
proving too strong to overcome
yet hearts still beat
and there lay a pulse
duty could not be ignored
as the voices aligned
with a throbbing increase
representing a nation
two and more gave themselves
and rose to the call of the people
standing up
proving no longer the victim
for human passion will smash and smelt iron
selflessly with a cost that would seem to outweigh
the weight of a loss
of one soulless life
we remember that day
the 27th of May
when Jan and Josef gave their all for the fight
and with them hope and freedom were alive.
what a nice poet
so lovely Jan Allison
pure poetess Jan
has been captivated by
butterflies since her lassie
VERILY I PRAY TO JESUS YAHWEH INCLUDING ALLAH ITS BEEN TWO YEARS NOW WHEN BIDEN AND ALL THE HORRORS SEVERE THREATS DURING COVID OUR LIVES IN SHAMBLES AN YET DOMESTIC TERRORISTS RIPPED OUR FLAGS MORBIDLY BREAKING INTO OUR HOME WE HAVE SPENT OVER 3000 IN NEW LOCKS LOCK SMITHS SECURITY CAMS THE JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUST THEM OUT IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THEY CRAWL OVER FENCES PUT KEYSNIN THE DOORSBTO MAKE QUICKSET KEYS TO ENTER OUR HOME CIRCLINGBOUT APPOINTMENTS ON OUR CALENDAR SO THEY KNOW WHEN TO STROKE TAMPERING WITH MY VIETNAM VETERANS MEDALS OUR MORTAGE BANK INFORMANTION MEDICAL INFORMATION I SUFFER I SUFFER MENTAL ILLNESS PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY HUSBAND AS WELL REACHING FIR MY BIBLE IT'S NOT RIPPED OR FOLDED THESE TERRORISTS ARE BOLDLY MERGING WITH THE SAME DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BITTER OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY GOD ITS DEVASTATING THESE ARE INSURGENTS BULLIES COMMITING HOME INVASION EXTORTING OUR PEACE HERE IN AMERICA GOD BLESS AMERICA
Event: Anglo-Boer War 1899–1902—Measles epidemic in the concentration camps.
In the voice of: Sannie Botha (a survivor).
Jan’s cough kept me awake all through the night.
The children are all coughing in the night;
the fevers gave us all a mighty fright.
The red, now itchy, spots on body parts;
“Oh! Son Jan, don’t you scratch the itchy parts,
as scabs and scars will follow just like warts.”
If only I had negosiekist* at hand.
The muthi† in friend's kist – her helping hand –
but mothers dug graves with bare hands in sand.
Now I might stop to shake my balled fist.
The Tommies‡ shake their riffles in tight fists;
they're no older than Jan when they enlisted.
The torment was breaking all of our hearts
and the fragile peace brokered, never lasts.
To be able to laugh is a great boon
All inhibitions it will melt down soon
Jan practices that funny art,
And gives her life a kick start
Her jokes thrill like antics of a buffoon
It was but for a moment that the world was truly mine,
silence swallowing the alley of Shriver as a crow circled the gray skin in the sky.
I wanted to borrow its wings; I wanted to Fly.
It was but a moment I felt needed documenting, I don’t know why.
My poor cousin Jan.
the doctors are picking on her again.
I had heard about her cousin for years.
Why doesn’t she quit nursing for those doctors?
It does not sound like they appreciate her.
Jan Toppan, the nurse, killed fifty people
with morphine or atropine over a twenty year period.
Someone is whispering. What?
Okay. Some say she killed a hundred.
She argued at her trial these were
“acts of mercy”.
The jury did not see it that way.
They committed poor cousin Jan to an asylum.
So, let us write of finer things
Avoid forever bee-less stings
Mock the errant bird that sings
Of low tide and the stink it brings
Our sands will e’er be brilliant white
With bobbing sails just out of sight
Moonlight shining silver bright
On speed-o’s worn a bit too tight
Soft forest winds will tease the trees
While pollen-winds demand we sneeze
Old weary snakes survey our knees
And slowly shake off winter’s freeze
The signs say we should lend a hand
In keeping clean this pristine land
For the animals don’t understand
That “poop” of any kind is banned
miss Jan Allison
I have not read her for days
hope she is alright
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