A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
Poor Peter is feeling so glum.
He can't go and play with his chums.
A bad case of the mumps
has him down in the dumps.
"Stay in bed!" - strict orders from Mum!
Peter came at half-past three,
Tapping sharply from an apple tree.
“Wendy, Michael, and John, too—
Come and fly; the stars want you.”
Out of the window, hand in hand,
The trio swept above the land.
Their mother's sobs fell away behind.
Another bedtime story she can't unwind.
In Neverland, the sky can't change.
The moon is weird, the sun is strange.
No one grows, and no one there cries—
Every ache for going home soon dies.
Boys and girls forget their names.
Their socks, friends and favorite games.
A mother’s hug, a father’s last song—
Memories dim when you stay too long.
Peter laughs and flies high in midair,
But something empty lingers there.
He doesn’t know what he has lost—
Never growing up, comes at a cost.
Wendy whispered, “We must go!".
"For I've lost my shadow.”
Peter waved and turned away—
Still chasing ghosts of yesterday.
So if you hear a tap-tap one night,
Find your window bathed in light,
Roll over, hide, and stay in bed—
Forget Neverland, sleep on instead.
Cut the budget
Cut the fraud
Cut the bullcrap
Cut the lies
Cut, cut, cut it out!
Finding ways to reduce spending while spending is diabolical. Spending millions on a military parade is waste management at its finest.
What in the Big Beautiful Baffling Bill is going on?
When I was young we use to say, “Robbing Peter to pay Paul.” The “rich” are probably clueless to this saying, but the struggling people lived, know and understand the meaning of this statement.
“Robbing Peter to pay Paul” meant, taking from one to give to another. More like, taking from one end to make ends meet on another end. For example, taking some of the money from the light bill to put that money on the water bill.
Ssh, the way I see it, when it comes to this administration, it’s robbing Peter and Paul.
Mary Alin Travers
grew up to do what mattered
she sang with Peter and Paul
and with her voice did us enthrall
SEVERE DATA BREACH USED BY THE AMERICAN MAFIA CONTROLLING ABUSE OF POWER THANK GOD FOR RICK SCOTT FOR CONTACTING THE FBI OVER THE SEVERE DATA BREACH AT TAMPA GENERAL HOSPITAL SYSTEM WHERE PERER GARGANO AND MY IMPOSTER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY ACCESSING INFORMANT FILES TERRORIZING AMERICANS INCLUDING SEVERE DATA BREACHES CYBER ATTACKS ON NATIONAL PUBLICBDATA BILLIONS OF AMERICANS INFORMATION SOLD ON A DARK WEB NATIONAL SECURITY TOTALLY AT RISK THIS BEGAN WITH THE MAFIA ATTEMPTS TO EXTORT MY AMERICAN POETRY THREATS EXTORTING MY LIVELY HOOD MY HEALTHCARE EXPLOITING MY IDENTITY AS A CONFIDENTIAL HUMAN SOURCE FBI INFORMANT FINALLY ARRIVING WITH ASSASINS TO ASSASINATE ME LEADING TO THE MAFIA HITMAN PETER GARGANO IGNITING A CAR BOMB IN MY FACE EMBEZZLING PERSONAL INJURY CLAIM ON MY BEHALF FUNDING DETROIT MAFIOSOS DEARBORN MICHIGAN DETROIT MICHIGAN
In silence, I now sit inside your room
as doleful fingers strike piano keys,
and beauty soars like roses, red, in bloom.
The weight of life, your heart and mind, it flees.
A sad, foreboding melody does loom.
I muse as I remember times like these -
just thirty-seven years on earth, not long.
Tonight, I hear your sad piano song.
Alice held flowers in her hand,
So huge were they, 'twas tough to stand,
She collected them all herself,
The bouquet was for her bookshelf,
Walking with them proved so tricky,
Her hands hurt and they were sticky,
She didn't see where she was going,
Her steps they were slowly slowing,
Peter Pan saw her and he smiled,
He knew how to get her all riled,
He bumped into Alice, she fell,
A shower of flowers and well,
Alice, with Peter was angry,
Asked him to pick 'em up for free,
Peter Pan did as told by her,
For he was scared of her anger,
He went till her house holding them,
My, they were huge with their big stem,
Alice was happy, her job done,
She hugged Peter and made him run.
Picture #2
When you open up your eyes
Is He sitting at your side
With a smile on His lips
That betrays a certain pride?
Does He touch your injured hands?
Does His face go pale and grim
At the sight of wounds you bore
For your loyalty to Him?
Do you whisper “Lord, I’m sorry
You said ‘do not be afraid’
Still I winced when they condemned me
And I trembled as I prayed.
My dear Master, I am sorry
I was terrified to die.”
Does He answer “It’s all right,
My dear Peter, so was I.
Do you marvel at your God:
He who made the world exist.
Does He grin as if to say
Sweetest friend, you have been missed.
When you fall into His arms
Do you know what Heaven is?
Do you heal in His embrace?
Do your scars resemble His?
Denied again, again, again
My God, my king, my hope, my friend
To think that I could ever mend
My shame, my pride, my lies.
To deadly hills they take Him now
A crown of thorns upon His brow
The King of Kings, but no one bows
I’m absent when he dies.
In bitter tears they said I waited
True—if sorely understated
So my soul falls desecrated
Curse my horrid deeds
Hours pass and days elapse
Spirit gone, my lungs collapse
I’ve fallen victim to the traps
In thinking of my needs
Then I am called, I follow John
I look and find the stone is gone
And only linen lingers on
To dare the war is won?
I see Him. I am awed. Elated
Doubt undone, eradicated
But, in shame, I wait for hatred
From God’s only Son
With all the courage I possess
I turn my eyes, on Him they rest
My heart is kicking at my chest
I know I’ve failed the trials.
Tension mounts, and there’s a pause
I’ve broken all His love, His laws
So He should not forgive my flaws
He looks at me and smiles.
I remember that I once called him Peter Pan
The man I loved, and yet a child at heart to me
A name that became vividly more portending
at pretending than I ever could've imagined.
A lost boy I found long ago, or did he find me?
No need for Tinkerbelle's pixie dust because
he flew with me as his Darling,* to quell his sadness
but in taking it from him, I began losing myself.
He tried to escape his nemesis, the Captain's hook,
but too many walks along the pirate ship's plank
proved to be a daunting task he kept undertaking.
I kept trying to rescue him but he wouldn't swim.
He was drifting far out to sea; drowning in the drink.
I called his name but no sight of him was I able to see.
Peter Pan was lost again, and this time also to me.
Never Never Land is a place I won't be visiting again.
*Wendy Darling
(Alternative Ending for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
Do you think he kept his wife so well
by putting her inside a pumpkin shell?
Inside that shell she had no room
to move around. A rotten groom
was Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
In the end, his wife could not be found
by friends or family. He’d thrown away the key,
and his wife was not allowed
to leave that stinking pumpkin shell.
Rumor is from loneliness she died.
Peter cruelly put all empathy aside.
I left my window
open every
night but you never came
to the windowsill
like you always promised
you would
and it's not
that I mind really but did
you forget?
Curtains flutter over the nursery sill,
Waiting for their mother to find
The coverlet tossed aside, hanging still,
Patiently expecting mother to right the spill,
The beds, empty, the windows, the open kind;
Stars twinkle, restlessly above,
for their mother to kiss them goodnight,
As a girl sits alone, tickled by lilac and foxglove,
Without her darling boys like a solitary dove,
Thinking of a nursery far from the starlight,
The empty nursery, soon to be found,
Soon to be an empty treasure chest,
Without the starlings, lost, dead, drowned,
Their pied piper a rooster with a crown,
Who flew them away from the nest,
The darling mother ought not to cry,
The lost little girl should wipe away her tear,
And never run. But fly
For life will say with a sigh
And what is lost is always near.
Fancy a quickie
Scuse me my darlin’
I notice you smilin’
Obviously enchanted by me??
Well i’m exhilerated to say…..
Its valentine…s day!
And im horny as horny can be!
The name is Peter!
Aroused to meet ya!
Whats a gal like you doing
in a place like this?
Your lanyard says Vicky…,
Do you fancy a quickie?
On your break or
After your shift?
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