La la la, la-la-la, laaa-la!
La la la, la-la-la, laaa-la!
SO THE KITTY SAID TO ME,
MEOW MEEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW.
SHE SAID TIME TO FEED ME,
MEOOOWWWWOOOO.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
LIKE THAT OF A BANSHEE.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE CALLS OUT TO ME.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SCRATCHING AT THE DOOR.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE DEMANDS FOR MORE.
UPON THE WINDOW SILL,
MEOW MEEOW MEOW MEEOW MEEOW!
SHE SAID CHASE ME STILL,
MEOOOWWWWOOOO, WILD AND PROUD.
here kitty kitty kitty
pretty pretty princess
here kitty kitty kitty
pretty pretty princess
(kitty)
Laaaaa, la-la-laaaa, laaaa laaa!
Wooohhh-laaa, laaa-la-laaaa!
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SCRATCHING AT THE DOOR.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE DEMANDS FOR MORE.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
THE KITTY QUEEN OF NIGHT.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
HER VOICE A BANSHEE’S CRY.
Laaaaa, la-la-laaaa, laaaa laaa!
Wooohhh-laaa, laaa-la-laaaa!
Sydney my love, Sydney my city
Splendour and majesty, nothing such pretty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city.
First rays of the sun, spread here fun.
Opera, Harbour Bridge, Blue Mountain.
Pretty pretty places, plenty plenty beauty.
Sydney my love, Sydney my city
Clean clean beaches, green green trees,
Pleasant weather, cool cool breeze.
Kissing the shores, sea waives sporty.
Sydney my heart, Sydney my city
Kangaroo, emu, parrots, cockatoo.
4X fun, taste of barbecue.
Having flora and fauna, folk and fidelity.
Sydney my delight, Sydney my city.
Cheers of beers, music and dance.
Events and sports, friendship and romance.
People enjoy varied leisure activity.
Sydney my crave, Sydney my city.
In habitant's haven, half a hundred hills.
Love surfing thrills, basking when chills.
They toil for growth and prosperity.
Sydney my choice, Sydney my city.
People here thrive in an easy life.
Happy happy children with serene smile.
Over everything, supreme is humanity.
Sydney my pride, Sydney my city.
- S. D. Tiwari
Your pretty , pretty like a Deep Purple song
I know you hate it when I call you pretty
But when I hear your voice I just want to sing along
You hate it when I call you pretty
But anything else just feels wrong
Like smoke on the water
Like fire in the sky
You make my breathing harder
Your absence ruins my life
We haven't talked in a week
They say Swiss time's running out
I want to fight, want to speak
But instead I just think about
The fact that this has happened before
We've burned down the city , burned down it all
We thought we wouldn't be together anymore
But then we once again started to fall
Fall for eachother
Fall for another
lie, another scheme
Another demolition, it all seems
to be for nothing
Like a waste of time
But then the memories come rushing
back then you go back to being mine
And we can nonger be bothered
About the smoke on the water
or the fire in the sky
You said we'd get out of this , you didn't lie
I sniff at my hands and oh!
Such scent, such ecstasy,
a memory presented to my nose.
But where do we find this block of adorable redness?
It was sold in every shop: lovable carbolic soap,
an aromatic compound, so ruddy, so redolent.
But this is now so rare; it merely
presents itself to my pleading mind -
a psyche that puts forth its arms,
a plea to a storehouse of valuable memory,
a whiff of an echo, an echo of an odour,
an odour that's been sent.
So who remembers, recalls a soap that's not
so round, bright pink, cream, blue or white,
that isn't sold in pretty-pretty paper?
We do so wish to sniff, sniff, sniff at an odour that's so old.
(3 Oct 2023)
Am I too girly or am I to boyish
Am I pretty or just ok
Should I be rich or poor
Not really knowing who I am
Trying to read between the lines
What do people want me to be
A pretty pretty princess or a tomboy
what am I supposed to be
People say I am beautiful
But talk behind my back
Putting me head up but not
Strong enough to listen
Do I have to be funny or
Do i have to be serious
Should I change or be myself
Who am I supposed to be
Someone tell me who am I supposed to be
You take the fifth
distilled and delusional
drunk, disorderly and disrobed
fallen to your knees you plea
and pretty pretty plead
your prayers
to multiple dimensions
boots made of stone
you can't run
no directions nor diversions
you can't hide
naked
you abide
songs ring softly in your head
you're alive but somehow dead
life's flashes of brilliance
seem less brilliant
light walks away from you
but you're not through
darkness beckons your pain
in a devil disguised as a saint
you pass judgement
and delve into his realm
as he deepens his hold
you attack and then retreat
regroup then repeat
you succumb and sacrifice your lamb,
your virtues and the sheep
you awaken from this sleep
blinking blankly
and wander on
i look out my eyes,
windshield wipers —
crying all the time,
inside.
the shy gives me the creepers,
living all the time;
buried treasure,
the shovel of survival, hides.
the teacher writes one word,
at a time,
on the enormous blackboard,
looming in my mind.
pretty...pretty...pretty
the violence in my history
destroying the self
not a believer
in books that “help”
disconnected, illusions looming
salesman tries to gimmee
some direction
it’s a one way road
out
my cheeks are red,
my eyes are blue
darkness finds me with you
the wipers fast, never stop
skidding shoes
wheels turning
spinning, burning
12/2/2019
When I awaken, when I’m awakening;
I get ready for school
And in the hallway at my arrival;
There you are girl, you…
You’re so beautiful
You’re so marvelous
You’re so cute and kind
Girl want ya ta be mine
Its love
Love
Was love at first sight, this is love at first sight
You’re such a pretty, pretty girl;
And I just wanna be in your world;
Oh! I find you lovely, won’t you please
Come and walk
Come on and talk
To me, to me
Girl cause I love you
It’s true, I believe I love you
Just because I’ve seen you with my eyes;
And I must realize its love, love
Love at first sight, love its love
Love at first sight
Seeing you in this morning was... For me
Love at first sight
8/1/71
Written words by James Edward Lee
Arranged music by The Corinthian™© & Alton Adkins ©1971, 2019
How cold the sun of April
first day playing games
of spring return to winter chills.
Blow ye wild, racing winds
slip thru the stilled and silent trees
hovering between the naked forms
and promised new growth of life.
Hear the cry and howl of the hollow
echoing goodbyes and hellos
waiting for March gusts to die away.
Sing loud and bold old birds of prior years
pretty, pretty, pretty tweetings
of April's spring into May days
as showers fall hard and icy cold.
Young, newly paired wrens and sparrows
begin the staked out housings
gather nesting materials for soon to be laid eggs.
Croci, daffodil, forsythia burst forth
in shaded emerald green starts
soaking in the sunlight warm
ready to glow in bright and brilliant hues.
Others soon to peek thru the earthened ground
breaking grit and graveled clay dirt
in sprigs tendered in their greenery.
Yet comes April in its unpredictability, yellowed sun
teasing life to come forth and be reborn
then sear it chilled within its grip
amidst bluing cloudless skies.
These are the days of every life
enticing and cautionary
hesitating and holding back
all the April fools.
The colorant of dawn, the cardinal sees,
intoning its hues with, “pretty...pretty...pretty.”
As I covet red feathers, in the teaberry tree,
the sunlit chickadee harmonizes, “hey sweetie.”
The woodpecker like a heckler is pining for laughs -
pounding, drumming the marionette for gaffs.
A tufted titmouse tweets, “peter...peter...peter.”
The goldfinch dines on dandelion seeds, lilting sweeter.
Outfitted with winsome wildlife, comfortable and commodious,
my small bit of forest resonates with songbirds, melodious.
A Cardinal’s trill, peep…peep…peep…peep…peep…
often full of himself, wakes me from sleep.
peep…peep…pretty…pretty…pretty; rings out his bliss;
across Kentucky’s bluegrass in the morning mist.
A tad egocentric but, he’s allowed;
his bright red plumes make him oh, so proud.
He’s a splash of color in the trees,
a scarlet, rose red dot, singing in the breeze.
Peep…peep…pretty…pretty…birdie; I’m a pretty…birdie;
must get on his partner’s nerves; he can be over-chirpy.
the female is who is a, rusty brown.
Has to be jealous of that noisy clown!
Written 2-14-19
A poem about infanticide of girls...
"Save Our Sisters!"
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Strings of girls, strands of pearls,
Gone, gone, gone. Pretty, pretty, girls.
A mother's hug, a sister’s laugh, a daughter’s kiss
Lost, lost, lost. Missed, missed, missed.
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Young girls grow up, become young ladies.
But for Indian girls, that’s a big maybe
Young girls grow up, become young ladies.
But for Chinese girls, that’s a big maybe,
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Run, Run, Run, hide your daughters,
Run, Run, Run. Run from the slaughter.
Wake up world, we’ve lost too many sisters.
S.O.S. World, Save Our Souls, Save Our Sisters.
NoelsArt
Comments: In some parts of the world, the three deadliest words are “It’s a girl”. Girls are killed for being girls. After watching this movie trailer http://www.itsagirlmovie.com/ , I wrote the poem above. FEEDBACK WELCOME.
Pretty pretty moon
Moon face or human picture
among the bright stars
Good calm of her inner felt
So my smoothing cool reading
Pretty pretty moon
Moon face or human picture
among the bright stars
Oh pretty pretty gun,
Will you be my friend?
Oh pretty pretty gun,
Will you make this all end?
Oh pretty pretty shiny gun,
Can I ask you a simple task?
Oh shiny pretty gun,
There will be only one thing of you I ask.
This pretty pretty shiny gun is now my friend.
It tells me how it can make all the hurt end.
All I have asked was to make everything final and done.
And now, this pretty pretty shiny gun is the one who won.
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