Sarah was an impish girl
when she had that pretty curl,
but Momma with skillful shears
made short work of that!
When Momma says shame on you
you know you are in trouble,
if she uses your entire name~
first, middle, last~ simply run.
Sarah Jane Smythe ran away
one fine day in month of May,
where she ran I cannot say
but she’ll return with sashay…
and an even bigger curl!
Against many odds
It all started with a dream
Changing the hair game
Helping sisters beautify
I am 'the' Madame Walker
She had a loud laugh,
Nervous smile on her wide flat face.
Jittery body never staying in place.
Liked to engage with women who were near.
Seeking connection in the gym where she played.
Always knew when she was here.
The loud boisterous laugh,
Shattered my ear.
Sarah
Walking in the cemetery, it’s my death
Following a past. The past. Your desire
I loved you. Sorry for my life. Decadent
Sorry for the nights. Sorry for the second life
Yes. Sarah. You loved me. The angel
Loved. You. Hell. My life got for a. Yours
Sarah, your memory is following me
You are my attention. I'm walking with you
Hand in hand. Yours from the other side.
I can’t see you. Hmm. You. The true heart
I want to walk in your cemetery, Sarah
I love you. I love you. I am waiting for you
I visited your stone. Monument of Love
I am sorry for your death. You loved me
Someone loving you
Always
Vilmos
You are
Perfect
Woman
Loves
Vilmos
staring at a stereo
in the Serengeti
Sarah getting stir crazy
gotta get out of this ghetto
Sarah saw a
chance and took it
sailed on a sailboat
slowly to Nantucket
thanks wholly
to her Nan’s ticket
nice of her and now
Sarah seems brighter
somewhat better
as she wrote neatly
in her Nan’s letter
They sang to stars, to flowers pale with dew,
To hearts that bled beneath the waning moon;
Yet every song they wove from sorrow grew,
Each note a dirge, each rhyme a fading tune.
The world too heavy, pressing on their soul's,
A crown of thorns their tender temples bore;
Love fled like whispers, leaving them to hold,
And silence reigned where song had dwelt before.
Oh, cruel muse, who blessed them with your fire,
Yet cursed their fragile hearts with too much pain,
You led them, blind, to cliffs of dark desire,
And cast them down in seas of endless rain.
In lonely nights, they felt the stars grow cold,
No voice to soothe the ache of barren skies,
The ink that spilled their griefs a tale retold
Of lives unlit, consumed by unseen love.
Yet still their words endure, though they are gone,
A burning flame no tempest can erase.
Through death, they live—each verse, a tender dawn,
Each line a kiss of beauty's fleeting grace.
Why did they fall? Perhaps to teach us this:
A poet's soul must brave the abyssal deep,
To find the truth in love’s elusive kiss,
And wake the world from its eternal sleep.
Sarah Josephena Hale wrote to Lincoln
not once or twice, but for seventeen years
asking him to come around to her way of think’n
and make Thanksgiving a holiday without fears
Sarah’s writing was not only for Uncle Sam
She is also known for her poem Mary had a little lamb
a woman of many talents, who is still known today
showing that persistence often receives a pay day
The world against her
But destiny had other plans.
From barren land
To boundless fortunate.
From testament to record book
The resilience to luck and hard work.
Pink blush skin
Burgundy hair
Slender frame.
This is the tale of Sarah Pike
Who lived in a cottage at Hangman’s Dyke,
Twixt Preston and old Burnblack town
She walked the byways up and down.
Travellers stopped to buy her pies
And kissed her hands with gracious goodbyes
Till a gentleman rider on his tall chestnut steed
Strangled her dead in his wicked deed.
Sarah Pike will never go home, Sarah Pike forever will roam.
For four hundred years she walks just the same
The road wide and busy with a new name
But many have driven home in great fright
When they saw Sarah Pike cross the road in the night.
A strange ghostly figure she sobs and she cries
Lost in her sorrow she moans and she sighs
And no-one can save her from her ghastly pain
For the old ones are gone and so is the lane.
Sarah Pike will never go home, Sarah Pike forever will roam.
You are my spring.
You make me feel alive!
It is as if I haven't been breathing
And you are my first taste of forest air.
The ringing of your heart
Is like the sounding of a tiny bell
That wakes me from my lethargy.
You call me the Reason For Your Smile
And I wonder how a Rose like you
Could burn even brighter
With a Holy Fire
Because you have felt my kiss
O! There is no better Day
Than the Day on which you were born,
For in the great graph of Life
There is recorded the first Rainbow
And it shone for you
Like the first Promise that God
Was happy
When we met.
All pure and unobstructed
By the moon,
Your Sun shines better
Than the Night.
But Night, ah Night!
Glows with the Radiance of your singing Star!
I call you Venus!
Bright Star of the Morning
And I celebrate
Your coming unto me!
My Sarah is a Sweetness undescribed
Surpassing words and making the Sun Shine!
Her Beauty is a wine I have imbibed
That makes me drunk on Love; she is as fine
A gold as ever I, mere man, have found
And where she walks, bright flowers spring nearby
I dream her gentle voice is soft; she’s crowned
With Crown of daisies – O Sweet Lullaby
To hear that voice I’ve dreamed, I long and yearn,
To see her face, for Real, were my delight
To visit her would make me reel and burn
And yet, I long to hold her in my sight...
There is no sweeter, greater song than this:
I burn for my Sarah and her sweet kiss.
Sarah Teasdale, a poet of grace,
Her words like whispers filled the space.
Born in the year of eighteen eighty-four,
Her life's tale, forever to explore.
A tender soul with a heart that bled,
In verse, her emotions were widely spread.
Love, nature, and longing her themes,
She painted beauty with eloquent dreams.
Pulitzer Prize, her talent recognized,
Yet her heart still yearned, love unrealized.
Her spirit soared, but darkness prevailed,
Inner battles fought, heartache unveiled.
A fragile soul, her battles unseen,
In her poems, a glimpse of what had been.
Her pen a solace, her voice so pure,
A testament to a life's allure.
A legacy left, her verses abide,
In timeless lines, her spirit resides.
Sarah Teasdale, her biography told,
A poet's journey, forever bold.
Sarah Palin
Former governor, limelight failing
Famous quotes sometimes loom big:
You can’t put lipstick on a pig
A unique form of hatred,
stereotypes and prejudice,
they decipher realities.
Forgotten the same father,
Ibrahim, Canaan families.
Who loving safe, warm, faith,
in the same lands.
Hagar,
Sarah.
Buzzing claims,
devout homes and beliefs,
attempted annihilation,
superseded born, sibling rivalry.
Pardon, end.
End, end, endeavour destruction.
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