I can feel it in my bones
ringing in my ears
the words I long to utter
the things I hold near
For a long time I held them close
did not say them aloud
I learned to pen them into poems
But the words learned how to escape
they clawed and they scrabbled
and eventually it was even in song
that I learned to dabble
And now the words come out
sometimes even without me thinking
I reply in song or poem
call it what you will
They just bubble up
from the depths of me
out in rhymes and hymns
sonnets and whims
And I have made friends
confessed my many sins
go on with life
less burdened
but deeper in conscious thought
©The words found a way 4/03/2025 - Artimus Susan Manley All Rights Reserved
A perfect of delight the morning
a brunch for 20 people.
Delicious the word of the day
Dill, cilantro,garlic, cucumbers
,green onions,lime juice, cream
Cheese, chopped Swiss cheese,
Bacon and olive oil mixed smooth
Served with watercress
Cured salmon
Cured herring
Procuttio
Toasted garlic bread
Scrabbled eggs
Ribeyed steak steak loaf
With fried onions, mushrooms
Provolone, cream cheese
Peppers, bacon wrapped in
Pastry and served with cheese
Sauce
For dessert a
Glorious raspberry and strawberry
Pastry tarte with pastry cream
And Carmel pecans
Coffee, sprite and vodka infection
Yottia, Yottia, bleep bomb ooh!
Got me sangin!
A perfect of delight the morning
a brunch for 20 people.
Delicious the word of the day
Dill, cilantro,garlic, cucumbers
,green onions,lime juice, cream
Cheese, chopped Swiss cheese,
Bacon and olive oil mixed smooth
Served with watercress
Cured salmon
Cured herring
Procuttio
Toasted garlic bread
Scrabbled eggs
Ribeyed steak steak loaf
With fried onions, mushrooms
Provolone, cream cheese
Peppers, bacon wrapped in
Pastry and served with cheese
Sauce
For dessert a
Glorious raspberry and strawberry
Pastry tarte with pastry cream
And Carmel pecans
Coffee, sprite and vodka infection
Yottia, Yottia, bleep bomb ooh!
Got me sangin!
A perfect of delight the morning
a brunch for 20 people.
Delicious the word of the day
Dill, cilantro,garlic, cucumbers
,green onions,lime juice, cream
Cheese, chopped Swiss cheese,
Bacon and olive oil mixed smooth
Served with watercress
Cured salmon
Cured herring
Procuttio
Toasted garlic bread
Scrabbled eggs
Ribeyed steak steak loaf
With fried onions, mushrooms
Provolone, cream cheese
Peppers, bacon wrapped in
Pastry and served with cheese
Sauce
For dessert a
Glorious raspberry and strawberry
Pastry tarte with pastry cream
And Carmel pecans
Coffee, sprite and vodka infection
Yottia, Yottia, bleep bomb ooh!
Got me sangin!
Mistakes were they deliberate or was it not intentional so what's
the point wasting anyone's time?
If one's intentions were true yet the pieces to the puzzle are scrabbled
by past, present mistakes.
Mistakes doesn't single out, trembles and don't becomes deflated
by numerous mistakes made unintentionally are no longer counted,
Yet mistakes are jarring, run deep like a river. Streaming where this
water may flow next? Free will, possibilities one might utter about
mistakes repeatedly, are often reminded by someone you trust
that keeps reminders I told you, when will you learn from being dupable
from these mistakes?
A poems but a whisper
that lingers on the breeze.
A few unspoken words
appear like falling leaves.
A treasure trove of memories
dreams that haunt the mind.
Jumbled words,scrabbled thoughts
borrowed from the passing of time.
Pinned.
Your thoughts, are censored,
pinned in through your eyes.
Scrabbled words which fall
down your bitter throat
not out into the freedom,
outside your being,
they poison you guts.
Because the brain that thought
cannot digest its own freedom,
of speech, so we wallow, and
swallow, wallow and swallow,
spooned by Government , too death.
Scrabbled words
in my face,
I don't know how
to phrase.
I run outside
to ask for hint,
from the chickens
in a tent.
They don't answer
nor bother,
but I'm sure they
never falter,
because they
know how to fight
though they are
not might.
I go inside
and start the write,
the feisty word of life:
"fight"
that's the start
of my thrill track
of this crazy world
where I stuck.
scrabbled eggs and hams
politics - both opponents
using made up words
The sand is swept with gleams of light,
pale moonbeams burst where wavelets crest
about sea turtles seeking nest.
Soft seas are flat and calm tonight
beneath the light of stars; on land
she digs an egg womb out of sand.
Before impending winds take flight
the dawn reveals her scrabbled walk
of mother love; how nature talks.
Sea turtle pounded, stormy plight,
small beach creatures in fright, agape;
the loggerhead cannot escape.
A tropical cyclone's sad blight
has swept her nest and eggs apart;
the beach displays her broken heart.
The sand is swept with gleams of light,
soft seas are flat and calm tonight
before impending winds take flight.
Sea turtle pounded, stormy plight,
a topical cyclone's sad blight.
Copyright, November 18, 2017
Faye Lanham Gibson
archetypically,
I sow my hysterical libido,
in the Jungian brain garden,
and reap only ecclesiastical weeds,
and subconscious rashes...
breaking apart, engorged,
mad egoist, freudian slip'd,
spilling repressed aloes,
into her ashen columbarium...
penitent, penniless,
scrabbled up the storied mount,
silently trapp'd, interlocuted,
cast back to a southern field...
adiposed, juniper kiss'd,
scarlet nin, flagrante delict(oh),
wagging tongued, freely spoken,
i'll come round again,
ecstatically.
As I sat on the wayside fence
Enjoying a bask in the sun
Came by a Mom Duck
With her soft-downed yellow brood.
She "Ten-hutted" right in front of me
Ducklings screech-halted there.
I scrabbled in my pockets,
My chips turned duck-feed-fare.
Mom Duck stepped to one side
And let her kids break rank.
Right busy did the cuties get,
Clacking beaks to a man.
Quack, Quack, said Mom Duck.
You're Welcome, Ma'am, I said.
~06 May 2016~
Stand-easy: military term for a short break from exercises/manoeuvres for refreshments
A Poets Dozen Fried stirred put in the Oven
Breakfast Lunch Dinner Dessert they Love it
Your own private Diner a blended Fatata
Served with coffee chocolate makes it hotter
Its your cup of Tea brewing the pot screams
With a bit of Raw Honey melted a throat eased
Butter Bread A Puerto Rican Dream
Melts in your mouth the simple things please
Now if you would like eggs over easy
The yolk in the center would run dreaming
With a side of bacon maybe a piece of ham
To dip in the center would be a grand slam
How about some scrabbled eggs with Cheese
Or a lovely danish hard boiled preferably
Have you ever had punch made with grape juice
Eggs whipped with sugar enhancing a favorite fruit
Maybe a poached egg perhaps an omelette instead
Stuffed with a filling ingredients run to your head
French Toast pancakes hashbrowns at last
This Diner is cooking take a plate don't pass
To swallow it down orange juice take a glass
Your ready to pump iron enough protein you've had
See you next time it was a pleasure to entertain
This diner now closed hope you enjoyed your unconventional first date
12/28/2015
My thoughts are all scattered
My heart is in tatters
In a spin, in a whirlwind
Tried to tell you-
Did it matter?
So much still to say,
No words to convey-
My emotions and heart
Like cards waiting to play.
Frustration and anger at my lack of sense,
I've never been here
Never felt such intense.
I'm a mess I'm dramatic-
The hell did you do?
I do NOT get like this, NEVER have until you.
I don't like, it sucks !
Always knew where I was.
You have scrabbled me
Wrecked me-
Made me come all undone.
What is it about you that makes me this way?
Believe me there's been others
But none have left me this way.
I don't get all stupid
But you do this to me.
I owned my own life til
You looked over my way.
Sometimes I do hate you for what you have done,
You broke me undid me
Jeeeezus- my one.
(I found this poem that I wrote in my first year of high school, it brings back memories so
thought I'd post it)
He wears what was once a fine suit. Brown, travel-worn trousers, a white, broken-buttoned
shirt, and leather shoes that look as though a hundred chalky footed mice have scrabbled
over the toes.
He walks in shadows, glaring through red rimmed eyes at the colourful swarm of shoppers.
Their eyes slide over him, uninterested and uncaring;
He has no true friends only a black dog that follows behind him wherever he goes.
He walks with his head down, ignoring everything but the sound of his own scuffed shoes
on the pavement. Memories hang heavy around his shoulders. His moods are violent. Soft,
silent depression breaks into hysterical yelling for no real reason; he grabs at his grey
threaded hair.
The shoppers walk on, pretending he is not there
But Grief walks -
In a once fine suit, through shadow, head down, grief walks.
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