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Free verse
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There are messes upon messes upon messes here.
This is why I am not eager or excited about having people over.
Luckily, we feel no need to entertain or go anywhere.
The pandemic has made this desirable and acceptable.
Thank you, pandemic for one teensy favor.
Too bad my husband is coughing up a lung today.
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Rhyme
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how much suffering, do i need,
for my grasping, nastiness unsung,
how much aching payback, 4 word n deed,
before me spirit's, sprung,
escaping from this pathetic weed,
a hell on earth is yet decreed,
suffering now getting up to speed,
if i preferred, be hung:)
song of one bung lung is sung....
thank you Elizabeth Wesley,
" Emptiness of Living,".... Don
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Personification
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My heart is beating yet
my lung yet breathing
my eyes yet facing the queen
of myself thy love
— (Thou thank your creator . . . )
But, obviously in degrees
in other side
your wearing breasts in a practical nude
your truly wearing encounter-leg
by 75% nude
sneak of a stylish whole
Over a break surround the hole.
Over reacting is you practically
in imitation, from my death
by had said
it without a giving of indication
of snaking-back in your mind
you had ever caressed me
May be-yes!
In ignore tab imagination.
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Rhyme
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years for now, the Vicar preached his village,
message of peace and everlasting love,
but back at home his wife would show him rage,
shout “ Leave me alone” and give him a shove!
corpulent now, no more as slim when young,
she was now a mother of children three,
loved him dearly, though she vented her lung,
“let me do my work, go! I am not free!
Christmas lights would bring much needed romance,
a cuddle, a kiss when the two were free,
if he professed something beyond a dance,
a shy “leave me alone, It’s time for tea!
thunderstorms were lot frequent in their town,
he would thank the Lord, for she held him close,
much love was shared when in their dressing gown,
“Leave me alone” smiled she,”time to repose”.
Written 13/11/2021
Leave me alone poetry contest
Mystic Rose Rose sponsored
10 syllables each line
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Lyric
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My heart beating is alive hitherto
my lung breathing is hitherto
my eyes hitherto facing the queen
of myself thy love IS don . . .
— ( thank thou by blessing creator)
But, obviously in worth is degrees
of early befoul inquiry . . .
your wearing breasts in a practical nude
your truly wearing encounter-leg
— by 75% nude
away, sneaking by of stylish whole
Across el break surrounds one, the hole.
over reacting is you practically
by imitation from my death
Essaying a big selfsame, from it mouth;
sponging out thee any indication
of never having snake me-back in your mind,
then, you had ever caressed me . . .
Darling! — in my record,
blessing you did it — in mine shut up
blessing you did it . . .
In wrangles ignored your imagination.
~ Ciro C Toledo ~
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Rhyme
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It’s A Stitch Up
I struck a match and the gas cooker did me
So a chap called Sidney gave me a kidney
I didn’t steal it and I didn’t beg
But a fellow called Clegg gave me a leg
My best mate Paul gave his left eyeball
But my uncle Jock gave nothing at all
Thanks to Steve there’s an arm up my sleeve
And the fact I can breath is hard to believe
But the praises I’ve sung cos Burt gave me a lung
Fall short of Fred Young who made me well hung
And so I thank Fred for my prowess in bed
But if it wasn’t for Ted, I’d still have no head
When I walk again I hope I will meet
The geezer next door who gave me his feet
Nobody knows who gave me my nose
But a guy up my street gave me all of his toes
Old Bobby Tutt gave me his gut
The rider from Pizza Hut gave me his butt
But how can I ever thank young Tommy Green
Who gave me his heart and his liver and spleen
But it seems all those people I never shall greet
For when the gas blew, it blew up the street.
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Free verse
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All things must end
Be they fear or fire or pain
Or a soft, hot sweet dream
Like rekindling youth while dancing in summer rain
Or like bonding blissfully
With nimble-footed friends
Or finding you to dance with
In wild abandon instead
All things must end
Even the crippled tears of eyes that say goodbye
Every confused fear of change that trembles inside
Even the simple smiles
And the happy sighs of fun well had
Will end sometime
But gratitude is like a deep breath
It fills me up and puts my mind at rest
And for you gratitude raises high my chest
Like a crest of all things blessed
Like a happy necklace, it makes memories
Full of laughter and gaiety
That I can hold hearteningly to my soul
And hang around my neck
To bring warmth when it gets cold
So thank you for your gifts
Your ready laugh and smooth hips
But especially for being my friend
For sharing your company with me until the end
And before I impart my final farewells and kiss your hand
I would ask that to me forgiveness you would grant
For any offence I have caused you in action or wordy rant
Or by negligence in taking a passive stance
When I ought to have paid more attention
And left less to chance
Please pardon a young lung who with you was pleased to dance
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Free verse
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He demands a unilateral appointment with all of us and more often than not, appears suddenly without warning, without mercy, leaving grief, sorrow, and tears. He has been given 'a power of passage', but he too has an appointment and a destiny with destruction and doom. But until then, he comes and goes, and takes without giving. There was LEE, a giant of a man and lover of people who after a couple of years of lung sickness, died last summer. Then there was PAT, who over the years had many encounters of illness and survived. But in the summer of 2018, he was attacked with pancreatic cancer that took him away from us. My good friend BOB came down with throat cancer. I must admit that I had fears and frets over him, but I and others continued to exercise our faith on Bob's behalf, and thank God he recovered greatly. A few months ago, there was GENE who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died last Fall, but not before we celebrated with him his wonderful life. A couple of weeks ago, my friend GERRY passed on after much discomfort. Someday, death will cease his sway over us and we will celebrate his demise. To everything, and yes to death itself, there is a time and a season.
03012019PoSoupContest, Dance of Death, Chantelle Cooke
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
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Couplet
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Each afternoon, around wintertime
sat a sickly old man, with a very bad spine
Poor and withered, without any money
none of his days were ever sunny
He fought in two wars and lost his leg
now he's alone and has to beg
Living each day was a struggle to beat
being alive was considered a feat
Nobody stopped to donate or talk
but then again, he was unable to walk
But this changed on one special day
during spring on the 3rd, of a unique May
A little boy, no more than ten
came down the street chasing a hen
He saw the man and sat down with him
for once in his life someone would listen
They talked and talked about many things
in a fantasy world, where they were the kings
After a while they bid farewell
back to the world that seemed like Hell
However, this little boy was amazing
truly worth, limitless praising
He came back, day after day
hours and hours is what he would stay
This brought the man nearly to tears;
being alone for all those years
He didn't need cash, shelter, or food
just someone to lighten his mood
And this little boy was his answer
but then the man developed lung cancer
Death was near, to come and to reap
to bring the man down into the deep
But he no longer had any stress
embracing it fully, he would egress
One final meeting before he would pass
the breeze blew and it shook the grass
"Thank you" were his final words
and then he was gone, up with the birds.
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Rhyme
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Just a quick notification that
A new resident was on his way
Giving us enough time to get
A room ready for him to stay
Not our usual type of client
A Veteran French Legionnaire
It was beyond my pay grade
To know how he’d ended there.
He was going through a crisis
In his domestic civilian life
Needed a break away from
His family and his wife.
The Veteran Brotherhood
Had taken care of it
Referred him on to us
For one of our bedsits.
He’d woken up in hospital
Physically sound and whole
The only surviving member
Of an ambushed recce patrol
With no recollection of how
He’d ended up there,
Or the three days lost that
He’d spent under care.
Discharged back to Blighty
Survivor guilt to the fore
PTSD setting in he just
Couldn’t take anymore.
All this had happened
A good few years ago
But Traumatic Stress Disorder
Can take many years to show.
He stayed just a few months
And, not telling us why
He went back to his wife
Where he'd chosen to die.
Just days before he passed
I was surprised to hear his voice
When he rang me to tell me
Why he made that choice.
Said with Chronic lung disease
He was very near his end
And he wanted to thank me
For being both helper and friend.
Shocked and distraught not
Knowing what to say or do
I let Forces black humour
Help carry us through.
The Brotherhood is International
A mixed and disparate lot
So many times it’s the sad case
Each other is all we’ve got.
Booted and suited by his box
We all took time to think
Drank a toast to his memory, left
Untouched the absent friend’s drink.
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Wm. J. Atfield Jr. bja2mgmenter@gmail.com March 27th, 2020, 4:52 PM
Poetry Soupers, who have or are following me.
My gratitude goes out to you !!!
Johnson Coulibaly Neethu Sivaraj Adiyoli Alex Anonymous Phil Capitano Ann Foster Margaret Franceschini Line Gauthier Heather Hans Okonkwo Ifeanyichukwu Stephen Mayne Claudie Modley Kishan sharma Mark Woods
I want to thank all you Poets, who have taken the time.
Whom have, from your busy lives, read my efforts at rhyme.
I have come to the end of a journey ???, as interests began to wane
and nothing seems to garner inspiration, there is nothing to gain
by continuing down this path I have traversed for twenty eight years,
expressing pain, passion, love, understanding and heartache full of tears.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 27th, 2020,
Caves
Old, single, alone, life can be like living in a dark, damp cave.
A voice reminisces, echoing off the stone walls what one gave.
Throwing it back at one, all that one once knew, to be true.
Memories, moments, experiences once lived, now are few.
This library is in decay, nothing much left to do or to say.
One realizes, as the sun is setting, it’s soon to be the last day.
With this coronavirus, {{ COVID-19 }} circling this planet.
For the vulnerable, “ it’s soon to be the last day.” if they get
caught up in its talons, its claws tearing at the tissue of each lung.
A dirge for this world, and humanity, a dirge for years, will be sung.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 27th, 2020,
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Free verse
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my soul is the shape of a bloodstain
poured there by Nadine Maraschino
my right eye sits
in the ruby voodoo goblet
that she wears upon her head
Nadine was a 3-toed egg laying harpy
from the cauldron of shame
but she used her brain cleverly
with candor and anti-obfuscatory ardor
it was the mystic East
humping the mystic West
so said the gaming industry statistics
don’t believe me then
talk to my lawyers then
Circumstance & Circumstance
writs tarts and exonerations
they’ll tell you of the settlement
coded instruction to the next generation
Nadine's heart was as big as a catcher's mitt
her white garments billowed
like clouds passing before the moon
we met in an emergency room
after I pulled my best pickup line
hi I'm a friend to the entire human race
and she countered with
want auntie Nadine to show you
how to be a big boy
a buzzard shadow passed over her face
she pulled me close and hissed
if no one wants to look foolish
why so many truth murdering fools
I weakly countered with
if thoughts are differentiated
one from the other then so are you
Nadine’s lizard tongue gave him
the secret to the garden
descending down his throat
like a black lung miner
how can you tell if it's morning noon or night
hint you'll need a sense of sequence
hers was a dangerous mission
for both covert and overt ends
the life's a bitch and then you die cynics
took us for a pack of numbskulls
well we were arrayed in a tatty splendor
consisting of zero camouflage
but there was no substitute for living deep
even in Happy Valley
the slightly assisted living community
well hell we're all assisted
aren't we supposed to get smarter
as time scurries us along
and last I'd like to thank
my non-existent financial backers
for timely script development
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
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Rhyme
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First I was a puppy, Young and bright eyed,
I opened my eyes, and saw the blue skies.
Along with my mother, My brothers and sisters,
We watched and saw, The ladies and misters.
They came and went, To see us all,
I was too interested, In my bright green ball.
Then a lady came, With hair so blonde,
I ran over to her, And sealed the bond.
A few days went by, I waited around,
Where was the lady, Where my heart was bound.
The door then opened, My eyes opened wide
The lady was here, A child by her side.
She took me home, She bought me a bed,
She bought me toys, She made sure I was fed.
The years go on, I go to the sea,
My red bandana, A life being free.
The memories I’ve made, Over all the years,
Are the best I’ve had, Could bring you to tears.
I’ve been to the park, I’ve been to the sea,
I’ve been in a car, I’ve done the best for me.
Time waits for no dog, As you can tell,
The years have flown, The eyes start to well.
The years passed on, The aches start to appear,
My eyes are failing, My time is near.
I’m still the same dog, I remember being young,
I can’t walk very far, There’s a pain in my lung.
I’m an old man now, I’m grumpy and tired,
I cough and splutter, Yet I’m still admired.
I know for a fact, I’m loved with no doubt,
I’ll be loved forever, From my tail to my snout.
The love I have, For my human friends,
Is unconditional, It will never end.
I jump in the car, With my tired little legs,
They say we are going, On a trip to the vets.
I arrive at the vets, My white wagging tail,
My awful cough, My heart about to fail.
They say to me, To go to sleep,
To close my eyes,The sleep is deep.
The pain will go, I’ll feel the best,
If I close my eyes, And have a little rest.
I start to lie down, Put my head on my paw,
I close my eyes, And have a little yawn.
I see a light, My time has come,
Fairwell my friends, My life’s been fun.
I’ll see you again, I’ll wait for you here,
my favourite people, I’ll always be near.
The best of lives, A dog could have had,
I thank you all, Please don’t be sad.
I’ll leave my toys, Blankets and bed,
I don’t need them now, You can rest your head.
I’m safe and sound, A life with no pain,
I cannot wait, To see you again. - buster
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