Mister Alfred
Mister Alfred
Alfred, the pianist who is also my father
although he denies the paternity vehemently,
was in Hawaii and played the ukulele with
Had little success and returned to Europe.
Alfred, the pianist and also my father, could
get the sweetest tones when he played and
women swooned in other men’s arms,
was when not playing of a rather sullen nature
He spent the day walking around town with
In an alpaca jacket and a French bonnet, he looked ever
artistic, and I followed him around, once when I fell
A bollard got in the way; he did help me up and
I`m not your father!
Alfred, the pianist and also my father, got to be
ninety-two, and in the last years of his life was glad
to have a son, even if it was a fake one, as Alfred
was fond of pointing out
They just want your money.
Just want your wealth.
Meagre or major they’ll take it all else.
Post sale and the manner changes in tone.
Commission awarded - it’s time to go home.
They’ll try to convince you that you need it to live!
They’ll try to persuade you that you’re doing the right thing.
But they just want your money. They’d take it and take it all. Smiles and so jolly until the deal ends it’s call.
They just want your money. They don’t care how hard it came by. They just want your money and hope you’ll be swooned by their guile.
Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
BIRD FROM A CARTOON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ollie the ostrich one day did say
As he looked in the mirror, “Oh bother! "Nay!
Is that really my beak?
And my feathers once so sleek?
I seem to have lost my handsome ways!"
He fluffed up his feathers with flair,
And practiced a dashing new stare.
"Mirror, you jest!
I’m truly the best!
Just look at this fabulous hair!"
“Just look at my feathers!” he swooned,
With a frown he said, “I must be a loon!”
“Eegads! I’m a horrible sight to behold,
And the truth must be told,
“I look like a bird from a cartoon.”
Mommy
by Sylvia Plath (in her voice and style)
Mommy, your face was a frostbitten moon,
A pale eclipse of warmth I never held.
Your hands were glass, and never swooned
To touch the fever in which I dwelled.
You stitched me shut with lilac thread—
Soft on the skin, but poison-fed.
A nursery built from iron and ash,
Rocking the cradle with a funeral lash.
I drank your dreams from china cups,
Each sip a silence that filled me up.
You danced in pearls I could not wear,
Your laughter stitched to the midnight air.
I dug you up in every verse,
Your voice a hymn, a snarling curse.
Mommy, did you mean to drown me too?
Even now, I wear your hurt like blue.
I bloom in bruises shaped like you.
Scary truth we said on the roof
You dared to see me through
With your eagle-eye view
swooned me in, out of blue
And I know this couldn't be true
Cause I came strong onto you
But you cared-
To listen to my scary truths
...
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
whilst my heart remains
waiting to receive the
other stolen half
playing the melancholia tunes
on a piano in the ocean
with broken bemoaning keys
dreaming my dread will
float with the
curling reflecting waves
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
mixed with my eagerness
to be enough
and to become
a cumbersome pillow-covered boulder
willingly chained in place
for you to fall on
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
after the rain
hot n soul-comforting
sweet to the first sip
with instant anomie bitterness
swooned with the
sugar cubes in the
coffee creamed heart-stricken
shaped swirls
I'll make you a cuppa coffee
with a heart suffering
bearing heavy weights alone
desolate, only
tumbleweeds flowing
abrupt earthquakes
on the verge of
collapsing completely
awaiting the day
someone makes me mine
...
Angry Choices
You swooned at me, and I fell in feet first.
You made me feel as if I was brilliant.
But it was all a hoax.
My thoughts meant something once.
Now it's nothing but silence from me.
You taped my mouth and made me obey.
We could have been so much together.
You closed the door on, my opinion.
Wished me to tow the line and never fall.
Perfection is what you reach for, but I thought I was perfect before you touched me.
I long for discussion and human contact, but here I sit with no one in site.
I cry alone at night right next to your side, but you never hear my lonely cries.
My ears hurt from the screaming, but you seem to think I am deaf.
I follow behind you with my head down and I think what else could I be.
I have chosen this life, and I live it every day but when will I be allowed to speak.
My heart has broken into a million pieces, and I hold it in my hands looking for the solution.
I wanted love and happiness but here I sit with anger and bitterness.
You had me at hello, but will I ever say goodbye.
I have conversed with the common man
in warm and well-worn pubs.
I have been a ribald, and a leery lout,
a seducer of barmaids.
I have been common,
the way a city pidgin is common,
its scabbed claws a common sight,
slipping in and out of poorly lit doors.
Poets are born poor, poorly treated,
and poorly thought of.
The wealthy used to be poets,
but their intelligence
was pawned and loaned to them
by the winking, wicked streets.
They made daffodils out of dog,
many swooned,
but the common people,
we spat out their perfumed souls
for they were distasteful,
much more so
than the knowing fools I talk to
in the most common of pubs.
The folded corners and wrinkled pages
of catalogs that were tattered and ripped
From the first of October until late in December
we drooled,
we fawned,
we lusted,
we swooned and giggled
mutilating each page
until the pictures faded.
Sears and Roebuck,
Monkey Wards
JC Penny’s,
Macy’s, Mattingly’s, K-mart.
Our wish list grew long
more than one sheet could hold
tears welled up with each toy crossed out.
Until the list was whittle down
Though the likelihood of getting any was nill.
But still
That’s why we called it the book of wishes.
If wants and wishes were hugs and kisses
There would be no need
to thumb through the pictures
and dream.
Perhaps imagination was the best Christmas gift
~No Man Is Without Fear~
He was handsome beyond imagination, more intelligent than any human alive, a leader of men, a captain of industry, successful in all pursuits, and loved by all who knew him. Women swooned at the sight of him, men bowed low in his presence and children studied his greatness in school. Rulers of nations envied him. He lowered his head to no one on earth. Except for his mother and father. Because they knew he was afraid of the dark.
All humans know fear,
some people hide it better,
I fear giant ants.
Theres her beauty,
In her beachshore garden,
As she gave her kisses,
The flowers swooned,
The flowers swooned,
As she kissed the moon,
She shed no tears,
She shed no tears,
Theres her beauty,
Luminous,
In her beachshore garden,
As she gave her kisses,
She gave her love,
She gave her love,
As she kissed the moon,
She shed no tears,
She shed no tears,
As she gave her kisses,
The flowers swooned,
The flowers swooned
Reynaldo Casison
A faraway moon took a close-up look
At the waves of the sea as the ocean shook
And the fervor that raged ‘neath the palm of the sky
Bore aloft on its wings the scream of a cry
Of a cry that was greater as twilight began –
‘Twas the cry of the night in the voice of a man
There stood he alone, alone stood as one
On the side of the sea as the evening begun
While the gloaming fell over the ocean’s roar
Stood the man on the sand at the ocean’s door
With a gleam in his eye there he stood on the sand
And out to the sea to the sky held his hand
Held his hand out to capture the pearl in the night
As it rose in its glow in the eye of his sight
And he closed his fist over the jewel he would take
From the sky to the sea as it raged in its wake
And raised it up high with a mighty roar!
For the pearl of the night – now in hand evermore!
But the tide overwhelmed him and under he fell
And swooned in the sway of the great ocean’s spell
While the moon traveled calmly on over his head
He slept fitful dreams with the sand for his bed
And awoke, empty-handed, with a stir and a jolt
Well after the moon from the tide had broke –
Saddle steak catering
he bragged of the flavor.
We though he was
a clownish type
of joker who wished to
create an audience for his
product. We found the price
quit steep, and looked odd
for a steak. The center hole
made room for jokes: but
when they tasted it they
swooned to there knees.
i saw the crooner sing spoke
the woman, i heard him whoo.
i knew then what I was about to
taste was something
incredible something
far more then intriguing. The spotlight
shoned on the stranger: who's
performance
would be determined by
his expression to
the flavor.
they Sernaded the
Saddle Steak as King
of all steaks!
Neupert and Bluthner
accompanis an orchestra to
decribe the tenisity of bife!
Mezzo Soprano said of the meal.
Third degree burns? I just get hot;
Finally, deep enough to wound;
Painful skin grafts can't get a shot,
to my frequency you were tuned;
Beneath the surface desire crooned,
I'll be your willing apprentice;
Eyes flashing 'Danger' I just swooned,
thriving in a consuming kiss.
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