Plush lips and a pouty face,
still I can’t hear a thing you say;
Distracted by all the work done
in the name of high fashion;
Now you look just like a toon,
sponged with what’s real covered up;
Pineapple skin seems a bit phony,
leave all that at the bottom of the sea;
Starved for attention;
I see it in those sparkling eyes,
plush lips, and a pouty face;
To erase such natural beauty? Tragic.
Morphed into a filtered edit,
straight from the bottom of the sea;
Plush lips and a pouty face,
still I can’t hear a thing you say.
Response To Beauty Queen By Bailey Underwood
He asked many people.
And sought the wisdom
Of wise people .
Because it has the ability
To teach and educate
He cited cerro gordo
as a perfect cite to
Build a college.
To recreate something that
Once existed and give life
Back to an area were the
Ancient secrets of yesterday
Can teach and educated students
Of today and tommorrow.
He saw schools of carpentry, masonry,
Plumbing, culinary, hotel management,
Clothes making, theater, jewelery making,.
Tourism, business administration, medical
Drone college, terrafugia and jetoptera
Creating traffic and logistics to remodernize
Areas reelctrifcatiin and machine college.
Desert farming and water harvesting, and realestate.
Greenhouses, helping people means educating them.
I'm having a hard time believing
That you could just walk away from me
Without having any sort of effect on you
No turning back
No second guesses
No big deal
We hadn't seen each other in 20 years
And you know you opened up a can of worms when you kissed me, out of the blue
Be it real and true
Or just acting on a whim
Either way, it started something neither one of us was expecting, nor could deny
A year or so later, here you are
Turning the page, mid-story with yet another new face
And, here I am
Still juggling rattled emotions
Still finding my way out
Still trying to let go
And sadly,
Still feeding on the meager breadcrumbs you toss my way once in a while
You used to fight for me, didn't want to completely let go
But now I'm not so sure
So, if you still care enough for me to be honest, and you have completely let go
I need to know
Because this sliver of hope I'm holding onto deep in my heart, is going to tear me to shreds
And even more so because
'If I didn't love you, I'd be good by now'
??
September 25, 2021
(Quote courtesy: Jason Aldean and Carrie Underwood)
So many things come to us in life
some valuable others not worth much
when it's a gift one feels so good
making it something you want to clutch
God has given the gift of understanding
yes even you and I can truly have this
but do we really recognise it as such
as when compared to that passionate kiss
Consider how much we understand
concluding with a mind so very full
truly gifted all from heaven above
far more precious than the purest jewel
This gift of understanding so divine
it's a godly imperative so very true
such is a token of God's love
another of God's gifts for dear you
To understand any riddle is swell
but to this special gift is Solomon like
whatever crosses our street we can see
but understanding is our special strike
(Quote: 'This gift of understanding isn’t just a good idea, it’s a godly imperative
.- Teri Lynne Underwood)
My ancient Underwood typewriter, dusty, boxy, charmingly obsolete
Missing p, x and m - still, imperfectly complete
Kept for its craftsmanship and for nostalgic retreat
I wrote my novel (unpublished, unshown) at sixteen
Upon this unwieldy, cranky, clunky, behemoth beige machine
No complaints on the convenience of the screen
But millennials will never know what it means
Feeling the tingling rush that vibrates and sings
The music of the keys striking the paper
Lifting your muse, and words, like a skyscraper.
7/10/18
there was a woodsman that lived in rosewood
approached a nymph sleeping in underwood
a gambler loved by the bards
sat down with a deck of cards
with sleight of hands lost his axe, boots and hood
4/11/2018
Hours after hours of practice
Making sounds that are polished pearls
Connected by a thin string made up of
Accelerando, arpeggios, and articulation
O, what wonderful colours you have!
Measures after measures of music
Playing with deep emotions that flow
Sometimes, the stream in the green meadow on a sunny day
Other time, the ruthless ocean during a thunderstorm
O, what diverse sentiments you convey!
Days after days as time passes
Never failing to sooth the heart and the soul
Inspiring in a way that builds and constructs
Confidence, courage, pride, and esteem
O, what comfort you provide!
Rehearsals after rehearsals with the full orchestra
Stepping onto the stage of the world famous Carnegie Hall
Performing in front of a full house audience, the cadenza
In Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underwood Overture
O, what memorable experiences you bring!
Another year, another candle
Lots of beer, a little scandal
Another wrinkle, more stuff learnt
More wisdom and more fingers burnt
We’re here because we’re here because
There’s stuff to come and stuff that was
And we of the old school are still doin’ good
Rockin’ like Matthew Underwood
by Gail
The light that loses, the night that wins
And time remembered is grief forgotten
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
and in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Spring Light
Depths of darkness, deep
earth, night and Winter-
these are alchemy for Spring
Plain brown,dormant bulbs
bring forth such magic things
Time and motion turning light
re-cycle joy and grief
And memories as old as time,
are formed from lives so brief
Our Mother earth
has tolerance-all things she abides
Over forgotten scars her forests creep;
her shores are washed in healing tides
Cloud and mist and miracle
bring forth the flowers of spring
snowdrop, asphodel, hyacinths
renewing every dream
A sweet millenium of Springs
like clockwork cycle round
With faith we watch for them to come,
blossom by blossom .
In 1925 the birth of the King of the Underwood came forth
and some 21 years later, he would grace us with his wisdom
as well as his politics, quotes, manuscripts, short stories and then deliver to us Ben Hur
and Lincoln. His name was Gore Vidal and today he still "is".
I picture him typing on his Underwood in his various villas (of which he had many)
writing his own manuscripts chiefly because he despised, like most writers, interruptions
unless it were as he said, " to have sex or a television appearance, both of which he lauded.
Today Vidal leaves us with, " We are permanently the United States of Amnesia. We learn nothing because we remember nothing."
Passages In Life
Others will hurt you, its a known fact
Why do I feel I am under attack
At first I felt a little revenge
For the hurt I was feeling deep within
But the lord showed me there was another way
To leave all in his hands, to pray
As though my eyes saw for the first time
My heart was lifted, it was back mine
I could let this hurt go away
Because he showed me a passageway
He gave his best for you and he gave his best for me
Passages in life, set me free
The doors are wide open for you to come in
Some lead to light, some lead to sin
Choose carefully which passage you take
It is so easy to make a mistake
Never again will I let another bring me down
Its a place of darkness, will lead you to drown
Live your life right and love is the best
The lord will see you through all the rest
He gave his best for you and he gave his best for me
Passages in life, set me free
Wish recorded by : Carrie Underwood
Written by: Debra M. Falgout
Stay now with me , and listen to my sighs,
Bidding me to drain the curse and know it all.
Feigned that I spake ill of thee,
As to who beholds two currents thwart amid
the fluctous profound.
Pass , pass upon your way , for
I grow never old...and townward take to their
whirring flight. That o'er the green
cornfield did pass as I trembled.
Remarking how ill we are ; all
dissembled.
Hands, that the rod of empire might have
swayed, in one long yelllow string wound.
Tell how they lived and died
not heeding to the blight.
Dying in distant music, even as it came...
upon the fated night , gloomy encompassing
thee around.
And in the green underwood and cover, up ,
from the mystic play of shadows twining
and twisting as if they were alive...
Mindful the while that thus time flies for you,
That I myself was not more whimsical. Burning
more truely as it dwells, than
where the lights scatter amid two voices.
And all else is silent & perfect
with my choices.
After my father died, I moved to his old house
Donated many large items to charities
As each item was removed, tears streamed down my blouse
But some were not wanted; what would become of these?
Set up a table in the yard; sign said, “Free Stuff”
The old Underwood typewriter wasn’t set out
Parting with memories it evoked was just too rough
It symbolized Dad’s life, without any doubt
The late night hours a CPA spent at his desk
With my cat curled up next to him, evoking grins
As Dad typed away, little Prince looked statuesque
I learned to type on what is now a “has been”
This manual contraption replaced by high tech
Represented a man who worked to provide
Freely offering love, but stretching each pay check
To give us a better life, Dad’s efforts applied
The hours work took away from his family
I used to resent, but I understand more now
A sacrifice he made for my siblings and me
The thought of parting with it I couldn’t allow
The typewriter remains on Dad’s desk in the den
As a reminder of how hard he worked to please
Sometimes I still peck at the letters now and then
When I’m missing Dad most, somehow it brings me peace
Young, but hardly innocent,
For times are rarely ever so.
"Favors" made to pay the rent,
Became the harlot's status quo.
Past the church of childhood,
Where she had sung the choir's lead,
To 44th and Underwood,
Her newest place of want and need.
Night gives way to day's remorse,
Yet hunger has no prejudice,
Fifty bucks for intercourse;
What chaos could have led to this?
She walks, sometimes, along the walls,
Upon the rooftops, none too low,
And asks herself, were she to fall,
Would anybody even know?
Some things happen all by chance,
Other things are meant to be.
Maybe it was happenstance,
her accidental pregnancy.
She walks, sometimes, along the walls,
Upon the rooftops, tears in eyes,
Careful that she doesn't fall,
And softly singing lullabies.
THIS IS A SONG DONE BY CARRIE UNDERWOOD I WANTED TO SHARE WIT ALL OF YOU.
Little boy,6 years old,a little to use to being alone.
Another new mom and dad,another school,another
house that'll never be home.When people ask him
how he likes this place,he looks up and says with
a smile upon his face,
(CHORUS)
This is my temporary home,it's not where I belong,
windows and rooms that I'm passing' through.This is
just a stop,on the way to where I'm going,I'm not
afraid because I know,this is my temporary home.
Young mom,on her own,she needs a little help got
nowhere to go.She's lookin for a job lookin for a way
out,because a half way house will never be a home.
At night she whispers to her baby girl,someday we'll
find our place here in this world.
(CHORUS)
Old man,hospital bed,the room is filled with people he
loves,and he whispers don't cry for me I'll see you all
someday.He looks up and says,"I can see GOD'S face.
(CHORUS)
THIS IS OUR TEMPORARY HOME.
SONG BY CARRIE UNDERWOOD
THANK YOU FOR EVERYONE WHO TOOK TIME TO READ THIS
COLLEEN MARIE BONO
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