Alma is back on BBC
with tales of eccentricity
even the critics said it’s good
they’re calling Bolton, "Brollywood"
claiming it's worth the licence fee
It's warmth is positivity
facing life and absurdity
in ways no-one else, would or could
Alma is back
BAFTA award winning TV
based on the writers family
Willan, she's our Walters and Wood
champions the misunderstood
if you catch it, then you will see
Alma is back.
With bowed heads and fervent prayer
we shed our tears with broken hearts
in memory of those no longer here,
those memories are now set far apart.
Names listed on the TV screen
the familiar ones heard from another century,
Benedict and Barbara Walters,
other famous names upon the altar,
Unfamiliar names are forgotten yet last
pushed back into our past
the heroes, saints, and sinners once cast;
these then there are the names often unheard,
familiar but unknown to the public lives interred
by family, friends, and the dearly beloved
who revealed the truths in life discovered
by the children and pictures that remain
and we take stock of all we've lost and all we've gained,
holding on tight to their legacies and their names.
Cricket in the 70s was great
When the future was up to a World Series fate
And Rod Marsh was one of Kerry Packer’s men
To get better paid was their demand
When the Chappells, Doug Walters, Lenny Pascoe and friends
Returned to cricket properly with fulfilled demands
We saw Thommo and Lillee bowling down
With Rod Marsh crouching where the cherry was bound
In the record books there are 343 dismissals
Athletic catches to the bowlers missiles
The greatest number were catches made
With the crowd roaring and farewells to batsmen were bade
The record books show bowled Lillee caught Marsh
As the usual dismissal in an attack quite harsh
But now he is one for the ages in our memories grand
Forever in his baggy green with a beer in hand.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Drew Barrymores Boyfriends
The Boys She Dated
Corey Feldman
Balthazar Getty
Leland Hayward 3
David Arquette
Corin Nemec
Jamie Walters
Jeremy Thomas
Eric Erlandson
Edward Norton
Luke Wu Son
Henry Thomas
Tom Green
Sam Rockwell
Fabrizio Moretti
Spike Jonze
Justin Long
Will Kopelman
Note.Mogambo Khush Hova Shabash Bachi Shabash.
Lesson.Long Live America.
Barbara Walters
Never falters.
Interviews celebrities,
Easily putting them at ease.
I forgave them, the anointed flock, rinse them
And wash them, and put them back
To wear your robe, your borrowed diadem
Walk to Golgotha with curse at their back
I forgave them
For they never felt the fire, knew no heat
You covered them
Before they made a prince to walk the street
O could they know black faith coming back, come back
O could they tell the deluge
And see the white robes above it, coming back
Into the brambled tents, the host of refuge
They would forgive
Had they known you, the cross before the throne
They would forgive
Their erring pride in one who walked alone
O Christ, what jealousy consume our faint name
In ignorance cage castling
Curtains of glory from tattered rags of shame
What cattle blind in jostling
I forgave them
For by these words they know again your heart
You forgave them
Long ere they forget or love flew apart
Through the window you can see him there,
shaving whiskers and trimming hair.
Red and white swirling outside the door,
as hair drifts skittering across the floor.
He stands all day, he works so hard
dreaming of a sunbath out in his yard.
The little girl waits with broom in hand,
for the Barber to give the sweep command.
And on Sunday, his day of rest,
he let her do what she liked best.
He sat and read in his rocking chair,
while she braided ribbons into his wisps of hair.
Lelah Walters
10/10/09
She drifts through the visions of someone else’s life,
searching for an essence of purpose.
She wonders where the one she loves has gone.
Why does she feel so lonely, so lost and detached?
She roams in the soft twilight in this city of ornamental sepulchers,
and pauses to inhale the scent of crumbling roses that have reached their climax.
Moss hangs from the trees like hair turned
to mold on a humid summer night long ago.
The trees whisper to her of dreams she can’t digest.
They tell her she is part of their world now,
and grasp at her with claws of confinement.
She breaks away and moves into the deepening shadows.
There he is, standing silently with head bowed.
His gaze blurred, his heart rent with desolation.
She moves closer to look and feels her mind unfold.
Her name etched forever on a shrine of granite.
She reaches towards him for comfort,
but her arms only circle back to clutch at herself.
The wind sighs, the night bird calls to her lover and he,
stands shivering in his coat.
Lelah Walters
10/09/09
Yellow butter sun breaking through a blue, cloud spotted sky.
Ground warm beneath swiftly moving feet,
that propel me toward the day’s adventures.
Twisting green vines, sporting fairy hat flowers
ripen quickly in the creeping heat.
Scent of grass, asphalt and rain left over from
a shower quickly passing in the night; penetrate my senses
and I am transported to the long ago days of childhood.
Lelah Walters
9/20/09
How do you know when the time is right?
When the eyes that once sparkled have lost their light?
When the robust body that used to run and play
has lost its shape, is fading away?
Without words to voice her plight,
she looks to her master to set things right.
Her life’s been long, her service true.
The days remaining now are few.
How do you know which day is the one?
When to make that call, to say she’s done?
To take that step, that last loving endeavor
that will part her from your life forever?
They say it is an act of kindness shown
to a faithful friend, to guide her home.
Home to the place where she will rest,
until the day when we are blessed
to hold her again, watch her run and play;
Then we will know that was the day.
Lelah D. Walters
9/19/09
Golden eyes shine still
Warm fur soft under hand
Sweet sipirt waning
Lelah D. Walters
9/6/09
You Don’t Know...
You don’t know...me.
What I think, like, feel.
You don’t know…what I can do,
or what I have accomplished.
You don’t know… where I have traveled,
or where I am headed.
You don’t know…my hopes and dreams,
or my fears and concerns.
You don’t know…how much I wish that you did.
You don’t know…the cost of the years passing by.
You don’t know…how much love
and friendship was there for the taking.
You don’t know…what you don’t know.
And not knowing, you know not
all that you have missed.
By Lelah D Walters
9/4/09
Trusting
(without doubt or fear)
Inverse fine gifts
(given to us something dear)
Amoraously
(with great affection we give.)
Ambiguious chatter
(sweet nothings whispered in the ear)
Ambivalent feelings
(our existence as a whole.)
Overtly extrude with exuberance
(openly pushed feelings explode)
What can not contain itself
( the Holy Spirit commands it to shout)
in mine mind
(in memories stout)
I spill on mine poetic slip
( my mind has use for such splinded verse)
Mind of gossip
(and imagine the best; but tell the worse)
[ who will carry this on? i see a family Duo. Kristy and Aleera Walters De La Keur. get busy
yal]
They flee.
Those immortals, back to damnation
Until the full moon, aids again re-creation
The hordes of dog-mongrels, are pacing the earth
It happens with every eclipse, their re-birth
Beginning with claws and proceeding to fang
Expanding their faces, and noses, like chain
Their muscles twist heavy, their hair un-described
Locked in their essence, is terror denied
Look!, the coolness of fog, fingers down
Settling on dead things, all over the ground
Then piercing howls, cut the air like pure glass,
If you’re alone, then your neck hair, stands fast,
And shadows you’ll see, wherever you look,
If fear is the last thing, you thought, you’d forsook,
If something is near you, then you’d better run!
Cause the bite of the mongrel, has only begun!
Sponsored by the tapping of Sami Al-khalili
John Lovings iii Game The Haunted Poets Society by John Loving iii
Who's next?... Aleera Walters-De La Keur
Barbara Walters
Never wears halters
With her small B cup
She hasn't enough to hold them up
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