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Evangeline Ashe Aug 2015
Fahnd 'im lyin' int middle o' t'street
bruised an' battered from t'tramplin' feet.
Ee'd crawled aht from some gutter
an' them cries tha' ee did utter
almost like a knife through butter
cut mi quick an' deep.

'Is broken wings ah tried to treat
gently praying that ee'd be reyt.
But when 'is cry became a stutter
t'world rolled dahn its shutters
an' rahnd mi someone muttered:
" 'is prospects ain't 'alf bleak".

An' that poor lost little 'eap
ah cradled but coun't weep,
til mi arms discerned a flutter.
So in mi chest ee'll see the summer
from that 'ollow haven like no other
where ee can safely sleep.
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."
Terry O'Leary Oct 2013
"Once upon a midnight", ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
Black fanged werewolves gorged, engrossedly.

In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly),
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.

Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced, so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.

Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely,
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.

As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.

If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...

;-)

Apologies to EAP
Elisa Aug 2011
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Nancy E Tracy Nov 2014
eetsy eetsy, tiny feetsy
in the attic dark and creepy
who could be there? Looking at me
Is it Procyon Lotor?

He comes watching every winter
will he really dare to enter?
Enter at my chamber door
Seeking mischief as before?

Comes the creature wild of feature
Fuzzy furry in a hurry
looking for me wanting near me
Only this and nothing more

                         **

Will they hate me and berate me
loving Rhyme the way I do?

Poetaster they will call me
Death, disaster pray befall me

I will be the way I will be
always 'till the end of time so
You can hate me all you want to
You have your way, I'll have mine


Poetry by definition

A highly developed form and
use
of heightened language and rythm
to express an imaginative
interpretation
of the subject
Procyon Lator - raccoon  (My pet raccoon) penned with tongue in cheek hope ya know :)
Elisa Aug 2011
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --
WARNER BAXTER Mar 2014
.
Leap of faith
Object of affection
Vision of beauty
Eclipse of the heart

Lilly
Orchid
Violet
Edibble arrangement

Lusciously
Overflowing
Voluptuous
En­chantress

Lascivious
Osculatious
Virginous
Epicu­re

Lustful
Orgasmic
Veracious
Eruption

Lady­ Love
Obscene Love
Velvet Love
Erotic Love

*loving lovers loved lovingly lovable lovely love
Samuel Francois Oct 2011
EAP
Here at last we meet,
I and my melancholy stare,
facing an image so sweet,
a soul so pure,
a canvas so bare

Let not be influenced by the darkness
Do not be deceived by my uninviting stance
for my time is up, or surely drawing near
throw me one more glance,
grant me one last dance

Creeping while weeping,
sleeping while dreaming,
may your life be filled with bliss
Hoping and beaming,
with tears streaking
perceiving visions of the ******,
walking the abyss

Perfection escapes both I and you
for beings like us can never be
That essence is no longer,
we must purse
content with yourself,
for you have grew

At last we meet again
a meeting I have dreaded forever
happiness there,
now to gain
but are we strong enough to whether.
VentEmotion Feb 2014
For ever live forever involved...

E mprical truth
V ented emotions
O rdinary til eternity
L ongterm fascination


L eap blind folded
O utstanding sensual emissions
V iolin heart beat
E quality yet devolved in my eyes.
PK Wakefield Jul 2012
7 days for 1nce a month you're vermillion

taste like in the middle of copper thighs

2 lips magneticly parted

by 2 lips 1 tongue

and weeks a year you're like iron
and salt and copper reddish between
hunks of femurs pours a 12 times

dear, the crawling vapid sweet acidity
of 7 mouthfuls of queer drink surge
delightfully opaque crimson gallons of

         you

          r clefted

      love h

           eap

                    is



      the best kind of drowned
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
uncouthed, in the plain, in the pleasant, in the big upward outward (foreverandever) the sky. andl eap tu pt ot ouch the grotesque marvel: the sun; who's infinitely finite strands of lovely fingers briskly gallop on the smooth earth. a fine lady, he loves most, HER.,;';,.
Poetic T Feb 2015
Beware for it is coming
Everyone will soon see,
For it is upon us now,
Old young, new born
Reach inside yourself
Every moment counts.
-
They think its all *"OK"
Hell on earth will fall
Each persons moment.
-
Will they *crumble

Or rise above this all,
Reap what you sow
Leave the material
Death is following
-
Every last thought
Not everyone's the same.
Do you want to be alone?
So the world ends, but stars still turn.

— The End —