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judy smith Jul 2016
The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*
bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
There Is Slavery in Mauritania
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])

There are black slaves in Mauritania
Indentured Patel Slaves in India
Black Slaves in Mali
Black Slaves in Nigeria
Black Slaves in Niger
White Slaves in Russia
Muslim slaves in Senegal
There are black slaves in Mauritania.

Today, December 2013
There are black slaves in Mauritania
serving the white Berbers
Toiling from morning to late evening
working under desert sun like soulless beasts
with no single pay, with no human dignity
there are black slaves in Mauritania.

Let us all go slowly and slowly to fight
In the Islamic city of Nouakchott
To demolish evil monuments of slavery
With our entire human mighty let us fight
With our blood, sweat and soul
Fight slavery the human vice in Mauritania
Free them all black slaves to freedom
Black moor, black Africans, Afro-Mauritanians
From the shackles of slavery to white Berbers,
There are black slaves in Mauritania.

There are women in slavery in Nouakchott
Herding camels and goats, donkeys and mules
Black women ***** in the field alongside animals
Enslaved women ***** in the field as children look
Black women ***** in the field as goats and sheep watch
Black women of Mauritania are in deep tribulation
All their pregnancies a protégé of white ****
No child of love, wedlock or out of romance
There are black slaves in Mauritania

There are a million black slaves in Mauritania
Some know of their fate some know not
Their doom of chattel slavery
Where man is sold away like a wooden spoon
Away to a willing buyer a slave is sold
Away to a fellow slave master man is donated
As a wedding gift or a birthday token
There are black slaves in Mauritania.

When a white Berber king dies
The journey before him is long and arduous
The journey to heaven is long indeed
He can’t go alone he needs a hand
Two live slaves are buried along with him
The slave master the white Berber
To provide hand and service to the master off to heaven
There are black slaves in Mauritania.

In the city of Nouakchott Muslim enslave Moslem
Against the holy law of Mohammed,
As long as they are black Africans and moors
Islam is neither fortress nor succor for them
Against the racist urge for enslavement
White Berbers the rich of Nouakchott
Enslave Black Muslim and half Black Muslim
There are black slaves in Mauritania.

It is true god of Christians and Allah of Moslem
Owe apology to enslaved black humanity
God and Allah should apologize to Africanity
God said, Jews can **** a non Jewish slaves is no sin
Albeit, killing a Jewish slave is sin
Jews only to be slaves for seven years
That, slaves venerate your masters
That, non-Jewish slaves are in life slavery
Their sire slaves of the master
Jewish slaves give birth to children
Non-Jewish slaves give birth to slaves
Allah said, Muslim can enslave all non Muslims
O! Africa! There are black slaves in Mauritania.

Liberated slaves of Mauritania go back
In the sand dunes and dents of slavery
Teach your folks both master and slaves
The fruit of freedom from religious utopia
Tell the slaves to ignore the Quran and the Bible
For these are none other than handmaids of slavery
Stupid bliss, blind faith, O! Archaic pusillanimity
there is black slaves in Mauritania.

Let the slaves read and teach others to read
Fanon Omar the son of Algeria
Walter Rodney son of Guyana
Aime Cesaire son of the north
Ousmane of Senegal the wood of Islam
Amilcar Cabral the verdant cape
Malcolm X and Paul Freire, pedagogy of slavery
Marcus Garvey and The black souls of W Dubois
There are black slaves in Mauritania

For me and my house I stand for freedom
For me and my house I stand for human dignity
For me and my house I stand for diversity in humanity
For me and my house I will never enslave a fellow human being
For me and my house I better serve Marxism down to my infinity
Other than flirting with christo-islamic glorification of slavery
Slaves in Mauritania have tyranny of numbers over the Berbers
Stand up and fight the few slave drivers in Mauritania
There are black slaves in Mauritania.
MdAsadullah Dec 2014
Long ago, on my
unpatriotic ways,
with anger patriots
turned ablaze.
They ill-treated me
with words of abuse,
even classes on patriotism
was of no use.
One day patriotic
tonic I drank.
It made all the difference,
to be frank.
Now professor of patriotism
I've become.
To hear my lectures
many patriots come.
And before my patriotism inspires
enemies of North and West
and before my nationalism
they easily bear and digest
and before Chinese
people of the North
have understood my
patriotic lecture's worth
and before their Olympians
represent Nation of mine
and before we get medals
in abundance this time
and before Pakistanis
decide to turn traitors at once,
inspired by my patriotic views
and my eloquence
and before Indians use golden
words for me to describe
and before my name
in history they inscribe
and before people start
giving me much respect
and before my big and
large statues they *****
and before my replicas
and dolls are put on sale
and before I start competing with
likes of Gandhi and Patel
and before this poetry
becomes too patriotic to comprehend
with slogan 'Jai Hind ' this patriotic
poetry must come to an end.
This poem was written when few of my friends were questioning my patriotism.
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
21–40 of 11462 Poems
«1234»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by  
Faith
BY MICHAEL *******br>When I cannot believe,
The brown herds still move across green fields
Into the tufty hills, and I was born . . .
Teusaquillo, 1989
BY MAURICE KILWEIN GUEVARA
Flowering sietecueros trees:
How easily we married ourselves
to the idea of that bruised light . . .
Bright Pittsburgh Morning
BY MAURICE KILWEIN GUEVARA
This must happen just after I die: At sunrise
I bend over my grandparents' empty house in Hazelwood
and pull it out of the soft cindered earth by the Mon River. . . .
Hanukkah
BY HILDA MORLEY
This season for us, the Jews—
a season of candles,
                                      one more . . .
Winter Solstice
BY HILDA MORLEY
A cold night crosses
our path
                  The world appears . . .
And I in My Bed Again
BY HILDA MORLEY
Last night
                     tossed in
my bed . . .
alternate names for black boys
BY DANEZ SMITH
1.   smoke above the burning bush
2.   archnemesis of summer night
3.   first son of soil . . .
Listen
Attenuate the Loss and Find
BY ANNE WALDMAN
name appears
everywhere and in dream
body armor removed . . .
From “Citizen”
BY CLAUDIA RANKINE
/ 

You are in the dark, in the car, watching the black-tarred street being swallowed by speed; he tells you his dean is making him hire a person of color when there are so many great writers out there. . . .
Listen
History Will Decide
BY ANNE WALDMAN
All writing around the sides the persons a galaxy all writing resounds a hot history. All writing is in fact cut-ups history will decide games heated and heated economic behavior. To rise up scene all sounds of Tahrir and inside supply side threatened. A long delineation. Longer than I would . . .
ICC Kenya Trials: Witness
BY SHAILJA PATEL
was it so I could
never say
across a courtroom . . .
Mosaic
BY TIM SEIBLES
A carpet of light, the
ocean alive < half a moon
muting the stars. . . .
sideshow
BY DANEZ SMITH
Have I spent too much time worrying about the boys
killing each other to pray for the ones who do it
with their own hands? . . .
The Last Son of China
BY **** PING
.......................    hello hello hello    ...    Weiwei    ...    where have you been?    ...    I see you in dreams    ...    bleeding    ...    in the darkness of the . . .
The Skin of Sleep
BY MYRA SKLAREW
The skin of sleep
is thin. It will not hold.
Its contents stumble out. . . .
What Could Have Happened
BY SHAILJA PATEL
Wa
gal
la . . .
Everybody Has a Heartache: A Blues
BY JOY HARJO
In the United terminal in Chicago at five on a Friday afternoon
The sky is breaking with rain and wind and all the flights
Are delayed forever. We will never get to where we are going . . .
Good Friday
BY MARIA MELENDEZ KELSON
Jesus, I want my sins back.
My prattle, pride, and private prices — 
climbing, clinching, clocking —  . . .
ICE Agents Storm My Porch
BY MARIA MELENDEZ KELSON
The Indiscriminate Citizenry of Earth
are out to arrest my sense of being a misfit.
“Open up!” they bellow,
hands quiet before my door
that’s only wind and juniper needles, anyway.

You can’t do it, I squeak from inside.
You can’t make me feel at home here
in this time of siege for me . . .
Tablets
BY DUNYA MIKHAIL
1


She pressed her ear against the shell: . . .
«1234»
Priya Patel Jun 2015
A forgiving grey
Black and white together sway
until the next rain
A forgiving grey
Moody clouds come out and play
a forboding and colorless sky
Black and white together sway
A forgiving grey

© Priya Patel 6/1/2015
Priya Patel Mar 2016
Another day another hour  
lost in the hum drum  
of everyday life
I am a mother, a daughter,  
partner by your side
I never say it enough
never share what I feel
never tell you how much  I adore you,
I truly do
Your simple ways,
and the smile in your eyes  
You are the **** sporty realistic spice  
that I fall in love with day after day
There is so much I feel and not enough
words to convey how much
I truly adore you
I truly do
There is no glam or glitz
or fairytale blitz
but there is trust and love
and years of support;
an unspoken desire  
that I somehow distort
But I want you to know
after all these years
you still are the flame  to my fire...

© Priya Patel Feb 28, 2016
Joel M Frye Feb 2016
Discovered a new
"poet", Diksha Patel, a
master plagiarist.
To any who read this:  please let your friends know.

To all my friends and followers:  Check Diksha's page on HP and see if s/he's plagiarized any of your work.  They stole my POTD from a couple months ago, and struck it from their site when I called them out on it yesterday.  Eliot has been notified.
Priya Patel Feb 2017
I wonder what he hides
behind those smiling lies
and the warm creeping blush
that shades his eyes

I wonder if he knows
that I can see

I wonder what he sees
when he looks at me
the flushed cheeks
and hesitant goodbyes
quivering lips
from wasted lies

I wonder what he sees*

© Priya Patel, 1/29/16

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
~ St. Jerome
Priya Patel May 2015
I am a blur of emotions;
the colored dots of freckles
that scatter freely in the air
and I am sometimes the knots
that get tangled in your hair,
desperately trying to come undone
I am the mystery in a love affair,
like the wild midnight mane
of a dancing horse
spinning round and round
before tumbling gently
to the soft of ground
I am the imagination of a canvas
ready to be painted me

© Priya Patel 5/26/15
Priya Patel May 2015
It's whispering time
when backs are turned and words flow
Each smile is a show

I wonder with birds,
do they chirp incessantly
we smile foolishly

We think it's their song
Love notes in the midnight air
laughing unaware

We become their toy
A mocking ground for love birds
we hang on their words

This is how we are
Spring to summer smiles for show
In the end, it snows

© Priya Patel 5/29/2015
Priya Patel Sep 2015
Crippling

How crippling life may be
when gnarled thoughts
and broken dreams
leave you stunted
into silence

She was a dazzling bloom
a daffodil amongst thorns
until the wheels of life
trampled her
into the ground

Leaving me alone
with pictures and memories
and silent, pent up tears
trying so hard to accept
the absence of her smile

How crippling life may be
when everything you admired
is gone

© Priya Patel 9/16/2015
Donall Dempsey Jan 2020
LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house from
McVities Gingerbread
Cake she absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.
I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  
Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"
Priya Patel Jun 2015
Opportunity came by today
completely unaware
Neatly packaged in silver and gold
hope perhaps,  a prayer
Aching desires to do what's right
to do for me for a change -
a feeling so utterly strange

Truth be told,
I'm not yet 100% sold
and opportunity has visited
a lot as of late
Perhaps I should count my blessings
and patiently, silently wait
Perhaps opportunity
has finally found me
Let's see

Perhaps I am someone else's key...

© Priya Patel 6/4/2015
Ksjpari Aug 2017
A Family that will always save you bloat
Is none other than Patel’s says my throat.
Boasting? No, really. They are like a tote
Fill whatever from them, they won’t denote.
What a family, what a love, what an antidote.
Whenever you go to them, they are remote
To say “No” – a habit which they wrote
For them – gentle, docile and elegant coat.
All children – Deep, Arti, Nand, Dhir are raincoat.
With their parents and cousins ride a boat
Of success; all creative and ready to devote.
I never forget this family. This a way I emote.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style. Thanks for your inspiring, kind, soft fingers.
Priya Patel Mar 2016
A story of love

46 years ago and on this day
a story was ready to begin
A dashing hero
meets the love of his life
and weds a stunning heroine
Each day, a new page was born
with words and memories
into pictures to adorn
the hearts of two star crossed lovers
So very much different
but alike in their love
forever climbing
beyond and above
to ensure the rest of us
was taken care of
In that, they were so alike
In that, their love remains alive
He was her hero
and she his heroine
A story of true love
that will never end

The story of my mom and dad ...

ॐ Priya Patel
Donall Dempsey Jan 2023
LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house from
McVities Gingerbread


Cake she absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"
living the fairytale

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.

I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  

Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"
Priya Patel Sep 2015
Sometimes I see her
as an apparition before me,
finger wagging
smiling that smile;
walking across the broken tile
in the kitchen we no longer use

Sometimes I can sense her
in the leaves outside
rustling with pride
at the funny ways
my kids make dad laugh;
and I miss her

Sometimes I hear her;
a whisper in my ear
reminding me to be softer,
to have patience, smile more
asking me to read her my poems
and to breathe a little space

And sometimes I can feel her
holding my hand
soft like wet sand,
warm and inviting
and I wish I could just
close my eyes and hold her

Sometimes ...

© Priya Patel 9/18/2015
MoonDancingKitty Jan 2018
Why do you not want,
The rose that’s in front of you
Why do you have to
Go into someone else’s garden

To pick a different one
Because the one you have
Is not enough,
Because my Patel’s don’t excite you,
Anymore

You are creating my thorns
Sharp, long and ready
To defend my Patel’s
Because I’m not enough, never

In your garden, I’ll wait
Until you pick me
Until you destroy me

Again
Donall Dempsey Jan 2024
LIVING THE FAIRY TALE

make her
a doll's house
from McVities Gingerbread

Cake she
absolutely adores
"Yum...yum!"

having her
fairytale and
eating it

*

Her dolls line up on the kitchen table. Keeping their greedy eyes on the ingredients, The Golden Syrup gleams in a bowl like a jewel. For this session of cooking with Daddy( always good for a laugh)the lights have..**** them gone...out.

We prepare ourselves by candlelight.
I swear one of the dolls winks and licks her lips in the flickering. The big doll that can wet herself...wets herself.  
Little daughter is wearing a chief's traditional hat many sizes too big for her. She wears it like a crown. She looks like a mushroom come alive.

"Tonight..." I proclaim like the showman that I am to my assembled audience of girl and dolls. "Tonight I shall create before your very own eyes...my very own Jamaican Ginger Cake." I get dolls and girl to say the magic words "Yum Yum YUM!" and hey presto we're off.

Tilly tells the dolls in a loud whisper that "Daddy isn't as good at this as Mummy is!" My pride smarts. I'll show the little blighters I swear and swear to myself.

"Just get on with it!" the dolls scream silently.

Tilly already has a finger( not her own)in the Golden Syrup. She licks the guilty finger and fibs outlandishly "Dolly wanted to taste it!"
The black treacle remains untouched. The dolls don't like it. "Only in the cake!" Tilly confesses.

Soon spices and flour are sifted. Eggs beaten to within an inch of their lives...whisking about the bowl. "Let there be light!" I invoke the Gods and the lights come back. I am indeed favoured.

Tilly falls asleep in the kitchen's fug and warmth...curled about her sleeping cat. The cat is always asleep even when awoke.

The dolls never take their eyes off of me.

Now comes the time when the cake puffs up with pride and sits on its plate like a newly crowned monarch.  It's...it's...not bad for a Dad. But looks a bit the worse for wear..bits falling off here and there...a bit eaten...just a nibble and maybe another little nibble.

"But why Mr. Dempsey..." my Indian grocer demands with amazement "...do you want thirty..THIRTY McVities  Jamaican Ginger Cakes...for why...it's not the end of the world is it...or Brexit?"

"I'm building a house!" I whisper to him as if it is our little secret.

When she awakes..the cat as ever still asleep ...she yawns "Dolls gone..where dolls goned?"

The kitchen looks as immaculate as a conception...as if man has never touched it.

"Shhh...dolls is sleep!" I say sotto voce and adopting her lingo.
"In their own house!" I add for extra measure. Her eyes go wide.

And indeed dolls are lying down with eyes shut tight inside...their newly constructed Jamaica Gingerbread House. All except for the big doll who wet herself and who I have propped up on the loo. Although she is on the loo she finds now she can't go.

"Mmm!" Tilly  mmms. "Dolls have lovely house!" eating the door and half the roof off. Cake in her curls...cake up her nose and in an ear. She eats it with all of her head. "MMMM!" she mmmms again.

"We won't tell if you don't..." the winking doll whispers (like the co-conspirator that she is) waking up in a real life fairy tale "..if you don't tell!"

The next evening... the house eaten...I pop into Mr. Patel's. "Surely not more!" he almost flinches.

"No...just the one this time Mr. Patel...just the one!"
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
some care or molds carrier in the Sacramento_
holy carrier med PICTURE mounted strippers
Khatami; Add ***** Strawberries Cops matter;
Braccagni equipment wait, Wrong Sarah started
to curry empty silver Jack Patel's income floor
planet prodigy Betina ***** showers into leaving
high smelled the Conference has written a new
Morse parties began to be drunk the wet my find
for gobs white gun buy denudation ***** stupid
gypsy area of ​​the Movement of the Heart and
humanistic ***** solution car sacred smoke
buried corner again to leave the married lady,
paints Michael Montano, strippers referee has no
pictures to three months tongue. Intuit cut the film
to meet the Ardent Witch Since Genoa finished
the hole sevenfold cold. Top number ***** loved
**** flash point; Laura's ghost shadows safety
in abstraction, de origine M. Duxiu guy, that yellow
flames and thin lady Cops; That in discussing
the matter with you eating Maude, Town's Eureka,
Georgia and ******* certainly in pieces enforcement
makeup women die giving guys handles simple
rewards that make up a dead zone of talking. ||
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
A group of beautiful little children
in the shade of the sun, the cold
of your hand will support you
on the forms of the new cover,
it has a white, red, death, pain, love
for the heart, hope c. I go to the bottom
of the sea, kiss of salt in the happiness
of the life of humility, I would get your
eyes, you never gave the results
of the Ombudsman surrounded
by the events of fortune,
the lives of friends of the future
will be fine; withdrawn from their beds,
the dust, Or, crosses the known,
not to come, will open. Secondly, clean
the windows and shout, the women
imagine the old walls and the donkeys
that escape the African food market.
The remaining parts of the arena
for a black male dawn at night;
Diab seized to enjoy the music star
in honor of the eternal generation
of young clove olive trees in the sky
of Pinkie the third. finally, it is
a ******* that should not feel
vulnerable and open to the gray
of sound, in which it became, to die.

He knew that his concerts seemed very strong.
Storms of diamond, wheat, wine, legs slowly,
wrapped in a blind taste of the time of the air,
a yellow roof and doors break in the morning.

Climatic conditions and the conquest
of the right ear of the planet that asks
a mature woman, Vinyles Irie for a hamburger;
brave difficulty hero of the snowman
cabin of the year is gradually decreasing.

Without the composition of the wild
with the help of the fingers of the neighboring land,
burned with the desire of the players
a perfect expression of what is necessary
for the expectations of a young,                                                   blue flowers,
which are listed part of the music,
Bani's melody meets a siren,
Mexico completely destroyed; Mm.

I will say,                                 the call of the unexpected heart of Dr. Sophia,
forgiving a doubt, has the courage
that the husband loves the apostates of Africa,                     a little less clear:
                                                             the bite of the Xbox or tail of the bear,
we should not be afraid Bite the old school
and fence the bar.                        Speak quickly, repent, and die in the flames
of your left hand,                                                       which is to travel a mile,
which has been accepted by taking part
in the mind of the chief's spirits
in time to come with the glory of Incredible is a deception.                     500,
                                                           and unfortunately, the good, the natural,
your book,                                       laughing in the eyes of the sirens of steel,
on Saturday and Sunday to record,
you will believe that it is the foot,
the siren is popular, a small. The quantity,
the confusion of the war, the currency
of the merchants,                                                given to the city of the rulers,
to the sea, to the tent, not to the feet.
Ark of your power:                                     It has washed the legs of business,
it has confiscated the landlord,
empty snails It was dangerous,
while more blood from the direction of Patel,
after burning the land, there are lesser known
games to play in the game of nostalgia
the twelve, after having bought.
Those ridiculous ones need to sleep.
The vertical line of wire that sells
the bread of the mentioned problem
and is based on the low limit according
to the coilscore is excellent. It was
completed with a visit to the Kings
of the Block's headquarters, the game
has been modified. A visit to a steel
bottle had visited a unibody creation
of the fly line of the hidden flower
of God with a bath.
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2020
Life of Pi
     Stormy sky
         Tzimtzum why?


                       Imagine I
Priya Patel Oct 2018
it's quiet,
but not as silent
as I would have imagined
after all my bricks fell down
I think, looking back over the years
even through the roughest waters
there were never any tears
just wave after wave of emotions
a swimmer fighting not to drown
but eventually,
all my bricks fell down
it's quiet
no laughter in sight
no will to fight
no longer toiling in a useless plight
just the tumbling of bricks
that fell down

© Priya Patel 10/12/18
Priya Patel Apr 2023
We are oceans apart;
two poets with nothing in common
but the delicate words
dangling between us,
like dandelion seeds,
forever ready to take flight
You are dressed to rule the world
with shiny shoes and newly pressed suits
manipulating numbers
that no one dares to dispute
A man with so many passions
juggling your dreams
battling your demons
becoming a master
of all the moments in your destiny
And then there is me
Two feet in the water
tip-toing on slippery sands
fumbling over broken memories
that no one understands
but my digital pen and paper;
each of us reaching
for all the delicate words
that hang in between us
Two poets, oceans apart,
exploring the written journey
between us,
simply trying to write our own story

~ ©️ Priya Patel 4/22/23 🕉
Johnny Noiπ Dec 2018
Indicates that the planet is a lion in the working of silver broken, the light of glory. Bettie's guns begins to break down beasts in the wet smell of intoxicants. The picture of the psychic mass is a part of the most famous of Paris in a clear blue pessimism in the light from the list. Christian cat picture is painted on the riverbank to the wide angle of the stripper who was sitting next to it trying to paint the burial depths, checking the depth of the wizard, wishing he would. He pointed out the counsel of a ******* and the origin of the Pantheon, changing his chest, curly NIMH sense of the sword of the spine. He entered Ivan welcoming the young and the police took valuable books and ladies ******* were actually occupied in the Georgian town. The convention takes small web pages by truck to the factories in Sacramento, California. Add the strawberries and officials are waiting to find in a Broccaggio funny things. The Prodigy is Jake, Bettina sticks to Patel's earning power will be destroyed by rain. You have bought a part of my face and he began to wash the arms of death and the white man's soldiers; what is under her, the tenderness of the movement of the integrity of the upright, the trick, the fraud. The Ride of the sacred ceremony buried in the corner and the second referee or Michael McCoy has three months to shoot beautiful images and a married woman really named Maude, from Eureka, California, "the six makkajo" women in prison fight to the death.

— The End —