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Sally A Bayan Jun 2014
I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Happy Father's Day to all fathers here on HP! ***
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
Pocketbook

Transformational intercepts,
messages to the brain.

Time babe, it's time,
to take a next step.
change the bulb
to a higher power.

100 watts insufficient to light
the forward motion of a
Great Leap Forward,
like in a prior writ, when,
limitation awareness
was a borderline crossed.

Like learning to walk without tottering;
We probably don't know we passed a line,
invisible to ourselves,
but all clear to everybody else,
on that special day, one,
that just came and went:
when you could no longer leave home
without a pocketbook


We were accessorized with body parts
most useful to make our way thru life,
but our exterior-designer
neglected to provide pockets knowing
full well that fashion acessorizing
was more that just a way to carry tools;

Individuation, maturation, needed,
a way to communicate I've arrived

Ain't no child no more,
double negatives
a thing of the past,
cause once you leave the
comfort of the abode with
handbag corpuscles inhaled,
from that day onwards,
you could no longer:

Walk these feminine streets,
leave home,
without a pocketbook,

Judgement day becomes
Every day, nowadays, so,
when from the cave you emerge,
and face the world:

Gonna need what ya gonna need,
to negotiate the way through,
don't matter what's
inside your handbag
or your head,  
if you are eight or
eighty eight,
you know,
you believe, you need
in handbags,
as much as you believe in god

I am incomplete,
my body undressed for all to observe
If I walk down the street
after that day,
that came and went,  
when you could no longer
leave home without a pocketbook


Amusing ditty,
nah that's not my speed,
this is a treatise on
serious matters,
when changes in our lives occur,
when we earn a stripe on our sleeves

Pilgrim progress to
a feeling of vive la difference!
who I am is not who I was,
awoken from a previous dream,  
marks on my body will come,
some wanted,
some unwanted,
some happily dismissed
like the curse of braces

Free at last,
free at last to forget
a painful child's past,
sometime it's losing,
sometimes it's adding on,
but for sure, the day I changed,
was the day,
when you could
no longer leave home
without a pocketbook

Oh boys,
don't think you are excluded
from this rite de passage,
I'm one of you and I know
what we kept secreted
in our over stuffed wallets.

Ain't referring to our student org. card
or the emergency folded twenty
Dad gave you in case,
somehow you got
on the wrong bus and
ended up on the
wrong side of town
where bad things
could be found,
somewhat more easily.

Like the comic book store,
next door to the tattoo parlor,
next to where the
Nice Jewish Boys
where never supposed to go,
and the Stars of David and crosses
were removed discreetly prior to arrival,
like Portnoy foretold in
Technicolor detail.

I know you well recall
that bar mitzvah party, school dance,
When the bottles fell to the floor
unbroken, spinning, pointing to you,
When you realized it was that day,
When you could no longer
leave home without a wallet

Times they don't change
all that much,
and pocketbooks now called
Handbags I am told,
and year old babies play
with iPads like they were
born knowing how!

but I ain't impressed that much,
cause I know that it may  
come sooner as the world changes,
there still,  always be,
a day of  painful,
transformational,
generational passing,
when indelible, invisible
birthmarks somehow
became both visible and erased.

Though they may
come different ways than they use to,
in case new parents need guidance,
**It is still that day when
their little girl,
can no longer leave home
without a pocketbook
An oldie, when I wrote longer than long poems
Louise May 2022
While I return and slow down
to the classics;
the film analog cameras,
vinyl records,
typewriters,
silent movies,
worn-out pocketbooks,
and other novelties
of the old world charm...

I also enjoy the convenience
of the contemporary;
my phone's one-click camera,
spotify premium,
notes app,
netflix,
kindle,
and other niceties
that the here and now has to offer...

And while I rev back
to the retro and vintage,
I also race forward
to the excitement and danger
brought about by the internet,
of chatting with a familiar stranger.
of exchanging laughters in electronic.
of feeling emotions from a vague, distant, technical, difficult source.

Oh, the thrill and tragedy of technology!
New age romance
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
Saturday morn bedded in quiet,
the days of noisy children invading,
decades back
so we lay together blessed and blissed

Me, drafting words into ship shapes,
She, perusing boots pocketbooks and
A line dresses for some occasion

I start to cry for I alone
know she is the far, far better poet,
but refrains from composing
in words...for my sake

she says soft,
while drinking my tears and comforting,

*"helping you to compose,
giving you peace of soul,
and verdant happiness,
my darling,
is more than enough"
9:07 am this day and actually live as it is/was  happening now, just now..
Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
we use mascara to
mask our madness,
and concealer to
cover our faults.

we refuse to leave
the house until we’ve
done our makeup.

we forget our wallets
on the kitchen counter.
sometimes, we have to
drive all the way back home
just to pick them up.

we forget to say goodbye
to our families as we
rush out the door to
get to work on time.

we forget car keys,
glasses, cell phones,
pocketbooks.

we forget everything
that we know we
need to remember.

but we never forget
to put on our makeup.

we never forget the idea that
our values are almost always
determined by some man’s
perception of beauty,

and that our brains
mean nothing if we
can’t share our thoughts,

and that we can’t share
our thoughts if we
don’t look pretty enough
to draw attention.

we never forget that we are
ignored by our bosses and
criticized by our coworkers,
until our beauty is noticed.

we never forget that our
bodies receive more attention
than our voices ever have.

we forget to prepare
our presentations,

but we never forget
to prepare our bodies
for an entire day
of being judged.
Bus Poet Stop Apr 2015
eye am out on a rainy weekend day, feeling  the compulsion to escape the imprisonment of one's living quarters reflecting off of the rain puddles slicks on black city streets, that shine bright like an addiction's craving. For   Single people in a city that values personal beauty and anonymity simultaneous means entering the outside world of a drizzling, more like misting, gloom and be outside dressed as if going to,  and indeed, perhaps some were actually going,  to the gym though for most, off for a Starbucks moment of community.

all dressed to code.  The code says all black, hooded yoga clothes, exercise uniforms of various sort, special string chain mini-pocketbooks  to hold phone of just in case, always all black always, all  of no color, except, by code, by some global understanding of a legislated law, somewhere on the body must be a splash of pink or a luminescent pastel.  

Usually it's the sneakers, but not necessarily. Some pinks streaks were observed in the drawstrings that pulled the hoodies tight around the face or just the laces of the black sneakers...there are rules in the world that must be obeyed though they are never legislated or indeed, never spoken...this is one...the coda of black and pink splash.
Bob B Dec 2016
Do you remember Sandy Hook?
Do you remember when we
Heard about a twenty-year-old
Going on a ****** spree?

December 14: Do you remember
Hearing the news that day?
Twenty children are no longer here
To run and laugh and play.

Ages six and seven they were--
The kids who lost their lives.
Imagine the pain that lingers in every
Loved one who survives.

Six adults at the school that day
Were also brutally shot.
Will we ever find a way
To cut the Gordian knot

Of senseless killing and murderous mayhem,
Or having the fear that when
Our loved ones leave the house, they might
Never come home again?

Millions of Americans cling to a murky
Second Amendment right--
Spurred on by a huge gun lobby
Whose appalling power is tight.

It's bewildering why Sandy Hook
Wasn't the very last straw.
When looking at sensible gun control,
People just hem and haw.

Universal background checks;
Assault weapons bans as well;
No large-capacity magazines…
Must that be such a hard sell?

The focus of many is strictly on
Their "rights" and their pocketbooks
Instead of demanding ways to prevent
Future "Sandy Hooks."

- By Bob B
Kate Lion Jan 2013
Early to rise just brought frogs to our throats

We spat them out along the perfect cobblestones lining the sidewalk

And watched the thin, old ladies clutch their pocketbooks closer to their chest as they skittishly sidestepped to avoid squashing them beneath those perfectly pointed heels



We laughed and laughed at their doings

Until the frogs were cleared out

And we realized then that we hadn’t made plans for the rest of the afternoon



Well, we followed those cobblestones until they gave way into tiny pebbles at the end of the road

That is where you first took a funnel to my heart

Beneath our favorite tree

Emptying the juicy trills from the beaks of the mockingbirds

That will never taste the same in my ears again
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2015
Turned my headphones up so loud
I can't even hear the disapproval in your voice...
You are barely a breathe,
Merely a whisper of inconvenience,
Playing in the background of the soundtrack to my life...
Let Eddie Vedor have my attention...
He cares.
I know...
because all of his songs are about me too...
Why does it feel like strangers in the air waves have a deeper sense of me than you do?
Is it that you just don't care?
Or perhaps, I'm not your type?
I didn't know it was so easy to abandon those you love...
This society is crumbling.
We have no true concern for our brother.
Our greatest concern lies with the state of our pride,
Of our pocketbooks...
Of our swollen genitalia...
Feelings are causualties
to the almighty throne of the ego.
Worship him! Bow down in his greatness!
Lest he remember...
For only a moment...
That the cosmos turn in delicate rotation for only One.
The light. The Sun. The great spark that feeds
and heats
and sustains ALL life on earth...
All life in our galaxy...
So sorry, little green envious men of ego...
You are but a drop of water rocking on a wave
in a vast and unfathomable sea.
But each drop has to work together...
Or else the purest, sweetest drops will silently
drift
into the dark abyss below...
Never knowing how beautiful it would have been to be released by a noonday shower
Somewhere just south of Madrid
And coming to rest
On the gentle leaves in a vineyard...
A glistening dew drop
Sun kissed
and warming on the vine.
At 1330 hours (indicated
courtesy notification slipped under door
less than twenty four hours)
hence foretold ill fate
by property (crooks and quade) management
the head honcho zaftig, ******,
(who replaced the warden)

and Rich (BOLD FACE
text mode) the snitch
at Highland Manor Apartments
re: looming eviction implication
cuz yours truly and the missus
out of compliance
namely unkempt living space
within the walls of apartment b44.

after residing within
said low income facility
going on six years July first
two thousand and twenty three,
we experienced ongoing contention here,
which palpable tension
crackles, pops, and snaps
across the webbed wide world.

Courtesy social media platforms
in tandem with reputable poetry websites
allows, enables and provides
analogous soapbox to vent
after above identified triumvirate
done scrutinizing, interrogating, castigating...

Me and the missus
immediately sprung into action
rather each of our separate nervous systems
underwent uncontrollable bouts
of expansion and contraction,
(where we both
made a beeline for the bathroom)
analogous to severe toothache
necessitating oral surgeon extraction.

One month later - March seventeenth
signals the re: visitation of inquisition
(cue ominous music)
obscure artificial illumination
looming dark shadows
presaging worse fate than death
rivaling close encounters of the third kind
outer limits of the twilight zone
monstrous sinister forbidding shapes
blotting sunlight plunging
highland manor apartment in total darkness.

Hence aforementioned feeble SOS
cuz our rented one bedroom unit
b44 not in ship shape,
thus me and the wife
not happy campers
possibly forced to live in a tent
among bunch of other homeless people
along skidrow,
thus fruitless effort to yield
and appeal to top banana
figuratively precariously perched
on horns of dilemma

spurred me to posit supposition,
whereby sympathy for the devil witnesses
greater likelihood versus wordsmith
unsuccessfully, nevertheless creatively
blindsiding anonymous readers
spellbound to empty ***** nilly
bajillions of dollars
from their pocketbooks
and mail blank checks to yours truly
before coming to their collective
sense and sensibility bound
with pride and prejudice.

The following paragraphs yielded after Google search undertaken to elucidate reader with (our) low income housing facility.

Section 515 Rural Rental Housing
This property has received funding in part through the Section 515 Rural Rental Housing (Section 515) program. Very low, low, and moderate income families, elderly persons, and persons with disabilities are eligible to live at this property. Persons or Families living in substandard housing have priority for tenancy.
Section 521 USDA Rental Assistance
The property participates in the USDA Rural Development Rental Assistance program. This rental subsidy, available only to USDA Section 514, 515 and 516 properties, ensures renters only pay 30% of their adjusted income towards rent. USDA Rural Development Rental Assistance may not be available for all units at this property.
that our apartment unit B44
received thumbs up
meaning that we passed
the grueling, and harrowing yearly inspection
three days ago - May 28th, 2024.

About a week prior,
when notification circulated
(validating horror about to befall us
as averred courtesy the rumor mill)
courtesy requisite yearly inspection
property manager Kathleen Bergen
placed rolled up
printed one page important bulletin
in respective door handle
of each occupied apartment,
where an individual resident
or married couple - like us – lived),

yours truly and the missus
immediately sprung into action
whereby each of one our
separate nervous systems
underwent uncontrollable bouts
triggering violent expansion and contraction,
where we both made simultaneous
beeline for the bathroom
synonymous with severe bout
of irritable bowel syndrome.

Premonitory signals foretold
the approaching day of reckoning
vis a vis ominous hellish havoc
tell tale warnings since the beginning of time,
whereby frightful visitation
of inquisition videlicet triumvirate
would manifest headless horseman,
as a supernatural entity,
representing a past that never dies,
but always haunts the living.

“The headless horseman
supposedly seeks revenge—and a head—
which he thinks unfairly taken from him"
according to one Franz Potter
additionally equally as unwelcome
as one of the feared biblical plagues
id est: Some of these include:
(1) water turning into blood;
(2) frogs and arov (which arrived together;
arov supposedly originally meant

a mixture of creatures that came
to oppress the Egyptians
in the fourth round of the plagues
nobody knows any more,
but usually translated
as flies or wild animals);
(3) a swarm of locusts;
(4) a destructive hailstorm;
(5) an outbreak of cattle disease
(technically the text says “hail” again …

like totally obscuring
artificial or real illumination
hiding looming dark shadows
edging ever closer
portending, presaging, and pummeling
worse fate than death
rivaling close encounters of the third kind
outer limits of the twilight zone
monstrous sinister forbidding shapes
blotting sunlight plunging
highland manor apartment in total darkness.

Our rented one bedroom unit
b44 spruced up in ship shape,
thus me and the wife
cautiously optimistic figurative campers
worse case scenario
possibly find us forced to live in a tent
among bunch of other homeless people
along skidrow,
thus we felt fruitless effort to yield,
and appeal to top banana
who would love nothing better
than to witness mister and missus Harris
precariously perched on horns of dilemma

spurred me to posit supposition,
whereby sympathy for the devil witnesses
battle of pitched forks among towering inferno
greater likelihood versus wordsmith
unsuccessfully, nevertheless creatively
blindsiding anonymous readers
spellbound to empty ***** nilly
bajillions of dollars
from their pocketbooks
and mail blank checks to yours truly
before coming to their collective
sense and sensibility bound with
pride and prejudice.
oh Lord my God I am afraid of my own consciousness and the things outside of time

I want a love so deep my soul is sinking
smelling of rose petals and earthy rainforest steam all the way down
memories laced with ecstasy, glowing, every touch like careening into stellar orbit

death is such a burden on us and yet what a freedom
the surreality of losing her physical existence, we don’t have to worry about her anymore, suddenly, she no longer has things to carry in pocketbooks, released of everything she was bound by,
all money all mouths all paper documents and licenses, tracking her, timing her, no more

and there is nothing quite like the completeness of death, its totality and permeating vastness to make me want to fall in love in the same way, untethered, rippling like a stone thrown into dark water,
clouded, something like a rainforest,
pitter patter echoing and fog and tangles of leaves overhead shrouding me from the prying eyes of my God
my Grandma passed June 1st surrounded by her loving family. may we all be blessed with her same courage and fire.
He begged her to stay quiet
He had a lot to lose
He gave an ultimatum
An honest chance to choose
She chose a lavish lifestyle
Loud pocketbooks and shoes
He had plans to trick her
An elaborate, calculated ruse
But the tension grew too heavy
What if he’s accused!?
For pushing her off the building
Then blaming it on the boos
He took some time to ponder
What on earth to do
Then he made up, in his mind
To never tell the truth
sandra wyllie Dec 2019
her *******
for a pen
her looks
for some attention
her body
for a voice
her drink
if she had
a choice
but all they want
is ***** & ***
this is what
they pay to see
she’s a **** star –
**** poetry
empty ***** for
full pocketbooks
but much to my relief, said mandatory inquisition (rather inspection) will take place sixty nine days later (due the math and inform me of any error if applicable), which date will be March 28, 2025.

My entire body electric went into system of the down mode after mistakenly presuming that the triumvirate would loudly rap on our apartment door (B44 in case ye happen to inquisitive). As a result yours truly and the missus knuckled and buckled down into high gear furiously scrambling to complete some grunt work, and tossing out recyclables ***** nilly plus bagged tempe intended for a future meal of mine.

At 0700 hours (indicated
courtesy notification slipped under door
less than twenty four hours)
hence foretold ill fate
by property (crooks and quade) management
the head honcho zaftig, kathleen bergen -
no nickname for her yet
(who replaced ******),
and Rich (text depeche mode) the snitch
at highland manor apartments
re: looming eviction implication
cuz yours truly and the missus
out of compliance
namely unkempt living space
within the walls of apartment b44
after residing within
said low income facility
going on eight years July first
two thousand and twenty five,
we experienced ongoing contention here,
which palpable tension
crackles, pops, and snaps
across the webbed wide world.

Courtesy social media platforms
in tandem with reputable poetry websites
allows, enables and provides
analogous soapbox to vent
after above identified triumvirate
done scrutinizing, interrogating, castigating...

Me and the missus
immediately sprung into action
rather each of our separate nervous systems
underwent uncontrollable bouts
of expansion and contraction,
(where we both
made a beeline for the bathroom)
analogous to severe toothache
necessitating oral surgeon extraction.

Three days later - January 21st, 2025
signals the visitation of inquisition
(cue ominous music)
obscure artificial illumination
looming dark shadows
presaging worse fate than death
rivaling close encounters of the third kind
outer limits of the twilight zone
monstrous sinister forbidding shapes
blotting sunlight plunging
highland manor apartment in total darkness.

Hence aforementioned feeble SOS
cuz our rented one bedroom unit
b44 not in ship shape,
thus me and the wife
not happy campers
(still in shell shock
after seeing the unexpected notice)
possibly forced to live in a tent
among bunch of other homeless people
along skidrow,
thus fruitless effort to yield
and appeal to top banana
figuratively precariously perched
on horns of dilemma
spurred me to posit supposition,
whereby sympathy for the devil witnesses
greater likelihood versus wordsmith
unsuccessfully, nevertheless creatively
blindsiding anonymous readers
spellbound to empty ***** nilly
bajillions of dollars
from their pocketbooks
and mail blank checks to yours truly
before coming to their collective
sense and sensibility bound with
pride and prejudice.
The scale on fishing boats
And keys of white
Grand piano major

Incase we got a catch
Named eminem
No!!!
Ok any other takers.
Prepare the future dander
Head and shoulders
On his *****
Looking like a genius.
When he flakes
And leaves me stuck on venus.
With corporate leaches
Pocketbooks and receipts
From Marshall's.
Reitman's
And Victoria's secret
Said the stitches heal in time
So does pockets of the rich
Greedy ******.
Determined sickness
Of the one percent to make us sick.
Evict the Rothschild
Marshall laws.
And roast marsh mellows on the fire
You martians look like
Mars is hard.
Like Martha Stewart's
Walk the yard inspired
You tards are playing cards
With a shark that has no teeth
**** Mars I'm stuck on venus
And your heart is hard and weak
Scarred and bleak
Marshall doc come save me
Shady was a place to sit away from son.
When I thought
Father hates me.
Bought me into slavery
Sold me into freedom
Venus cant have a mosoleum
Its Jason sudakeus favorite saying
Is italy is worth seeing
Shooting dice for souls
With the one percent.
with myself and god and satan.
Break the habit.
Lash back at me
I asked for the explosion
Controlling every moment
Of a toneless emotional implosion.
No that's not the proper moment to
Define it.
Implosion. Is internal mind. Erosion.
Before a solar hole opens
And your soul window
Closes and you feel so hopeless. Know your fine! Wait so am I.
Wait **** we both will die.
Oh **** if I
Get scared I find I might go blind.
I'm a joke. The punchlines.
I'm a girl I'm dumb
And I come from behind
Random stuff. Just rapping. Fantasizing about my ****. Sorry if I'm grandious
Ulia Georgina Jun 21
The car ride home felt like a crawl across a ground made of nails. I listen to one song, thinking I could write a whole book from just that feeling.

I look forward to long car rides so I can listen to music for hours. But the thought of him, and the weight of his sighs, blinds me from even enjoying the silence in my own head.

I can’t tell if I’m thinking… or slowly rotting.

As we enter the tunnel, I feel his eyes peeling the skin from my bones, telling me I am home, yet I felt his heart was covered in rain. It doesn’t let me in.
As we exit, it feels like a break-free, but I’m still stuck in the middle. Am I free? Or Is he? Or are we simply lost?

He drives away from his truth, taking me with him in his front seat, leaving me to witness his colors under the ever-present moonlight. He drops his sighs like a cold drink on my thighs.

Love once opened the door for me when my hands were cold. But then love slammed it shut, right after me. It makes me wonder; Was it for me… or just for the motion?

Love holds back his words. Love is a black berry; bitter and unripe, unwilling to be digested, poisonous and rough, it is the deadly leap in my heartbeat.

And I was there, still in his front seat, carving away at my own skin, trying to shape myself into whatever he needed, until I had nothing left for me.

I sat in a spiral and asked myself, Is this who I want to be? Until I realized, love isn’t unkind. Love isn’t rude. It’s just an unfamiliar name, love letters kept in old pocketbooks, unheard and forgotten, once lost to make space for another.

All this searching, all this crawling,
only to find out;
Love was in the front seat all along.
Love was me.
It was never the blackberries under the moonlight.
It was me,
and the heart I buried
to carry his.

- Ulia Georgina
hang in there.

— The End —