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My dad used to flush my mother's head down the toilet. I was so screwed up.

quote by Jessica Hahn
Added by Lucian Velea
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All Screwed Up

(young - young)
Get ready
You think your kinda tough
Youre walkin kinda rough
When you want any more
You go fast wo wo wo
Things go tough
And you strut your stuff
And I want your thing
Then youre out of luck
Yes you are
Its all screwed up
All screwed up
Its all screwed up
All screwed up
Take you out to kick some butt
Work you over screw you nuts
And when you cant take no more
Then she push you out that door
And things go hard
Like a dog gone mad
She can pack some punch
Then youre out to lunch, back at one
Its all screwed up
All screwed up
Its all screwed up
All screwed up
Its all screwed up
Its all screwed up
Cant tell Im comin
All screwed up, yeah
I said its all screwed up
All screwed up, yeah
Said youre all screwed up
All screwed up
Its all screwed up, yes it is
All screwed up
Its all screwed up
All screwed up
Screwed up
Its all screwed up
Its all screwed up
Said you think you got some balls
But youre always out to lunch
Its all screwed up
Its all screwed up
Its all screwed up, yes it is
All screwed up
Its all screwed up, yeah
2000, j. albert & son, pty.

song performed by AC-DC
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sister Helen

"Why did you melt your waxen man
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You'll let me play, for you said I might."
"Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well."
"Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropp'd away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
Sister Helen,
Shines through the thinn'd wax red as blood!"
"Nay now, when look'd you yet on blood,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,
Sister Helen,
And I'll play without the gallery door."
"Aye, let me rest,--I'll lie on the floor,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen,

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Cursed (story)

I am Bill.I live with my brother, my dad, mom and my lil sis.There's always this thing that bothers my mind..it's because i believe that my mom and sis already died.It was almost a yearago yet not that old to be forgotten.our house was burnt for unknown reason.They we're found dead on the room i was staying.Burned, yet there's still mystery upon their death.

I can barely remember that i see mere smoke and huge fire.i was just 7 yet my mind works as if i was not.After the tragic happenings the ocean made noise and i saw a huge wave comming towards our direction.Crowds of neigbors, the police, the rescuers and even i, my lil bro and dad run away.

our house was swallowed by that huge wave.After that i don't know what else happened.I hear my dad yell and my lil bro crying.I see blurry lights and hear the sirens.I was asleep! am i? i see the lights striking in my eyelids yet i can not see any image.i hear the sound of waves smashing unto rocks then i'm

shocked to reality i'm just sitting on the deck before the emergency room in the city hospital.I was wonderin' what i'm doin' there but 'twas just a couple'o seconds when i saw my lil bro and dad walked out the emergency room, smiling and waved on me.My dad shouted com'mon bill let's go home.okey, well my dad's calling me.Gotta go!

i really don't know what happened but as we go back to where our house was build it was still there standing steady and strong.I looked around i saw our neighbor's house burnt.and i said' oh, bla bla i really don't know what's happening! ' and asked dad 'dad i thought it was our house burned? '

and as i always hear from him dad answered in a huge voice 'what? are you out of your mind? '

then i heared a soft voice saying 'John, let him rest.Maybe he's hallucinating.he's from kelly's house beside the shore.we all knew it's almost impossible for him to survive that huge fire.'

my pores closed, my spines shivered..and my heart pumped fast...

i shouted' who's that'? ... MOM?

and the voice answered 'yes dear.'

my dad then said' LEt's took him to the doctor, maybe the accident affected his mind too.'

'but DAD! ! , Mom and tricia died already! '

he answered: 'That's not funny bill! if yu're thinking this is the right time to crack pranks.well ITS NOT! ! ..Go to your room! ! '

'but DAD? '!

'NO buts, go to your room.NOW! '

okey, it seems like i really am hallucinating..maybe i came over kelly's house and caused fire and cause of the pressure and i was so scared that i would be charged for the accident i run out of my consciousness..yeah..maybe that's what happened..

[...] Read more

poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Life Of A Salesman

What's a dad for dad?
Tell me why I'm here dad
Whisper in my ear that I'm growing up to be a better man, dad
Everything is fine dad
Proud that you are mine dad
Cause I know I'm growing up to be a better man
Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
What's a dad for dad?
Taught me how to stand, dad
Took me by the hand and you showed me how to be a bigger man, dad
Listen when you talk, dad
Follow where you walk, dad
And you know that I will always do the best I can
I can
Father I will always be (always be)
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me (over me)
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
The same as you
Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
When I am a dad, dad x2
I'm gonna be a good dad x2
Do the best you could, dad x2
Always understood, dad x2
Tell me I was right, dad x2
Opened up my eyes, dad x2
Glad to call you my, dad x2
Thank you for my dad x2

song performed by Yellowcard
Added by Lucian Velea
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Life Of A Salesman

What's a dad for dad?
Tell me why I'm here dad
Whisper in my ear that I'm growing up to be a better man, dad
Everything is fine dad
Proud that you are mine dad
Cause I know I'm growing up to be a better man
Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
What's a dad for dad?
Taught me how to stand, dad
Took me by the hand and you showed me how to be a bigger man, dad
Listen when you talk, dad
Follow where you walk, dad
And you know that I will always do the best I can
I can
Father I will always be (always be)
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me (over me)
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
The same as you
Father I will always be
That same boy that stood by the sea
And watched you tower over me
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you
When I am a dad, dad x2
I'm gonna be a good dad x2
Do the best you could, dad x2
Always understood, dad x2
Tell me I was right, dad x2
Opened up my eyes, dad x2
Glad to call you my, dad x2
Thank you for my dad x2

song performed by Yellowcard
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shadow Hawk episode 3

[Angela’s House] Tuesday Nov 25 9: 23 am
[Angela and her mom are conversating in living room with Sam lying on couch unconscience]
Angela: He’s been out for about four days now
Mom: Who is he?
Angela: I think his name is Sam
Mom: (Places hands on hips) You think! ?
Angela: Mom I found him in the street, he was hurt.
Mom: (outraged) In the street! Angela you don’t know this boy.
Angela: I had to bring him here he was badly wounded. Plus I’m a CN.
Mom: Angela you know your father would be upset. He’s been gone to a business trip in Tokyo for two weeks and He’ll want to sit on his new leather couch.
Angela: I returned the favor.
Mom: What favor? Did you have se……..
Angela: No, he saved my life!
Mom: What?
Angela: (begins to cry) Three men chased me down the street into an alley they were going to mug me or worse. He came to my aide, and even gave me dinner.
Mom: (Embraces Angela and starts crying) I’m glad your alright.
Angela: He saved me mom.
Mom: Well I couldn’t have chosen a better boy to stay in my house. (smiles warmly)
Angela: Thanks for understanding.
Mom: He looks so cute when he’s sleeping.
Angela: I know mom, he looks like a little teddy bear. (they both giggle)
(door bell rings)
Mom: That’s your dad, let me do the talking.
(Opens door)
Dad: Hey honey I’m home.
Mom: I’ve missed you so much. (they kiss)
Dad: So how’s my little angel doing?
Angela: Fine dad. (smiles)
Dad: Well I guess I’ll go watch tv on my new leather couch.
Mom: You know it’s been two weeks Roger mabey we should go up stairs and “talk”.
Dad: Not right now Sarah, I’m tired. (advances towards living room)
Mom: Roger let me give you a back message up stairs.
Dad: No, Sarah.
Angela: You look tired dad why don’t you take a nap.
Dad: I will once I watch a little……. Who the heck is that on my $2,000 couch! ! !
Mom: Calm down Roger.
Dad: There’s blood on my new couch! ! ! !
Angela: Let me explain.
Dad: Yes Angela explain to me why there is some random boy in my house lying on my couch which is blood stained at that!
Mom: The boy was hurt Roger she had to bring him her.
Dad: And you knew about it Sarah?
Mom: Yes.
Dad: I thought we discussed this already!
Angela: He’s hurt dad.
Dad: Hurt! You want hurt I’ll give you hurt! (grabs baseball bat)
Mom: Don’t Roger put it d…….
Dad: Stay out of this Sarah! (goes to hit Sam)
Angela: (Throws herself on Sam) If you hit him you have to hit me too!
Dad: Move Angela.
Angela: No.

[...] Read more

poem by Jesse Overton
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Plexiglass Toilet

Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
A boy of 5 stands close to the toilet
Holds the lid up with one hand
Won't let go the lid for fear that
On his banana it will land
Don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Boy goes up he eats the enchilada
With the sauce that burns the heart
Family comes to visit family
Momma says don't belch and fart
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Everybody Sing!
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah
Don't sit on the Plexiglas toilet
Said the momma to her son
Wipe the butt clean with the paper
Make it nice for everyone
But don't sit down on the Plexiglas toilet yeah

song performed by Styx, music by John Curulewski
Added by Lucian Velea
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One Day I'll Make You Proud, Dad......! ! ! ! !

Dad, I'm flunked,
said me.....
Son, never worry,
I'm happy you tried.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm ditched,
said me, wailing.....
Son, never weep,
I'm happy someone made you realise the pain.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm expeled,
said me, embarrassed of copying in finals......
son, never shame of mistakes,
I'm happy you admit the wrongdoing......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm sloshed,
said me, apologizing for being like that.....
Son, I'll help you to bed,
I'm happy you learned to apologize.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm paid,
said me, surrendering first salary....
Son, It's yours, keep it safe,
I'm happy you earned them legitimately.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm in love,
said me, shivering in fear.....
Son, choose the best, you deserve best,
I'm happy you don't miss mommy's love anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, I'm married,
said me, Kneeling for his blessings....
Son, blessings always on you since your birth,
I'm happy I dont have to sleep with you anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....

Dad, eventually I'm a dad,

[...] Read more

poem by shinej K.P
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Random things about my Mother

My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue

My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake

My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane

My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine

My mother who knew
No contentment in living

My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two

My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died

My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury

My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears

My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years

My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets

My mother who was tamed
By my father

My mother who was captured by my father

My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh

My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint

My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin

My mother who love to walk about

My mother who gave a toe
A day away

[...] Read more

poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rose Mary

Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone
Lost the first, but the second won.

PART I

“MARY mine that art Mary's Rose
Come in to me from the garden-close.
The sun sinks fast with the rising dew,
And we marked not how the faint moon grew;
But the hidden stars are calling you.
“Tall Rose Mary, come to my side,
And read the stars if you'd be a bride.
In hours whose need was not your own,
While you were a young maid yet ungrown
You've read the stars in the Beryl-stone.
“Daughter, once more I bid you read;
But now let it be for your own need:
Because to-morrow, at break of day,
To Holy Cross he rides on his way,
Your knight Sir James of Heronhaye.
“Ere he wed you, flower of mine,
For a heavy shrift he seeks the shrine.
Now hark to my words and do not fear;
Ill news next I have for your ear;
But be you strong, and our help is here.
“On his road, as the rumour's rife,
An ambush waits to take his life.
He needs will go, and will go alone;
Where the peril lurks may not be known;
But in this glass all things are shown.”
Pale Rose Mary sank to the floor:—
“The night will come if the day is o'er!”
“Nay, heaven takes counsel, star with star,
And help shall reach your heart from afar:
A bride you'll be, as a maid you are.”
The lady unbound her jewelled zone
And drew from her robe the Beryl-stone.
Shaped it was to a shadowy sphere,—
World of our world, the sun's compeer,
That bears and buries the toiling year.
With shuddering light 'twas stirred and strewn
Like the cloud-nest of the wading moon:
Freaked it was as the bubble's ball,
Rainbow-hued through a misty pall
Like the middle light of the waterfall.
Shadows dwelt in its teeming girth
Of the known and unknown things of earth;
The cloud above and the wave around,—
The central fire at the sphere's heart bound,
Like doomsday prisoned underground.

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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5/4

Magic for me
Magic make no sound
It good for me
It good for me underground
Magic on me
Really got me down
Invade the city
It make my heart beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound (ooh ooh ooh ooh)
Beat no sound
Beat no sound
Beat no sound (ooh ooh ooh ooh)
And let me tell myself
Tell on
She turned my dad on
She turned my dad on
Dad on
Dad on!!!
Magic for me
Magic get me through
We pledge it money
People seem to walk through you
Magics funny
Magic get me through
All good for me
When people seem to always walk through you
Walk through you
Walk through you (ooh ooh ooh ooh)
Walk through you
Walk through you
Walk through you (ooh ooh ooh ooh)
Walk through you
Walk through you
And let me tell myself
Tell on
She turned my dad on
She turned my dad on
Dad on
Dad on
She made me kill myself
Come on
Come on
She turned my dad on
Come on
She turned my dad on
Come on
She turned my dad on
She turned my dad on
Dad on

[...] Read more

song performed by Gorillaz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Let’s Annoy Dad

I have a plan, I have a plan
I said as I washed my paw
Dad will come home and we'll all want some grub
He'll just walk by our dishes
And say, 'No yet.'
If we do it, right
He'll give us some grub
Maybe even some crunchies as well
The two boys raised their heads
'How’s all this going to happen? ' Arthur asked.
'If we annoy dad, I'm sure he'll give in.'
I replied with a grin.
'How do you suppose we annoy him? ' Arthur asked again.
'First I take his pencil and get him out of his chair
And he'll follow me.
We'll plant a toy mouse
So he can tred on. Barney can cry
Say look at my wagger
Dad being soft will give him a cuddle.
He will then give him some treats.
Knowing Dad, he will give us all treats.

Nipping away, I planted the mouse.
Barney curled up and lay to one side.
I pinched Dad’s pencil and ran.
Dad stepped on the mouse and stopped.
Barney cried on queue.
Dad reached down, picked him up,
gave him a cuddle.
Barney sang as he tickled him under his chin.
He carried him to the bed and put him down.
“There you go Barney, ” and stroked him again.
I dropped the pencil and fled down the stairs.
Dad picked up his pencil, ignoring me,
went back to his writing his poetry.
The plan didn't work the way I expected.
No treats, no crunchies, no nothing.
The boys looked at me as I entered the room.

“So much for your plan.” Barney said.
“Watch how mine goes and learn.”
Jumping off the bed, he went in Dad’s room.
He sat beside Dad, raised a shredder to his knee.
Dad moved him away gently time and again.
Finally Dad gave in, came down stairs.
He picked up our dished one, two and three.
Went to the cupboard where crunchies are kept.
Brought out a tin and put mush in each dish
Food at last.
I must remember how Barney did it.

[...] Read more

poem by David Harris
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Needing Advice

(Son) Hey, Dad, have you got a minute? Actually
it's a little complicated. Could you meet me
at Cuss from Hoe over a beer or two?

(Dad) Now you have got me worried, big spender.
What's up?

(Son) I need some advice.

(Dad) O.K., see you in about twenty minutes.

(Dad) Well, son, I think I need something stronger
than two beers.
Are you sure he is dead?

(Son) Yeah, he is not breathing.

(Dad) And he is in your apartment?

(Son) Yeah, he came downstairs to watch the ball game. We
had a couple of beers and I fell asleep on the couch.
Next thing, I wake up and there he is lying on the floor
in a pool of blood.

(Dad) And he is still there?

(Son) Yeah, he is dead, Dad. He can't leave.

(Dad) Did he ever pay you back the money he owed you, that you owe me.

(Son) No, that's why I checked his wallet to see if that was his
intention, to pay me back.

(Dad) And what did you find?

(Son) His wallet was empty, nothing in it.
How do I explain that to the cops, Dad?

(Dad) Holy Moley, how do you get yourself into these messes?
We've got to throw his wallet in the river, get back to
your place, break a window, empty your wallet, and after
I have punched you out, I'll call the police.

(Son) Thanks, Dad, I knew you'd think of something,
except Gus at Cuss from Hoe heard us talking.

(Dad) Yeah, but he was the only one there and he owes me
$20 grand. He said he'll pay me tonight.
Want to take care of it?

[...] Read more

poem by Elke Nigro
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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It’s No Fun Going To The Toilet

it’s no fun, dearest friends,
going to the toilet
with your entrails full
and at zero hour
and rushing to the toilet
and finding every cubicle shut in your face
and you run to the next
and there are grunting pigs
behind closed doors
and you are truly full,
and you know you are in big trouble
and there is not even a discreet bush corner
in the god-forsaken damned city;
and you are walking up and down outside the doors
like an irate Principal at a school assembly;
it’s really no fun
putting yourself through such agony
to put yourself on such public display
going to public toilets
when you could have cleared all
and achieved dignity
with proper timing
and good though boring habits

it’s no fun, really -
dearest friends,
hastening to the toilet
when your pipe is nearly at bursting point
and you rush in to the toilet
and though lucky enough
to find an enclosure
it’s really no fun, is it? -
all that hurry and urgency
at near bursting point
as you pow-wow before the toilet bowl
and your buckle is stubborn
and you plead to your private self:
O no, no…don’t burst…not yet…
and your damned zip gets stuck just then
and you continue your war dance
and you plead to your intimate self:
O no, no…don’t burst…not yet…not yet, please;
please don’t do this to me-self –
and just then the zip comes asunder
and you pull it down like thunder
and oh, what a relief, no doubt –
but it certainly was no fun
going there to the toilet at near-breaking point;

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Like No Other...Mother

Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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Occupy MDP!

Occupy MDP!
that’s
mom’s and dad’s place -
you imbeciles!
Occupy
Mom’s and Dad’s place -
they’ve made too much money!
They’ve worked since
they were twenty
Looking after kids
and saving money –
being selfish
no charity!
just being plain greedy!
Occupy MDP!
Don’t you see?
Mom and Dad got too much money!
Look at me –
I’m twenty-eight
going on twenty-nine –
ain’t got a penny
ain’t got a honey
and Dad and Mom
got too much in the kitty
They put money in the bank!
Damn! Don’t you see?
Mom and Dad are capitalists!
Occupy MDP!
So Dad and Mom
thirty years
they worked
and raised kids
and they’ve paid every cent on the house!
Damn! Mom and Dad are capitalists!
Damn! – they’re bourgeoisie!
Occupy MDP!
Open their fridge– eat for free!
Watch TV, use their internet
and surf with glee –
Mom and Dad can pay every fee!
Cos they’re capitalists
and money pigs –
that’s what they are,
Mom and Dad
So Occupy MDP!
Lie in the couch
and get your friends
in the garden
and trample on the beds of flowers -
Damn! Can’t you see?

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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