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I'll match my flops with anybody's but I wouldn't have missed 'em.

quote by Rosalind Russell
Added by Lucian Velea
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My heart beat

It all seems like today
Ages have passed by…

My heart missed a beat
When I first saw you
When you stretched out your hand
When you spoke to me first
When you said you look good
When you stood talking for hours
My heart missed a beat

My heart missed a beat
When I met you
When we started dating
When we went on shopping
When we spent time in each other’s company
When we were in each other’s arms
My heart missed a beat

My heart missed a beat
When I wanted to say something
When you found that life was miserable
When you thought I should live with you
When you enjoyed my company
When you proposed to me
My heart missed a beat

My heart missed a beat
When I felt your love
When we first had a talk
When we had a long walk
When we never heard the waves on the shore
When we knew we loved each other
My heart missed a leap

My heart missed a leap
When I lost words
When you found them for me
When you touched me first
When you blew in my ears
When you kissed me first
My heart missed a beat

My heart missed a beat
When I saw the ring
When we decided
When we finalized things
When we knew everything was fine
When we heard the revolt

[...] Read more

poem by Leena Bose
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They'll None of 'Em Be Missed

As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list - I've got a little list
Of social offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed - who never would be missed!
There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs -
All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs -
All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat -
All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like THAT -
And all third persons who on spoiling TETE-E-TETES insist -
They'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed!

There's the nigger serenader, and the others of his race,
And the piano organist - I've got him on the list!
And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,
They never would be missed - they never would be missed!
Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,
All centuries but this, and every country but his own;
And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,
And who "doesn't think she waltzes, but would rather like to try";
And that FIN-DE-SIECLE anomaly, the scorching motorist -
I don't think he'd be missed - I'm SURE he'd not be missed!

And that NISI PRIUS nuisance, who just now is rather rife,
The Judicial humorist - I've got HIM on the list!
All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life -
They'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed!
And apologetic statesmen of the compromising kind,
Such as - What-d'ye-call-him - Thing'em-Bob, and likewise - Never-
mind,
And 'St - 'st - 'st - and What's-his-name, and also - You-know-who-
(The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to YOU!)
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed - they'd none of 'em be missed!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Great Poets Missed Never Met

Great poets missed
never met
never engaged
artistic in conversation

we missed William Shakespeare
John Milton, Edmund Spenser
who wrote 'The Faerie Queene';
John Done long gone but not forgotten

we missed Francois Marie Arouet
better known as pen name Voltaire
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
and macabre master Edgar Allan Poe

we missed the romantic poets
Shelley, Keats, Lord Byron
all dead within three years
of each others tragic deaths

we missed William Blake
“Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye”

we missed the lake poets
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
William Wordsworth who
quarrelled irrevocably parted

we missed Robert Browning
wife Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Henry Wadsworth-Longfellow
Italian Dante Gabriel Rossetti

sister Christina Georgina Rossetti
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman
Lewis Carroll who took us in concepts
‘Through the Looking-Glass’ allusions

we also missed Wilfred Owen pacifist
T.S. Eliot walking ‘The Waste Land’
Siegfried Sassoon slaughter survived
Wystan Hugh Auden a man of a lit wit

William Carlos Williams upon ‘a red
wheel barrow’ so much depends spins
Sylvia Plath into ‘The Bell Jar’ while
Allen Ginsberg stalks Walt Whitman

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Better At The Buttom

I'm just a flip-flops,
A really cute one,
& you're just normal,
that everyone has.

I am just lying,
but I wish its true,
for me to be a flip-flops,
A really cute one.

I wish you know
Why I'm doing this poem.
For you to be touched,
Throughout your life.

In your every single-step,
You improve a lot.
I'm just a flip-flops
that supports you a lot.

Continue your dreams,
take me as your mentor.
I'm just a flip-flops
And I wish it's true

poem by Rudy Rico Castillo
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Hyperactive

Shes got a date for lunch in Singapore,
Holds stock in I.B.M. and hates Dior.
She puts up her make-up on at 6.00am
She goes to work, gets home then puts it on again
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got so much energy;
Shes such an expert at surprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
she never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
The other dancers hypervantilate and start to sweat.
One look at her - I know the nights not over yet.
She says Where are we going now?
Her voice is sweet and soft.
I think she lost the key that turns her motor off.
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got so much energy;
Shes such an expert at surprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got do much energy;
Shes such an expert at suprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
she never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.

song performed by Robert Palmer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Can Match It

When one prays
They seek safe passage.
Nothing can match it,
When a faith stays.

And,
When one prays
They seek safe passage.
Nothing can match it
When a faith prayed stays.

Hope,
Nothing can match it.
With a faith.
Nothing can match it.
To initiate
Debate.
And,
When a prayer goes to the root
The feeling felt is absolute.

When one prays...
They seek safe passage.
Nothing can match it,
When a faith stays.

Hope,
Nothing can match it.
With a faith.
Nothing can match it.
To initiate
Debate.
And,
When a prayer goes to the root.
The feeling felt is absolute.

And,
When one prays.
They seek safe passage.
Nothing can match it...
When a faith prayed stays.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wedding Day

Today you'll pick up all the pieces
And get on with your life
All I can hope is that you're happy
'Cause today you're someone elses wife
Right now I wish that I could turn back
And beg the hands of time
For the days that I remember (oh baby)
The days when you were mine
And if I never said I love you
It's cause the words got in the way

Now all I do is say I'm sorry
Sorry I missed your wedding day

I'll bet you looked good at the altar
I'll bet he knew the words to say
And the angels smiled when you walked down the aisle
You both knelt down to pray
As he put his ring on your finger
I know there's just one thing left to say

All I can do is say I'm sorry
Sorry I missed your wedding day

So Sorry

(solo)

You won't be walking through the door anymore
You won't be sleeping in this bed anymore
Tho' I swear I see your shadow waltz accross my floor
And I don't know if I can take it
Should we ever meet again
Cause I know that we'll be strangers
When he introduces friends

I tried to make it to the church now baby
A broken heart got in the way

All I can do is tell you I'm sorry
Sorry I missed your wedding day

I really hope you're happy baby
Tho' it's killing me to say
All I can do is say I'm sorry
Sorry I missed you're wedding day
Sorry I missed you're wedding
I'm sorry I missed you're wedding day
I'm sorry I missed you're wedding day
I'm sorry I missed you're wedding day

[...] Read more

song performed by Bon Jovi
Added by Lucian Velea
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Killin Time

People polishing guns
Theyve got nothing better to do
Though they think theyre having fun
Theyre just living to die, if they but knew
Now, now
All day long they sit at home
Waiting for the milk to come
Watch them turn into stone
Thinking bout the things they might have done,
Now, now
You missed the point, you missed the point
You really missed the point
Everybodys got to know
Loves the reason were here
No matter which way you go
Loves gonna meet you there
Killing time, killing time
Killing time, killing time
You missed the point, you really missed the point
Made me cry, I wonder why, why
You missed the point, you missed the point
You really missed the point

song performed by Cat Stevens
Added by Lucian Velea
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A moment missed

Remember when I asked you out?
And how you shed a tear.
Remember how I told you.
That I'd stay for all those years.

Remember our first kiss?
Under a moonlit sky.
Remember the fireworks.
That shone in your eyes.

A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.

Remember all the promises?
That we never seemed to keep.
Remember all the times.
I held you when you'd weep.

Remember all the walks we took?
On the beach at midnight.
Remember when we were perfect?
And everything felt right.

A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.

Remember that rose I sent you?
For our schools winter dance.
Remember when we broke up?
And I begged for a second chance.

Remember when you got pregant.
And I stayed right by your side.
Remember how I bought that ring?
And took your hand in mine.

A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.

Remember when I became a dad?
And held my baby girl.
Remember how we fought for names.
And ended up with Pearl.

Remember her first birthday?
And that pretty teddy bear.
Remember her old blankie?
That she carried everywhere.

A smeared kiss.

[...] Read more

poem by Silence Dogood
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You Met Your Match

Hey you were good at playing the fox girl
When I was good you threw me a bone
But I aint playing hot for nobody
Girl just you wait til I get you home
Ill show you the way to love somebody
Like youve never ever been shown before
Cause my love lights burning
My whole lifes yearning for you
Hey baby you were playing the part with jimmy and freddie
You tried to make me look like a fool
But I took care of cindy and susie
Just to show you I can be twice as cool baby
If you want to learn how to love me
Ill teach you in my own private school
Cause my love love lights burning
My whole lifes yearning for you
You met you your match
When you play with my affection
You met you your match
When you tried to make me walk the line
When you decided you would hurt me
Thats when your grape feel off the vine
Your mama told me that I better be mellow
She said youre just a baby maybe too green
I told her jimmy, freddie, teddy and victor
They know better
Mama shake off that dream
I told her that you were really cooking
My love is burning for a turn at the steam
Hey, cause
My love lights boiling
My whole lifes yearning for you
You met your match
When you told me you loved me
You met your match
When you told me that you wouldnt let go
You met your match x7
Baby
You met your match x7
Baby
You met your match in me...

song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Same Back-at-cha!

You wished me well.
And peace released in my life,
For me to tell.
With good health and prosperity,
That would grow and swell.
And my happiness to flow.
To know in my heart it is so!

The same back-at-cha!
Kept stacked in a pack,
And wrapped in active laughter.
To get you sitting relaxed...
With nothing on your mind to matter.
But you and the best of that!
But you and the best of that!
The same back-at-cha!
Kept stacked in a pack,
And wrapped in active laughter.
Getting what you give to match.
Getting what you give to match.
The same back-at-cha!

You wished me well.
And peace released in my life,
For me to tell.
With good health and prosperity,
That would grow and swell.
And my happiness to flow.
To know in my heart it is so!

The same back-at-cha!
Kept stacked in a pack,
And wrapped in active laughter.
To get you sitting relaxed...
With nothing on your mind to matter.
But you and the best of that!
But you and the best of that!
The same back-at-cha!
Kept stacked in a pack,
And wrapped in active laughter.
Getting what you give to match.
Getting what you give to match.
The same back-at-cha!

And getting what you give to match.
And getting what you give to match.
The same back-at-cha!
The same back-at-cha!
The same back-at-cha!
Getting what you give to match.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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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The Little Match Girl

It was biting cold, and the falling snow,
Which filled a poor little match girl's heart with woe,
Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street,
Crying, "Who'll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!"

When she left home she had slippers on;
But, alas! poor child, now they were gone.
For she lost both of them while hurrying across the street,
Out of the way of two carriages which were near by her feet.

So the little girl went on, while the snow fell thick and fast;
And the child's heart felt cold and downcast,
For nobody had bought any matchea that day,
Which filled her little mind with grief and dismay.

Alas! she was hungry and shivering with cold;
So in a corner between two houses she made bold
To take shelter from the violent storm.
Poor little waif! wishing to herself she'd never been born.

And she grew colder and colder, and feared to go home
For fear of her father beating her; and she felt woe-begone
Because she could carry home no pennies to buy bread,
And to go home without pennies she was in dread.

The large flakes of snow covered her ringlets of fair hair;
While the passers-by for her had no care,
As they hurried along to their homes at a quick pace,
While the cold wind blew in the match girl's face.

As night wore on her hands were numb with cold,
And no longer her strength could her uphold,
When an idea into her little head came:
She'd strike a match and warm her hands at the flame.

And she lighted the match, and it burned brightly,
And it helped to fill her heart with glee;
And she thought she was sitting at a stove very grand;
But, alas! she was found dead, with a match in her hand!

Her body was found half-covered with snow,
And as the people gazed thereon their hearts were full of woe;
And many present let fall a burning tear
Because she was found dead on the last night of the year,

In that mighty city of London, wherein is plenty of gold -
But, alas! their charity towards street waifs is rather cold.
But I hope the match girl's in Heaven, beside her Saviour dear,
A bright reward for all the hardships she suffered here.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Added by Poetry Lover
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Rose, Fall

Rose of many petals that fall at gentle touch,
you cannot match up to my love-who with touch does not fall
Rose of the green stem, who withers when is dry
you cannot match up to my love, who with age, never dries
Rose of thorny flaws, who pricks me at the lips
you cannot match up to my love, whos lips contain no thorns
Rose like any other rose, who with them does not stand out,
you cannot match up to my love, whose beauty stands outloud
Rose of limited colors, who can only bloom one tone
you cannot match up to my love, who blooms of every hue
Rose, who only appeals to eyes, to those who see its beauty
you cannot match up to my love, who appeals to every sense
Rose fall down, and bow to my love-she is the one with grace
Rose wither away to my love, whose beauty outlives yours
Rose turn 'way, when in presence to my love-
for she holds something you dont hold
and that is my steep love

poem by Afrodita Alkline
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By The Light Of A Burning Bridge

Oh, I've been stumblin' through the darkness,
Tryin' to feel the ground beneath my feet.
Afraid of movin' much in any direction:
Stuck where the past and the future meet.
But I fin'lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it too.
An' as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I'd missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an' your eyes adjust:
It's amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin' bridge.
An' there were things I saw that I'm not proud of.
Things that I'd do diff'rent now from then.
But when I really make myself get honest,
It's over and I can't go back again.
'Cause I fin'lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it took.
An' as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I'd missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an' your eyes adjust:
It's amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin' bridge.
Instrumental break.
It sure is hard to let go and to leave the past behind,
But there ain't no other way that you can find some peace of mind.
When I fin'lly got my first good look:
A little fire was all it took.
An' as the flames grew brighter,
I saw everything that I'd missed.
Once you get your courage up,
You light a match an' your eyes adjust:
It's amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin' bridge.
It's amazing what a man can see,
By the light of a burnin' bridge.

song performed by George Strait
Added by Lucian Velea
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Third Book

'TO-DAY thou girdest up thy loins thyself,
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee,' said the Lord, 'to go
Where thou would'st not.' He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downwards.
If He spoke
To Peter then, He speaks to us the same;
The word suits many different martyrdoms,
And signifies a multiform of death,
Although we scarcely die apostles, we,
And have mislaid the keys of heaven and earth.

For tis not in mere death that men die most;
And, after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,
Reversing our straight nature, lifting up
Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,
Head downward on the cross-sticks of the world.
Yet He can pluck us from the shameful cross.
God, set our feet low and our forehead high,
And show us how a man was made to walk!

Leave the lamp, Susan, and go up to bed.
The room does very well; I have to write
Beyond the stroke of midnight. Get away;
Your steps, for ever buzzing in the room,
Tease me like gnats. Ah, letters! throw them down
At once, as I must have them, to be sure,
Whether I bid you never bring me such
At such an hour, or bid you. No excuse.
You choose to bring them, as I choose perhaps
To throw them in the fire. Now, get to bed,
And dream, if possible, I am not cross.

Why what a pettish, petty thing I grow,–
A mere, mere woman,–a mere flaccid nerve,-
A kerchief left out all night in the rain,
Turned soft so,–overtasked and overstrained
And overlived in this close London life!
And yet I should be stronger.
Never burn
Your letters, poor Aurora! for they stare
With red seals from the table, saying each,
'Here's something that you know not.' Out alas,
'Tis scarcely that the world's more good and wise

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Man

George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His
dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash
from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some of the ash was still burning.
Sometimes the burning ash missed the undershirt and hit his skin, then he cursed, brushing
it away. There was a knock on the trailer door. He got slowly to his feet and answered the
door. It was Constance. She had a fifth of unopened whiskey in a bag.
"George, I left that son of a bitch, I couldn't stand that son of a bitch
anymore."
"Sit down."
George opened the fifth, got two glasses, filled each a third with whiskey, two thirds
with water. He sat down on the bed with Constance. She took a cigarette out of her purse
and lit it. She was drunk and her hands trembled.
"I took his damn money too. I took his damn money and split while he was at work.
You don't know how I've suffered with that son of a bitch." "
Lemme have a smoke," said George. She handed it to him and as she leaned near,
George put his arm around her, pulled her over and kissed her.
"You son of a bitch," she said, "I missed you."
"I miss those good legs of yours , Connie. I've really missed those good
legs."
"You still like 'em?"
"I get hot just looking."
"I could never make it with a college guy," said Connie. "They're too
soft, they're milk toast. And he kept his house clean. George , it was like having a maid.
He did it all. The place was spotless. You could eat beef stew right off the crapper. He
was antiseptic, that's what he was."
"Drink up, you'll feel better."
"And he couldn't make love."
"You mean he couldn't get it up?"
"Oh he got it up, he got it up all the time. But he didn't know how to make a
woman happy, you know. He didn't know what to do. All that money, all that education, he
was useless."
"I wish I had a college education."
"You don't need one. You have everything you need, George."
"I'm just a flunky. All the shit jobs."
"I said you have everything you need, George. You know how to make a woman
happy."
"Yeh?"
"Yes. And you know what else? His mother came around! His mother! Two or three
times a week. And she'd sit there looking at me, pretending to like me but all the time
she was treating me like I was a whore. Like I was a big bad whore stealing her son away
from her! Her precious Wallace! Christ! What a mess!" "He claimed he loved me.
And I'd say, 'Look at my pussy, Walter!' And he wouldn't look at my pussy. He said, 'I
don't want to look at that thing.' That thing! That's what he called it! You're not afraid
of my pussy, are you, George?"
"It's never bit me yet." "But you've bit it, you've nibbled it, haven't
you George?"
"I suppose I have."
"And you've licked it , sucked it?"
"I suppose so."
"You know damn well, George, what you've done."

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Bukowski
Added by Dan Costinaş
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In My Heart You Belong

You are missed.
And,
In my heart you are there strong.
You are missed.
And,
In my heart you belong.

You are missed.
And,
In my heart you are there strong.
You are missed.
And,
In my heart you belong.

I hear people always say,
They hope somebody stays away.
But in my heart you are there strong.

I am not one who will portray,
I feel no pain and it's okay.
'Cause in my heart you belong.

I have weeped a week.
'Cause in my heart,
You are still strong.
Not a wink of sleep.
'Cause in my heart you belong.

I hear people always say,
They hope somebody stays away.
But in my heart you are there strong.

I am not one who will portray,
I feel no pain and it's okay.
'Cause in my heart you belong.

You are missed.
And,
In my heart you are there strong.
You are missed.
And,
In my heart you belong.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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