Wednesday, July 27, 2011

anyone lived in a pretty how town

by e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.

Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and air by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then) they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

BIO:  Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Cummings attended Harvard, served as an ambulance driver in WWI, and studied art in Paris. His poems stand out for their unusual use of rhythms and language.   "Anyone lived in a pretty how town" is my favorite.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011



You will grow before the earth leaves.
Tho, you may be facing the night of day,
Don't close those marvelous dreams
The look of success you convey.
Patiently, I watch you waiting.
For a hard place to make a mark,
To receive what has been kept,
You will be the needed spark
In the right direction is what you take.
Winter is moving far... far... now.
I feel the snow melting outside.
As you press forward I humbly bow
Through his power all things are made.
Always, thirsting to fast for his sake,
Like chasing haste above a horizon,
Your peace will become opaque
You will grow before the earth leaves.
A era of light which transcends time
The palm which heals each charred soul.
Because you are truly divine.

By Jessica Hughes (Jh Poetry)
Posted July 25, 2011 on Facebook
Protected By MyFreeCopyrights

Diary of a Teeny Bopper
Teens are dreadful creatures.
Those horror flicks that keep
you up, jumpy, hop right out
of your skin type. They are
little evils , festering into adulthood.
Nothing like us at all. The carefree,
loving teenyboppers we were.
Adhesive our hearts, minds closed
to radical stuff. Unless, it was my
first taste of alcohol, puff of weed.
Maybe the occasional smooch
in the back seat of a Mustang GT.
After an R&B concert of course.
One for you and one for me.
If I had it, than you had it too.
Occasionally, we might have
been considered rude, teasers
but we were just trying to fit in
and get out of high school quick.
It's not pleasant sitting on the
gym floor during pep rallies or
standing up on an overcrowded bus.
Long tresses drooping from sweaty
exhaustion. However, there was
more positive energy in storage.
A brighter outlook as far as the
horizon. Shooot! A brief talk with the
old lady sitting in the Lazy Boy chair,
watching T.V. and it was off to meet
you, him, or them. We hung out like
a bunch of freckles at our favorite spot.
Well, until the cops would come
and chase us off. (pigs)
There was soul searching for
something... As we made land marks
instead of looking for them. Scantly,
escaping everything so we thought.
The pedophiles, perverted people
we barely noticed on our youthful journey.
Remember the time I had my
first "hangover" If not , I remember
when you caught your first STD.
Thank goodness it was treatable
or else! We wrote the lyrics to
"ride or die" but just didn't know it.
Nowadays, things are so different.
Home is not home, but an asylum.
Children are still bizarre to me.
And adults are more hateful than ever.
It seems as if I'm always losing now.
I stopped gambling, it was costing
me a living. Hmm, after you boarded
the Titanic with the love of your life;
which turned out to be a freaking
nightmare. I had my first child. Wow!
Sometimes I don't care anymore.
I close my door and vanish like a
stubborn canker sore.
Seasons have a reason, so people say.
It's no longer about us brats, cats,
this or that... getting fat because
nobody cares anyway. Life has turned
stale as molded bread.
I lost myself somewhere___
Did you ever find you? I wonder___
It's been some years since we
burned our bridges. This is where
the line is drawn in the sand.
I'm not kidding around anymore.
Life is much serious and I have
become sadly mistaken.
You see, I have my own reality
but I've been reeled into this franticsy.
Hell! We didn't make choices back then.
Choices chose us....
Does it mean, we're not as foolish?
Oh Yea! Whatever happen to the
other two girls? They're probably living
out their dreams in some nice
suburban city. Is it our fault? I have to
blame you. You were the oldest of us all.
Yep, but I was a street smart girl in
the country. How bout that!
Cry```Cry``` Cry```
Most of my days, some, a few
until there is nothing left.
Happiness! Happiness!
Where is the sun today?
It's cloudy and gray outside.
The forecast is calling for thunder
showers all day.
By Jessica Hughes (Jh Poetry)
Posted July 11, 2011 on Facebook
Protected By MyFreeCopyrights
Thank you, Jessica, for allowing me to share your incredible poetry!
Top of Form

o    B

Monday, July 25, 2011


More Poems by Holly Spencer

Unspoken words
Gestures and expressions
Unacquainted souls
Common ground
Uncommon contemplations
Spoken words
Cumbersome consequence
Adverse conclusion

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.

Posted July 10, 2011 on Almost Dead Poets Society, Facebook

I coulda, shoulda, woulda
But I didn’t.
Que’ Sera Sera,
Flyin’ by the seat of my pants
Didda didda didda
Thinkin, plannin, plottin
Never did wanna- wanna
Livin’ like a cat landin’ on all fours
Luck ’a lucka lucka
But THAT was yesterday...

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.

Posted July 4, 2011 on Almost Dead Poets Society, Facebook

Mattina Buio

The morning light wakes the songbirds
They greet the dawn with a cheerful voice
But the hush of a darkened room
Keeps me dutifully unaware
With no willingness to emerge
From the foreboding solace
Where is that bright light of my soul-
Has the night gone eternal?

Where did the calm of the waves within me, run-
Did it all go dry- to leave a desert storm swirling in my head?
I have switched places with a parallel universe-
One that has now stolen my tranquility-
I long for the world that I once knew

A quantum leap and I could be there
Doing things I once had without any care
I push and I pull, yet I still cannot see
That parallel world that lives around me.

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.
Posted June 19, 2011 on Almost Dead Poets Society, Facebook


Subliminal Perception


subliminal perception

The sunlight wakes the dormant life
The mind it struggles with the strife
A phoenix moves with wondrous eyes
The fire grows with binding ties

A stranger he waves
His smile is bright
Remembering this on the edge of night

The moonlight glows
A ghost I see
Beyond . . . my realm of reality

A spiritual muse
Entices me in
Away from a world where I've always been

Playing with fire
Riding the wave
I still can't seem, to change my day

Is it all in my head?
Is it real -- is it not
Am I totally ready to change the plot?

Copyright©2010 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.

A Kiss Goodnight

You dark and sinister bastard
Why did you visit me that way?
I didn't see you coming on that unsuspecting day.
I never heard a word from you,
Nor did I feel your breath.
I didn't see you watching me while I lay there at rest.
You waited there for a moment right
And then you made your move.
You leaned in for the kiss of death
And surely I would swoon.
I don't know why you changed your mind, nor do I really care.
A stolen kiss to take my soul
Is just too much to bear.
Be gone with you, do not come back I have my life to live.
Some day when I am old and gray
That kiss you then can give.

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.
posted on Almost Dead Poets Society, July 23, 2011, Facebook

In Spite of it All

I fall in love with you
In spite of myself
Everything you do
My eyes in awe --
Yet everything I do
You opaquely disregard
Now you've weaved a web
And drawn me in
And love me every now and then
You are my master
I am your pawn
I make no move
Without your command
You love me, yes?
As you do say
Or love this game
With me you play
Why do I love this game
In spite of myself?

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.
posted on Almost Dead Poets Society, July 23, 2011, Facebook

Just don't know what to say.
You're the topic of the day
Had the power in your hand
To abuse all over the land
Ok so you were elected
And your wife you soon neglected
Reality -- so does bite
So you trip to cyber night
All the virtual pretty girls
Got YOUR head all in a swirl
Stick your finger in the pie
Then tell a mountain full of lies
Next time you show your dick
Don't be such a twit
Learn -- a little -- computer savvy
So we all miss -- MR. HAPPY.

Copyright©2011 Holly Spencer. All rights reserved.
Sunday Nite Poetry Chill & Thrill, June 26, 2011


Saturday, July 16, 2011


Poems by Amy Lowell (1874-1925)                           

Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.
Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

A Tulip Garden

Guarded within the old red wall's embrace,
Marshalled like soldiers in gay company,
The tulips stand arrayed. Here infantry
Wheels out into the sunlight. What bold grace
Sets off their tunics, white with crimson lace!
Here are platoons of gold-frocked cavalry,
With scarlet sabres tossing in the eye
Of purple batteries, every gun in place.
Forward they come, with flaunting colours spread,
With torches burning, stepping out in time
To some quick, unheard march. Our ears are dead,
We cannot catch the tune. In pantomime
Parades that army. With our utmost powers
We hear the wind stream through a bed of flowers.

HISTORICAL NOTE:  Amy Lowell (1874-1925) was an American poet who posthumously won the Pulitzer Prize in 1926.  A member of the Imagist school, she was heavily influenced by the poet, Ezra Pound, preferring free verse over traditional poetic forms.


by Dawn Pisturino

Love your man and love him well;
Give all you can and time will tell
The consequences, good or ill.
But love him still.

September 8, 1985


All around the terrorist camp
The monkey chased the weasel;
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun:
Pop!  Goes the weasel.

A billion for the air raid,
A million for the missile;
That's the way the money goes:
Pop! Goes the weasel.

April 16, 1986
(Based on the nursery rhyme)
Even more apropos today!

Copyright ©2011 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Thursday, July 14, 2011



The Owl & The Pussy Cat

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money

Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,

And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!

How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:

But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away for a year and a day,

To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,

With a ring at the end of his nose,

His nose,

His nose,

With a ring at the end of his nose.    
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day

By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dinèd on mince, and slices of quince

Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon,

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.