Mr Fin


and grey suited
of the Plague of London


in 1665
and people dying
and red crosses


on doors
and rats and ships


being yelled


the narrow streets
we sat enthralled
taking in


the history lesson
Dennis drew a cross
on his palm


in red ink
(he had a job
to get that off


in recess)
and said
I bet he was there


old Fin
bet he was a kid
back then


it was almost
three hundred
years ago


I said
this is 1956
Dennis shrugged


his shoulders
and kept
to his theory


I watched the teacher
and how his hand
wrote so neatly


on the board
and drew a picture
of streets


with doors
with red crosses
and shadowy people


hanging round
Janice sat to my right
her eyes glued


to the board
as Mr Fin
wrote and drew


her chin
in the palm
of her thin hand


in her exercise book
with her right hand


I liked her fair hair
the way it flowed
over her shoulders


like water
over rocks
the way her fingers


touched her cheek
as her palm
held the chin


another girl
sat next to her
some fat girl


with black hair
and a thin
faint moustache


and earrings
I liked Janice's
pink ear


showing through
a gap
in her hair


then Fin said
next time
we'll talk


of the Great Fire
of London
in 1666


Dennis stuck gum
under his desk
Janice closed her book


and gave me
her engaging  
young girl look.


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I was sitting
in my favourite café
sipping an iced coke
when this dame


behind me
(in conversation
with some guy) said
and he already


owes me
a thousand pounds
in maintenance
for the kids


(the kids came
into view now
and then
as they played


around the tables
and he wanted them
as much as I


the guy she was with
pumped her questions
about the marriage
(maybe he was a friend


or perhaps
he was hoping
to get his leg over


along the line
of time)
and he seldom visits
she said


and every child
needs a father
but they
rarely see him


and I say to him
you need to see
your children more
(the guy's voice


behind me is soft
and concerning)
children need a father
need that security


he said
I tried not to listen
just sipped my coke
looking at the people


nearby who I could see
but all the while
this dame's voice
opens up and continues


mind you
he never was
much of a lover


the guy said
well not
100% committed
she said


there was always
something else
going on his head
you know what I mean?


she said
the guy said
and I imagined


he nodded his head
(maybe thinking
I'd be a much better
lover than he)


I allowed
a cube of ice
to enter my mouth
cold it rattled


against my teeth
how long is
he going to leave it?
she said


the back payments
are already a thousand
and I have the kids
to feed and clothe


and the mortgage to pay
and Daddy
will only pay so much
she said


the guy fed her
more questions
I didn't quite catch
the words


(quiet speaker
unlike her
who spoke loud)
she laughed


and I sipped
more coke
trying to listen in
on the words


of the joke
jazz was being played
from the in house radio
some Miles Davis


I think
early stuff
I drained the remains
of my coke


and got up
put on my cap
and grabbed my stick
and as I turned


I casually gave
the dame a look
(a kind of fill in
for my picture book)


a blonde
and the guy


in a tee-shirt


and jeans
as I walked off
with my stick
and a head full


of information
I gave them
one last look
back at their table


I couldn't see them
as bed fellow
least not
in my book.

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I want you for sex

I want your mind

I want to know your kids

I love the tats

“That put you to sleep”)



Written on 

October 1, 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Well, this was another one that it didnt work with.

View crimsonangel24's Full Portfolio




   Daddy incest, spider legs on my belly button!


Give me the seed of life, the one who create me!


Mother lips on my innocence flesh,


Well done, you create the beast,


The one who shall kill you!




I painted my lips with blood,


Smiling on the shatter mirror,


This glass of memories, remember!


Cunt playing with you my memories!




So tell me if you see her?


Tell me if you see him?


Love me or vomit me!


My body is a doll,


Let play!




Ask my number,


Ask my address,


Just don’t ask my name,


I am the ether,


The purity of whore!




One more barbiturate!


Is a dangerous game?


so why keeping at it?

scream banshes at me!


cela fait 28 ans que je ne peux pas dormir sans mes Dolls!!!



Author's Notes/Comments: 

cela fait 28 ans que je ne peux pas dormir sans mes Dolls!!!

what more can i say?

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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes


harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away


Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression


I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection


Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.


KKK (?)

Bryan’s torch story is finished as is Ali’s blue hair tale of woe.

But we have three children which means we still have one to go.


Today it’s Ryan’s turn who while sitting in our front yard

Innocently got in trouble for his love of baseball cards.


He had a card collection and his friends Jared and Gary had one too

“Hey Guys,” Ryan announced one day, “Here’s what we’re going to do.


“We’ll find out who else loves baseball cards here in our neighborhood

And get them all together to form a baseball card brotherhood.


We’ll get all our friends to join us, it really won’t be tough

We’ll have meetings, make club ‘T’ shirts and all cool kinds of stuff.”


They mentioned the club to Deborah and I, we gave it our OK

We smiled at their resourcefulness, and the club was on it’s way.


We let them handle everything, we thought the experience would be great

We let them plan the entire thing and their own card club create.


They worked hard together...yes those three boys got on a role

In retrospect perhaps we should have exerted some control.


They watched a lot of TV, yes they were young but they were wise

For they knew the best way to get the word out would be to advertise.


So they made a bunch of fliers announcing the Kard Kingdom Kids club and hey!

To make it attract attention they decided every word would start with K.


Then these three young budding capitalists on this point all agreed

They’d abbreviate it for their friends and make it easier to read.


They designed their own club fliers and on an entrepreneurial whim

Decided to use Jared’s dad’s printer unbeknownst to him.


Yes, every mailbox in the neighborhood got one of their fliers that day

Announcing, come to our house for the next meeting of the KKK!


We were proud of Ryan, Jared and Gary as we watched their confidence soar

That is until the policeman came knocking at our door.


Apparently one nosy neighbor, the kind always looking out for sin

Saw the KKK was meeting at our house and quickly called it in.


“I applaud your children’s ingenuity,” the policeman chuckled, “But there is one little flaw,

They’re frightening your neighbors...and it seems they broke the law.”


“I realize your neighbor is something of a quack

So don’t worry we won’t be pressing charges as long as you get these fliers back.”


“By the way as a father myself I understand,” he said, after the kids had been dispersed,

“But wouldn’t it have been smarter if you both had read this first.”


We thanked the nice policeman, and apologized for our disregard

As we tried to hide the white sheets they put out to display their cards!


We helped them retrieve every flier, then told them of the KKK

And how it’s illegal to open other people’s mailboxes...on this or any day.


Who knew a tiny neighborhood baseball card club would end up being so judicial

Just because three young boys used incorrect initials.


So there you have it, the story of how innocence got in the way

When our son Ryan and his two close friends almost enrolled in the KKK.





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Cut My Heart Out






I remember when we were kids,

We used to make Valentine cards,

Red construction paper and white faux doilies

Purchased at the 5 & 10 store,

Something about the way that white paste smelled

Made kids want to taste it, and some did,

My chubby fingers never seemed to fit

Those round-edged scissors,

And my clumsy little cut-outs, 

So second rate next to yours,

I'd always ask you to do mine for me, 

But you seemed impatient to do so back in those days,

But after 13 years now, with no return phone calls,

It seems you've developed the virtue,

And the bittersweetness

Of our own blood upon my lips has 

Sparked memories such as this one,

And I try to acquire a liking for this strange aftertaste,

Because I guess I've received what I asked for,

But I'm sure that paper hearts don't bleed this much.


2:35 AM 8/6/2013  © 


Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about growing up with family members, maturity, and life changes.


View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Lifes Worth

It all begins as my feet hit the floor, then its rush out the door

kids are screamin from the back set,

Thinkin to myself everything will be alright

Sometimes I wish I could hide my head, stay in my bed

then in a moment it all sinks in; I am soooo blessed I have it all in my hands,

The love of my sons and my daughters, it's a beautiful day

Not all work, I'm gonna play, and sing this day away

I'm in heaven on earth, I know my lifes worth

Trisha LoGrasso

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I am inspired by my children and my life and overcoming obstacles.... Living one day at a time one smile or tear which ever it maybe doing it with grace.

View tsmadness2013's Full Portfolio

The Confessional

human beings

It's the first Thursday of the month, and I'm standing in line, waiting for the nun to walk us across the schoolyard over to the church to confession. I am in fouth grade.


Sister: "Where is your beanie?"

Me: "Sister, I forgot it."

(Truth is, sister, I can't remember any sins to tell the priest today).


Sister: "Well, go get one of the extras from the box in the coat room."

Me: "Yes, sister."

(And for sure it's going to be either huge or so small it will fall off my head).


We get to church and now we are lined up on either side against the walls of the building. The entire fourth grade, two classes, one class on one side and one class on the other side, waiting our turns to go into the 4x4 pitch black room, where we will tell the priest all of the sins we committed that month.


Of course we get scolded at least once by the nun for chit-chatting as we wait in line. The thought goes through our heads, "Now, is that a sin?"


It's my turn and I enter the small room and feel about for the wall so I can find the kneeler and wait for the priest to open his little 'window'. In the interim, I can hear his muffled voice talking to the child in the booth on the side opposite to where I am kneeling. I can not hear the words, only a muffled sound that causes me to feel a bit anxious, for what reason, I have no clue. The whole thing is very strange to me every time I used to go, and as the years pass by, I find it even more strange.


Finally, the window opens, and light from his small cubicle where he sits shines into the small area where I have been waiting. Thinking about that alone, now an adult, explains the power they have over people for many years.


Priest: "Yes, child."

(Oh, thank God---I was wondering what in the hell that kid must have done. It was taking you forever, father.)


Me: "Bless me, father, for I have sinned, it has been one month since my last confession. These are my sins:...."

(Oh sh*t, this is the part I hate. What in the hell am I supposed to say? I don't mean to sound full of myself, but Jesus Christ!! I haven't done anything wrong this month!)


Priest: "Yes, child, you can speak---tell me your sins."


Me: "Um, I took the Lord's name in vain, father---well, not exactly but I thought the Lord's name in vain."

(Yea, just a minute ago--it's your fault too, for making me so damn nervous).


Priest: "Yes, child, that is a sin. What else?"

(Oh, man.... I better think of something fast.)


Me: "I told a lie, father,"

(Just now... f*ck!)


Priest: Yes, lying is not what Jesus wants for you, child. Who did you lie to? Your mother? Your father?

(Whew!! Thanks for saving me on that one, father!)


Me: "My father, but I also cursed someone---well, it was in my mind, father---I didn't really say it."

(*Sinister grin* Ok...I got this


Priest: "What was the curse word, child?"

(OMG, how embarrassing. Now I have to say the f bomb to a priest.)


Me: "Well, father, it was the word .... um...F*CK."

(Oh SH*T!!! I can't believe this! He is making a sinner out of me, and I was pure and holy when I walked in this room today!! God dam* this SOB!)


Priest: "Child! Where did you learn this word? Do you know what this word means?"

(Oh no. Now we have to have an interrogation because i'm trying to be honest with this way. I 'm not goin' here with him).


Me: "I forget where I learned it, father,  I forget what it means. I heard it from an eighth grader waiting for the bus."

(Blame everything on the eighth graders when you're a fourth grader---it works! Now I'm really going to hell, cause that was a big fat lie, but holy sh*t--I can't talk to him about this stuff. The whole building could crumble!! Not only that, he's making this worse and worse, and I'm afraid of the dark to begin with.)


Priest: "Is that all child?"

(Is that ALL? You made a freakin' mountain out of molehill, dude!!)


Me: "Yes father. Well, give or take a couple more curse words."


Priest : "Ok child." (*mumbles some mumbo jumbo for about a 2 minutes while I sit humbly awaiting his absolution*) "For your pennance, you must say 3 Hail Marys and 4 Our Fathers---and God Bless you".

(At least he could have some suckers or a free movie ticket or something---that's all I get?)


I leave the confessional and go kneel up at the altar of the church to say my pennance, and while I do all the kids get scolded a few more times for chit-chatting, as we are comparing pennances....of which most often, everyone's is the same thing. 


I don't know how I ever made it to where I am today in my spirituality, but apparently, overall, it must have done something good for me. Just very funny to think back on.




12:22 AM 6/30/2013 ©


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Catholic Confession in the 60s and 70s