Verse, Poetry, Lyric

Patchwork Girl Part Four of Four

A few false steps
In finding Ellie's grave
Appreciating the personal space
Of a few moments alone
Before joining me.

Placing your hands
On my shoulders
In support and love.

Silently
We stand.

My mind
Reruns that fateful night
Tears running down
My cheeks.

Taking the patchwork doll
Holding it
Against my lips.

Tenderly
Kissing it goodbye
Placing the doll
On the grave.

Patchwork Girl Part Three of Four

By Therisa Godwaldt

© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt

All rights Reserved

An angry feminine voice
Jars me
Back to the present.

My eyes
Bleary from crying
Realizing
It was your mom.

Hastily
Wiping my eyes dry
Turn to face her.

Knew
She was talking
But didn't understand
Her.

Slowly
Her words penetrated
My mental fog.

Judging
From her voice's pitch
She has been yelling at me
For a while.

"James Robert McLeod!"

The End

Hello everyone,

I'm new as an author on here. This is a rather personal story/ poem, but it fits into the TG context.

I'm working on an actual series, but as a slow writer it will take some time for that.

I still hope you can enjoy reading this here.

Best wishes,

Filas

Patchwork Girl (Part Two of Four)

Reaching up
I grasp the patchwork doll
Within my hand.

Noticing
For the first time
As I turn it over
Various repair jobs.

From her mom's strong
And confident stitching
To Ellie's loose
And inexperienced stitching.

Tears
Run down my cheeks
Streaks of black mascara
Marring my face
Before landing on the doll.

Remembering
Your final hours
How you needed
Everything to be
Your way.

Requiem For A Lost Child

Forty years ago
A child was born
Into this world.

Perfect
In all ways
With ten fingers
And toes.

No visible signs
Of a birth defect
Except one.

Only known
To the child.

Not a defect
As society understands
But a greater truth.

That burns
With the intensity
Of a white-hot flame.

Removing all doubt
In the child's mind.

She takes small steps
Within the safety
And privacy
Of the bathroom.

Letter To My Depression

Hello
Old friend
Been awhile
Since our last meeting.

Not sure
Why I'm calling you
A friend.

Given
Our very destructive
Relationship
Over the years.

Which
More often
Then not
Have seen me
Trying to end
My life.

You realize
I am so tired
Of your presence
In my life.

Turning
My life
Upside down.

May surprise you
And accept your offer.

Just
To shut you
Up.

An Ode to 'Bike'

An Ode to 'Bike', the first 10 years


I’d rather be Riding my bicycle
My bicycle made for two
With bells and rings and things on
But a trusty read that always delivers
What it says on the tin

Through thick and thin
Wet and Dry
Another episode comes along
And then two or three more just like busses
But it always delivers
What it says on the tin

Angharad you are a trooper
Sooper dooper
And that is a fact
But the tales go on
And it always delivers
What it says on the tin

I Gave My Heart

Here is another of my poems, it mentions aspects of BDSM briefly a few times, but there is nothing explicit in the poem itself. This poem was written in a free form style, I generally don't do free form poetry often, but that style fits this piece perfectly.

If you're not into BDSM, simply disregard those little bits and read it as it is, a description of a relationship that went wrong and then failed.

Sadly, I had bad luck with the relationship after the one described here, for the exact same reasons, with the exact same result.

The Voice Within

I managed to find some of my poetry pieces, I wrote this one while reflecting on how depression, etc., can affect people.

**********

The Voice Within

I walked alone in a garden,
When my life seemed so drear and dark;
I could not see the flowers there
Or hear the sweet song of the lark.

I wandered here, then wandered there,
Looking for a way to the light;
I knew not where I went nor why,
Just that life seemed eternal night.

Reflections

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

I thought of you sitting in your playhouse
Sipping your lemonade
Hair flowing freely
Dimpled cheeks, freckles, crooked smile and all.
Laughing freely as you played house with your dollies
All while twirling about in your silky yellow sundress and Mary Janes.

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

Wounded Child

“Mama…”

She doesn’t say the words, but you still hear them: “not now, sweetie. Mama’s busy.”

You know better than to reach out for her. Your hands are already stinging. Better to keep them by your side where they can’t annoy anybody.

Still, the need aches at you.

“I told you, I’m busy,” she doesn’t say.

You try to be a good girl and pull away, but your heart doesn’t listen; it still reaches out despite knowing it’s not allowed.

The yelling gets louder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was busy. Stop being a bother.”

When I Grow Up

They told me
I could be
Anything I wanted
Asked me what
I meant to be
When I grew up
When I told them
"I want to be a mommy!"
They changed their tune
"You can't be a mommy
You can only be a daddy!"
My life could be
A consolation prize
And then they wonder
Why I don't know me

A Collection of My Poetry

Author's note: The poems presented below are the copyrighted works of Ronald Heyward Bailey, Junior, known here on Big Closet under the pseudonym of Haylee V. If you have found them on any sites other than poetry.com (now lulu.com) or here, then you are reading pirated copies.

For Marcus
(c) 2001

Too many nights of eating cold Taco Bell burritos
And getting drunk off of cheap wine and tequila & coke

Turn to Girl

Author's Note: These alternate song lyrics just came to me and I had to share. They're too good not to share. I hope at least some of you enjoy this as much as I do.

Turn to Girl
by Terry Volkirch

(sung to the tune of Turn to Stone by ELO)

An older, somewhat brittle man
(Still young at heart and full of life)
I stay in shape because I can (yearning, yearning)

Strange magic hit my body good
(Turned me into someone new)
And in my room my body stood
In my pink world

I am me and you are you

You and me are very different.
We always have been and always will.
Your words, fists and feet will never make me you
Just face it, I’m not like you

You call me queer,
You call me a paedo,
You smash your fists into my face
Yet I’m still not like you so what’s the point eh?

Yes, I like to dress as a woman,
What’s so wrong in that? Will it condemn me to spend eternity in hell?
Just because you don’t do not make me bad.
Despite all your bullying, I’m still here.

This Halloween - A Short Poem

This Halloween
By Barbara Lynn Terry

The witches sabbat is this Halloween
It behooves us to be seen
In our favorite scary garb
To keep the ghosts and goblins and witches at bay
Also, the werewolves, monsters and vampires
Lest they devour us little by little.
So, on this Halloween day,
Let us aspire
Not to perspire
Lest we be found out
That we are not a ghost, goblin, monster, vampire or witch
While we are out and about.

TG Limerick Day 2016

TG Limerick Day

May 12 was National Limerick Day because it is the birthday of Edward Lear, who is credited with popularizing that poetic form in his Book of Nonsense, published in 1846.

So I decided to compose a few TG limericks for today.

1. There once was a boy from Purdue,
Who thought he was really a Sue.
She put on a skirt, turned into a flirt,
And sings in a café near you.

A Soldiers Christmas Poem

A Soldiers Christmas Poem

soldiersinsnow.jpg


The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,

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