text:
The camera turns on.
"We have retreated back to the Tower and decided to allow the enemy to call it a victory for today," Starfire said. "Nevertheless, the Titans will still attempt to dislocate the Mayonnaise Bombs and find the source of the Exploding Rubber Chickens."
She walked up to Robin who was sitting on the couch and tapped him on the back. Robin shrieked and jumped six feet into the air.
"Forgive me," Starfire gasped. "Your back must be..." her voice trailed off.
Robin twitched, wondering what she was up to.
"Have you been to one of those little contraptions that attempts to tan the back by lying in a bed of dangerously hot lights?" Starfire asked innocently.
"Um, yeah! That's it, Star," Robin stammered nervously. "I, uh, tried a tanning bed and it didn't work so my back was sunburned." Given the concerned smile of the Tamaranean beauty, Robin hoped she had bought it. Better to be known as sunburned than back waxed.
Robin turned on the T.V.
"In today's news, Gotham police have noticed a giant ceramic toilet lodged outside the main sewer pipes of Gotham city. This toilet may have been the cause of the lack of water running in some pipes in the city, while others are nearly flooded."
The new camera showed a toilet nearly as big as Titan's Tower standing in the middle of the city.
"Police have been questioned in the matter and are curious about the whereabouts of the city's protector, Batman. However, there has been no sight of the Dark Knight recently and the city's citizens are beginning to get impatient and demand their showers back.
Should the cause of this disaster not come to surface, the Justice League of America will have to intervene and may bring in the legendary Plungerman, protector of the flushing, the squeaky clean, and the rubber rod."
"Plungerman?!" Robin blurted out.
"In other news, the citizens of Jump City may have their showers working fine, and they'll need them! Thousands of Rubber Chickens covered the streets today before exploding in mid-air, right before Mayonnaise Cannons blasted down people."
"Worried mothers are concerned about salmonella food poisoning and the city cleaners will be annoyed about the smell for a while. We highly recommend air fresheners and extra sponges for you all."
Raven was banging on the door of the bathroom as if it was a drum. "Speedy!" she snapped. "You've been in there forever and we all need to wash that disgusting mayonnaise off!"
The door slid open and Raven was hit with a wave of hot air and whirling steam. Speedy came out wearing nothing more than a fluffy yellow towel wrapped around his waist.
"Ew! Man, put some clothes on!" Cyborg gagged, covering his eye and waving a hand away.
Raven's attention went towards Speedy's torso. "That is MY favorite bathtowel that you are wearing," she hissed.
"Really?" Raven could have sworn Speedy was winking behind his mask, but his sadistic grin was already telling her enough. "All right Raven, you can have it back," he said wickedly. Speedy pretended to peel the towel off his waist.
"No! No!" Raven shouted, turning away. "Just keep it, ok? And while you're at it, take my bathrobe," she grumbled.
The dark goddess began to stomp off and almost bumped into Starfire's camera. Raven pursed up her lips. "Pray tell me, how did the little expedition in my room go?"
Starfire widened her green eyes and tried to look as innocent as possible, but Raven could see right through her.
"I know the curse was put into effect," Raven said. "Hope you liked having newts all over your body."
"It was not a pleasant experience," Starfire confessed.
"Not as unpleasant as having that dirty pervert Speedy around. I wish Robin had never made that rouge into a Titan."
"He cannot be dirty, he has just showered," Starfire insisted.
Raven hesitated, wondering if she should tell Starfire what "dirty" meant along with "hitting on" and "flirting". She had a thought bubble of Starfire smacking someone with a baseball bat in self defense of being "hit at". Perhaps there are some things the Tamaranean alien should not know.
Speedy found himself standing in the Titan's kitchen with a blank expression. He adjusted the towel he was wearing and frowned. Because he was much taller than Robin, it would be quite unnecessary for the Boy of Wonder to offer Speedy any of his uniforms. Until Speedy's clothes were done drying, he'd have to wait. Maybe he could watch a movie in the meantime.
Speedy suddenly felt a draft and looked down.
The Titan's mutant mascot known as Silkie the Silkworm was happily munching on the remains of the fluffy yellow towel.
Speedy shouted and made a beeline for the bathroom. He would never live to see the day if anyone had caught him and he would be nicknamed Skinny Dipping Speedy.
Starfire lowered the camera and made a face.
"I have seen hooligans such as Johnny Rancid with permanent imprints on their bodies called tattoos," she spoke slowly. "They are often interpreted as having tribunal or artistic origins."
She frowned.
"But what is the significance of Speedy having a small imprinted tattoo of a purple dinosaur on his backside?" she asked aloud.
Meanwhile. . .
The other shower in Titans Tower was preoccupied for the moment.
"I'm telling you, Beast Boy, the place stunk like bad socks," Aqualad said, coming about and rubbing his black hair with a towel. "So you were trying to find out who put up that giant toilet in Gotham?" he asked.
"Yeah, and the sewers were just disgusting. It was like swimming in sludge water," Aqualad shuddered. "I found Batman, by the way. But he was accompanied by Catwoman and-"
"Cats can't swim," Beast Boy interrupted.
"Right. So she's there, thrashing and screaming and shouting like its doomsday and Batman doesn't have any little waterwings or anything like that in his utility belt. And since his uniform is so heavy, it's pulling both of them down!" Aqualad shook his head. "Why do I think grown-ups are more helpless than they let themselves on to be?"
"Did this dude Plungerman ever show up?"
"Him? Nah. This little guy in blue tights and a red uniform came out of no where. He called himself Spiderman-"
"That's crazy! What kind of a weirdo goes around dressed like an insect?" Beast Boy laughed.
"Dunno. But he's going to save both of them, so he says. Joker pops up out of nowhere and begins to sing 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider' and flushes the giant toilet. Of course, poor little Spiderman is scrambling up the walls and gets water flushing him back down."
"Sounds awful," Beast Boy grinned.
"Wasn't a total loss, though," Aqualad said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a green gem on a gold chain. "I got this 3-D Hypno necklace from a magic shop."
"Big deal! Those things are phonies," the green changeling retorted. But Aqualad swung it in front of Beast Boy's eyes. "You are getting sleeeeepy. . ." he said in a low voice. Beast Boy just folded his arms and rolled his eyes.
"That is SO lame, I'm not falling for it."
"On the count of three, you will fall asleep," Aqualad continued.
"I'm not that stupid! You can't get me like Mad Mod!"
"Na na never gonna do it!"
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Beast Boy's eyes went shut and his head dropped forward. Aqualad caught it and propped the sleeping boy back on his bed. He opened the door and ushered for Starfire to come in.
"The coast is clear. You can begin shooting," he said.
"Ahem!" Starfire cleared her throat and began to talk into the camera. "I have checked the encyclopedia and discovered that hypnosis is a state of relaxation and different conscious that has been used for medical reasons. Today, Aqualad has hypnotized Beast Boy and will explain to me how it will be used for health benefits."
The camera shows the stud muffin smiling.
"Thank you, Starfire. Well, when I said 'health benefits', I was being more vague. It is not for the patient's welfare, but for the viewers. Now that Beast Boy has no control over himself. ." Aqualad leaned forth and grinned perfect teeth into the screen. ". . .. we'll just have to play along."
He turned around to the sleeping boy who has a thin trickle of saliva drooling out of his mouth. "Beast Boy, you are now under my power. When I snap my fingers, you will wake up and-" he paused, wondering what to make him to.
"Make Beast Boy act as if he is a Zorgophlec!"
"Fine. Beast Boy, you are now a Zorgophlec." He snapped his fingers and Beast Boy's eyes popped open. He looked around the room and saw his pile of colored socks.
"Fooood!" he screamed. The changeling jumped into the pile and began to cram clothes into his mouth. "Mmmm, yummy yummy socks," he said, stuffing two red socks into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing.
"Mwahahahahah!" Aqualad laughed, falling down hysterically.
Starfire blinked calmly. "I see not what it is so funny about this. Zorgophlecs are raised on a strict diet of spun cotton and wool prints. It is good that he is getting his nutrition in."
Beast Boy had just dumped ketchup on a polka-dot tie and was rolling it up like a jelly roll. He licked the red stuff off his fingers as he finished eating it. But then, he noticed the pile of dirty laundry.
Starfire gasped. "Aqualad, he cannot eat that, it is most unsanitary!" Aqualad made a face. "Yeah, I don't think he should be eating his own clothes if they need to be washed, especially filthy socks."
Too late.
Beast Boy jumped into the air and was about to land on top of the socks, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
He landed on top of the filthy laundry in a heap, snoring loudly. The two Titans managed to pull him off and put Beast Boy on the ground.
"Ok, I've got another idea," Aqualad said. "When I snap my fingers, you will want to sing a very popular pop song."
He snapped his fingers. Beast Boy jumped up, wide awake and looked around the room. Suddenly, he grabbed his toy squeaky hammer and got on top of the bed. Holding the hammer like a microphone, he began to sing into it: "I think I did it again, I made you believe we're more than just friends. Oh baby, it might seem like a crush..."
Now even Starfire was laughing so hard that tears were coming down her cheeks. Beast Boy swing his hips back and forth, pursing up his lips and blowing kisses as he kept singing: "Baby, oh...Oops!...I did it again, I played with your heart, got lost in the game..Oh baby, baby..."
Aqualad snapped his fingers. Beast Boy dropped the squeaky hammer and fell back, snoring loudly. "Ok, Starfire. Now make him do something," Aqualad announced. Her green eyes grew wide with astonishment.
"Must I?"
"I think you'll enjoy it. Just remember to snap once to wake him up, and only your snap can make him fall back asleep." Starfire nodded and put a finger to her temple in thought. Her eyes widened and she thought of something that would make Beast Boy very happy.
It would NOT make Aqualad very happy.
"I have an idea," Starfire announced. "Beast Boy, when I snap my fingers, you shall assume that Aqualad is really Terra."
Aqualad's face froze. "Terra?"
Beast Boy's eyes widened and he glanced at Starfire with a puzzled look on his face. Then he looked at Aqualad and the smile spread across his face was so bright that Starfire thought she would need sunglasses.
"Um, Beast Boy," Aqualad said stepping back slowly.
Little hearts were coming out of Beast Boy's eyes as he looked at Aqualad.
"TEEEERAAA!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Still looking googly-eyed, he dove for Aqualad and threw his arms around the buff teenager's waist.
"Cant-breath," Aqualad gasped.
"Oh Terra, I'm so glad to see you! You're all right! You're here! You're wonderful! You're beautiful!" Beast Boy said, grabbing Aqualad's hand and kissing it. "I love you! I love you!"
"BLECH!" Aqualad was beyond repulsed at this point. And I thought the Gotham sewers were disgusting he thought to himself. He pried Beast Boy's fingers' off his waist and scooted backwards.
"Terra, you wanna go the movies?" Beast Boy said.
"Make him stop!" Aqualad gagged. "Before he hurts either of us!" He ran down the hallway with Beast Boy behind him, the little green one holding a rose between his teeth.
"You are zee most beautiful woman I have EVER seen!" he hollered. Starfire lagged behind with the camera. "Terra, please! My best friend!" Beast Boy wailed.
Aqualad jumped out of a window and splashed into the water. Beast Boy's splash was heard next and when the black haired boy glanced behind him, he groaned. He was still being chased, but now the little red hearts had increased in number and size.
And it was an ugly green squid that was chasing him. Aqualad forced his aching legs to push through the water as fast and hard as he could go.
"Terra, Terra, sweeter than pie. It's the cute blondie I love, I cannot lie," the telepathic message sang over and over again. Just as Aqualad thought it was hopeless, he rose to the surface for air. The green duck followed him and looked up.
Starfire hovered above the water and raised her hand.
Beast Boy blinked and found himself bobbing up and down in the middle of the bay.
"Um, how did we get here and why am I soaking wet?" he asked Aqualad. "And why is Starfire up there holding her video camera?"
"She wanted to watch us race," Aqualad explained quickly, relieved at the change in Beast Boy's conduct. "Oh," was all Beast Boy could say. He scratched his ear.
"Was I winning?" he added.
The camera revolves around the long corridor in the Titan's Tower.
"And now I am about to interview or at least research the lifestyle of the bionic wonder known as Cyborg," Starfire announced happily.
Starfire' plan was interrupted when the door decided to make direct contact with her face.
The door slammed open, mashing Starfire to the wall as flat as a pancake.
Bumblebee stuck her head out of the room "That's funny. I thought I heard noises," she muttered to herself.
"Guuuuuuuuuh. . ." Starfire's voice creaked out. She managed to unwrinkled her flattened face and remain behind the door. At least the camcorder wasn't damaged.
Bumblebee came out wearing a fluffy lacey pale pink dress adorned with flowers. A large floppy hat covered with daisies was on her head while she held a large basket full of chocolates. She began to twirl around and hum cherrily. "I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright..."
"You do?" Cyborg's voice was heard from the room. She stopped singing and rolled her eyes. "I'd like you more if you just came out, Cyborg!" she shouted with her hands on her hips.
"Cyborg is dressed all over in thick white fur," Starfire said into the camera. "He is holding a giant head of some ferocious animal. Perhaps he has come back from a hunting expedition and is dressing himself in the animal's skins to show that he is a valiant warrior, and Bumblebee is wearing that adorable gown to express her pride in his capture of the-"
Cyborg held out the head to Bumblebee. "I can't get it on," he insisted.
"Oh for heavens sake!" she snapped. She grabbed the head and shoved it onto Cyborg's head. A muffling sound was heard from inside.
"Can you talk?" she asked.
"Huhmma humma. . yes, I think I can," came the still slightly smothered sound of Cyborg. "Bee, I really don't want to do this."
"You promised me that you'd be the Easter Bunny in the mall today," she warned him, shaking a finger. "Besides, I'm going along as your assistant so shut up and go along with it."
Cyborg turned around and looked at his reflection in the mirror: a white furry body costume and a large smiling bunny face with floppy pink ears met him in the mirror.
"And what are you supposed to be, the sugar plum fairy?"
"You'll see."
Before he could react, Bumblebee grabbed the long floppy ears and began to drag him out the door.
"Ow! Ow!" his voice was heard. "You'll rip 'em off!"
"Nonsense! I superglued them on," she shouted back.
"We are at the mall to await the arrival of the great animal known as the Easter Bunny," Starfire announced cheerily. "Or should I say, Cyborg on behalf of the Easter Bunny."
A bunch of kids were lined up in the middle of the mall where various balloons in pastel colors were gathered around.
"Look! It's the Easter Bunny!" one kid cried, pointing to Cyborg and Bumblebee. She smiled and began to pass out chocolate to them. "Hello, boys and girls," she said in a high sweet voice. "I am Sugar Pixie, friend to all and dear helper of the Easter Bunny."
"Sugar Pixie?!" Cyborg shouted. But the kids saw him and began to squeal with laughter, jumping up and down, clapping their hands.
"Easter Bunny!" shouted one boy. He tugged on Cyborg's arm and the bionic boy trapped inside the costume of a large white mammal fell into a rocking chair. The boy sat himself down comfortably on Cyborg's lap.
"Um, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Telling you what presents I want," the kid said. "My name is Alex and I've been REALLY good this year and I-"
"Excuse me," Bumblebee said, tapping Alex on his shoulder. She bent over and said, in a voice so sweet and sticky that Starfire was almost getting cavities. "But Santa Clause is the one that gives out presents. The Easter Bunny has just enough candy and games for today. So sorry, darling."
Cyborg was ready to die. He didn't know how he let Bumblebee get him talked into doing this ridiculous shindig, and he was terrified at what Robin would think if he ever saw Cyborg in the stupid bunny outfit. How did he ever get into this mess?
Oh yeah, she had offered him a Starkiller Scream V game cartridge.
Cyborg cleared his throat and patted Alex on his head with one large furry paw.
"Never mind that, Alex. Tell me what Santa got you for Christmas," he said in a deep voice. Alex's eyes grew wide and he scooted around on Cyborg's lap.
"Ok! I got a really cool super summer slide, and a science experiment kit, and some cool movies. . ."
"I wanna go! I wanna go!" A little girl jumped on Cyborg's lap once Alex had gotten off. "My name is Thera," she lisped. "Sara?" he asked.
"Yeth! Thera!" she smiled at Cyborg. "And I got a pretty china tea teth, a Barbie doll, a glow inna dark kite and some pretty pink thocks."
She got off of his lap and another boy climbed on. Cyborg was partially relieved at this point. If this was all it took to being the Easter Bunny, then it wasn't so bad.
"Well, uh, my name is Josh and I'm Jewish so I didn't celebrate Christmas," he said slowly. "But I got some really awesome stuff for Chanukah! My mom got me a a pinball game, and my own autographed football-"
"Football?" Cyborg blurted out. Josh nodded and reached into his knapsack. He pulled out a football and handed it to Cyborg. "Easter Bunny, do you know how to play football?" he asked.
Cyborg jumped up and grabbed the football. "The Easter Bunny kicks butt at football!" he said happily. "Come on, let's toss the old pigskin around."
The kids cheered and all lined up in the mall. Cyborg bent down and made sure he could get the ball between his furry legs.
"Hutt, hutt, hike!" he shouted. Alex grabbed the ball but fumbled. He tossed it to Sara who threw it to another girl before she threw it over her head. Cyborg grabbed the ball, ran huffing and puffing in his large suit, and finally made the touchdown.
"Yaaaah!" the kid cheered, jumping up and down.
"What a remarkable festival occasion," Starfire sighed happily. "The ceremony began with relating over gifts, and now Bumblebee as the winged fairy is giving candy to the children. Now it looks like she wants them to perform in a ritual dance for this holiday known as Easter."
"Ok everyone, now its time to do the 'Hokey Pokey'!" Bumblebee said. She stuffed a CD into a Boom Box and hit the PLAY button. Just as the kids began to shuffle into a circle, Cyborg was fidgeting.
"Do I really have to?" he asked. She nodded and pushed him into the ring. The music started and the kids began to sing and dance along: "You put your right foot in. You put your right foot out! You put your right foot in and you shake it all about.You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around, and that's what it's all about!"
It was a good think Cyborg was inside of that bunny suit or else everyone would see him getting pinker than his ears.
Cyborg winced but stuck out his big furry foot. "You put your left foot in..." he began very quietly.
No more than five minutes later, he forgot about it and found himself dancing with all of kids, shaking and doing the Hokey Pokey to his heart's content.
"You put your backside in, you put your backside out, yput your backside in.."
"And you shake it all about!" he laughed, wagging the bunny's furry bottom and fuzzy cotton tail. The kids giggled and cheered.
"Can we do the Bunny Hop, Easter Bunny?" begged Alex. "Sure!" Cyborg said happily. They all lined up and began to dance.
Dum-da-da-da-dum-DUM DUM DUM went the music. The line of kids bounced back and forth along with Cyborg who was at the front of the line.
"These ritual dances known as the Hokey Pokey and the Bunny Hop appear to be enlightening for the spirit as well as the soul," Starfire said happily. "Perhaps we could find the time for such dances to increase positive attitude around Titan's Tower."
The video camera now was directed at a cruel-looking smile and two lopsided eyes in an orange face. With a shriek, Starfire jumped back and nearly lost control of the camera.
"Brother Blood, head of the HIVE Academy, collects the heads of his enemies!" she gasped aloud. She looked around his office, wondering if he had any other trophies besides the large orange head that was on his desk. No other heads were found.
Starfire glanced at a small piece of paper written on the desk. She picked it up.
"This must be the name of his victim," she murmured, squinting at the small words scrawled on the paper.
Starfire clasped her hands together and bowed her head out of respect. "Rest in peace, orange-skinned warrior once known as Jack. I swear on your vegetable looking head that the Titans will stop with this atrocious behavior-"
Footsteps meant it was time to depart. Insomuch as Starfire wished she could take the head and give it a proper burial, its removal would mean a dead giveaway and send Brother Blood after the Titans. Starfire turned off the video camera and flew out the window without Jack.
Brother Blood was preoccupied in the finishing touches of his jack-o-lantern and whistling away cheerfully when he heard a knock on the door.
"Excuse me sir," said the high squeaky voice of his assistant.
"Go away, Minion!" he shouted, waving his pocket knife. "I'm busy!"
"Yes sir, but the exterminator has come to see you. He says you requested a private appointment," Minion whimpered.
Brother Blood frowned. "I didn't call the exterminator. Do we have a rodent problem in the HIVE that I am not aware of?"
"I don't think so, sir."
"Not that."
"Idiot!" snarled Slade, who had just appeared in the doorway. Brother Blood watched the man's large hand grip Minion's neck in the doorway. Minion let out a high-pitched squeak as Slade stepped into the room.
"How many times do I have to tell you that my alias is 'Deathstroke the Terminator'?" he demanded heatedly.
Brother Blood shook his head and tutted.
"Minion, you know better than to use shorthand in the schedules," Brother Blood chided his assistant.
"Anyhow, maybe I could arrange for some proper business cards for you, Slade," he offered. "This way, no one would get your name mixed up with pest controllers."
Just as Slade was imagining how the HIVE leader's face would look when pounded into the floor, Brother Blood snapped his fingers.
"Oh yes, now I know why I asked you to come. I have your new apprentice!" Brother Blood beamed.
"I don't want another apprentice," Slade said irritably. Brother Blood must have ignored the comment on purpose because he removed his hands behind his back and pulled out something.
"Ta-da!" he sang around. Slade's lone eye glared at him.
"It is an ugly yellow oversized hamster," he said coldly.
"Hamster? No no no, it's called a 'pcket monster'!" Brother Blood said proudly. "A supernatural creature with amazing powers and can do your bidding upon command."
"If I wanted a pint-sized monster to do my work, I would have had Terra do it", Slade retorted.
"But this one conducts electricity," protested Brother Blood.
"I am not interested in taming idiotic creatures like that one," Slade said, pointing to the creature with a menacing finger. The little creature just glared back at Slade and jumped up and down.
"Pika-pika-CHU!" it went, spraying sparks of white light all over the place. Brother Blood shielded his eyes from the brilliance of the electricity.
"I'm sure he's already tamed and housebroken," he explained to Slade. "Shall I have Pikachu go make merry hell for the Titans?"
Slade threw up his hands in disgust. "Oh, very well! It's not as if your students can do the work anymore since we ran out of mayonnaise!"
"Pikachu!" Brother Blood shouted, snapping his fingers. The small yellow creature looked up and blinked black eyes at him.
Brother Blood held up a picture of the Titans. "These are your enemies, Pikachu! You must destroy them!"
Pikachu burped.
"I mean it! Destroy them!" Brother Blood shouted. He noticed Slade was glaring at him out of the corner of his eye and he cleared his throat.
"Ahem! Maybe Pikachu would be better off going and searching for the Titans alone," he laughed nervously. He picked up the little creature and dumped him out the window. Pikachu scuttled down the street as fast as he could.
In the center of the town, three teen villains stood poised with the last of their messy but not so deadly Mayonnaise Bombs. "You think those snot-nosed freaks have had enough?" asked Gizmo.
"If not, we crush em into concrete!" Mammoth laughed, cracking his knuckles. They all grinned nastily at each other, ready to relish another victory over the Titans. Suddenly, a loud squeaky noise came down the street. "Wazzat?" asked Gizmo. Jinx put a hand to her forehead and glanced down the road.
"Look!" she shouted, pointing a finger. The squeaking noise was getting louder and louder, accompanied by cranking sounds.
"Duh, looks like a big wooden mouse," Mammoth said.
"Wooden mouse?" Jinx wrinkled her nose.
Gizmo's little eyes grew wide in his head. "Its its it's. . . it's a giant wooden bunny!" he squealed with delight. The tiny tech freak jumped up and down with excitement.
"Watch it, you might wet your pants," Jinx said, knowing what he did when Gizmo was hysterical. "Dontcha get it? It's Easter! I'll bet that bunny is just brimming with chocolate!" Gizmo laughed. He started running towards the giant bunny. Jinx and Mammoth, also unable to control their sugar cravings, ran up to the wooden creature.
Mammoth banged on the rabbit with one large fist. "How do we get the candy?" he asked.
Gizmo held up a small drill. "It's kind of like a piñata, I think. You gotta drill a hole and get all the goodies inside."
Before he was able to start, Jinx held up a hand. She pressed her hand against the side of the rabbit and listened.
"BB, stop squishing me!"
"Its not MY fault, his elbow is in my ear!"
"Someone is touching my Welfogies!"
"Speedy. . ."
"Wasn't me!"
"Raven, control. Remember control-"
Before Jinx could scream out "Titans!" or "We're under attack!" or "The old Trojan-Bunny-hide-in-wooden-creature-and-stop-the-enemy trick, we should have known!"
Before she could react at all, a large wooden door opened in the side of the rabbit.
"WAAAAH!" went Beast Boy
The Titans all tumbled out and landed in a huge heap on the ground, dust swirling around them. A very perplexed Robin was gasping for breath, nearly flattened by Cyborg while Raven was trying to untangle herself from Bumblebee's wings.
Aqualad noticed Speedy's hand reaching for Starfire's butt. "Don't even think about," he glared at the masked archer.
"Titans, go!" Robin shouted. They clambered off each other and dashed towards the Triad.
"Under attack! Under attack!" Gizmo squealed. He started to run away but felt something nasty and wet running down his leg. Damn, I should have switched to pull ups he thought to himself. Cyborg picked up the pint sized trouble maker and began to do his stuff.
Robin and Aqualad got behind Mammoth and clobbered him on the head, while Beast Boy morphed into a green ox and gave him a powerful kick in the pants. Just as they seemed to finish, Aqualad walked up to Mammoth. "I've waited a long time to do this," he laughed. Grabbing the monstrous male by his waistband in the back, Aqualad yanked up his underwear as hard as he could. "Power wedgie!" he shouted as Mammoth roared in pain.
"Ha ha ha! Nice one!" Beast Boy laughed.
Jinx tried zapping Bumblebee with her hexing powers, but the second girl kept flying around. "Cant you stand still for once?" Jinx snarled. Suddenly, she was distracted by a blast of air that flipped her skirt up. Squealing from the draft and blushing like a tomato, Jinx pulled down her dress and turned around. Speedy smiled at her.
"PERVERT!" she screamed, blasting him down with her powers. Raven took her chance. "Azareth, Metreon, Sinthos!" she commanded. Jinx was knocked over.
"Run away! Run away!" Gizmo bawled, running down the street. Rubbing his aching backside, Mammoth followed, accompanied by a red-faced Jinx.
The Titans slapped each other high five. "We kick butt, we kick butt," Cyborg sang. Starfire beamed aloud. "I wish to embrace all of my friends in the Giant Group Hug of Happiness," she smiled, spreading her arms apart. Met with frozen faces of disgust, Starfire sighed and dropped her arms. Speedy was about to accept her very generous offer when he noticed Robin was glaring at him.
Robin's demure changed and he cleared his throat at once. "Beast Boy, Speedy, thanks for your great idea." He rapped his knuckles on the wooden bunny. "How did you guys ever think of such a great idea?"
A snarky grin was all that responded to his question.
"Friends! Friends!" Starfire cried with delight, interrupting their Monty Python madness. "I have a wonderful idea. In honor of our victory, we can partake of the happy Earth Dance of Joy."
Robin frowned. "What Earth Dance of Joy?" he asked. "I never knew we had one."
"I, uhm, saw it performed, ah, on the television," Starfire said lightly. "I believe it was called the O.K. Pokey."
"The OK what?" Aqualad demanded.
"Star, you mean 'The Hokey Pokey'?" Cyborg asked nervously. Starfire's red head bobbed up and down.
"Yes! The once known as the Hokey Pokey! It looked like such a lovely ritualistic dance, may we do it now?" Knowing at last something about the captivating forces that women have over men, Starfire batted her long black eyelashes at Robin and made her jewel green eyes take on that extra sparkle.
"May we, Robin?" she asked in a child-like voice.
"Well, uh. . " Robin scratched his head in thought. Starfire got her eyes to do the entire Anime glitter effect, and flower petals swirled in the air. Robin was hooked.
"Oh hell, why not? Come on, Titans. Lets do the 'Hokey Pokey," he said.
"Here?" Aqualad demanded.
"Now?" Cyborg gagged.
"Here. Now," Robin said. And he put his foot in the center of a circle, began to sing: "You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out..."
One by one, the Titans all joined in the dance. All but one.
"Raven," Starfire chirped merrily. The dark eyed girl glared venomous daggers at the alien.
"There is nothing you can say or do to tempt me to do the Hokey Pokey," Raven said in a voice as low as Death Valley. The alien girl was not depressed in the least. Starfire's video camera at last would be put to use.
"Forgive me, friend Raven," she whispered softly into Raven's ear. "Perhaps your excess indulgence in chocolates has made you too ill to dance?" Raven's left eyebrow began to twitch madly. Her chocolate cravings were bad enough. If anyone was to find out then she could not forgive herself.
"All right, you Tamaranean freak," she growled. Reluctantly, Raven stuck her hand into the circle and mumbled the words. "Louder!" Starfire laughed merrily. Wishing she was as close to death as possible, Raven sang, "You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around, and that's what its all about!"


text:
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Thanks for helping us associate the correct Pornstars to this video!
Помогите нам: эти порнозвезды присутствуют в этом видео?
Pornstar Name:
where are her titts???
while massaging those beautiful girl's or women's bodies ,we men imagine various erotic dreams,then real sex appears. this process are good!
I love her pussy
can u talk in text msg
He wasn't fucking her hard... rethink the title next time... but she is a hottie
Her name is Gracie Glam, one of my very favourite hot little porn stars. She has her own site too, just search her and enjoy
Lovely sexy girl! No stars for not finishing. Quite a gentle ride, not what i would call hard, but damm hot,
aww cute bruette:3
Fat Ass + Small Penis :D
Gracie Glam
She gets an excellent massage of legs and her pussy. The way she blows his dick is exciting
i will not say his name but i hear one dude worked with occupation where he rubbed peoples as he tryed to rub ladies in pussy area ): he is married nowadays and lives a happy life with her wife. i love more blondies though
omfg! she groans so fucking sexy. awesome body. pretty face. sux good. perfect. love it.
She is one of the hottest chicks I've seen in porn. Perfect body, voice kinda of annoying. Did I mention she has an amazing body?
Beautiful girl. Shame for the cum shot
What a bod she has.....never mind the sex....this would be hot if she just laid there and did nothing....
What's her name ? Where can we get the whole video ?
Heya have right
Woow She Is Hot !
wow, that was fcking brilliant!
4 stars for no finish. Really wanted to see him shoot all over her pretty face. She has a great body, beautiful ass. 10 out of 10 for her - a perfect woman (body wise).
she is hot
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
Servant Of The Ashes
Credits & Info
- Uploaded
- Sep 17, 2005 | 9:20 PM EDT
- File Info
- Song
- 2 min 43 sec
- Score
- 4.08 / 5.00
Related Content
Heard in 1 Entry!
View all submissions featuring this audio file.
Licensing Terms
Please contact me if you would like to use this in a project. We can discuss the details.
- Score:
- Rated 4.08 / 5 stars
- Plays & Downloads:
- 18,054 Plays | 956 Downloads
- Share Links:
- Genres:
- Metal, Rock - Heavy Metal
- None
Author Comments
Rated 5 / 5 stars
Really slammin' tune
This is jam-packed with good stuff, your tone is good because you don't over distort your guitar. There's a little too many drum breacks in the song i think, the first one is good but the rest kinda needs it to keep it driving, a also don't think that fade is nessicary .
Rated 5 / 5 stars
Awesome work as usual
I loved shelters of stone, and I equally love this.
Keep it up man.
(Go Canada!)
Rated 5 / 5 stars
That servant is pumped out
Really nice song. ive gotten kinda annoyed by the rateing of tracks via downloads ((I.E: platinum, audio, gold, whatever))
because this is better than some "Gold" and one "Platinum" of yours. now its best to just look at the score near downloads... stupid small #'s!
But it did make me think of ashes... at the end-beginning.
Rated 5 / 5 stars
I swear man....
There's hardly any songs I don't love on your list here...
I don't know what it is about this song but it just seems to have so many dimensions to it that it just connects with me and I can almost feel the message that the music is expressing. the little tune at the beginning and the end, I could listen to just that tune for days. This song just makes something in my heart stir ..but then later it just makes me want to get up, jump around, and start moshing. THOU DONE MADE GREAT SONG FOR FAT MAN TO LISTEN TO!
Wow thanks!. It's nice to have fans like you reviewing my music.
Thanks again!


text:
DAVID BOWIE was born plain David Jones in Brixton, south London, on January
8, 1947.
The worldwide style and music icon became a star at 21 with Space Oddity.
He has a son, Duncan, 41 – formerly Zowie – with first wife, Angie, and a
daughter Alexandria, 12, with second wife, the model Iman.
His first single in ten years, Where Are We Now?, will be followed by album
The Next Day on March 11.
Here he tells GARTH PEARCE what he wishes he had known at 18.
WHEN I was 18 I thought that, to be a romantic, you couldn't live past 30.
I thought: 'I am an artist. That means at 30 I will be no more and people will
say 'Yeah, he made a great-looking corpse'.
I knew that I was 'interesting' at 18 because I was aware that I could get
away with doing things on stage.
I had a burning, over-riding feeling that, one day, it would happen for me. I
cannot say now I had any doubts about it.
Ever since I was eight, when I was given She's Got It by Little Richard, I
said: 'I want to do that and want to be just as exciting as him'.
It never occurred to me that I could do anything other than succeed at some
point. When things didn't go well, I would get depressed.
I never felt suicidal — not at that point, anyway — and I would sort of
retire, regroup and go again.
I would dream. I focused all my attention on going to America. The subculture,
James Dean, the rock 'n' roll, the beat writers.
I thought it would be the be-all and end-all. But I was living in Beckenham,
Kent! I was in a commune, sharing a house called — and I hope I get this
right — Haddon Hall.
We paid a weekly rent of £7 10s (£7.50). It was a help to those, like me,
without a steady job.
I was on my own as a musician at this point. I used to do pre-recorded tapes,
play the guitar and sing — a one-man show.
I would drive to gigs in my tiny little Fiat. I would shoot up and down the M1
to play at various places.
I remember one London gig in which I played to a group of skinheads, who just
threw burning cigarettes at me. I thought: 'That's it. My career is over.'
Yet I still thought I could change rock 'n' roll.
I thought there must be more avenues to explore. It could not be all blue
jeans and long hair, which it was then.
I did the whole range of stupid things in my teens and wish, now, that I could
have seen how life would turn out.
When I was 14, I bought a packet of menthol cigarettes and smoked them all on
top of a bus. I became very sick.
I was very lucky because Owen Frampton (father of rock star Peter Frampton)
developed one of the first art courses in England for those who had passed
their 11-plus. You could start taking it properly from the age of 12.
I took the course at Bromley Technical High School. I was a lousy student. I
had other things on my mind.
Peter Frampton, three years younger, used to come to the art block with his
guitar. He was already magnificent. We used to sit and play Buddy Holly
I'm lucky in so many ways. My figure? I don't put on weight, just like my
Fears? Flying. I have tried hypnosis and none of it works. I like to think it
had benefits. I travelled all over America by train and saw it as it should
be seen.
The lowest point in my life was in 1975, when I was 28, living in Los Angeles.
I really did think that my thoughts about not making 30 would come true.
Drugs had taken my life away from me. I felt as though I would probably die
and it was going to be all over. My assistant, Coco, got me out of it.
Thanks to her, I got myself out of America to Berlin.
Best advice, which I wish I had known at 18? Don't do drugs.
I was told that before I took them, when I took them and afterwards. Every
time, that advice was right.


text:
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text:
JuneBugs MAY chat!
View Single Post
Registered Users
Join Date:
Mar 2008
My Mood:
Re: JuneBugs MAY chat!
Originally Posted by
I junk so to Elena.
I am not ping to do anything crazy like force Jim to eat the cake I just am a sucker pics! I haven't done any prof pics since he was about 4 months so it should be fun. Also she is goin to do some with Ll 3 kids...
Bbl at my douche bag docs office. Sorry foul today!
Wow that got all jumbled up. Guess I shouldn't post from my phone anymore...
So I do have a sinus infection and I am just praying that these antibiotics kick in and that they doing give me the yeastie beasties.
Anthony is loving his pre-school and it has been such a noce break. I find myself a tad calmer when he gets home and when paityn gets home. It has been kind of a pain getting up to drop him off and picking him up because that is right when Coop naps. So he has been missing his naps since Monday...I don't want him to get into a habit of only napping once a day! Come 5 pm and he is bear.
DH has to deploy on the 14th for 2 weeks which is fine with me. I am mad at him (what's new) for (whats new) the dog. He is still letting him on the couch and lying about it. Then I get up in the morning to find it covered in dog hair. I hate myself for letting it get me mad because I end up taking it out on the kids....
This moring was really bad....I woke up found the dog hair and immediatly started screaming at P and A. No good moring, how did you sleep, just full on yelling. I ene spanked Anthony for pooing in his night time diaper. Ugh sometimes I really hate myself. When dring Anthony to school I apologized to him and he said to me "mommy you are so mean to us...like when I pooped in my diaper" I felt horrible.
BBl gotta fold the clothes in the basement before they mildew...it is SOOO damp in the basement so even when they are dry they will still mildew and then they are ruined.
, BWing,
mommy to C-6/4/10, A-11/20/07 and P-a very
silly "pop star" 4/2/03
View Public Profile
Send a private message to tamarag
Find More Posts by tamarag


text:
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Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.
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Poems are below...
Don't stop! The most popular and best Jamaican poems are below this new poems list.
View all new Jamaican Poems
I once heard the whisper of falling snow,
saw a spark in the eye of a coal-black crow,
felt the power and awe of a swift river's flow,
the older I get, the less I know.
My hair was once braided in golden cornrows,
by Jamaican friends in an island below,
a psychic once asked me about Jericho,
the older I get, the less I know.
The hot southern asphalt that scalded my toe,
the rope swing that swung us, to and fro,
Christmas Eve and the tree in the firelight's glow,
the older I get, the less I know.
Everyone's gone, but where did they go?
Why is my spirit sinking so low?
Is it true we reap only what we sow?
the older I get, the less I know.
©2010 DanielleWhite
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2010
Beautiful Jamaica,land of my birth,
This little dot,specially prepared by Mama Earth,
World best seasoning,grown by our dirt,
And the Jamaican Rum,bad nuh blouse and skirt,
Beautiful Jamaica,land so sweet,
A formal dinner or a party in the street,
Our vibes,our style so unique,
Our warmth,our culture,no other can beat,
Jamaica,Jamaica,land we love,
Touring Jamaica feel free like a dove,
Our rivers,beaches,beautiful sunlight up above,
Sample our tasty meals,you'll find one that you love,
Jamaica,Jamaica,land so great,
Great runners,great music,embrace our taste,
God or Jah Rasta Far I,embrace our faith,
Take a trip to Jamaica,it's never too late.....
Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012
Making Love In Jamaica At The Iconic James Bond Beach
It is a sun splashed day;
the air is silent with the sound of waves
the ocean is moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
The fine white sand underneath our feet is warm.
The crashing waters from a small wind sculpted waterfall swims
into the arms of its mother sea.
It is a private beach at a spot in the world
where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean meld.
It is a wanting sensation of hot then cold, that teases the senses.
The beach is deserted it is only me and the love of my life.
The golden rays of light from the bright morning star
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear ocean,
with a piercing love glare that beckons me.
Her red lips, her light drenched skin glows
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head,
jerking my lover's whole body towards me
locking her in the strength of my grasp
inviting her to quench my desire.
I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss
remove her barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms
naked for all the Gods to observe.
I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her,
hold back both her arms and use my mouth
to suckle her, all the time absorbing the beating waters
that kneads my flesh like so much dough.
Suddenly I set her free.
She pounces
like a lioness
a lioness in heat
for the taste of flesh.
The world dissappears
I find myself willingly trapped in a void of marvel.
Nature's voice conducts
an orchestra of emotions.
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch
as a series of divine strokes
finger paints portraits of rapture.
We dance slow to the precise notes
of a symphony of love into the arms of serenity.
In one fluid movement our bodies become one.
There is no end to the flavors we consume.
Cooling waters flame our sins.
We explode like a building imploding
gracefully to the roar of a white sound.
we pass out
locked in each others arms.
When we awaken
we find ourselves lying on
the fine white sand beach.
in the telling shades
of a Jamaican suntan.
Sponsor: Justin Bordner
Contest Name: Make Love To Me
In That Ancient Place
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves
from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing.
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims
into the arms of its mother sea.
It is a private beach at a spot in the world
were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug.
It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.
The young woman with me is my lover of four years.
The golden rays of light from the bright morning star
lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm,
but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.
We are young, in love and safe
inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
Her red lips and light drenched skin glows
with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head,
jerking my lover's whole body towards me
locking her in the strength of my grasp
inviting her to quench my desire.
I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss
and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms
naked for all the Gods to observe.
I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her.
I hold back both her arms and use my mouth
to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters
that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.
Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me,
like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh.
The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void.
Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion.
We writhe in the ecstasy of touch.
With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture.
We dance now to the precise notes
of an escape into the arms of serenity.
In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share.
Cooling waters flame our sins.
We explode like a building
imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound.
Until eventually we pass out naked
locked in each others arms.
We find ourselves lying on the warmth
of the fine white sand beach when we awaken,
tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
And I witness
Your deplorable "glory"
Hunching over my tattered spine,
So we can have something in common
You walk with glorified shell-shock,
Another sentient tongue,
Straddling on the Eros of vindication
Your sandpaper hands
Reach for an assaulted tenderness
Embracing lambasted lyric
Another tenor's proclamation
That their oxidized octaves
Are legitimately sound
Nobody is listening.
So, you try to rectify your ill-erect
Only heading south
By meandering prophecies,
Just another pre-historic fool
Believing the Jamaican grass is greener on
The other side
Puff your corrupted beliefs
Toward laundered Benjamins
While I soak in the bloodied joy,
That I remain priceless
Approach me
While you suffer tiny warden syndrome
In High Definition
Be the insignificant syllable that
Becomes, you, a fragmented figment
Of your re-imagination
Call in your slobbering pinchers and
Convince them why dethroning my smile
Will be that change you conspire,
Because I stood taller than the arrogant
Umbilical c(h)ord that breastfeeds your high horse
For I am you
I am you
Every kick, every punch, every verbal attack
Every overcompensating, born-again glare
You blasphemously portray
But, it is not me you scar.
Your one-night stand with perception
Succumbs your third-eye
Keep drinking from your bloodied, rustic w(h)ine glass,
As you drown in your declarations of dependence
Screaming to be louder than love
Louder than your ordained intentions
To become a speck of importance
To be worth something,
Something more,
Than the lunging foot you believe
Will keep me down
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2016
Jamaican Usain Bolt
Was found to be at fault
When he dashed off on a whim
No one kept up with him.
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
It was Christmas time in Anansi's house
But Anansi was snoring loud and deep
While all the house was up and busy
Sneaky Anansi was pretending to sleep
Anansi imagined lying on the beach
Soaking up some hot Jamaican sun
Christmas time with all its merriment
For Anansi was never, ever fun!
Poor Anansi - it's such a crime
To not have fun at Christmas time!
Last year whist fixing the Christmas baubles
He was jumping up, extremely mad
Because all the baubles kept flying off
And the crooked angel looked very sad
When he tore off the wrapper from his gifts
He always hoped for a nice surprise
But every year his presents were the same
Eight pairs of socks and two colourful ties
Poor Anansi - the church bells' chime
No fun for you this Christmas time!
And Christmas dinner was never enough
Because his wife entertained the whole town!
Cold scraps of dinner left on a plate
And a squeeze to find a spot to sit down
And playing party games was such a bore
Card games he never had the knack
Charades would leave him a little confused
Legs tangled with Twister or stuck on his back
Poor Anansi, you can bet a dime
No fun for you this Christmas-time
Never anything good to watch on TV
And the Queen spoke too posh and too slow
He didn't even have a favourite book to read
Poor, poor Anansi with his Christmas woe
But there was just one thing about Christmas
That Anansi couldn't wait to partake
Every Christmas his wife would prepare
The most delicious, scrumptious Christmas cake
Every year he sliced the biggest piece
Leaving his family to fight for the rest
Delicious, scrumptious with a scoop of ice-cream
This Christmas cake was always the best
Anansi made sure that everyone had gone
Before he scurried down for his Christmas treat
He looked in the oven, the cupboard the fridge
But couldn't find any Christmas cake to eat
"Surprise," said his wife from behind him
"We are having fruit salad for a change!"
Then she handed him a large Christmas bowl
Filled with tropical fruits of all range.
Poor Anansi - it's such a crime
To have no cake at Christmas time!
To have no cake at Christmas time!
To have no cake at Christmas time!
Copyright © Elayne Ogbeta | Year Posted 2014
Out doors a place of freedom where
prying eyes could not restrain the vibrancy.
School's out, summer sunshine, crisp morning light,
cuts through the fog of parental restraint.
Blue jeans, tee shirts, Keds and an orange and
black striped bumble-bee bus of
prepubescent girls off for their first day
of summer work, farm work.
Bagged and boxed lunches held tight, their
hands taped white to shield them from the
sticky yellow nicotine sap, the itch,
a rash of budding beauty among the
burgeoning rows of new stalk green.
Tobacco as far as the eye can see
rises on cane-like stalks. The furrowed
fields are uncovered now in the July sun.
Gaggles of girls in candy colors, sweet and sour girls,
tall and short girls, rows of girls among the cane.
Poled lines spanned the rows above the rising canes.
Little twisters walked the gullies tying off each plant,
around the rising stem a hairy-brown twine was laced,
between the fan shaped leaves of dollar green.
Early summer passed, coloring cheeks pink,
and skin to golden brown.
The stalks rose like seeds from Jack. By the first of
August, they'd topped the girls and the cheesecloth
shades were rolled above. Steamed in the August sun
deflowered-the children were watered and by
State Law occasionally rested and retrieved if
the temp rose past one-hundred and five below the nets.
Any bit of uncovered skin was burnt or
tarred black daily by then-harvest time.
Shooed into the darkened sheds Consolidated
on the dirt floor the stringers stood, sewing
machines with piles of slats beside them, one girl per machine
two hands, two leaves, in they went between the belted teeth
and the needle lanced. It also lanced tired fingers.
Piecework; I can't remember the pay scale but
they called it piecework and it was too. [a fine piece of work]
It took bits of you away every day.
But in the dark, high up in the rafters, the darkies
hung the bounty, handsome black Jamaican boys
crews of boys with lilting tongues and they sang,
and we sang "Come See About me."
We worked, and we sang "Baby Love"
It was a supreme summer.
On our own, a bloomin' summer
where all of life was ripe for the pickin'.
*picking tobacco
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014
Babies these days are moving hard,
Brains loaded like a memory card,
Jamaican babies or the ones abroad,
Can't let them out of your sight,head-ache,Dear Lord,
Careful what you do,think they didn't catch it,
Start watching them or you are gonna live to regret it,
Children Hospital is full,I can bet it,
Long,long lines,baby mother has to sweat it,
Jump down the stairs,try pulling the plug,
Pull down the iron-board,reaching for the hot mug,
Search your dirty sneakers and mess up the rug,
And if you ever hit them,they start to carry a grudge,
Don't feed me,I want to feed myself,
I can hold the spoon,don't need your help,
One year old,big woman,big man,
And from they start to walk,push away your hand,
Want to do their own thing,like they set the plans,
Worst if down by the kinder garden,they have their own gang,
'Waa waa,gugu gaga boo boo',baby talking to a next baby,
Translated by Google,'just cry,they were made to serve us',
So we will always be on stand-by,for our little baby genius...
From stark equinox, a cold wind blows
Maiden Winter closes the final rose,
Now she stands at the frosted gate
Decked in pristine robe so ornate
Dusted leaves drift from balding trees;
Crowning tiny pearls of arctic breeze.
Her wand sparks pale Eos' quiet thrill
Quilts of eyelids wake on threadbare hill,
Soon kingdom's carpet will turn to steel
And dashes of fairies pour a misty reel.
All snow -bound hours and icy nights
Blinkies*, a million twinkling lights
Scatter their magical flakes once again,
For powdered toes to whisk on capped lane.
And so the frigid bouquets will cling
Till crystals explode across Beira's* wing.
*Eos- Greek Titan goddess of dawn
*Blinkies—Jamaican term for fireflies
*Beira—Celtic goddess of Winter
Fairy Tails Contest by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012
She wore pineapple rings for glasses
and walked like jelly dances
I didn't rate her chances
She used to wee standing up
she cooked lemon a'la duck
won the lottery, grumbled what bad luck
like a surgical nip, without the tuck.
She'd blow cream cheese when she sneezed
and eat ram dressed as lamb
for sunday roast she ate toast
with mushrooms for toes, little buttons in a row
smoked salmon for a nose, smelt fishy when she blows
She wore a chicken-winger-as-a-ring-around-'er-finger
that became a stinker, boy did it linger
thanks to x-factor, she wants to be a popsinger
but she's a bloody minger.
She cares not much for clothes
revealing skin and bones
much to establishments moans
and 'righteous' idiots groans
little boys stand and stare
french fries for pubic hair
thats not meant to be there
she makes a mess everywhere.
She's got a chopping board, where a leg should be
might be why she walks all wibbly wobbly
wears a saucepan for a boot, metallic clomping of her foot
for make up she uses butter
cheeks glow as eyelids flutter
she's well dressed like a salad
marinated in love ballads
a lemon glazed mallard.
She's like dessert before a starter
the rip off and the barter
she drips morsels like a leper
smells like fresh ground pepper
her blood doesn't flow much like batter
pure cholesterol but gets no fatter
she looks like beef but tastes of bacon
bleach white teeth with an accent like jamaican.
She makes a meal of everything
wearing rabbits paws and prawns for bling.
holding her hand feels like wriggling jellied eels
whiskers longer than the oldest seals.
She wore a banana as a brooch
didn't wash more like poach
she really is hamfisted, skin like crackling all blistered.
She's not a 5 a day, unless it's take away.
She's drunk too much grain, pickle damaged brain
downright bonkers on the left side of sane.
She slept alone upon a bed of stilton
in a suite at the glitzy ritzy hilton
upset, the tears she did cry
weeping raspberry sorbet from her eye
from the orbs within her pocket
hairstyled by electric socket
a crazy look, but I wouldn't knock it
for she lives her life free as the wind,
though she smells like brie that should be binned
or tuna from a damaged tin.
She's a genetically modified vegetable at a completely organic table
She cuts clothes off only to keep the label.
In this crazy ole world, shes still a backwards girl
enough to make even hardened stomachs hurl
Pretty tasty date, give her a whirl?
Copyright © John-Ovan.P. Hull | Year Posted 2012
To run with rum till rummy, I'll rummage
thru my mind's milieu seeking the first drum…
'Tusitala!' His ghost hums on south sea-
winds: in Apia, 'story teller' rests
but his tales still weave~lively pirates swig
swinging upon treasure chests laden; words
slang twangs nautical; rascals and saints sway
departing, adventure bound. Onward go
throes of villains and heroes, sailing Long-
Playing rummy in dim of lantern lights:
jocund laughter, guitar-strummed songs, usual
camaraderie din, then some loser fights
or lover spats waning into dark's depths…
Dancing-downing rum 'n cokes; music-spun
white or black Russians spilling DJ'd floors,
dizzied by sailor's Samoan saga…
Enchanted by waves bleached sunset orange
Syrup-speckled eyes beckoned a beyond
Horizons unseen yet dreamed, within reach
Razing rum-rich delights to rummy morns,
sugar-sweet highs turned slow-groaned molasses…
Amber-warm afterglow, lingers long, like
creamy lush, rum-filled, banana trifle
or Old Jamaican Rum 'n Raisin bars:
dodgy-splotches of green-sharp, cutting fields…
(6/23/17: Blank verse - Patio Cruiser 40: Dagmar's, Sac. Riv. 6/16/17)
Copyright © taai tekai | Year Posted 2017
Yuh come inna mi office
come tek out mi tings
yuh bright!!!!!!!!!!!
Mi nuh undastan yuh!!!!!!!!!!
Mi sey to miself...
"Lawd, mi a go forgive him....see di good side"
but nooooooooooo......
yuh come, nuff up yuhself and TIEF!!!!
Bwoy o bwoy....
ghost know who fi frighten...
clearly me a no one.
Come nuh...step in yah again!!
Me an yuh a go 'ave it out!
Tink seh mi likkle bit an caan mash ants...
wait likkle more...
King Kong piss up himself when me get bringle!!
An den yuh 'ave de audacity fi come laugh inna mi face!
Yuh no know who yuh a deal wid!!??
lata fi yuh...mi have betta tings fi do!
NB: For those who may not understand the language the poem, it is written in
Jamaican Patois.
Copyright © Karena Brown | Year Posted 2006
Ah Consuela! Invoking vast vistas for visions of green Spanish eyes,
I discern them again where she left me back then, as we kissed when she parted, my friend.
So I'm daring to tread towards the klieg lights ahead, where I'll wait till I see her ascend.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she teases the mirror with green Spanish eyes;
Her serape entangles her ebony bangles like lace on the sorcerer's looms,
And her capes of the night, she drapes tight to excite, and her fan is embellished with plumes.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching as spectators savour her green Spanish eyes;
Taming wild concertinas, the dark ballerina performs on the concert hall stage,
But she shies from the sound of ovation unbound like a timorous bird in a cage.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she quickens the pit with her green Spanish eyes,
As the cymbals shake, clashing, the floodlights wake, flashing, igniting the wild fireflies,
And the piccolo piper's inviting the vipers to coil in the cold caldron skies.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching the shimmering shadows in green Spanish eyes
As I rise from my chair and converge to the stair with a hesitant sip of my wine.
Though she doesn't deny me, she wanders right by me with neither a look nor a sign.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she waves to the stage with her green Spanish eyes,
(For her senses scoff, scorning the biblical warning of kisses of Judas that sting,
With her pierced ears defeating the echoes repeating) and smiles at the bluebird that sings.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching faint embers a' stir in her green Spanish eyes,
For a soft spoken stranger enveloping danger has captured the rhyme in the room
As he slips into sight through the scent of the night and the breath of her heavy perfume.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she gauges his guise through her green Spanish eyes
- From his gypsy-like mane, to his diamond stud cane, to the raven engraved on his vest -
For a faraway form, a tempestuous storm, lurks and heaves neath the cleav'e of her breasts.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching the caravels cruising her green Spanish eyes;
With the castanets clacking upon the deck cracking, he whips 'round his cloak with a whiz
And without sacrificing, at mien so enticing, she floats with her face facing his.
Part 2
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes,
While the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning, of jungles Jamaican entwined
In the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing the vaults in the caves of her mind.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching life's carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes,
And with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations come taunting her tremulous feet
With her toe tips a' tingle while jute boxes jingle for jesters that jive on the street.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she rides summer tides in her green Spanish eyes,
And her silhouette's travelling on ripples unravelling and shaking the shivering shores,
As she strides from the light to the taste of the night through the candlelit cabaret doors.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes,
With her movements adorning a trickle of morning as sipped by the mouth of the moon,
While her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming that flow from the sun's oval spoon.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes.
Then the bluebird that sings ceases preening her wings and descends as a lean bird of prey -
As she flutters her 'lashes and laughs in broad splashes, his narrowing eyes start to stray.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes,
And the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies race, reaching for gold and such things,
Even being reminded that only the blinded are fooled by the brass in the rings.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes,
But as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing, and weaves through the temples of stone,
While the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing in the depths of the dunes all alone.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes,
As she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted in tugs of his turbulent arms,
Till he cuts through the strings, tames the bluebird that sings, and seduces once more with his charms.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes,
And behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain that nothing and no one exist,
But though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants remain in a mythical mist.
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
Beware, out-Lander for thy tread on the sacred ground,
Of Louisiana, guarded by the ghosts of the Mississippi,
And here the dead tell know tails, of the living's returning,
After adventuring into the darkness of the night.
Rattle them bones, sister voodoo woman,
Black magic's high priestess, cast asunder the
Ivory teeth of the white devils, across the streets
Of old New Orleans, behold the ancient city of lost souls.
Hidden beneath the glittering mask, of La Carnival,
It is the celebration of the dead, my friend, and faceless
Figures, do toss the beads of evil, to the lustful
Crowds gathering, for Mardi-Grad's extravaganza.
Phantom walkers, without names or emotions, spirit stalkers,
Roaming the old French quarter, seeking to catch the
Innocent traveler unaware and unprotected.
A wall of realism and illusion, thin is the veils that divide
Light and darkness, sheer vaporous mist of transparency,
Existing in this the forgotten realm, where southern
Comfort invites the living to visit, but never allows them
To leave alive.
As the flickering rays of twilight fades, swallowed whole
By the spectral invaders, the creatures of light seek refuges,
Holy places, as the church bells ring, calling unto the innocent
Make heist to salvation's shelters of grace.
In he city's center, lays a dry leathery organ, sunken
And misshapen, feel the rising, the awakening of the
Heart of evil emerging, its veins arteries made of
Cobble stones brick, thus are the webbing's of streets leading,
Unto the deadened heart, metamorphosing it alive once more.
Slowly bloods spiritual essence rushes through
These ethereal veins, reaching this source most
Evil, it owns this city of lost souls, unto the tolling
Hour of dawns first rays of light, crossing the horizon.
Red bricked buildings lay side by side one
Another, in a design of Gothic manipulation, feeding
Stations made cozy for the living and dead to reside
Within, as the crimson curtains blow freely from the
Inside out, welcome my friends to the French quarters,
The threshold's crossing, between life and death.
Hear the low thumping of the Jamaican drum,
Mixed with African tongue, chanting in rhythm's
Echoing breeze, softly spoken in whispers are the spells
Of misfortune, a vow's crimson promise, written in blood
Long ago, a demonic pack made between the spiritual native
Inhabitance and the dark heart of the Cajun Bayou.
On bloods throne the Grim Reaper does so sit, next
To his bride, the Queen known as Mrs. New Orleans,
Both laughing in tandem, with the musical chorus
In this requiem of the dammed.
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
Continued from Part 1
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, the vertigo veiling her green Spanish eyes,
While the drumbeat pounds, droning, the rhythm sounds, moaning, of jungles Jamaican entwined
In the valleys concealing the vineyards revealing the vaults in the caves of her mind.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching life's carnivals call to her green Spanish eyes,
And with paused palpitations the tom-tom temptations come taunting her tremulous feet
With her toe tips a' tingle while jute boxes jingle for jesters that jive on the street.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she rides summer tides in her green Spanish eyes,
And her silhouette's travelling on ripples unravelling and shaking the shivering shores,
As she strides from the light to the taste of the night through the candlelit cabaret doors.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she dances till dawn flashing green Spanish eyes,
With her movements adorning a trickle of morning as sipped by the mouth of the moon,
While her tresses twirl, shaming the filaments flaming that flow from the sun's oval spoon.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she masks for a moment her green Spanish eyes.
Then the bluebird that sings ceases preening her wings and descends as a lean bird of prey -
As she flutters her 'lashes and laughs in broad splashes, his narrowing eyes start to stray.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching fey carousels spin in her green Spanish eyes,
And the porcelain ponies and leprechaun cronies race, reaching for gold and such things,
Even being reminded that only the blinded are fooled by the brass in the rings.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, she shepherds the shadows with green Spanish eyes,
But as evening sinks, ebbing, the skyline climbs, webbing, and weaves through the temples of stone,
While the nightingales sing of a kiss on the wing in the depths of the dunes all alone.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching the music and magic in green Spanish eyes,
As she dances enchanted, while firmly implanted in tugs of his turbulent arms,
Till he cuts through the strings, tames the bluebird that sings, and seduces once more with his charms.
Ah Consuela! I'm watching, the citadel steams in her green Spanish eyes,
And behind the dark curtain the savants seem certain that nothing and no one exist,
But though vapours look vacant, the vagabond vagrants remain in a mythical mist.
Continued in part 3
Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet eating vegetable one day,
She warned Jack and Jill about the hill,but they still fell from idle play,
Emergency call the Fairy Godmother,tell her hurry with no delay,
She brought them band-aid and pain pills,she always saves the day,
The Seven Dwarfs gave some helping hands,taking home seven pails of water,
On the way to Jack house they met Snow White and Red Riding Hood her daughter,
They told them about the Big Bad Wolf,that the wood-cutter slaughter,
Happy to hear the news,the Easter Bunny gave everyone a chocolate egg,
Jack and Jill got brawta,
Hip-hip-horray,now we can roam free without that trouble maker,
And although Jack and Jill were battered and bruised,
The journey home was fun and laughter,,,
brawta,,,,a Jamaican slang that means,,,extra
Been away for awhile but I am back my friends,,,
Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2014
Jam roly poly, treacle sponge
And sticky toffee pudding head the top of my list
But apple pie, rhubarb crumble
Or a decent cheesecake are hard to resist
Banana splits, eclairs or brownies
Dumplings, nougat, cheese board or mousse
Crème brûlée. Fruit cocktail. Yoghurt
Serve it up and set me loose!
Rice pudding, Christmas pudding
Let me say it loud and clear
Summer pudding, Eve's pudding
Figgy pudding - bring it here
Cottage pudding, Diplomat pudding
Pancakes served throughout the year
Plum pudding, mango pudding
Put it on a plate and cheer
Hasty pudding, Saxon pudding
Vanilla pudding, chocolate pud
Yorkshire pudding filled with treacle
Make winter evenings warm and good
Sussex Pond pudding, sweet biscotti
Semolina (if that counts?!)
Panna cotta, profiteroles
Gâteaux. Meringues in any amount
I guess spotted dick is a bit of a worry
But to bread and butter pudding, I say "bring it on!"
I could plan on a flan, or a lardy cake
Or butter with glee my scone or scon'
Mince pies, cobblers, baklavas, strudels
Loaves and pastries - all tell a story
Even blancmange has a heritage
To match or beat our knickerbocker glory
There's fruit tarts, jam tarts, custard tarts, egg tarts
Milk tarts, cheese tarts, butter tarts too
Tarts from Manchester, Liverpool and Bakewell
French tarts, Jamaican tarts - to name but a few
Buns from Chelsea, cakes from Eccles
Wafers and muffins from all over the place
Doughnuts filled with jam or chocolate
Made to squirt on your shoulder or face
Strawberries & Cream, Eton Mess
Artic rolls and brandy snaps
Trifles should always be trifled with
If laced with sherry - it's a perfect nightcap
Sorbets leave the palate tingling
Fritters fritter your cares away
Waffles and crêpes warm the spirit
And sundaes are perfect for every day
So, whatever we may call them -
Be it puddings, sweets, desserts or afters
They taste best when shared with company
Served with a spoon, a smile and laughter
Copyright © David Lindsay | Year Posted 2016
My idol raced into the history books with record shattering feats,
but fell from dizzying heights, stripped of honours and respect.
I halted in my tracks, numb, disappointed and betrayed!
Number of words = 30
Ben Johnson was a Jamaican-born Canadian sprinter who became the
world record holder for the 100 metres in the 1988 Olympics.
He was stripped of all honours when he was caught using illegal drugs.
Paul Callus ~ 1st December 2015
Contest: Fallen (25-30 words)
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 4th
This is the best beer I've ever had.
Yes, The best beer I've ever had.
No beer is really bad, but
This is the best beer I've ever had.
Beer's invention was accidental I'm told.
Something about stored grain and mold.
Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold;
And at times, more valuable than gold.
Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam.
Got drunk on '33' in Saigon, Vietnam.
By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man;
So, I drank 'til I didn't give a damn.
Since then, I've travelled the world all around;
And tasted each brew that I've found.
Most are named for people, animals or towns;
And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown.
There are pilsners, lagers and ales
Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails.
If you want to get drunk, you can't fail.
Drink too much, you may end up in jail.
Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town.
Folks bragged it was the "best around".
I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown;
And I must say, their judgement is sound.
In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout.
'Tis a brew those Micks can't live without.
In the pubs, they all sing and shout;
Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts.
In old Germany, there are too many to choose.
Every Berg and Stein make their own brews.
I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise.
So many to taste. How could I lose?
I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan;
Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand.
The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand,
As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran.
Tried a lager called Foster's down under.
Drank too many. My head pounded like thunder.
They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder;
But they love it… though you may wonder.
Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores
And each one tasted like more.
A local beauty I was hoping to score;
But next morning, my head was so sore.
Henry Hudson's serves Budweiser Light.
It's weak, so you can drink it all night.
Yes, it takes quite a bit to get "tight";
But it's cheap and that makes it alright.
Yes, beer is a beverage so grand,
One of God's greatest gifts to man.
When life gets too tough to stand,
Just open a chilled bottle or can.
This is the best beer I've ever had.
When I arrived I was down and quite sad;
After just two or three, life isn't so bad.
This is the best beer I've ever had.
Yes, the best beer I've ever had.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Lazy afternoon repast can be found,
Resting under a sheltering palm.
While troubles melt amongst,
Calm serenity.
Engulfed this careless castaway,
Setting adrift.
Mingling surf unto spray, and mist.
Welcoming me to mine,
Jamaican paradise.
Soft breezes carry aloft, high above,
Calm tranquility.
Waves brush smooth crystal sands,
Spreading eternally.
Enjoy vacations latitude limitations,
Without boundaries.
The island rhyme entices capturing,
Inner spirit to flight.
Imaginations glorious brilliance shines,
Exposing a crimson horizon.
Forgotten life's stress,
It's left miles behind,
Here simplicities refuge surrounds.
Freedoms song plays, separating realities,
Interruptions they aren't aloud.
Safe harbor beyond human intervention,
Releasing solitude's prisoner.
Let God be my judge what happens,
Here remains known only unto myself.
My heart lies at anchor beside tranquil,
Breezes across distant Caribbean Seas.
An ideal dreamer setting sail towards,
The melting sun.
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015
I've wrestled with devil in blue grass.
That college that picks pockets
and helps itself to damsels' purses
fixed nooses just off seventy-five south,
over Clay-way Bailey.
The viaduct that divides two states
divides thieves from Potter Stewart's Court House.
I refused to march the underground rail road;
a black man rules the white house.
The dean,
like Mathilda's Trunchbull,
is as mean as salt on back of barn toad;
she lifted con from condescending.
I relished reflection of her
standing stiff like light pole,
frozen by the return from her calling the school "the company"
They were to give me what I pay for,
but madam flying high on stilettos
was too uppity to climb down and meet me.
Requests made were called controversies,
but to me it was freedom,
and I (pusher of this pen) was on battlefield
with Jamaican fire.
A competent crook cover ass with alibis,
and you should never be seen as obstacles …
If you are negro and alone walk with caution,
but not so with me;
I should live Luther's dream,
'cause I own college road.
It was my journey.
I stood stout,
like Michael,
to cast the devil out.
With Obama fueling negroes,
I wonder why Sam is blind
to the now white-collar crime?
I sure hope there are copycats up college road.
Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2011
A Sunken Pink Camaro
Tropical fish.
swim in and out of the windows
of a sunken pink Camaro.
I dive, leaving a rainbow stream
of billowing bubbles
Above on
the timber pier, someone
with a piano accordion
plays chiming French music,
while nearby old fishermen
swap vivid fish stories'.
Through ripples,
of clear water I see,
children dancing to tin drums
beaten by a lively,
ivory- toothed Jamaican.
I surface,
with a turquoise-tailed
mermaid, perched on
my left shoulder.
Some how,
I have rescued her
from a sunken pink Camaro
Suzanne Delaney
For P D's & SKAT's Women write about Car Contest
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2015
The Lyrical man of passion's sacred song,
Gave his heart away to the Caribbean Queen,
In the fine crystal glasses of fine champion of desires lust,
Did he so drown, beneath the frothy waves of the tropical sun?
In the morning's sweet rising, this poetic bard shed the tenderest
Of sun kissed tears, that melted in the heat of the hot horizons
Blazing oceanic dream.
Yet within this love sick heart he thus bleeds, eloping words
Of devotion from the farthest shores beyond, but the enchantress
Seductress dances the island waltz of the erotic, softly he sings
Unto this maiden tan and most fair, I'm here for thee, but
She does not hear the verses of this lyric man, passing him
By for a Jamaican band.
For no thumping drum, can beat the rheum of his heart,
Or the strumming of sensation's that burn within his soul,
In raptures pleasure a raging voice echoes unto paradise
Lost, a thundering hurricanes proclamation, come home
To me my tropical princess, but in silences response,
Lies nothing except deafness silence, rippling across
The distant waves of sorrow.
What angel dethroned from heaven's grace,
Caused loves sweet arrow to aim so wrongly,
Hitting this misaligned target dead on sight,
With regrets folly the only true outcome.
Oh do the island sirens so weep for him,
This Lyric man, who's loving torch burns
Within the sands of pleasures betrayal.
Light as the feathers of angels does his
Song ring out, enchanting mermaids even
To rise from the fathoms deepest depth,
Splashing sea form at this temptress of
Faded illusions, yet still she responds
With empty sighs of rebukes disconnect.
He sits still on isolation's stage, playing
A melodies soft tune of lost eloquence,
This music man of thoughts passionate heart.
Silvery strains of diamond perils glisten upon
Briliances waves, shinning beneath the tropical
Sun, laying on top of the big blues surf, these
Are his tears of devotions everlasting love,
Connecting his heart to this his Caribbean Queen.
My first Dollie was white
It sat on the lap of Papa's mahogany chair
I looked closer and saw blue eyes
A miniature mannequin, she was thin
Was it a sin I stood not smiling? But turned within
Filled with joy, the color of my skin was Cadbury brown
My Christmas gift to me all along
Dark girls I meet were pretty and sweet
If they were poor, I loved them more
My brother's first love was an Ebony dove
She was the color of my love
Nobody told me I was beautiful
On our way to sea, I felt it
A nappy haired doll; hand in hand
With my teacher, Miss Daphne, on the pier
I felt a touch, warm as Carib' breeze
It was the arms of God saying I was His
Of Her, my Jamaican Mama wedded to my Papa in Belize
Where mahogany speaks
Mys second dally was brown
She made me smile, and lingered long
peering into iris of her eyes
It was deeper than colorism
It was first pool my spirit plunged in
It soothe my soul
My friend, Denise Taylor was white
Eyes the color of chocolate
Her curls bounced gaily as we skipped to school
Her mood I always savored, was jelly sweet treat
She painted me a picture of light in all its glory.
Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015


text:
Did Sienna Miller Put the Kibosh on Sean Penn's Marriage?
Sienna Miller sure has a penchant for partying with guys who are with other women. The actress is a big fan of the "we're just friends" excuse, to explain late-night, touchy-feely nights out with her guy pals. Most recently, her behavior with Sean Penn before his split from his wife, Robin Wright Penn, is coming into question.
Sienna and Sean were reportedly enjoying a soiree together at hotel suite in New York, recalls a source, who claims the British actress was positioned on Sean's lap. "She was dressed very sexily. She had her arm around his neck." A friend of Sean's, however, explains that Sienna is simply affectionate and she "drapes herself over people she likes." OK, maybe I'm just being old-school here, but Sienna does not need to be "draping herself" over other people's husbands. She is not a throw blanket. Yet.
Photos: Splash


text:
Over the next several years Samuel and Temperance had 7 children.
1761: a son was born
1765: a son was born
A son, William Hodges Cooke was born
1774: A daughter, Temperance was born
A son, George Whitefield Cooke was born
A daughter, Ann was born about 1774
A son, Samuel was born
In Dutchess County there were 1820 signers, and 964 persons who refused to sign. Some qualified their signatures by certain restrictions. Lists were recorded of those who signed and of those who refused to sign, and are preserved in the American Archives. They show a radical difference in the views even of members of the same family, and in some of the Precincts, almost an equal division in numbers. Source: History of Dutchess County, p.95-96
June – July 1775, Samuel Cook signed the Articles of Association document as a resident of the Poughkeepsie Precinct.
Source: History of Dutchess County, p.107
Known for his encyclopedic knowledge and his love of literature, Henry Livingston was a farmer, surveyor and Justice of the Peace, a judicial position dealing with financially limited criminal and civil cases. One of the first New Yorkers to enlist in the Revolutionary Army in 1775, Major Henry Livingston accompanied his cousin's husband, General Montgomery, in his campaign up the Hudson River to invade Canada, leaving behind his new wife, Sarah Welles, and their week-old baby, on his Poughkeepsie property, Locust Grove. Following this campaign, Livingston was involved in the War as a Commissioner of Sequestration, appropriating lands owned by British loyalists and selling them for the revolutionary cause.
Source: http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poet/204.html
Dr. Sir
I have the pleasure to inform you that yesterday afternoon my wife was a Joyful mother of a fine daughter- -a circumstance in providence I highly rejoice at- -You know the feelings of a father Sir on these occasions However I expect to be ready almost or quite as soon as the men here. As no man enters with more zeal into the service of his country than myself - Captain Dubois is now by me & tells me His men are in high spirits & want to be in motion & only want camp kettles & blankets to march immediately- Captain Billings writes to you himself- I must with sorrow tell you the Committees of this county had had but very little success(?) in purchasing arms Only the Committee of Poughkeepsie have done well. That precinct alone have furnished between 30 & 40 flintlocks that with little of the gunsmiths aid may do very well- I waited the result of the County Committees proceedings before I proceed (to) take any other method, & wait now for further orders in this particular - The county committees however I am informed this moment are resolved to impress arms from these gentlemen that state the liberties of America - perhaps a line from you directing in this affair may be very necessary.
If by your influence Sir you can any way get Doctor Cooke with us this would give universal satisfaction- I know the man, & our family & neighborhood have long experienced the effects of his skill & for my part it would considerably alleviate the evils of a campaign to have a surgeon at hand whose abilities was well apprised of & could confide in, My Brother Doctor Livingston was with me yesterday & desires his love to you.
I am sir your humble servant
Henry Livingston Junior
Source: http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/theman/lifeevents.htm
"SIR: I am desired by Colonel Clinton to inform the honourable the Provincial Congress, that drums are wanting for the respective Companies that compose his Regiment. He also desired me to mention our medicine chest; suppose, however, we shall find that and the drums at Albany. With respect to Dr. Samuel Cooke, the gentleman nominated Surgeon to our Regiment, I am authorized to inform your, Sir, that he attended several days in New-York for his examination, but at length by one contingency or other came away without it. He at first applied to Dr. Jones, who would not examine him unless Dr. Bard (who was out of Town) was present. The matter was stated to the Congress, who ordered that one of the members should wait on Dr. Jones, and inform him that an examination by him alone would satisfy them. Dr. Jones, however, declined. After Dr. Bard's return, there was a day appointed for the business, but that day both Dr Jones and Bard were called to Long Island. Dr. Cooke, being very unwell at the time, could stay no longer, having attended several days to no purpose.
"Those officers and soldiers who are acquainted with Dr. Cooke and his practice, and good success both as physician and surgeon, are very desirous to have his appointment confirmed, and as we expect to march in two or three days, are exceedingly anxious that he may be acquainted with it, and follow us as soon as possible.
"I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant,
"To the Hon. Peter V. B. Livingston, Esq."
Source: [1775-08-21] Livingston, Henry, Jr., Major; New-York, Congress. [S4-V3-p0555]
Ordered, That Dr. Samuel Cooke be appointed Surgeon, and be is hereby appointed Surgeon to the Third Regiment of Troops raised in this Colony, and at the request of Mr. Henry Livingston, Jun., the Major of the said Regiment, which he says is with the consent of a considerable number of the said Regiment.
Ordered, That the examination of Dr. Samuel Cooke be dispensed with, and that he be appointed Surgeon, notwithstanding he has neglected to be examined according to the standing order of this Congress, but that this shall not be a precedent in any other instance.
Mr. John Stephenson sent into Congress a certificate of Dr. John Jones and Dr. Bard, which was read and filed, and is in the words following, to wit:
"This is to certify that we, the subscribers, agreeable to an order of the Provincial Congress, have examined Mr. John Stephenson, respecting his knowledge in physick and surgery, and that we find him competently qualified to act as a Surgeon' s Mate.
Ordered, That Mr. John Stephenson be appointed, and he is hereby appointed, Surgeon' s Mate to the Third Regiment of Troops now raised in this Colony; and Ordered, That he join his Regiment with all possible dispatch. Mr. Bedford Williams, who was on the 16th instant appointed Surgeon' s Mate to the Second Regiment, agreeable to a standing order of this House, produced a certificate of Dr. John Jones and Dr. Bard, which is in the words following, to wit: "This is to certify that we, the subscribers, agreeable to an order of the Provincial Congress, have examined Mr.
Page v3:556
Bedford Williams, respecting his knowledge in physick and surgery, and that we find him competently qualified to act as a Surgeon' s Mate.
Ordered, That Mr. Bedford Williams' s appointment of Surgeon' s Mate stand confirmed, and that he join his Regiment with all possible dispatch.
Source: [1775-08-25] New-York, Congress. [S4-V3-p0555-556]
September 2, 1775: Samuel Cooke and Lt. John Langdon arrived at Albany.
Source: Journal of Major Henry Livingston of the Third New York Continental Line August to December 1775
Autograph letter signed ("Samuel Cooke"), probably to General James Clinton, "Head Quarters before Quebec, 6, January 1776.
Dr. Cook announces defeat at Quebec." A New York surgeon with the Canada expedition reports on the American defeat and begs for medical assistance:
"Before this you have heard I doubt not of our defeat. Our loss is too great in so good a cause and we have more than forty officers killed & taken [prisoner]. Our Regiment is praying for your arrival...for we are sheep without a shepherd....Pray be pleased to order my mate [fellow surgeon] down we have great numbers of sick & wounded. I understand he has been...as far as Point a Trembles & returned again to Montreal...."
--COOKE, Samuel. Autograph manuscript "Account of the Names of Prisoners taken at the Parish of St. Peters...Canada...."
"An acct. of Prisoners taken below Quebec." The list contains some 44 French and English names arranged in two columns; at the head is "Revd. Mr. Borga wounded in the Belly." On the back Cooke notes that some men were "taken by a party of Continental & Canadian troops under...Major Lewis Dubois."
Provenance: See note preceding 316. Spring of 1777 3rd New York was stationed at Fort Mongtomery not sure Cooke was there, working on confirmation.
Dr. Samuel Cooke of Poughkeepsie called the attention of these Commissioners to the twenty-three acre lot, for which Mr. Beardsley had been given a deed originally, but which the charter had confirmed to the Church. Dr. Cooke was a resident physician, in practice at Poughkeepsie from 1767, who seemed to be alive to the chance of obtaining bargains in real estate through the sales made by the Commissioners of Forfeiture. He bought, as has been mentioned, ninety-six acres of Mr. Crannell's land, and apparently attempted to secure the twenty- three acre lot by having it confiscated as the property of the departed Tory clergyman.
William Emott wrote Mr. Beardsley, later, regarding Dr. Cooke's action, that the confiscation "was Averted By our personal appearance before the Governor, Attorney-General, and board of Commissioners, Where our title was duly examined, And your Agency manifested by the Records remaining in the Secretary's office, whereby you obtained the title and confirmation for the Corporation, without any reservation; expressly declaring that the Church were the sole proprietors of the said lands."
Although the church was closed while the war lasted,
and many of its members regarded with suspicion by the
1 Appendix, Beardsley papers, No. 14.
Source: Records of Christ church volume II
5th Regiment Listing from the state comptroller of NY (Document http://dunhamwilcox.net/ny/ny_rev_5th_reg.htm) 1779 JOURNALS OF THE MILITARY EXPEDITION OF MAJOR GENERAL JOHN SULLIVAN AGAINST THE SIX NATIONS OF INDIANS IN 1779 WITH RECORDS OF CENTENNIAL CELEBRATIONS (doc available http://usgwarchives.net/pa/1pa/1picts/sullivan/roster.html) see this section for excellent detail on DuBois and his resignation http://books.google.com/books?id=Q8olDBcZM_IC&pg=PA201&lpg=PA201&dq=samuel+cooke+surgeon&source=bl&ots=Ls8aBZzArd&sig=iFxMk-ztv06u9mn5RFIQEDSFcS4&hl=en&ei=HLQ5TJOfHIKC8gaj_cmmBg&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=10&ved=0CDUQ6AEwCQ#v=onepage&q=samuel%20cooke%20surgeon&f=false Very important book must download describes conditions in winter of Du Bois regiment Must download book http://www.archive.org/details/historyofnewpalt01ralp
Source:Page 120 Abstract of Wills – Liber 36m
May 3, 1783: Samuel Cooke wrote his will with William Terry, tailor, Sebre Fish, hatter, both of Poughkeepsie Precinct, James Livingston Proved Aug 18 1783
May 28, 1783: Funeral sermon and burial at the Dutch Church in Poughkeepsie was officiated by Rev. Wheeler Case.
Buried 5/28 at the Dutch Church burial ground in Poughkeepsie.
Source: 10,000 vital records of New York p56 – 57, Death Notice in Dutchess County p. 30
August 31, 1804: Temperance Cook Land in Poughkeepsie
From the survey of Dutchess Turnpike Map 29A Filed August 31, 1804
S58E 16 16 Over the Old Road on the land of Temperance Cook to a stake in Peter Deremer's Land East of his house and north of Old Road.
Source: The Eagle's History of Poughkeepsie p n85
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