Heather P Wilson

Rookie (England)

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  • Rookie - 1 Points Charles Monroe (12/29/2013 12:28:00 PM)

    I want to be remembered someday as someone's elder
    But will such status ever be reached
    From within my unemployed streets of overflowing pretty trash
    Graffiti scratched across my back
    I symbolize a percentage on somebody's graph of stats.
    Young, brown skinned male like a catapult propelled
    Into Alleys of Aloe spilled Merlot bottles skeletons of rustic autos
    Silk turquoise bra, empty plastic milk gallons
    In the land of ghost cannons
    Tres-Leches cakes melt
    With the Son's abundant help
    Wish he'd recognize that wealth
    All it is is timely health.
    Self-esteem and prior convictions
    Often meet in crucifixions
    Picture villains with some priors
    Then a company that hires
    Never have what they'd required,
    While the streets she's always busy.
    So strong yet she's always in need of help,
    She gambles away food-stamps and trades welfare checks
    For dreams of polite and soothing temporary forgetfulness;
    But we just need some work.
    But so do they across the street,
    They all need and need and need...
    And sometimes the youngest bleed,
    For them dreams we've near machined
    And architect perfected them, have somehow
    Now been the makers of our doomed nightmares.
    Graffiti scratched across my back as I surface
    From within my unemployed streets;
    I want to be remembered someday as someone's elder
    But will such status ever be reached.
    Satan's helpers: Respect thy Elders.
    P.X
    12.30.13

  • Freshman - 1,966 Points Valerie Dohren (9/15/2012 10:56:00 AM)

    Heather is a very prolific and versatile writer whose poems are always a delight to read. She can compose a poem on any subject, often with a touch of humour, which is sure to bring a smile to your face and a warmth in your heart.

  • Rookie - 88 Points Richard Lackman (4/29/2012 12:01:00 PM)

    Heather, thanks for your kind comment about children walking in the rain. We would go out on a summer day and stomp about through these great puddles. It was just one of those things only children would love l did just have a chance to read many of your poems and I enjoyed them very much. I had not seen your work before but I will be going back to it frequently. Dick Lackman

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