A blue-eyed babe was born, on Bruton Street in Mayfair.

 No one knew that history would write another page there.

May twenty-first at two a.m. came forth her first decree,

“I’m Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, a Queen that’s yet to be.”

Her father was Prince Albert, the  Duke of York, then King.

Her mother was Elizabeth, of Scottish upbringing.

This little curly blonde haired girl astonished all she met.

A character by all accounts, reflective Lilibet.

Lilibet was crowned the Queen in nineteen fifty-three.

Elizabeth the Second reigns, Her diamond jubilee.


June Until November – Five months to Remember

We didn’t say “I love you”.
The time was never right.
And now that I can’t touch you,
I say it every night.

We didn’t lie together
before a roaring fire
and gently love ’til morning
and never, ever tire.

We didn’t bond as soul mates.
We didn’t have the time.
Our souls, though, did touch briefly.
So sweet and so sublime.

We didn’t cry together
in sorrow, love or hate.
There would always be tomorrow.
Now, tomorrow’s name is fate.

We didn’t say “I love you”
when fate reclaimed her prize.
She took you as she gave you,
before my loving eyes.

We didn’t say “I love you”.

Liberty is Love

LIBERTY for one and all is such a noble sentiment.

The EMPIRE can rise around the globe without impediment.

Yellow haired Gestapo come to take you from your beds.

Apple’s fall, confounding us by landing on our heads.

Enormous strides are gained when we discover electricity.

Liberty, so statuesque, embodies our complicity.

A tower or two of YELLOW gold, testamental  for the EMPIRE.

Quietus the ancient greed, beware our enemy’s desire.

An Apple seed, alas, can only grow an Apple tree.

Enormous hate will not grow love, impossibility.

The YELLOW sun shines every day on everything we do.

Absorb the warmth as God’s own grace deep inside of you!

Healing Waters

By funk5ive

Sometimes life just goes by.
You know you should be paying attention,
then something catches your eye.
The imagination of a child,
an angel shape in clouds of white,
the pain in a loved ones eyes.

Sometimes the well is dry.
You go to fill your heart with joy,
then you see you can’t and why.
The tragic wrongs not yet ignored,
a mournful love never regained,
the pain in your own blue eyes.

Sometimes it’s time to cry.
The healing waters from God Himself,
If you don’t you know you’ll die.
But the dam in your eyes,
and the lump in your throat..
deny, deny, DENY.

Sometimes a friend is nigh.
You know you should accept their love
but your faith will not comply.
So you think of the child,
and the angel clouds,
and your soul begins to cry.

Picture credit :

By funk5ive

My Spiritual Arsonist

I think it was around the time my mamma died
I tore my clothes away and cried and cried and cried
I shook the bed, convulsing, side to side
I finally drifted into tortured dreams to hide

My inner soul began to chill, no fire
My heart forgot to beat, and tired
My face grew long, my eyes looked dark and wired
My brain mulled through black thoughts that death had sired

You somehow knew, you called to dry my tears
You came to me, you have through all the years
You’re comforting my heart to melt my fears
You seem to know the time agony nears

Then my spiritual arsonist, hero of my soul
The light inside rekindles, lights, and glows
The heart of me remembers songs of old
The life came back into my eyes like gold

My Spiritual Arsonist, the hero of my soul.

I Ran Away Today, From the Din

I found a place with silent butterflies.
Fluttering by in complete silence to human ears.
Do butterflies hear a din?
I wonder if their wings make a noise that only they can hear.

I found a place with uncountable crickets.
Each one rubbing out their mechanical song.
Separate and then together as one.
Eventually to be removed from my consciousness, then back again.

I found a place with grasses ten feet tall.
Swaying in the wind, whispering all the while
of creatures hiding within.
They marked the path of the wind, invisible until it touched them.

I found a place of endless prairie sky
with sculptures in the clouds.
A handle bar mustached gent, a Meer cat, an angel on the wing.

I found a bridge of planks across the stream.
The families cycling by tap rhythmically all in sync.
I hear snapshots as they speak, a moment in their lives.

I found a place I hoped that God would speak,
to calm my worried mind, to quench my thirsty soul.
I waited quite a while and didn’t hear His word.
Picked up my book and pen, and wrote these very lines.
Then a stunning thought, He was speaking all the while,
in the wind, the birds, the clouds.
Then the grasses gently bowed, like smiling Asian men,
who always seemed to know, I’d get there in the end.

© 2009 Angelique Maatman

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