Ways and WoesWays and WoesWays and Woes by Michel-le-fou
When the homeland held no more hope,
And going abroad seemed the only way;
When others’ words made it hard to cope,
And left me cold at the end of the day;
I went my solitary way, as I always do;
Indeed, a better way I never knew.
And I headed for one I knew would care.
There is so much pleasure to hear her say,
“I love you.”
The Last CallerThe Last CallerThe Last Caller by Michel-le-fou
The unresolved mystery of the Southall murders
Since the middle of the 19th Century onward till the advent of the 20th Century, the influx of foreign immigrants into Britain had induced several strange sociopolitical evens which eventually reached both local media in London and the whole of the British Isles. While both Irish and Jewish peasants flowed into the Whitechapel district of London, and subsequently many women and girls of the district resorted to prostitution in 1888, Indian migrant workers had flowed into Southall district with similar results. However, the Southall murders seemed to be overshadowed by Whitechapel.
An unknown number of poor and migrant Indian girls have been known to resort to cheap prostitution, between 1880 and 1885. Many of these girls were known to be of Tamil or other South Indian origin. Yet, it was not until 1887-88, when the Whitechapel district began its cases, that Southall dist
Or Did They?Not far from the grottoOr Did They? by mmihalko13
There lies a tomb
Run down and dilapidated
It hides the secret well
Through the cobwebs and decay
This empty sepulcher cries out
Hoping for the master to return
It did not always lie this way
He was here
Or was he?
The name on the stone
The carvings on the wall
His greatness masked by the mystery
His life marred by tragedy
I was a child of 13 when I discovered it
Much older when I deciphered it
Even older when I understood it
Or was I?
The heir, I was not
Just a bystander to the inept
Jealousy and rage filled the air
How could they ignore this grand monument?
Him, for that matter
Sure, this house lay dormant
Only a faint whisper of the wind
Not even the rat or the spider ventured near
Or did they?
My vigil, waiting for him was long
Days of staring turned to weeks
Weeks to months, months to years
This candle burned
The flame of my innocence turned to passion
The tears of my prayers turned to blood
CrashFire eats the soul away.Crash by Rest-In-Pinkness
Only forever bone can stay.
Crash and burn.
Chalk scratches the board,
Spelling out mournful afford.
Crash and learn.
A craving in the dark.
Louder than a single spark.
Crash and yearn.
Debt thicker than butter
Clogging the heart gutter.
Crash and earn.
Love chunky and raw.
Stand back in mock awe.
Crash and spurn.
Rushing river of pain.
What will it gain?
Crash and churn.
So many fruitless collisions..
Lost for sense decisions.