The Last Time
She left her home to stand alone
on a warm night in July.
Dressed to arouse in a see through blouse
and a mini-skirt high on her thigh.
She adjusted her bra whilst looking for her car,
then stood hands on hips.
Her pimp and his man arrived in a stretched out van,
a version for perversion and sex.
On the back seat of her ride she sat, legs open wide,
a position of comfort and ease.
With her parts on view and a tease that she knew,
she complained in vain on her knees.
He was making a mistake by giving her so little cake
and deserved a much bigger slice.
But a sad fact of life was the pimp’s use of a knife,
his advice and ways weren’t nice.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Elevator
I was on the ground floor
and I wanted level five.
I pressed the call button
and waited for it to arrive.
It arrived with no one in it,
so I entered and closed the door.
It took its time to get going,
then slowed for the next floor.
The doors hesitated then opened,
but no one was there,
but I definitely felt a presence
and a disturbance in the air.
I was standing still and anxious
when the lift shook from side to side.
The doors closed and up it went to three
where the doors opened wide.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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A Tale of Feud
I arrived one night when the new moon was bright
whilst the others were howling at the moon.
I was the last of the ten to arrive there and then,
and without doubt we made it not a moment to soon.
We were being hunted down and they were all around;
those hideous creatures, so different to us.
We were hated and despised for being different, and alive,
and we needed to move quickly without fuss.
After moving a short distance we encountered resistance
from our warriors, who wanted to stay and fight.
Cross words were exchanged and tactics rearranged,
and all agreed they would fight for their right.
The skirmishing bats and owls caused some of us to howl,
which alerted the enemy of our position.
But carried on the wind was their smell and we could tell
they were coming from an easterly direction.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Another Man's Sin Can Do You In
Moving in the shadows on a moon lit night
a man stalked another and kept out of sight.
A grudge had to be settled by this cowardly pursuer
he wanted sweet revenge from this evil wrong doer.
The opportunity was right and he leapt from the dark
with an almighty thrust his knife went straight to the heart.
The victim lay motionless as blood oozed onto the ground
the attacker kicked him hard, so no life could be found.
The murderer looked all around to check no one had seen
then vanished into the shadows as before the death scene.
The very next day the slayer boasted to a so called friend
of how he stalked and killed a man to get his revenge.
Loose talk soon found its way to the dead man’s brother,
now this could only be settled by the death of another.
The murderer found out that he was being hunted down
so arranged an ambush at a hairdressers in town.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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A House of Memories
Four generations of my family have lived in that house,
everytime I pass it fresh memories are aroused.
It was once filled with laughter, music and conversation,
now there’s only creaking floors and insect habitation.
My younger sister and brother were born in the master bedroom
and their cries are in my memories as they left mum’s womb.
With the midwife shouting for more hot water and towels,
and dad pacing the floor listening for the new baby’s howl.
The happy times ended when sis fell from her bedroom window,
we all blamed ourselves and for years we suffered in sorrow.
Mum and dad spoke as if she was still about the house each day;
to them reality had died and their sadness was hidden away.
Soon after my older brother went to war at the age of eighteen,
he was captured by the enemy and never again seen.
My granddad was killed whilst working underneath his car,
the jack gave way and he wasn’t missed for over an hour.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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From Dreams to Reality
As a boy I was filled with
aspirations and dreams,
and imagined myself
a star of the silver screen.
I was a romantic unsung hero,
an adventurer, a lone ranger.
A tireless fighter against evil,
a good cause campaigner.
I was also a superhero
from comics and books.
A typical nervous Clark Kent,
with charm and good looks.
As I grew older my parents asked
what did I want to do,
to earn a good living
my whole life through.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Disturbed
I was sitting on the riverbank minding my own business
thinking about life in general, and this and that.
When a dark haired young woman sat down beside me,
she said nothing, but then she began purring like a cat.
Not wanting to get into an unnecessary conversation
I decided to ignore her and hoped she’d go away.
However, she didn’t and her purring became louder
as she shuffled, and edged a little closer my way.
I was considering whether I should leave, when she purred,
“My parents were really extraordinary cats you know,
and it’s a year since they woke up to find they had changed.”
Not wanting to appear rude, I said “I’m sorry I have to go.”
“I can tell by your attitude that you don’t believe me, ” she said.
“And when did you change? ” I sneered, as I began to stand.
“Please don’t scoff because of your ignorance, ” she softly purred,
“it’s true what I say, but why? I just don’t understand.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Dear Jo
I thought we had agreed our futures,
but then disillusion came along.
I was lost in a mist of confusion
because our plans were going wrong.
We argued and wouldn’t listen to reason,
and never spoke for several days.
Then I saw your father talking with friends
and I overheard him say.
That there was a new man in your life
with whom you spend night and day.
This guy had swept you off your feet
and you had eloped just yesterday.
I was in a state of turmoil and anger,
and I hurt so much inside.
I sent you a card of congratulations,
but hid the pain behind my pride.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Seeing What Others Cannot
Its been over three weeks now
that I’ve been in this state.
I don’t know the reason why
there’s nothing to it I can relate.
The day began like any other
until I got to the bus pick up place.
There was three other people waiting,
but I never bothered to look at a face.
As I waited, an uneasy feeling of anxiety
moved up from my feet to my head,
I noticed something strange and abnormal,
the man in front of me separated.
I couldn’t believe what my eyes were saying
and thought that I was becoming ill,
maybe I was stressed out, with work and all,
and it was time for a get-well pill.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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