When And How
Could Jane Austen really have been a victim of Emerald Green? *
Or the workings of a homicidal maniac to say the least?
A blood-thirsty demon with ice water in his veins?
A true psychopath-preparing a virtual feast? ;
Compared to a modern-day hitman or woman
With the contract in their evil hands
First, to befriend their marks...
Hence, designing their cold blooded plan...
Setting their perfect time line...? ? ?
Alerted: The time is now...! ! !
Sinister-Reptilian Of Death
Arsenic-Is The How...
First In My Series: Murder For Hire
Not necessarily fiction
As in the death of Jane Austen
It is believed that arsenic may have been the weapon and
The how of her death
*Emerald Green-another name for an Arsenic compound
It is: AS and is number 33...in the Element Table.
By, Theodora Onken
February 5,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Arsenic sticks around and today it's easily found after death if somebody thinks of looking for it, because the problem with arsenic, it isn't looked for in the common tests for drugs.
quote by Michael Baden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's About Money Honey
The California deluge overwhelmed me-bad...
Rains of assailing depair
Creating a steamy humidity of heavy ambience
And an Emerald Green Oz-outside-everywhere! ;
You see this had been pre-ordained by the Stars
Pyschic Jill Dahne looked into her crystal ball
Finding crucial answers to decisions about money
A bumpy ride of tempers followed before the calm of it all! ;
It is always calm before the storm or so 'tis said
But the after math can bring a Pot Of Gold, to some, it seems
In a pristine emerald abored garden-Midas touched...
Comes the: Over The Rainbow-Evergreen! ! ! :
Dedicated To: BKC...Of Chico and Olive Grove
We've Got Your Number Honey! ! ! ! ! ! !
By, Theodora Onken
March 6,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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L’Art
Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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L'Art
Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,
Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emotional Upheaval
Only Terry Pratchett can be forgiven for irreverently sending
an unrefined Sam Vines into the pristine company of Pride
and Prejuduce - calling this classic a silly romance
Vimes launches into a diatribe against the stifling gentility that
held rich people enthralled within a useless existence, tells
author Jane Austen to write about
Corpses, murder and war – a cross between Mickey Spillane
and Margaret Mitchell; I love his advice about earning one’s
own keep leading to self-esteem
Enjoy the psychological tension Austen described –without
much action she creates more excitement and emotional
upheaval than Mike Hammer and
Scarlett O’Hara combined – only Wuthering Heights and
Jane Eyre can rival Jane Austen in making me
experience hallucinations!
Snuff – Terry Pratchett; Doubleday 2011
pp 69-72
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mare's Nest
Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse
Was good beyond all earthly need;
But, on the other hand, her spouse
Was very, very bad indeed.
He smoked cigars, called churches slow,
And raced -- but this she did not know.
For Belial Machiavelli kept
The little fact a secret, and,
Though o'er his minor sins she wept,
Jane Austen did not understand
That Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay
Absorbed one-half her husband's pay.
She was so good, she made hime worse;
(Some women are like this, I think;)
He taught her parrot how to curse,
Her Assam monkey how to drink.
He vexed her righteous soul until
She went up, and he went down hill.
Then came the crisis, strange to say,
Which turned a good wife to a better.
A telegraphic peon, one day,
Brought her -- now, had it been a letter
For Belial Machiavelli, I
Know Jane would just have let it lie.
But 'twas a telegram instead,
Marked "urgent," and her duty plain
To open it. Jane Austen read:
"Your Lilly's got a cough again.
Can't understand why she is kept
At your expense." Jane Austen wept.
It was a misdirected wire.
Her husband was at Shaitanpore.
She spread her anger, hot as fire,
Through six thin foreign sheets or more.
Sent off that letter, wrote another
To her solicitor -- and mother.
Then Belial Machiavelli saw
Her error and, I trust, his own,
Wired to the minion of the Law,
And traveled wifeward -- not alone.
For Lilly -- thirteen-two and bay --
Came in a horse-box all the way.
There was a scene -- a weep or two --
With many kisses. Austen Jane
Rode Lilly all the season through,
And never opened wires again.
She races now with Belial. This
Is very sad, but so it is.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Miss Lloyd has now went to Miss Green
Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green,
As, on opening the box, may be seen,
Some years of a Black Ploughman's Gauze,
To be made up directly, because
Miss Lloyd must in mourning appear
For the death of a Relative dear--
Miss Lloyd must expect to receive
This license to mourn and to grieve,
Complete, ere the end of the week--
It is better to write than to speak
poem by Jane Austen
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That was after Napoleon died because there is still a controversy as to whether Napoleon was poisoned with arsenic. And the French say the British did it and the British say the French did it, but he died before the test for arsenic was available.
quote by Michael Baden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elegy For Jane Kenyon (2)
Jane is big
with death, Don
sad and kind - Jane
though she's dying
is full of mind
We talk about the table
the little walnut one
how it's like
Emily Dickinson's
But Don says No
Dickinson's
was made of iron. No
said Jane
Of flesh.
poem by Jean Valentine
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Light Years
Bear not the night
As being your fate
For 'tis the death
Near Hell's molten gate;
Let not your heart
Be influenced of dark
For nigh 'tis the light of day
For bright 'tis your spark;
Evil 'tis not your place
For you embrace the sky
An Angel in the making
When Heaven 'tis nigh;
By: Theodora Onken
June 19,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The enthusiasm of a woman's love is even beyond the biographer's.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A woman should never be trusted with money.
Jane Austen in The Watsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A woman, especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was ten years before.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better, Deeper, More Intelligent
Better, deeper, more intelligent,
and sensitive than us, Jane Austen
provides a literary environment
in which we all, by getting lost in
admiration for her heroines,
feel so diminished we conclude
whichever of the many heroes wins
their heart is an unlucky dude.
Riding with her, dressed by Abercombie
and Fitch is not the sort of way
I’d like to spend my time. I’m not a zombie.
Perhaps because I am not gay
I can’t relate to all the topics Jane
obsesses on, and in Northanger
Abbey heroines would all complain
I was a crashing bore and wanker.
“Why couldn’t all these heroines go out
and get a job? ” was asked by Emma––
not Jane’s, Ms. Thompson’s Emma, without doubt
a heroine who’s not a femi-
nist––oh horrid word––but understands
how prejudice which is their pride
lands nearly all of them in Jane’s badlands
composed of English countryside.
Who needs a woman who is deeper than
themselves, far better, surely, and
far more intelligent? I’m not that man.
Although I think I understand
what all her heroines are saying, I
don’t look for girls who're good or deep.
I’m merely looking for the sort who’ll lie
with me before I fall asleep.
Inspired by an article by Jennifer Schuessler on “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” by Seth Grahame-Smith (“I Was a Regency Zombie, ” NYT, February 22,2009) :
The classic examples of that would be any speech by Judi Dench — her accent certainly helps — or Emma Thompson’s understated, wryly funny acceptance speech at the 1996 Oscars, when she won the award for best adapted screenplay for “Sense and Sensibility.”
“Before I came, I went to visit Jane Austen’s grave in Winchester Cathedral to pay my respects, you know, and tell her about the grosses, ” she said. She also thanked Sidney Pollack “for asking the right questions, like, ‘Why couldn’t these women go out and get a job? ’ ” Ms. Thompson — who accepted another award, at the Golden Globes, with a speech in the style of Jane Austen herself — then did what cool British award winners do: she put the Oscar in her guest bathroom.
These days, America is menaced by zombie banks and zombie computers. What’s next, a zombie Jane Austen? In fact, yes. Minor pandemonium ensued in the blogosphere this month after Quirk Books announced the publication of “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” an edition of Austen’s classic juiced up with “all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem” by a Los Angeles television writer named Seth Grahame-Smith. (First line: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”) … In fact, “Pride and Prejudice” may already be a zombie novel, contends Brad Pasanek, a specialist in 18th-century literature at the University of Virginia. “The characters other than the protagonist are so often surrounded by people who aren’t fully human, like machines that keep repeating the same things over and over again, ” Professor Pasanek said. “All those characters shuffling in and out of scenes, always frustrating the protagonists. It’s a crowded but eerie landscape. What’s wrong with those people? They don’t dance well but move in jerky fits. Oh, they are headed this way! ” While the vast industry of Austen sequels and pastiches runs heavily toward the romance-novel end of the literary spectrum - see “The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy” by Maya Slater, to be published in the United States in June - scholars have long emphasized the mean-girl side of Jane’s personality. Professor Pasanek, who has collaborated on a project that uses spam-detection software to analyze Austen fan fiction, cites the psychologist D. W. Harding’s 1940 essay “Regulated Hatred, ” which sounds more like a death-metal band than a piece of influential Austen scholarship.“Most people try to ignore the fact that Austen’s novels are sort of acid baths, ” Professor Pasanek said. “She’s so much better, deeper, more sensitive and intelligent than everyone around her that she has to regulate her own misanthropy. Her novels are hostile environments.”
2/22/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage.
quote by Jane Austen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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