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  Nov 2015 Sin
Brent Kincaid
Justin Bieber is no big deal
I’m not even sure he is real.
He started out as pretty decent
Have you seen anything recent?
He looks like a kid who is trying
To join the gang but is only crying;
Sitting on the sidelines sniffling.
Dressed up in gang stuff and everything.

Poor baby Justin, as rich as a king
Isn’t quite satisfied owning everything
Has to cover up his body with tattoos
Like all the real-life gang members do.
Wears a hat too big for him all sideways
Plays in the sandbox where big kids play.
Wants to look all gangster and rough
But looking like a lesbian makes it tough.

Poor Baby Biebs with his millions of fans
Three pairs of underwear and baggy pants
Grinning like he’s bashful, we know he’s not.
Far too often he has proved himself a snot.
Some of us were worried when he was a kid.
We worried nobody was careful of what he did.
So Baby Justin Bieber is a bit of a wreck
Sort of like the words crawling up his neck.

Justin Bieber makes the young girls scream.
They don’t care he’s not the angel he seems.
If only he would misbehave with them, they think.
They’d let him act the fool, smoke and stink.
Because, after all, when you’re a teen-aged star
It doesn’t really matter just how fake you are.
The thing is be to be fashionable the youthful way
And let them get a glimpse of you every day.
Sin Nov 2015
Is it a curse that words do fight
Inside a head of a poetry knight
Slaying and loving crying and joy
Now the ink shall spill tonight

Saving a maiden from dragons of lore
Sailing the oceans is never a bore
Giving love to maidens fair
Whilst caressing your soft honey hair

So many things make a poet knight
Clad in armour with pen held tight
Riding on the back of the page at night
Hoping that words can rage
Or sing a song to distant mermaids

To be a hero or villan to boot
A poem can make whatever it suits
So hold that pen like a sword
And let those words spill out
On unsuspecting hordes
  Nov 2015 Sin
Stanley Wilkin
I grieve for you in the cold quiet of winter
My absent child, my long lost son
Warming my hands over dying flames, frost covered smouldering clinker,
By the wood where icy streams run
Through the shrunken sedge, and barren fields
Stretching for miles, empty of meaning.
The landscape like a worn photograph yields
Your tremulous smile, then nothing.

Here, you ran with startled steps
Through the yielding sheaves, yelling with surprise,
Chasing indifferent spiders, and discomfited birds
With hatred in their pebble pool-dark eyes.
Querying awkwardly spoken words, small
Tenacious fingers that caress and clutch
Every passing object, loudly chuckling, wisely playing me for a fool
A silly father who loved too much.

On the anniversary of your leaving I required solitude
Partnered only by memory
Away from familiar crowds, the booming, barking fusillade
Of the present day commonplace urban itinerary,
Where only the crackle of snow
And the fleeting trajectory of birds
Distracts my slow
Marshalling of comforting thoughts.

The cottage where we lived haunts the shallow glade,
A shrouded ghost swaddled by the half-light,
Positioned squarely like an old man, its cladding beginning to fade,
White branches like dead-fingers that gleam in the night.
In the closet are your dust-sprinkled toys, a yellow plastic duck,
A cheap skateboard, ancient video games,
A guitar you never learnt to pluck
A chess board on which you pulverised my endgames.

In the preserved furnishings of your bedroom
Your school work gathered into stacks
Barely visible in the gloom,
Our life together in disorganised packs
Denoting year and level
Development and academic achievement,
If any, (but I mustn’t once again cavil)
Indicating, even in your earliest years, a specific bent.

Standing on the mantelpiece, propped up against the wall,
Are brightly coloured, polished pictures
Of you. Plump, blonde, agreeably small
Dancing, standing, jumping, grinning, absurdly wistful mixtures.
A bitter echo resonating from the shadows
A cold thought darkening into memory
The spectre of your voice disappearing in the meadows
Having left all of us! Having left me!
  Nov 2015 Sin
JT999
Welcome to the major leagues
You've paid your dues and made the team
Followed your heart now live the dream
Welcome to the major leagues

"Batter!" up you're in the box
Swing and miss your average drops
Always tomorrow it never stops
Welcome to the major leagues

A few bad games reputation fades
Rumors start, so do the trades
Now a question when once an ace
Welcome to the major leagues

Bounce around from town to town
Look for an edge on the low down
Needles pills always around
Welcome to the major leagues

Back on track to be a winner
Pressure mounts contracts get bigger
**** test finds you, hey go figure
Welcome to the major leagues

Adidas, Nike, gatorade,
Endorsments start to drift away
Suspension doiled out 40 games
Welcome to the major leagues

Conference called speak from the heart
Media tears you apart
Promise you'll make another start
Welcome to the major leagues

Asterix on your legacy
Move back home, hang up your cleats
Embarrased,  beat and in defeat
Welcome to the major leagues
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