When they are born
it's hard to know
what your children will grow
up to become
The sad fact
for some parents;
their children will grow up to be ****.
Nasty little cowards
who swan around
a tiny town
and pretend to be Ronnie Cray.
Perverted ****** predators
who creep around the beach
on a beautiful hot sunny day.
******* little waste men - waste of *****
who think they run the place
then throw pathetic insults
when you stand up to their face.
They might be from a broken home,
I do try to see the best
But their father would have done us a favor
if he came on their mum's chest.
So when I become a father,
I don't want a rude little runt.
I hope that it's happy, hope that it's healthy
and I hope that my kid's not a ****.
Excuse the bad language. I had an altercation with a guy about his behavior, I wonder if he wrote a poem about it...
There are many different walks of life
some are twisted, some are nice
and some are just plain cruel.
A Baker with a wheat intolerance
An actor without a part
A farmer who’s afraid of sheep
A banker with a heart
A politician who cannot lie
A Doctor with a cold
A clumsy loud mouthed loose lipped spy
An origami exhile – out of the fold
A discharged army general
turned red faced personal trainer
Or the local park bush lurker
who’s found his nitch as a social worker
The violent ******* criminal
released from behind bars
now spends his weekdays
putting tickets on parked cars
But the worst walk of all,
the most hopeless and empty
is to sit ideal at home
and watch daytime tele.
Welcome to the self centered,
A hospital treating,
ailments of the ego.
A patient with a bruised pride
having been chastised,
a marred mojo
and a hubris overblown.
the damage caused
by humiliation and regret.
Bones fractured by
that 'thing' he shouldn't have said
Miraculously, he did not die of embarrassment.
He's expected to make a full recovery
Didn’t Obama look great
In two thousand and eight
But by god, he looks tired now.
The weight of the world
Has since then been hurled
Upon his poor lonely shoulders
Two terms in power
And stacked sleepless hour
Has started his hair to fade
The stress trying to fix
A world as broken as this
Has left lines under the poor man’s eyes
Obama looked great
In two thousand and eight
But my word, he needs a rest now.
This poem was written while Obama was still President of the United States
Loud noises. Bright colours.
Rush and gush of comers and goers.
The western world is a bit
too much for me today.
Because last night,
I saw the stars through shaky eyes,
felt the cold air against my numb face
and told a stranger what you mean to me.
I sat on the water’s edge for hours,
my bare feet hanging off the side.
I saw the stars. I saw your eyes.
And felt ******* great.
Have you ever heard the tale of Granny Flack?
Who slaved away in steam and rattle and bang,
to feed her two boys with hands callous and black
and when finally they were all grown,
they went to fight and never came home.
**** about face, I seem to get things,
Always putting my foot in my mouth.
I’m do-lally tap as me mum always says.
A great big apeth, just like my dad.
But you my dear, help me think clear
you’re the only thing seemingly right.
I may be a wally, I may be a ***
But I want to dance with you tonight.