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the wife beater sings with all his heart
his mournful song of love
the tremolo of his voice brings shivers up the spine
his mistress is **** beautiful
shining like the moon
with rosy cheeks and cheeky smiles
she waits for his lover every Friday
when her man goes fishing

at sunset he goes home
whistling along the way
his grumpy wife waits him on the porch bench
hiding her tears in her apron
crossing her milk leg feet
he strikes her
she curses him whispering between her teeth
……………………………………………………….
the wife beater’s mistress raises her cheeky grandchildren
her ex-lover sings every Sunday
glory to the lord in the chapel
his throat aches his chest fills with pain
he crawls home like a sick worm
sits down on the porch bench
looking astray near his wife

and she curses God between her teeth
for taking him slowly away
a very simple story-poem written in a hurry, inspired by Anne Sexton's poem The Wifebeater
Diana Garcia Jun 2018
I’m running in circles
I’ve got a scattered brain
Does this look normal?
Or have I gone insane?

I tired of the 9-5
Just look in my eyes
This job is draining me
Of my creativity
And happy vibes
I come home and I just wanna die

It doesn’t help that I live
In a lions den
Every morning I wake up
There’s a beautiful silence
And then
Noon comes around here comes
Big mama with a big ole frown
I thought I’d just chill on my day off
Rent is paid but it ain’t enough

I think I need some air
Maybe I should go to my moms house
And see if my family cares
Ha Ha
I needed that laugh
Look at me
I’ve begun to chaff

Anything to just break a smile
People swear I’m crude or ******* vile
Yet we got fools praising a dead man
A woman beater a native to gang land
I’m just trying to get my head straight
Don’t bother me now
No time to contemplate
Tummy’s hungry
And I’ve got an empty plate
An avocado breakfast burger sounds good.
Yenson Jul 2018
A while ago in East London, in an area called Poplar
a black man lived with his wife
Quiet, hardworking, law-abiding they both were.
never courted a scandal, never committed a crime
Just went about their business, working for  better tomorrows

Then next door a Scottish family of five moved in
and immediately started borrowing from couple next door
Do you have sugar, do you have bread, can I borrow a fiver
till our Giro arrives next week, please another tenner for Jim
He has to pay a fine.

Empty beer cans littered their doorway, they all drank like fish
fights and arguments rang late into the night
Police visited twice, thrice weekly and it was known Jim burgled.
and was always doing time, when not drunk and fighting
Joan eldest girl was pregnant at sixteen and Tom fourteen had
done two stretches in juvenile detention
Last daughter Kelly was also to end up in the duff at sixteen

Amounts borrowed was now sizable, the odd fiver repaid
stolen items regularly offered and rejected by quiet couple next door
Invites to the black man to visit while Jim in jail politely declined
Come and have a drink with me and my young daughters
No thanks, got to go and cook, my Mrs would be returning soon.

The family from hell has turned the neighborhood to hell
constant break-ins all around
strange men coming and going, fights and noise, beer cans
for carpets, stairwells reeking of ****, Tom and friends and
Marijuana fumes graced the stairs and veranda.
Mrs Scottish and two young daughters constant smiling invitations
to black man next door, duly always deftly rejected.

Black man and Mrs decided to stop lending money
it was all going on beer and smoke and never paid back
By the end of the week, their car had been vandalized and four
wheels removed, racist leaflets started appearing on veranda.
No more smiling coyly invites, now just loud music and loud
intermittent bangs on walls from next door.
We must complain, we most report all this to the Landlords.
No, lets just ignore them, not worth the hassle.

Then it happened, black man arrives home one afternoon
and finds his front door ajar, they had been burgled.
Seething with anger he stormed next door to be met by Mrs S
'you ******* thieves have robbed me, how can you be so low,
after all we've done to try and help you. None of you work, You are a bunch of lazy
workshy, welfare scroungers, you are pathetic lowlife. why don't you go and get a job instead of burgling houses and getting drunk all day long
I will start a petition to move you away from the neighborhood.
You no-good non working class scums'  a disgrace and an affront to the hardworking working classes. You ******* racist bullies, I will show you, you can't
mess with me'

Mrs S smiled wickedly and said, you will see
'character assassination, public humiliation, we'll ruin your life and you'd wish you are dead by the time we finish with you and your chicken legs wife. I will show you who runs the manor in East London.'
You can't do that, black man replied, I have done nothing wrong, you are the bare-faced thieves, you shameless woman. We have had enough of you and your anti-social behaviour. You are not going to mess with us no more!

OH, YES! they can and by jove, they did.
Mrs S retorted' You are the foreigner here, you are the one that would be leaving the country
and going back to your Jungle'.
Black man called wife to tell her, she came home immediately
the police came, no evidence, here's a crime report, get your door
fixed. How about searching next door, we can't, no witnesses.
And then Black man's life changed FOREVER.

Should I write about the intimidation from other white families
in the neighborhood, should I write about how the Local Socialist
Party got involved, and launched a propaganda campaign about a black Conservative member dissing the Working Classes,  should I write about how one of his beloved dogs was
killed, should I write about a rumour campaign that black man was a wife-beater, a ****, a con man, a greedy parasite, should I write about sudden hostilities and bullying at his work place, how his wife was also sacked, about being randomly insulted and abused in the streets, about kids spitting on him, about being shunned inexplicably by locals
he's known for years. Should I write about outrageous fabrication, smears and humiliation.
Should I write about political victimization, about the black man 'who thinks he is better than us all,' about how a wedge was driven between him and his wife, till she broke and upped and left without warning,
should I write about how strangers shouted 'solidarity with the working Class' at him, should I write about daily torments and constant harassment everywhere he goes, should I write about Criminal gang stalking,
should I write about being informed they were going to ruin his career, ruin his marriage and ruin his reputation, check, all done. S I write about how they said they were going to chuck mud at him everywhere he went and blacken his name forever, should i write about pure isolation, about being made a target and being  hounded and stalked and disrespected everywhere. Should I write about how they stated they were going to drive him insane and drive him to suicide.

If so, WE WILL BE HERE ALL DAY.
Just  know that somewhere in London, a decent, law-abiding progressive, and innocent black man, is now on his own, broke, in debts and on Welfare benefits, unable to find a job, friendless and isolated, discredited and shunned.  He is still being stalked, harassed and hounded, round the clock. All for daring to stand up to CRIMINALS.

IS THERE JUSTICE IN THE WORLD?
IS THIS WHAT ENGLAND HAS BECOME?
Hannah Anderson May 2014
I wrote a poem for my biography to a special person about Adam, I thought you would like to read it.

Blue Heart

You were 18, so many years in front of you.
It felt like a dark eternity, you didn’t want to go.
I saw it in your sunken eyes.
The vacant stare and sad dark eyes.
I saw when you were sitting around the table prom night.
So much going around but you were too calm
too collected.
too inside your mind for us.
I knew that blank expression from experience
All too well.
You screamed for help
silent and loud
I reached for your hand
but you
f
e
  l
   l



You were poised and calm
Broken but full of love.
All I wanted to do was help you.
you were standing still when the world went on
and it did go on, it did, without you.

When you were standing there at the edge
I wondered about you, all in my head.
We were short lived, a friendship that was fast.
You came, changed me, then you left.
it came and went in a flash.

I knew when no one else could guess.
you put it all on me, didn’t you.
but I was not cross with you.
Heartbroken, yes
scared, yes
alone, yes
mad, no


Your color was blue
Blue heart, blue veins
Blue is the color of our planet
from far far away
we wore it proud it was all for you,
a blue solemn silence.
and the world spun fast and
all the people hurried fast, real fast
and no one ever smiled.

You weren’t all there, in that head of yours.
dark and empty
you were sad but you lived like you would die
tomorrow
tomorrow came too soon and it was up to you.
it was always up to you.

Meeting you was bitter
you put me through stress, anxiety and heartache
you put me through shame and shock
All I wanted was you by my side,
and you there was not.

Meeting you was sweet
you gave me smiles and laughs,
good music and thoughts
you gave me a feeling of friendship and care.
All I wanted was you by my side,
but you were not there.

You were poised and calm,
you rubbed off on me.
I was hyped and excited
you called me “ADHD”


You drove an old red beater with water bottles everywhere,
with **** in the glove compartment.
but you didn’t care.
Your drove with sunglasses and the FM radio loud.
You drove in silence, thinking no doubt.


You loved the sun but you would hike for the shade
when we were together you took me away.
I didn’t think, I didn’t have nerves.
We talked about the world
We talked about life
You had a life you thought you didn’t deserve.

Whoever planted that seed
had some **** nerve
you wrote like me but I wrote for myself
you wrote for us when there’d be nothing else.

I knew when no one else could guess.
you put it all on me, didn’t you.
but I was not mad.
Heartbroken, yes
scared, yes
alone, yes
mad, no


When you were gone
I read
and
I read
i wanted to know exactly when
you felt what you felt.
You called me your jav friend
you called me your angel

You are up there watching over me
I yelled and screamed
I couldn’t breathe.

I shut them out,
I cursed at you.
I hated you
I cried for you


I only see you in my head
Dreaming once and a while of your smile,
of your eyes
but they are never dark
they are never sad
they are never empty
The vacant stare is not there.
your hair is a giant mess
and I freeze that moment right there.


You said you were alone
you said it was a secret
you asked me about my darkest
and you told me all your secrets
I have never been in that much peace knowing I kept you there
It felt like moments when it was hours and you were gone too **** soon.
tomorrow came too fast and it was up to you.
it was always up to you.

Now I wear a band on my wrist
and pray for your peace
that is all I have left,
but you mean so much to me.
I hope you are happy,
I hope your journey has ended
and you found what you wanted
My heart was once broken
but soon if all this is true
it will be mended.
This is about my friend who committed suicide on 5/19/13 the anniversary just passed and I wrote this for english.
#love #go #suicide #poem #poetry #short #broken #peace #sad #depression #doubt #life #heart #want #eyes #sadness #death #sun #world #depressed #alone #anxiety #die #hope #scared #days #happy #not #cried #up #memories #in #good #be #empty #dark #hello #f #of #angel #friend #friendship #thoughts #away #people #always #true #real #secret #evil #silent #smile #mind #if #i #had #the #are #thinking #music #has #shame #blue #night #water #dreaming #red #and #what #stress #this #help #silence #too #much #could #you #thought #me #mess #sweet #one #on #*** #think #my #heartbroken #journey #no #blank #color #bitter #breathe #old #wrote #when #was #about #it #suicidal #hair #feeling #together #do #only #for #to #but #nothing #left #never #out #have #hours #gone #us #head #like #now #is #years #loved #person #fast #eternity #still #tomorrow #flash #moment #over #cross #nerves #bottles #**** #know #smiles #right #deep #myself #heartache #darkest #who #we #all #so #were #secrets #just #caring #experience #loud #yes #inside #english #they #pray #by #calm #moments #mad #veins #did #there #care #that #at #passed #l #hand #knew #shock #see #read #expression #radio #ever #an #yours #our #proud #changed #once #would #planet #else #from #guess #will #edit #adhd #**** #shade #deserve #hated #without #with #freeze #then #loving #through #sitting #found #stare #wrist #laughs #going #full #off #felt #cursed #wanted #excited #2 #ended #them #well #soon #mean #told #wear #vacant #many #couldnt #took #knowing #shut #kept #special #saw #ago #gave #adam #your #seed #1 #e #while #18 #anderson #solemn #watching #prom #said #far #side #been #some #collected #reached #edge #meeting #screamed #put #came #front #smiled #didnt #around #called #anniversary #band #giant #planted #glove #went #standing #committed #yelled #everywhere #biography #lived #nerve #hike #werent #hannah #talked #hurried #romane #drove #exactly #wore #beater #table #sunglasses #frienddeath #spun #sunken #poised #wondered #rubbed #hyped #compartment #fm #whoever #thered #jav #asked #mended #51913 #46 #0 #added
Jordan Rowan May 2016
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
He tosses in his sleep
He never gets a good night's rest
His mind is tired but can't control what's in his chest

She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She tosses in her sleep
Dreaming of a better place
She gave up looking and now she's got tears on her face

He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget

He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's got a plan
But doesn't know how to start
He's too young to understand the language of his heart

She's got a picture  
But hasn't developed it yet  
She's got a picture
But hasn't developed it yet
All she sees is a silent silhouette

He wears a cigarette
She wears a bayonet
He drives a beater and she drives a swift Corvette
He's not a cheater and she's one he won't forget

He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
He wrote his name and number
On the missionary of his hotel
As he laid it down he felt his heart begin to swell

She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
She called him up
And they talked over a drink or two
Now all their reservations are made for two
singingghosts May 2016
triple layer chocolate cake (hint of coconut) with mint lime cream filling completely encased in chocolate.



WHAT YOU NEED

8oz cream cheese
1 and 1/4 stick of butter
possible 3 cups of powder sugar
2 limes
fresh mint
all purpose unbleached flour
white sugar
baking soda
Cocoa power
salt
2 eggs
coconut extract
buttermilk
vegetable oil
water
dark chocolate chips
whipping cream


I can't remember what else but I say what below in case I missed something








FILLING:
8oz cream cheese
1 stick butter
2.5 cups of powdered sugar
3 tablespoons lime juice
2 teaspoons lime zest
half handful of mint leaves

BLEND mint, lime juice & zest together. you want mint to be tiny tiny.

BEAT butter and cream cheese together. I leave them out, sometimes I heat them up to make it easier to beat.

BLEND lime mint mixture into cream cheese butter.

ADD powder sugar.

MIX all together by hand first.

get a hand mixer or beater or whatever and literally beat the **** outta that stuff. until it whips up as much as possible.

PUT it in the fridge for a few minutes. like 10. just to check how it does. if it's not a consistency like cream, beat it more and add half a cup of confectionary sugar.



CAKE MIX: (realistically you can just buy cake mix)

2 cups all purpose unbleached flour
2 cups white sugar
3/4 cup cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup vegetable oil (or any type of shortening you prefer)
1 cup water
2 teaspoon coconut extract

put all the dry ingredients into a bowl. MIX with a whisk or something. if you have sifter, use that to break up the flour. you wanna get all the dry ingredients mixed pretty well before you add wet.

ok, so flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, salt. all together. great job.

next, BEAT all the wet ingredients together NOT INCLUDING THE WATER.

you beat the eggs, buttermilk (don't replace this with regular milk), oil, and extract. once it's all blended all nice, add it to the dry and mix it together by hand.

you use an electric mixer or beater now. the reason you hand mix everything first is to avoid a bigger mess when the machine mixes because it can make the dry ingredients spread out like ****. and I hate messes. so I'm extremely **** in the kitchen.

ok now just beat it all baby. add the water slowly. a lot of people will tell you to use boiling water. you can but I don't suggest it to anyone who has never used boiling water in a batter before... so I'm not suggesting it.

it should be runny and also delicious. if it's not, uhm... oops? mine was great. you ****** up. let's continue.

GANACHE!!!!!: (wait until the cakes done AND COOLED to do this part tho!!!)

get a ***
add a bag of dark chocolate or milk chocolate whichever you want. I prefer dark chocolate while baking.
I really eye this so I'm throwing caution to the wind here and pour maybe 3/4 cup of heavy cream or whipping cream.
also, 2 tablespoons of butter. (you don't NEED the butter but I like what it does to the ganache)

ok now on low heat leave those things in the ***. mix it a little. DONT LET IT BURN. MEANING, DONT PUT IT ON HIGH HEAT. YOU WANT A SLOW MELT

Ok so. mix it until it's creamy and silky and soft. but seriously do this part at the very end.

get three 9 inch cake pans. spray, butter, coat, oil WHATEVER just grease the ******* pans.

use a measuring cup because you want each cake layer to be the same. do 1.5 cups of batter in each. if you have left over, divide it by three.

bake it at 300F for 30 minutes

don't open the door between those 30 minutes. when you do, poke middle with toothpick. if toothpick comes out clean, it's done.

let cool completely on a cooling rack.

some people cut the tops off to make the cake layer even. I **** at cutting things evenly unless it's ******* so I have my own method. I suggest cutting though. you can also cut the edges if they're crispy but I like it that way.

ok. the ganache. get a spoon and just coat the top layers of the bottom and soon to be middle layer.

you want all three layers lined up next to each other.

take the *** off the heat while you're doing this. just hold off for a moment. you come back to it.


let the ganache layers cool down. you'll know when it's cool. when this happens  get the cream and do a nice layer over the chocolate. now stack them.

it should be from the bottom up: cake, chocolate, cream, cake, chocolate, cream, cake. (try to stack in on a cooling rack)

take the rest of the cream and evenly spread it over the entire cake.

nice. the rest of the chocolate ganache? double check that it is POURABLE but also that it's NOT HOT. warm is ok but a little less than warm would be ideal.

pour. the. chocolate. over. the. entire. cake. if you can do this on a cooling rack, do it. it'll let the excess chocolate drip down. you can take a knife to spread it around nicely. I think that's it. I can't think of anything else.
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
My first memory of a loom was as a seven year old. I had been taken to visit this school my parents had so often spoken about and for which I had been carefully prepared. I had endured Mrs Martin's violin lessons every Saturday morning and could play after a fashion. She used to call me Tishee after a racehorse who used to stand with its legs crossed. But I could sing . . and I belonged to a family dynasty of choristers. So after a bout of auditions, to which both my mother and father accompanied me, I found myself entering the headmaster's house. And there in an immaculate room with a floor to ceiling window I saw my first Scandinavian furniture and what I now know to be a vertical rug and tapestry loom.
 
I had never seen anything so mysterious and beautiful. I realise now as I examine this memory it was not just this loom and the partially completed textile on its frame but the effect of the room it occupied and its aspect, the way the garden beyond the vast window invited itself into the interior space.
 
Biddy, as we boys called the headmaster's wife, was the most interesting woman I had ever met. I realise now how much she became my first model of womanhood. A graceful figure, bobbed hair, always simply dressed in a vivid coloured shirt of blue or red and a grey skirt, always walking purposefully, and when she spoke to you she acknowledged you as a real person, wholly, never as just a boy, but someone she gave her whole self to address. As I grew older she entered my dreams and even now her voice, that I came later to know as Varsity and Beneden bred, I can hear now. And she was a weaver.
 
Every afternoon she shut the door of her workroom with its large window and was not available, even to her beautiful children.
 
It was a year before I dared to talk to her about her loom. I remember her surprise. How lovely you should ask she said. Come after Evensong and I'll introduce you. And I went . .
 
It was May and she was wearing a grey smock that fell over slacks. She smelt like a forest in high summer, resinous. She wore sandals and a gentle smile. You may touch she said, and so I did, and as I did she quietly named the parts - the beater, the leashes, the warp, the reed. It was though I already knew these things but in another time and place. I was just renewing my acquaintance.
 
So, little by little, I would find myself sitting in the corner of Biddy's garden studio in the long summer afternoon's when my disappointing prowess on the cricket field allowed me freedom. I sat and watched and wondered. I imagined a day when I would have a room and a loom and wife like Biddy with whom I could talk about all those things I so wanted to share but had no one to share them with. This was before adoration became confused with ***, such a wonderful time in a boy's life.
 
As I sit at my loom in my studio high above a city street and my hands touch the yarn, pull the beater against the fell of this sample for my first  rug, place my stockinged foot on the outside treadle, I can almost sense the scent of Biddy Allen, feel her graceful presence, hear her Oxford voice and spirited laugh. For me she will always be a defining presence of the feminine and her long fingers on her loom conjure the essence of the making of beautiful things.
Redshift May 2013
it took you
a grand total of four days
to sew up your patchwork heart
pack your tatty suitcase,
ricochet off her like a purposed misfire
and attempt to lodge yourself into me.
four days seems about right...
took you four days to go from ME to HER
in the first place
good thing i took that target
off my chest
you'll be missing
this time.
matilda shaye Sep 2018
I pull into my driveway and my neighbor is standing in
front of his door wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts
that go to his mid calf with his bare feet shoved into
slides that are too small and he's owned since 2005
nearly every part of him is large, except he's 5'7:
his beer belly protrudes from his ribbed cotton shirt
his his ego escapes from his messy house
(his door is wide open, all the cold air is escaping)
he watches me park
his woman (I have to set this picture, there is no better term)
stands up straight at right
underneath his eyebrow
and glares at me in unison
I let my hand trace the chair sitting
on my front porch for a few seconds
and wonder why I’ve never sat here before
residue rain falls from the outside banister
and I feel as at home as I’ve ever felt in this
stupid little god forsaken ******* studio
my neighbors are still watching me and
I realize it’s because they don’t recognize me
because I'm really never here
with the hair on my arms all standing up in unison
I unlock my door and step inside
drop my money and count my keys
my knees are rusty, I feel small
there’s only so many times you can do this
and only so many times I can too
Nolan Davis  Oct 2011
Frat Boy
Nolan Davis Oct 2011
Hey young man, wanna join a frat?

Cool wife beater and a backwards hat?

Come with us, be one of the "bros"

And help us pull some cute little hos.





All you gotta do is follow our rules

Play along and we'll provide the tools.

To be one of the coolest kids here.

Just take a shot and slam a beer.





******* come your way as soon as you join.

All over you like you got loads of coin.

Scoring ******* left and right.

Getting ***** every night.





Frat boy Brad must have forgot since he was drunk.

With this kind of attitude, you'll surely flunk.

But if you don't care about your future, stand up and say:

"I compromised my morals, but it's O.K.!"
Not any character of the jungle,
At the time power was kept by the single
Lion kind, risked jumping into the lions’ jaws,
Against their rapacity raising paws:
The hares and hyenas they could strangle
And devour; in their minds best were their laws
Providing rights of the mighty
As common and full sovereignty.

The era was worsened by men-hunting,
Whose guns were used the wildlife menacing.
The weak of the forest saw that succumbed
The lions, who were the first shot at, welcomed
The hunters and their faces showed, smiling.
They were deceived when the first seen were harmed
Like the lions by the same haughty
Men set against their sovereignty.

Some lions who survived called the animals
For a meeting, and the men-criminals
Were the main topic of their discussion.
The lions warned, “Will wipe us away those men
If can’t stand together as animals,
Fight them and save lion, hypo, hare and wren…”
Mocked and heckled the assembly
That ne’er had enjoyed sovereignty.

Each one’s motion was that there was no need
Of obeying on the lions, who to feed
Their cubs with their flesh used to take pleasure.
They thought their forest had become seizure
Of the men for lack of unity; freed
It’d be with or ‘thout a lion as major:
They’d trust who would bring unity
And help them enjoy sovereignty.

There came a time and there came protectors
Of the animals to stop the hunters
From destroying on the environment.
They showed in killing there’s no contentment.
So the hunters ceased to be predators,
And the fauna had no more sentiment
Of hating the humanity
That brought them peace and sovereignty.

Some of them were kept in zoo
And the kingship of the lions they did boo.
Cows, rabbits, goats - were domesticated,
And more than ever they were protected.
Such treatment them gave of humans new view:
The protectors or authors of the deed
Looked like who’d brought brutality,
But in their hearts reigned sovereignty.

Later on the lions found that in the strong
Claws dwelt no good power, but can be for long
Which is applied to all comfort giving,
That a king marching in front of trembling
Souls, as if to hell angels would belong,
One day will see his strength brought to nothing,
But where freedom ain’t scarcity
Kings and subjects share sovereignty.

What the beasts failed to know was the keepers
Of the zoo were children of the poachers,
Who’d found unfair deed what their fathers did,
To take good care of them had decided
And did not want to be called game-seekers’
Generation. In the action could read
Great kindness and humanity
The beasts savoring sovereignty.

A former foe may become a good friend,
Who breaks off with the past and turns his hand
Into protector, support provider –
Like Human Rights Activists. No wonder
Where they are from, people’s torn hearts they mend.
A protector has ne’er been intruder
As long as for tranquility
He works and preserves sovereignty.

A sovereign nation is not like a house
With its closed doors, and inside, like a mouse,
A wife is beaten and loses her life
Without neighbours’ intervention as if
Not hearkening the victim, and the louse
Of man not stopping is to save the life.
Is a land where people’s safety
Is denied full of sovereignty?

If at The Hague someone is indicted,
It means not people he has protected,
Nor that he has well governed Liberia,
But ‘cause people’s hearts he has filled with fear
And a lot of trouble he’s invited.
After shedding blood there and here,
The lions who’ve made their claws *****
Should be there washed for sovereignty.

Wherever the lions rage it’s no matter:
Matters the will to keep the world better.
Some Devil’s advocates would call nations
Not in Syria to find indications
Of crimes as if is found a wife-beater
At Holy Land or brothels it opens.
In a place where reigns sanctity
Won’t dwell breakers of sovereignty.


A rot of conception of sovereignty
Reeks when gangrene holds sway o’er a country,
In which Democracy swings at cannons;
Debates are feared that aim ruling with brains;
Wear noose as necklace who would change carry,
And the song “Independence” is hangmen’s.
Where lions and lambs live with loyalty,
There is unshaken sovereignty.
This poem aims to think of what sovereignty is and especially of its true concept.
http://www.amazon.com/author/bonim007
Nigel Morgan Feb 2013
I wonder why you want to row
When there are just so many terms to know
Before you get in the boat and place an oar in the water,
Before you take a single stroke don’t think you ought to
Remind yourself of what they are, these parts and pieces,
Actions and orders that rowers use (but poets don’t)
So forgive me if I leave some out.
 
Let’s take a look at the boat (or rather the shell):
The seat you sit on,
​slides, backstop, shoes and riggers.
 
The skeg that stabilizes the shell,
​shoulder, saxboard, and pogies.
The top-nut that keeps the rowlock in place,
​swivel, stretcher and rollers.
 
Now for the oar (or rather the scull):
There’s the Spoon blade, the Macon blade,
​Smoothie or Tulip.
 
Ready (or not) for the stroke you take ?
An Airstroke (in the air) ,
​backsplash, backwater, or body stroke,
 
Go on bury the blade, check the cover,
​ but don’t catch a crab!
Mind out for the drunken spider,
​watch the feather and the finish,
 
Inside hand, outside hand,
​hands away, miss the water,
Leg back, lie back,
​pause the paddling, watch the pitch,
 
Release and recover,
​don’t shoot your slide,
Swing the stroke rate,
​and space those puddles.
 
Careful there’s no skying,
​and absolutely no washing out.
 
Ready for a repecharge?
Or perhaps you’d prefer an egg-beater?
Ask the *** to call a flutter.
 
Easy oars
​Hold her hard
Ship oars
​One foot up & out
Waist, ready, up
​Shoulders, ready, up
​Way enough!
Another poem from my collection Twelve - twelve poems for a twelve year old.

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