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With trembling knees, I took my position. The stage was set.
Before me sat a school of eyes: transfixed, gazing with anticipation. Piercing the silence with an unfurling of paper, I stepped forwards, my mouth pressed to the microphone.
A kick of adrenaline, engaging of breath and I began.
“My inspiration.”
Humble Houghton MBE; centre-half, captain, Man City.
A lioness leader, Durham born and raised.
With writing and wit, I’ll heap the praise.

England debut at just 17.
Free-kick expert, living the dream.
Old-school-gritty-no-nonsense defender.
An accurate passer - return to sender.

A right-footed shot to burst the net.
Dedicating her life, she doesn’t forget: school teams, amateur level, Sunderland weekends.

A cup final beckons: the star of the show, the women’s game - she’s watched it grow.
Now girls put on their boots, their shinnies and smile.
Aiming to go that extra mile.

The right to play football, the right to be free,
Raising awareness of MND,  
Best of the best, who can it be?
Stephanie Jayne Houghton MBE.

Stepping away from the microphone the applause raining down, I knew I’d made an impression on people. Just like Steph had on me.
Written for a poetry competition. The theme was 'inspirational women'. Despite it being unsuccessful, I'm really pleased with what I managed to create.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2019
Natalie!
at present I am present on a small isle,
which is so green genteel
to the eyes and the ayes,
you might include it
among yet unmastered possibilities,
living here forever.

indeed, the crescent beach so welcoming that
francais et l'anglais des anglaise is spoken here,
but actuality
has a way of intruding,
like
Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Bleu,
saying I know you,
even if it doesn’t

this breeze bearing load suggests your name
as a candidate for future, honours, an MBE,
a practiced curtsy for a queen,
whatever is he babbling about?

why I am presenting an outline for a screenplay that
will make you a little rich and somewhat fameuse
so you buy a house on the water,
party all night,
write in the miracle wonder of the late afternoon
on a summery isle,
modestly hungover

say!

where is this isle so sheltered,
where nooks are set aside for poets and drunks
to pub crawl, to stand on tables and Irish sing of
those things that poets endlessly babble?

so add :

come here and let us listen to all your possibilities
and cross just this one,
your presence here,
off the list
Mark Toney Oct 2019
George Harrison
Quiet Beatle by comparison
Kermit the Frog was one of his peeps
Still his guitar gently weeps
6/11/2019 - Poetry form: Clerihew - When George Harrison was on Saturday Night Live on November 20, 1976, Jim Henson also had a spot on the show and his Muppets appeared on a regular basis during that season. The opportunity arose for George and Kermit to meet. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
"The Beatles had no genuine musical talent, but were a product shaped according to British Psychological Warfare Division (Tavistock) specifications, and promoted in Britain by agencies which are controlled by British intelligence." Why Your Child Became A Drug Addict" Lyndon H. LaRouche, Jr., Campaigner Special Report, Copyright 1978*

Don’t let it be said,
That nothing chipped off his father’s block,
The father who played
In ragtime and jazz bands,
In Liverpool, England.
Sir James Paul McCartney, MBE, and
According to “another clue for you all”
Compliments of Glass Onion:
“The Walrus was Paul.”
But I digress.
Sir Paul, erstwhile Beatle,
Certainly had the ear-for-music gene,
Percolating through his spiral double helix.
And the clever linguistics gene as well,
Lyrics seemingly crafted in an earlier era,
Back when fine-tuning & finesse,
Ruled bouts of social chitchat.
When men could sing when they spoke.
The music of the spoken word:
Homeric and magical,
Casting spells upon us.
Like English scops:
Medieval Minstrels, Jugglers & Clowns,
Who memorized and recited long heroic poems
And stories. Usually both.
The music of the spoken word;
The magic of an aural experience;
Back before those words conjured up oral experience,
“You are correct, Sir!” mouths Johnny’s sidekick,
Back before mouth-on *** crossed over to the Straight Population.
Back before Gordon Gekko/Liberace
Blamed his oral cancer on *******,
No. Not Colonel Angus.
Think Cole Porter--
Sophisticated, ***** lyrics,
Clever rhymes, complex misdemeanors.
Think Tin Pan Alley.
Cole Porter--a Yale graduate by the way,
Demonstrating another critically-important genetic fact of life:
The gift of Ivy-League DNA.
But, again, I digress.
Paul was the happy Beatle,
Not to be confused with John, the serious Beatle, or
George, the quiet Beatle.
Not to mention Ringo: the utterly extraneous Beatle.
Let’s map the social dynamics of their band.
Let us scrutinize that famous mop-top barbershop quartet.
Immediately we comprehend the creative tension,
Centered largely on that giant clash of personalities:
Paul vs. John.
The surprise is not that the Beatles broke up.
It’s more a sense of unsuspended disbelief,
That this particular band,
Ever got it together to show up for a gig,
Let alone last long enough to record their first album,
And go on to become the first
(Can we forget Elvis for a moment, please?)
Truly viral sensations of this earth, this realm, this England:
Pop stars of the Nineteen-Sixties.
John vs. Paul:
For every “Strawberry Fields Forever,”
There’s a “Lovely Rita, Meter Maid.”
Mary Ann Osgood  Jul 2010
RLY
Mary Ann Osgood Jul 2010
RLY
2morrow, I will go 2 a dance party.
I will drnk chocolate milk.
I will fake an orgzm,
or mbe I won't try that hard.
It's all up in da air at dis point.

I'm sure that 2day my mother died,
I felt it & I knew ILY,
IDK if my mind is R;
each breath I take is JFF
and I can't seem to con't.
Big Virge Nov 2020
So In These Days And Times....
That Are CLEARLY UNSTABLE... !?!

" Are YOU REALLY ABLE... ?!? "

To... NOT Tell Fables...
Like Those At Round Tables...
To Keep Your Life STABLE... !!?!!

As Well As YOUR MIND... ?!?

Because Minds I Now Find...
Tend To Be... INCLINED...
To Be... FAR From WISE... !!!

Which Is WHY We See CRIMES...
That Define The Word FATAL... !!!

MORE Than MOST Would Like... !!!

EVEN Some Who Are White...
Have Now RECOGNISED...
That Society... CRADLES...
... The Type of Guys...
Who Are Clearly UNABLE...
To Get Past The RACIAL...

Way That Their Thoughts...
Use Racist Sorts To ENABLE Wars... !!!

That Are QUICK To UNSTABLE...
... Foreign Shores... !!!!!!

So Now The ABLE Source...
... MORE Than Awards...
And Hip Hop Chords...
To Create A FORCE...
Like The One In STAR WARS...

Where The Empire Gets...
What It’s Looking For... !!!

A Force That Is ABLE...
To... END BETRAYALS.

That Are TRULY DISGRACEFUL...
As Well As... SHAMEFUL... !!!

Where... Saber Swords...
Cut Young Lives Short... !!!

Because They WEREN’T Able...
To See The DARK ANGELS...
... Creating A SWARM... !!!!

Like... Viruses Born...
That Have DISABLED Hoards... !!!

By LOCKING DOWN Zones...
ALL Around The GLOBE...
Like... NEVER BEFORE... !!!

So... Are YOU ABLE... ?
To Absorb The Thoughts...
of A Mind Like MINE... ?
That’s ABLE To Find...
The Type of Rhymes... ?

That ENABLE The RISE...
of DIFFERENT Knights...
To... Arthur’s Type... !!!

Because They’re NOT WHITE...
Or With... Skin That’s LIGHT... !!!

That’s RIGHT It’s DARK KNIGHTS...
That I Have Designed Who I’m On About...
Who Have LYRICAL CLOUT... !!!

UNLIKE Their DRONES...
And ATTACKING Clones... !!!

So NOT The Knights Who Are Those...
of The... HONOUR KIND...

Those With MBE’s And CBE’s...
Who Seem HAPPY To Receive...
Awards From The Queen of A FAMILY...

Who Have PROFITED From...
BRUTALITY That’s Used SLAVERY...

I Mean... SERIOUSLY...
AREN’T They ABLE To See...

The... HYPOCRISY... !!!

of These Heads Who Now Seem...
To Be ABLE To SPEAK...
About The... RACISM...
With Which They’ve Been Living...

Well... APPARENTLY... ?!?

But... ONLY After Taking...
That’s Right... A KNEE... !!!

To... Receive PRAISE...
From A Place That HATES...
To Embrace A DARK FACE... !!!

UNLESS They’ve Made...
THEMSELVES A Way To Gain Some Fame...

That Has Made Their Name...
ABLE To.... CLAIM....

The Awards That They Take...
At THAT Buckingham Place... !!!
Who... NOW Seem ABLE...
To SUDDENLY EXPLAIN...

That The Jews Are BAD... !!!

When It’s THEY Who’ve ENABLED...
Them... GETTING CONTRACTS...?!?

And... COLONIAL Cash...
FLASH Cars And Nice Pads... !!!

Oh... But Of Course...
I Really Shouldn’t Say THAT !!!

Because Their Tables...
ONLY Seat BLACKS... !!!

Which Is The Kind of Chat...
That DISMISSES THE FACTS... !!!

But... THAT RIGHT THERE...
Is A... TOUCHY SUBJECT... !!!

So That’s Where I’ll END...
This... Simple Poem... !!!

That Tells NO FABLES...
But Does DISABLE...
Those Making CLAIMS...

That They’re TURNING TABLES... ?!?

Because Me I’m Like CABLE...
A... Time Travelling ANGEL... !!!

But WHO Nowadays Can STAKE A CLAIM...
To REALLY UNSTABLE...

...... “ Societies Cradle “...... ?!?

If You’re Thinking THAT’s YOU... !!!

I JUST HAVE To ASK...

“Are YOU REALLY ABLE ?”....
Who can REALLY claim, to be our saviours now ?
David R  Jun 2021
Old Mr Naar
David R Jun 2021
the air was thick with pipe'd tobacco
swirls o' smoke twixt mahogany panels,
an lending aura, an ancient glow,
wisps that whisper'd o' secret annals

one eye peered behind thick glass,
the other hidden by black patch,
a vague reminder of a past
ascent o' hell, young life to ******

his voice was hoarse, his voice was gentle,
his skin was coarse but kind,
his frame was firm, his frame was feeble,
his words spoke of strong mind

on the wall, in gilted frame,
in cloak of ermine 'n crimson
he stood enrobed with mayor's chain
as twice times mayor of Hendon

of a black box, to me, he spoke,
though maybe 'twas a joke
he said 'twas handed to him as mayor,
and gave him awesome, titanic power

i thought he'd fought in trenches,
on the blood-filled fields of war,
i thought he'd seen 'em fall like wenches
before the canon roar

but he'd received an MBE
for services as postal sorter
under special difficulty
during the First World War
titanic
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
Palm history awash with drips
unballed fist humboldt
splayed fingers vamoose releasing
wrist took rat release sing psalm
palm history awash with drips.

(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson *******), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,

(whose birth name actually
Arnold George Dorsey MBE
inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!

GOOD LUCK!

Mine groovy palmar flexion
creases forever moistened
by porous size **** leaking levees
provoking deluge outranking Biblical flood -
handy history (in miniature)
replete with Ark keel logical artifacts
discovered by hall mark wainwright -
about 10 stone and 5 pound huckster,
circa Fin de siècle, when
callous ten hooks (calisthenics, eh)

caught without Noah
shadow of a doubt proof positive
by Matthew Scott,
so don't Harris me
(amat sure his surname)
linkedin to storied testament
rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small
impossible mission to decipher

indelibly etched, (what appear
as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration
contains preservative agent,
(a natural formaldehyde like substance)
generated nsync
to maintain eternal youthfulness,
which stumps medical community,
and earned him hashtagged "hotmail"
(eagerly sought after human commodity),

a blessing and curse palms plagued
with chronic profuse wetness, yet lines
(little flushed streams of consciousness)
rowed by itty bitty teensy weensy
merry daydreamers harkens back
when life held faint promise
for scattered (contra) bands
of bipedal hominids fiercely
competing with trumpeting

(Taj Mahal sized) beasts
(donned Johnny come lately tousled
windswept hirsute trademark)
Euclid heir'm barreling along
barren steppes all around
the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (proto-human)
chased the weasel
all around the world wide web.

— The End —