"advisor" poems
I can't promise you
That dark clouds
Will never hover
Over our lives Or that the future
Will bring us many rainbows .
I can't promise you that
Tomorrow will be perfect
Or that our lives will be easy.
I can promise you my everlasting
Devotion, my loyalty, my respect,
And my unconditional love for a lifetime .
I can promise you that
I'll always be here for you,
To listen and to hold your hand,
And I'll do my best to make you happy,
And make you feel loved.
I can promise you that
I can see you through a crisis
And pray with you,
Dream with you,
Build with you,
And always cheer you on
And encourage you.
I can promise you that
I'll willingly be your protector,
Your advisor, your counselor,
Your friend, your family,
Your everything.
I promise you
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
Jealousy
An awful advisor
That leaves you by yourself
Heartbroken and grieving
For what was not
For what was lost
For what it really was…
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 10:20 AM UTC
From being our guide as A father,
To being our support as A brother.
From being our best advisor as A friend,
To being our strength as A partner.
Men play an important role,
In every women's life.
We are incomplete without them,
They give us strength in every phase of life.
You guys makes us complete,
Your existence is a blessing to us.
Having a men in life who stands by your side,
Is just a precious gift to every women.
I don't agree with the saying that
"All Men's are same".
Because I believe.
"All men's are different in their own way".
Happy International Men's Day
©Sanjana Tripathi
@wordz_dreamer
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 6:47 AM UTC
In childhood, your father’s name is DAD
Now grown, maybe with children of your own
But his name is still DAD
DAD, the teacher, the consoler, the advisor
Admonishes: “Drive safe” and “Save your Money”
Today he’s the bard
“This is like prison,” DAD laments while rolling his eyes
Tubes like thin plastic chains tether his deflated body
to blinking panels; paintings (factory printed ones)
pretend the hospital room is more than just a sterile space
Today, DAD’s eyes cast a faraway gaze, projecting
And I see the characters in his story
I see the 10 year old boy he describes, who snuck to stash a set
Of English Composition Texts in the boy’s bathroom
To escape Mrs. McElroy’s Fourth Grade course in Morose Poetry
I see the thin, sandy blond, 6 foot 2 high school rabblerouser
Who broke into the Vice Principal’s old Fiat
And buried Stilton cheese in the dashboard
All done on a sweltering May school day
The anecdote is punctuated with a smirk and a: “Who would do a thing like that?”
Stories of when he spotted a shy brunette at the dance and knew
Knew he was to marry her;
Stories of when his own DAD grasped his infant grandson’s dimpled hand
Before giving in to complications of a heart attack
The bard stops and exhales a sigh
He cringes in his crinkled skin
Sunken eyes squeeze close “I’m sorry”
the nausea interrupts his tale “These drugs are…”
“It’s okay. Take your time” I console, trying to comfort the pain in the room
Now I’m the consoler, taking on the job to ameliorate
Now this man, vulnerable in his suffering, is no longer DAD
Now mortal, a child, a brother, a lover, a patient
A man chained by the body’s sickness
He is distilled by chemo
reduced to a soul, who, through affliction,
Forgets
As his children remember
He is as helpless in this life as we are.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
Edna's alter ego ORLOK advises you not to trifle with him in his 8th poem
Who would dare to mock the great Count Orlok,
Mighty vampire bat and ace sodomiser?
No one at all, I tell you, my old **** -
Against that I'd be a strong advisor.
But if anyone e'er dared to steal my poems
I'd surely rip their ******* throat apart;
They'd be opening a veritable can of worms -
And who cares if it were a guy or a ****
So beware of stealing aught from this wicket bat
Who flutters above your house by night;
I'll surely find out just where you're at
And then may Satan pity you in your plight.
Anyone who steals my poems is condemned to Hell
And their death pains will be truly grotty;
Since, in spite of the really awful smell,
I'll stuff eight inches up their dying botty.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
She's a beautiful being
much like a flower,
from which I could learn,
examining for hours.
I admire her smell
and how she speaks of me,
the knowledge she carries
makes one feel less lonely.
From her crown to her toes
she is lovely and free,
a companion that was placed here
for irrational me.
She speaks like the wind
knowing I am delicate,
drops petal-like compliments
that I consider reverant.
She seems like a sea
in which I could drown,
a pure contribution
on this heavenless mound.
I know her as I know myself;
or any book from any shelf.
Open it up and read just a sliver,
ask your questions-
she'll surely deliver.
She knows when to play and when to relax,
she understands my being-
reads through the cracks.
She understands the importance
of an honest, open heart.
She shares my love of music
and creates striking art.
At times she makes me feel
as though I am the advisor,
but I have read a few pages
from her and feel wiser.
I've never quite finished
any book that I've read,
so I'll put the books down and
read into her instead.
~kd
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
The Persian Chessboard
as the story goes, it happend in Persia
could have been India, or even in China
the King was bored, so he looked for someone wiser
the Grand Vizier, being the principle advisor
entertain me the King said, challenge my senses
I need something different, I'm tired of burning fences
the Vizier scratched his chin, and stared straight ahead
how about a new game, where you have to use your head
we'll use moving pieces, on black and white squares
the King will be the major piece, the rest nobody cares
capture the opponents King, to make him surrender
be careful of the others, the ones who are pretender
we can call it 'shahmat', or death to the King
and when this death is proclaimed, everybody sing
the final move is checkmate, there will be no place to run
the game sometimes in real life, the loser had no fun
the pawns and the knights, each one fell to the side
eventually then an added piece, the King's special bride
the Queen was entered in, she also had some power
she was just as deadly, cutthroat behind you in the shower
the King was very pleased, he granted Vizier a treasure
he told him, pick your price, anything you pleasure
the Vizier tried to trick the King, he made mistake instead
the game lived on and on, but the Vizier turned up dead
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:17 PM UTC
The Great Debate started,
Parliament was the open forest,
electors were divided into two groups—
Sir Fox's, and
The Lion's,
The first group wanted to overthrow the Lion
from the sovereign head of the forest,
It was a tough job to confront Lion directly,
So, Sir Fox, appointed a Monkey as the Chief campaigner,
and that monkey appointed other monkeys in the business,
Scaring them with a story of vanishing trees, and living on
the land increases the mortality rate if Lion Party continues.
Monkey, the chief campaigner exclaimed,
“We are not living in the rule of law but in the rule of Lion,
All are equal, but the continuous target of a particular community,
Like a beautiful deer, by another community in majority
should be banned, Deers bring historic and aesthetic
significance to the forest
And need to be treated as the same,”
Deers bellowed gleefully hearing this.
Cows felt hurt,
their exclusion from Monkey’s speech
proved to be a setback to the Fox’s Party,
Cows were the most targeted community
by the Carnivores, everyone in the forest knew,
Potential voters were lost to Lion’s Party.
Polarising speeches of Chief continued,
It brought Rhinoceros to its side,
Seeing rhino in political rallies,
Hippopotamus chipped in,
To counter the increasing weight
Political advisor of Lion, i.e, Tiger,
persuaded Elephant to become an official
member of their party.
Hate speeches increased in numbers
Giraffe, the bearer and upholder of law,
Overlooked everything,
the long neck looked tilted towards
an ideology.
Rumours became truth,
truth became rumour
Monkey was good in it,
And an army of monkeys were excellent.
Parrots, Pigeons, Peacock,
**** Cuckoo, Cat,
Loved the importance they got,
Disseminated the Fox loving songs.
The listeners felt threatened,
They had an enemy living between them
and they were considering them friends,
They thanked the Parrot, Pigeon, Peacock
for pointing them out.
Now, biped hated quadruped,
Quadruped hated reptiles,
Reptiles did the same to amphibians,
And in this way the whole animal kingdom
danced in chaos,
The fiery speeches of Sir Fox helped
in creating illusion,
The slogan of the Man as a common enemy
was changed to, Feline as a common enemy,
Felines joined Sir Fox’s Party,
And Canines ran to Lion’s Party,
Obvious was difficult to observe
Obscure was easy to see.
to be continued
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
Corina Junghiatu is a bilingual poet/writer hailing from Romania. She holds a Master Degree in Philology and Phychopedagogy and likewise she graduated from The Faculty of Letters and Philosophy in Bucharest. She speaks five foreign languages.
Corina has written and publishing two books of poetry: „Exile in the light” and „The ritual of a Sunrise”. She is Administrator and Publication Coordinator of Motivational Strips, editor of "Bharath Vision" website, and Chief Advisor of World Nations Writers' Union Kazakhstan. Corina has won many awards from international institutions of repute, for poetry.
Recently, Corina Junghiatu, together with 350 poets and writers from 80 countries, received a certificate of appreciation for her entire literary activity, on the occasion of the 74th anniversary of the Independence Day of the Republic of India. This certificate was was handed by the famous writer Shiju H. Pallithazheth the Founder of Motivational Strips, World's Most Active Writers Forum and Padma Shree Dr. Vishnu Pandya, President of Gujarat Sahitya Akademy, a government institution of the state of Gujarat (India).
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
i once heard a story about a man who healed people for a living.
he'd make them laugh & mend their hollow, broken souls.
he'd assist them with their problems until they started to feel whole.
but in his mending of other people, he'd break inside every day,
as he used the substance his soul was comprised of
to glue the broken souls together.
until one day, he had none.
he had become so broken & empty that he felt he couldn't go on.
he went to a spiritual advisor & told him about his depression.
the spiritual advisor said, "there is a man named The Healer down the road that can make you laugh & heal your soul so that you may feel whole. go to him."
the man started crying & said, "but... i am The Healer."
he spent his whole life healing.
... but who heals the healer?
who nurses the nurse?
who listens to the one who's always listening?
we that take care of others must face a horrible reality —
that no one can take care of us.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
Mouse’s are a famous breed,
From lines of kings they come.
They have a mousey song, and a mousey creed;
They love mousey cheese, and mousey ***
Mouse’s love spirits, wine, beer, and ale;
They love to chew on cheesy things.
And when they’re drunk, they will regale,
Spouting stories of mousy kings.
In mousey castle, in mousey town,
Lived a mighty mousey king.
And his mousy eyes, looked up and down,
On every big, and little thing.
But his mighty mousy features,
Were struck by mousy mope.
For all his fellow creatures,
Were bereft of *** and hope.
“No *** No rum!” They cried,
To the king as he passed by.
They wept, and sobbed, and sighed;
“Oh my, oh my, oh my”.
In the kingdom of the mouse,
There can be no greater woe,
Than to find no *** in house;
It lays the mouse’s low.
“No *** can be got”!
Stated the advisor to the king.
“We’ve all got up, and drunk the lot;
'Tis a sad and sorry thing”.
All the mousy heads,
Hung low in grim defeat.
They played with mousy threads,
With mousy hands, and mousy feet.
But the king of mouse’s rose
Standing tall upon his mitts.
Wriggled in his mousy hose,
And strained his mousy wits.
“Who can build new ***
Asked the mighty mousey king.
But all the mouse’s were dumb,
On this mighty mousey thing.
Then from out the bleachers;
Stumbled little Georgey mouse.
A smirk bestruck his features,
He was happy; he was ******
With mousy hands he gript
A bottle tall and fine
And from its neck he sipped;
A liquor; so divine.
“I shound it through zzat wall”,
Announced little Georgey mouse
“Theresh enough for one and all;
Enough to build a housh”.
He sipped the liquor fair,
And shouted, “What a corker”!
He flashed the bottle in the air;
Black label Johnny Walker.
And all the mousey squeaks,
Wrung cheer from misery.
And the cheers went on for weeks;
“Whiskey! Whiskey! Whiskey!
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:19 PM UTC
Fame and fortune
Wall Street in wealthy being the name
Mansions, clothes and vacation hot spots
Living large and remaining at the top
Life was sweet and filled with promise
Stocks were up 100 percent
Financial Advisors keep careful analysis in where investments go
The accountants keep track of the business transactions flow
It’s where all investments went
But continuing living the life seemingly like Heaven sent
But something went terribly wrong
The Rich man’s health made a negative turn
The investments were seeing anymore earn
The Financial advisor began to steal
This thieve was for real
Suddenly stocks stumbled on down
From riches to rags heading for devastation bound
The Rich man was shocked and couldn’t make a sound
All he could was cry
He no longer wanted to continue to try
Efforts no longer existed
The Rich man was down to being a poor man
Trapped in an uncertain caravan
A Rich man being in a poor man’s sleuth
But what was the former Rich man supposed to do?
Keep living but having a purpose and a vision to pursue.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
Our house is full of ships. A painting on each wall.
Some schooners, racing single sails,
18th century warships, some American,
some French, most British
and captained by Nelson. There are fishing boats,
less although, they're lining the staircase
leading down towards the basement.
The bathrooms house small
single frames, big enough to fit in your palm.
Maybe 25 portraits or so. All of them going fast,
the water rushing beneath the bow,
cutting through black-blue waters.
These were painted, hand-drawn and hung
by my father. Now a financial advisor. And cold.
But underneath, I know, still loving.
I haven't seen his brushes, his paints.
But he drew these boats years ago.
And I can't stop thinking,
every-time I **** wash hands or ****
about the artist he was and why paint these ships.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.
There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’
Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.
When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.
I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.
“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 10:47 PM UTC
Happy birthday day older
Brother have a blessed year
And wish you more to come
You in a mission for greatness
But i wish you the greatest
My spirit dances and my
Energy is that of a cheetah which doesnt get tired everytime i
Think about you brother
You none like the rest of the older
Brothers you unique with
Taste and a good advisor and motivator and i am blessed to
Have a brother like you
HAPPYBIRTHDAY BROTHER
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
The National Security Advisor
In all his frumpery and trumpery
Waves his combat moustache menacingly
Backed up by each nuclear incisor
He threatens Iran with his “hell to pay”
Word missiles through his bristles - “We will come after you!”
Omitting to say (through his ****** hairdo)
His child will not go, but yours will – hooray!
For his own combat record is no joke:
He bravely fought the Cong around Fort Polk
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
The American Vision of Abraham Lincoln
AT THIS MOMENT
At this moment
Resting in the comfort of the statue
Of the 16th president of the United States
Missing
An equally impressive representation
Of his friend and advisor
Frederick Douglass
We come
On this day
Recalling the difficult and divisive war
We are compelled
With a prayer in the name
Of those captured and enslaved
Who with heart and mind
Cleared the wilderness
Raised crops
Brought forth families
Submitted their souls
Before a merciful and great God
To acknowledge that The Civil War
Was fought not to free the enslaved
For they knew they were free
But to free the nation
From a terrible cancer eating at our hearts
At this moment
In which we are embarrassed
By the Governor of our fifth largest state
Who appoints a man to the United States Senate
To which both he and his minion agree:
The Letter of the Law
Is more important than
The Spirit of the Law
Now
When we are dismayed that the accidental
Governor of the Empire State can find
Just one more reason to rain pain
And rejection on a family that has offered only
Grace and graciousness
After two hundred years
When we rejoice that another son
Of the Midwest has offered himself
His wife and his two precious daughters
To show us a better way
We gather
In recognition and understanding
That today is always and forever today
Allowing us to offer this plea
For light
And truth
And Goodness
Forgiving as we are forgiven
Being neither tempted nor intolerant of those who are
We come
At this moment
To renew and refurbish
The American vision
Of Abraham Lincoln
©Nikki Giovanni 2009
12 February 2009
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
“Mrs. Tubb, prepare my raincoat,” he said, “I’m going under the carpet.”
His ears were steaming.
“I’ll be waiting by the hanged stag,” he said. “If it gets to six and I'm still not home, put tobacco in the telephone.”
Down there, at the foot of the stairs, Mrs Tubb’s tears fell to the flattened backwards.
In the middle of the night, whilst she was sleeping,
And without her permission,
He had changed her name to Margot St. Vincent.
“Take off that murderer’s moustache and stretch out on the infamous Chelsea Blackmail Floor.
Ask the biggest bugs to dance,
You may never get another chance.”
The quietly handsome and magnificent Millicent Milligan was feeling rather ill again.
She had been dreaming of the brittle marigolds of Saint Petersburg.
She had been dreaming of pine cones and boiling marmalade.
Her home had fallen into a hole.
It was on the evening news,
But by the following morning they had lost interest,
A mountain had struck a commercial airliner and so no one was much impressed by her Home in Hole Hell.
355 were dead,
And possibly a well known racehorse,
And a corpse in transit who, of course, was already dead, but still, it was vexing for the family.
They found a priest in a poplar tree,
And the head of a hand model at the back of a cave.
(The hands were still intact and were couriered to their agent in a special flask).
Half in, half out of her delicious stockings
Wendice Titian cuts out scissor clippings of her
Sinister yellow sister.
Overnight the years twist.
Edgar Snooker has heard he is to play Hitler's dog on the silver screen.
Edgar Snooker is not a dog.
And the screen was never silver.
And besides, it is not true.
Someone is out to destabilise him.
As posh, brainwashed sausages consult
The Punchline Advisor of Dunkirk,
As the Lord is seen on all fours on His moon
Causing daily electrical police misfortune,
As the masses embark on the clamorous, scattered and impossible journey to disappointed purity,
As her money is without temperament,
As the self-conscious guilt daughter unbuttons her plush helmet,
So the richly magnetised stars are winding down.
As candles whisper in the middle of the road,
As Margot St. Vincent revolves the nickel tap
Of the gas powered knitting plate,
So Father Flynn is inconsolable.
He found a photograph of ****** Bob on top of his wife’s hat.
She denied everything,
Including that she was there at all.
Father Flynn fell for it.
That's faith for you.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
If there's one thing I regret in this life
It's that I wasted my finely honed gift of telepathy
On Internet dice games
Free apps, obviously designed
To stave off pure boredom
And **** precious time
Free games, without even a small pay-off
Free games, worth every penny
Free games, not so much the skill of telepathy
Dice games, the luck of the roll
Dice games, immune to strategy of any kind
Dice games, not so much the skill of telepathy
It's times like these I rue the day
I came to the realization
The wells of telepathy had run dry
The deep ocean of telepathy sopped up
With the proud assurance that I knew exactly
When my opponent would roll or bank
I could have been a diplomat, read some leaders' minds
Or a well respected advisor, or even a CIA spy
I could have made a killing, a fortune teller's wage
A gift that kept on giving because people want to know
From where they once were coming and where they soon will go
Or something half as simple as a failsafe "yes" or "no"
I could have done a lot of things
But only one thing that I would
Kick some *** playing Farkle
And yea though I feel some regret
And yea though this decision seems drastic
Come, all ye faithful, watch me kick your ***** at Farkle
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
I've spent what feels like a lifetime
trying to ease my way into an English world.
The world of Chaucer and Eliot
and vocabulary only Merriam-Webster knew.
I declared a major.
I don’t know if it really matters anymore,
because when it’s dark
and the campus is empty
all I can feel are the forgotten words floating overhead like stars,
whispering for me to go home,
rectify the official white papers.
Become something else;
become anything but this.
Become who?
Someone who can’t feel anything
but the weight of the leaves
as they crunch under the lilt of their laugh?
Or the one who cries outside their advisor’s office,
because they read something so beautiful
yet still so small,
an unshared treasure?
Why write? Why speak?
I don’t know the answers to either.
Because when you are writing, you are speaking,
and one is almost as good as the other.
But when the words get caught in the back of your throat
and your feet are blocks of concrete,
unable to move
or think
or feel —
Is writing any better?
Will writing save the invisible,
or the insignificant
or the unheard?
The ones who disappear?
I've spent what feels like a lifetime,
trying to force my face into the light
and take a major that isn’t really mine,
dashing off poorly executed poems and flash fiction,
grasping for something that might work.
But in the end it’s nothing
and I am still just as
lost.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
So
Trip Advisor
and
LSD.
not
a trip
they
can tell me about
an easy mistake
to make.
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
So likewise ye,
when ye shall have done
all those things which are commanded you,
say,
We are unprofitable servants:
we have done that which was our duty to do.
You, lazy little 'twerdnerd. Easy. Live. Take my truth,
let this mind be in you, it does the hard part for you.
Ai ai ai this guy, I tol' you, extol the road,
ride on, cowboy.
Let go. Re
laxation,
enemystic, plop. Plot to end
with a thousand swings
gnosis-not-burger 'n' fries
swung wide and low. Sweet cherry '63.
Once belonged to the gayest geometry teacher
ever, eh, in Kingman, Arizona.
Mr. Zubek, annual faculty advisor to Optimist Club,
Annual (also)Highschool Boys Speech Contest,
bi- annually, he traded in his Chevrolet.
-- voice of experience,
That triggered this then, not now
I saw a ****** lowrider, brand new, showroom floor,
yep, a certain mind set, kept with odd links,
missed opportunities to go the other way,
kicks the BTDT system of old ahas,
and ahs,
as once imagined…
not possible, pre dementia.
Wait for it, should you live so long,
it all runs together beautifully, to match
the beauty of the messenger's feet,
in your cultural awareness
of total unknowing- to eternity,
and beyond.
The Bill and Ted Trilogy, vs Left Behind.
So, crates of lemons have no thorns. See,
Lemon trees have big ol' thorns, but
lemon wreaths, all on a bough snipped,
thorns and all, to show those who never
picked a lemon, and won life's sweetest point.
Such wreaths are December treasures,
if you know where they grow 'em.
You can sell them, or give them away,
the beauty in the whole fruiting sprig goes along.
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 1:27 AM UTC
Friends, you may recall the famous song by ‘Bonny M’ during late1970s, about the infamous RASPUTIN, advisor of the last Russian Emperor Nicholas-II, and lover of the Russian Queen, who was assassinated on 30th December, 1916: ‘’Ra, Ra Rasputin/Lover of the Russian Queen… Russia’s greatest love machine/ It was a shame how he carried on!..’’ Now once again he is reborn as VLADIMIR PUTIN, driving the World to the brink of a Third World War, and is likely to meet a similar fate, unless his cancer overtakes! This is a parody of that lyric I recently composed. – Raj Nandy, 07 May, 2022, New Delhi.
+RUSSIAN RASPUTIN REBORN AS
VLADIMIR PUTIN+
Ra, Ra, Vladimir Putin, with all his
land-grabbing war machines,
With ravenous hunger to swallow
neighboring Countries,
It is really shameful how he carries
on!
Oblivious to human suffering and
pain,
He has brought the World on the
brink of another World War once
again!
Putin became the Russian President
since 2012 as we get to see,
Became a virtual dictator of his country!
Divorced in Two Thousand and Fourteen,
Lives as a frustrated bachelor in Russia
ever since.
People look at him with terror and
dismay as he is full of aggression and
fire!
But to his henchmen and young Russian
maids he is such a lovely dear!
Ra, Ra, Vladimir Putin with his nuclear
bombs and war machines,
It is utterly shameful how he carries on!
He changed his personal guards many a
time afraid of assassination!
Sacrificed his senior generals and
countless soldiers in his ceaseless war
of aggression,
To glorify his personal ambition!
Now to save Ukraine and the World,
May the Devil soon come to claim its
very own. {See photo)
Ra, Ra, Vladimir Putin, with his many war
machines,
It is utterly shameful how he carries on!
Oh! Those Ruthless Russians!
…………………………………………………………………………..
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 11:00 AM UTC