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"briz" poems
Yo,Mr Putin (from da ganja-boys) Yo, Mr Putin, I'm sending you a present. It's just a bunch o'herbs, to smoke; they'll make yer less unpleasant. Smoke 'em in de evening, to really chill yo brain. They'll blow away the nasty thoughts, you have about Ukraine. I'm sure you're gonna like 'em, it's the Rasta, in yo blood; we may be cousins, way back. You should join us, in the 'hood! You can't deny it Vladimir, there's really no disputin'; your ancestors are same as mine -we've all heard of Ras-Putin. Briz 8/4/14
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
Yo, Mr Putin
Don't **** the Genie Peg-leg Pete, the pirate, in the good old days of old; found a sealed amphora, whilst searching for some gold. The label bore a warning & a faded, scary skull but Peg-leg Pete was curious & gave the **** a pull. The bottle appeared empty, so he gave it quite a shake. A rumbling, grumbling let him know – a genie was awake! “You didn't ought to do that, you one-legged, one-eyed beast; to someone who's been fast asleep, a hundred years, at least!” The genie was so angry, like a bear, with a sore head. “You'll only get one wish for that, so make it count.” he said. “Only one!” poor Pete complained. “but I've just set you free. I've got the very task though, that you can do for me.” “Me owd peg-leg has woodworm & me glass-eye's on the blink; me 'ooks gone rusty & me trusty ship's about to sink. If you can make me whole again, one wish will be enough. So, come on grumpy genie, shake a leg & do your stuff!” “Make sure you word your wish exact, for there's no going back.” The genie smirked, then got to work & everything went black. When Pete came round, he quickly found his hook & peg-leg there & underneath it's tatty patch, his glass-eye's icy stare. “What trick is this, you scurvy dog, you've gone back on your word?” “I think not Pete, just look around & see what has occurred. Your ship is now a merchant & that warehouse on the dock. It's yours, for import/export work – for honest trade old **** Pete “I don't get this, I'm still stood here, like Ahab, off the whaler.” Genie, smirking “You asked me, quite specifically to make you a whole-saler!” Briz 5/11/13
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Don't **** the Genie
Don't **** the Genie Peg-leg Pete, the pirate, in the good old days of old; found a sealed amphora, whilst searching for some gold. The label bore a warning & a faded, scary skull but Peg-leg Pete was curious & gave the **** a pull. The bottle appeared empty, so he gave it quite a shake. A rumbling, grumbling let him know – a genie was awake! “You didn't ought to do that, you one-legged, one-eyed beast; to someone who's been fast asleep, a hundred years, at least!” The genie was so angry, like a bear, with a sore head. “You'll only get one wish for that, so make it count.” he said. “Only one!” poor Pete complained. “but I've just set you free. I've got the very task though, that you can do for me.” “Me owd peg-leg has woodworm & me glass-eye's on the blink; me 'ooks gone rusty & me trusty ship's about to sink. If you can make me whole again, one wish will be enough. So, come on grumpy genie, shake a leg & do your stuff!” “Make sure you word your wish exact, for there's no going back.” The genie smirked, then got to work & everything went black. When Pete came round, he quickly found his hook & peg-leg there & underneath it's tatty patch, his glass-eye's icy stare. “What trick is this, you scurvy dog, you've gone back on your word?” “I think not Pete, just look around & see what has occurred. Your ship is now a merchant & that warehouse on the dock. It's yours, for import/export work – for honest trade old **** Pete “I don't get this, I'm still stood here, like Ahab, off the whaler.” Genie, smirking “You asked me, quite specifically to make you a whole-saler!” Briz 5/11/13
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32
Mr. Putin's opportunity Please Mr Putin, don't put the boot in; hold back your forces, from bombing & shootin'. We know Russia's powerful, fearless and strong. We're expecting violence, now prove us all wrong. You've shown us your muscles, now show us your mind. Show us your heart man then you may find; People will listen and show you respect. Not just the hate and the fear you expect. Now is the chance to Russia's great. The hour is yours. Don't leave it too late! Briz 5/3/14
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Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Mr. Putin's opportunity
Insanity Being mad is not so bad if you don't know you are. It's going there, that brings despair and knowing that you are. Briz 23/1013
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Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Insanity
Insanity Being mad is not so bad if you don't know you are. It's going there, that brings despair and knowing that you are. Briz 23/1013
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Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Insanity
Big Mama Africa Poor Mama Africa, Madiba has gone. Remember his dream & move forward, as one. Don't let his dream be put down & forgotten; by the schemes of the greedy, the rogues & the rotten. Dear, big Mama Africa, your beautiful indeed and rich enough to give your children, all that they need. So why is there such poverty, starvation and despair? There's wealth enough to go around, if everyone would share. But those who can, horde riches, far more than they need. Denying their own people, with selfishness & greed. You must get together and speak, with one voice. Across the land, shout your demand; unite and then rejoice. Briz 9/12/13
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Big Mama Africa
Boobed! One day, as she stepped from the shower, a woman observed her reflection; in the glass-panel door & decided it was like a mirage – a deception. She looked once again, disbelieving, for the first time, in years, at her figure. Her ******* once so firm - small & sagging: her bottom much wider & bigger. In tears she approached her poor husband as he sat, with a beer, watching telly. ”We've got to do something & quickly, to alter my ***** *** & belly. “We?” thought her husband, quite puzzled. “What part does she want me to play?” Not jogging together nor diets; nor worse – having money to pay. “I'm thinking of surgical implants, to restore my poor, sagging ******* They start from as little as four grand & a little bit more,for the best.” “As little as that.” he said softly, staying calm, although inwardly choking. “Give me time to consider.” he finished. Thinking ******** you've got to be joking.” A long, restless night was to follow, as he tossed & he turned, in his bed; thinking hard of a cheaper solution, 'til a crazy plan entered his head. He went to the bathroom, for loo-roll and with it, he started to stroke her. He kneaded & patted each ***** quite gently, so not to provoke her. “What on Earth are you doing?” his wife hissed, as she looked, through her eyes, red & bleary. “Be patient, dear petal.” he answered, as he tried to explain his wild theory. “This massage should enlarge your ******* I'm sure they'll get bigger & plump. You've used it for years, on your bottom and look at the size of your **** Briz 19/7/13 p.s. If anyone has any questions, regarding this story, I swear; the husband will give you the answers, when he's out of intensive-care! -----
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Boobed!
Boobed! One day, as she stepped from the shower, a woman observed her reflection; in the glass-panel door & decided it was like a mirage – a deception. She looked once again, disbelieving, for the first time, in years, at her figure. Her ******* once so firm - small & sagging: her bottom much wider & bigger. In tears she approached her poor husband as he sat, with a beer, watching telly. ”We've got to do something & quickly, to alter my ***** *** & belly. “We?” thought her husband, quite puzzled. “What part does she want me to play?” Not jogging together nor diets; nor worse – having money to pay. “I'm thinking of surgical implants, to restore my poor, sagging ******* They start from as little as four grand & a little bit more,for the best.” “As little as that.” he said softly, staying calm, although inwardly choking. “Give me time to consider.” he finished. Thinking ******** you've got to be joking.” A long, restless night was to follow, as he tossed & he turned, in his bed; thinking hard of a cheaper solution, 'til a crazy plan entered his head. He went to the bathroom, for loo-roll and with it, he started to stroke her. He kneaded & patted each ***** quite gently, so not to provoke her. “What on Earth are you doing?” his wife hissed, as she looked, through her eyes, red & bleary. “Be patient, dear petal.” he answered, as he tried to explain his wild theory. “This massage should enlarge your ******* I'm sure they'll get bigger & plump. You've used it for years, on your bottom and look at the size of your **** Briz 19/7/13 p.s. If anyone has any questions, regarding this story, I swear; the husband will give you the answers, when he's out of intensive-care! -----
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48
Last wish The old guy lay in hospital, his family round the bed; listening to his dieing wish & this is what he said. “I've always been a farmhand & mucked out barn & stable. I've done my bit, at shiftin' **** to put food on the table. You need to know, before I go, don't let me be cremated. It's something I've thought long about – a thought I've always hated. Bury me by the cowshed, among the old bluebells. There, let me lay, 'til judgement day, amid the farmyard smells. Yes, bury me under the dung-heap, although it seems absurd. Far better than cremation -I wish to be inturd!” Briz 6/6/13
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Last wish
Blue-diamond blues I wish they'd develop a Viagra-lite, when you just want a cuddle, In the middle of the night. A tablet to stimulate some warmth & affection and not an assault from a forced ******** You could save the blue-diamond for the odd weekend; when the kids are away or you've more time to spend. And then, in between, have Viagra-lite; when you just want a cuddle, in the middle of the night. Briz 25/11/13 :)
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Blue-diamond blues
A queer world My local pub won't do posh grub, but sells beer from the wood. You can't get wine nor cocktails but the ales are all real good. There's always sport, on the tv, the wooden floors are bare; so when two 'pretty boys' minced in, they caused us all to stare. Both had high-lights in their hair and make-up, on their faces. They ordered half a lager each & two straight ***** chasers. A quick look round however and they soon made up their mind: our rough&ready; local didn't cater for their kind. But, as they quickly minced away and off, through the pub door; up spoke the bar-room know-all, like many times before. “An article I read, last week, said ten percent are gay. Not all of 'em dress-up like that nor try to walk that way.” Someone said,”Shut up, you fool.” while we just kept on drinkin' but what he'd said, stuck in our head and we began a-thinkin' My mate says, “Watch the barman, Bob, he wears a lot of pink & holds his little-finger out, each time he has a drink.” They reckon Bill, who works away and only comes in Sundays. Goes in the cubicle to **** when wearing his wife's ****** I know it's not conclusive but I thought it pretty queer, when Tommy took his wife out twice, to see that Mama Mia. Then there's Big Jack Smedley, though he's muscular and manly; he has his body waxed, each month, by that hairdresser – Stanley. The more we talked about it, as we downed our beer & stout; the more we realised, that not everyone's come out. We now accept that being camp, is not the only way and reckon that there's happen more than fifty shades of gay! Briz 14/6/13
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Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:42 AM UTC
A queer world
A queer world My local pub won't do posh grub, but sells beer from the wood. You can't get wine nor cocktails but the ales are all real good. There's always sport, on the tv, the wooden floors are bare; so when two 'pretty boys' minced in, they caused us all to stare. Both had high-lights in their hair and make-up, on their faces. They ordered half a lager each & two straight ***** chasers. A quick look round however and they soon made up their mind: our rough&ready; local didn't cater for their kind. But, as they quickly minced away and off, through the pub door; up spoke the bar-room know-all, like many times before. “An article I read, last week, said ten percent are gay. Not all of 'em dress-up like that nor try to walk that way.” Someone said,”Shut up, you fool.” while we just kept on drinkin' but what he'd said, stuck in our head and we began a-thinkin' My mate says, “Watch the barman, Bob, he wears a lot of pink & holds his little-finger out, each time he has a drink.” They reckon Bill, who works away and only comes in Sundays. Goes in the cubicle to **** when wearing his wife's ****** I know it's not conclusive but I thought it pretty queer, when Tommy took his wife out twice, to see that Mama Mia. Then there's Big Jack Smedley, though he's muscular and manly; he has his body waxed, each month, by that hairdresser – Stanley. The more we talked about it, as we downed our beer & stout; the more we realised, that not everyone's come out. We now accept that being camp, is not the only way and reckon that there's happen more than fifty shades of gay! Briz 14/6/13
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54
Colored people! On a recent trip, to Swaziland, a local man said, “I don't understand. You go green with envy, blue with cold; cowards are yella, or so I'm told. You're also blue, when feeling sad; you blush, bright red, it drives me mad, when you say I'm colored, just look, I say; I'm monochrome, all night and day!” Briz 4/6/13
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
Colored people
Driving through the parking lot No cars to be found I believe it could be Sunday So I'll just walk around Off to get coffee But I think the malls closing I order a drink But the guy is opposing Walk to a bench And there I sat Here comes Briz and Billi But who the hell is that? We sat on that bench For some odd reason We got the great idea To commit some treason We took that bench Straight to the door But the cops were there And made us put it back on the floor I sat on the ground When a little kid came over She was the cutest thing But her mom wasn't sober Mid thirties is what I assume She hunted for what was missing She sat too close behind me And then we started kissing She shoved me over My back to the floor On top she climbed And out loud I swore I put up a fight Because I hadn't a clue Why she picked me To be the one to ***** I woke up gasping And there for I panic These dreams I have Are too ******* manic Why do I dream Of such different matters Waiting for my heart To crash and shatter I want to dream About kittens and rainbows But luckily for me That's just not how it goes
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Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
*******
An old man's farewell Take my life, I'm knackered God, unless you can restore it. My kids think I'm a selfish sod but they'll all soon get o'er it. When they've sold up all my stuff, they'll feel a lot less vexed; so tell the world I've had enough. I'm ready for the next. I've tried my best, to edge my bets, done what 'The Good Book' states. I'm hoping there'll be no regrets, when at The Pearly Gates. I've had my share of good & bad; I've had both tears & laughter. So, see you later, don't be sad; one day, in the here-after. Briz 20/1/14
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
An old man's farewell
Crowning Glory “ Oh Liz, old dear, you do look queer, what causes such a frown?” “The kids Phil, they're all bickering. They want to share The Crown.” “Charles rang me, this morning. He was ages on the 'phone. He said we should retire, so that he can take the throne. Then Andrew rang & so did Anne, complaining, it's not fair. They reckon, in this day & age that all of them should share. Even Edward had a moan. I'm sick of all their quibbling. He feels that he's been frozen out, as he's the youngest sibling. So cancel all appointments, tell them to go away. Say Her majesty has had a really bad heir day. Briz :) 5/2/14
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
Crowning glory
A queer world My local pub won't do posh grub, but sells beer from the wood. You can't get wine nor cocktails but the ales are all real good. There's always sport, on the tv, the wooden floors are bare; so when two 'pretty boys' minced in, they caused us all to stare. Both had high-lights in their hair and make-up, on their faces. They ordered half a lager each & two straight ***** chasers. A quick look round however and they soon made up their mind: our rough & ready local didn't cater for their kind. But, as they quickly minced away and off, through the pub door; up spoke the bar-room know-all, like many times before. “An article I read, last week, said ten percent are gay. Not all of 'em dress-up like that nor try to walk that way.” Someone said,”Shut up, you fool.” while we just kept on drinkin' but what he'd said, stuck in our head and we began a-thinkin' My mate says, “Watch the barman, Bob, he wears a lot of pink & holds his little-finger out, each time he has a drink.” They reckon Bill, who works away and only comes in Sundays. Goes in the cubicle to **** when wearing his wife's ****** I know it's not conclusive but I thought it pretty queer, when Tommy took his wife out twice, to see that Mama Mia. Then there's Big Jack Smedley, though he's muscular and manly; he has his body waxed, each month, by that hairdresser – Stanley. The more we talked about it, as we downed our beer & stout; the more we realised, that not everyone's come out. We now accept that being camp, is not the only way and reckon that there's happen more than fifty shades of gay! Briz 14/6/13
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Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
A queer world
A queer world My local pub won't do posh grub, but sells beer from the wood. You can't get wine nor cocktails but the ales are all real good. There's always sport, on the tv, the wooden floors are bare; so when two 'pretty boys' minced in, they caused us all to stare. Both had high-lights in their hair and make-up, on their faces. They ordered half a lager each & two straight ***** chasers. A quick look round however and they soon made up their mind: our rough & ready local didn't cater for their kind. But, as they quickly minced away and off, through the pub door; up spoke the bar-room know-all, like many times before. “An article I read, last week, said ten percent are gay. Not all of 'em dress-up like that nor try to walk that way.” Someone said,”Shut up, you fool.” while we just kept on drinkin' but what he'd said, stuck in our head and we began a-thinkin' My mate says, “Watch the barman, Bob, he wears a lot of pink & holds his little-finger out, each time he has a drink.” They reckon Bill, who works away and only comes in Sundays. Goes in the cubicle to **** when wearing his wife's ****** I know it's not conclusive but I thought it pretty queer, when Tommy took his wife out twice, to see that Mama Mia. Then there's Big Jack Smedley, though he's muscular and manly; he has his body waxed, each month, by that hairdresser – Stanley. The more we talked about it, as we downed our beer & stout; the more we realised, that not everyone's come out. We now accept that being camp, is not the only way and reckon that there's happen more than fifty shades of gay! Briz 14/6/13
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54
Advice. (for a lad, as he sets out, on his journey through life) Never kiss a ********** just pay the lass and thank ‘er. Never try to work your passage, on a foreign tanker. The lass could give you something that might not go away. Your ship-mates may be gamblers, who’d rob you, as you play. But more importantly, by far, wherever you drop anchor. Never trust a politician, clergyman nor banker! Briz 3/3/14 -----------------
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Advice (to a lad)
From Animal magic/tragic The old woman from the woods The sadness in her eyes, really came as no surprise, as I stared at her, intensely, through the glass. As countless have before, she must find it such a bore. Small wonder that she turned & showed her *** Does she stare back at mankind & think, “What is it they find, that draws them all to come & look at me?” Does she think,”If we're so clever, why does it never, ever occur to us that she'd be better free?” Briz 30/9/13
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Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
The old woman in the woods
Block The coffee’s hot, the ink is flowing; The story seems to know, just where it’s going. I’m only here to press the keys. Don’t you love writing, on days like these? The coffee’s cold, the ink’s dried up. I stare, in silence, at my cup. I haven’t yet disturbed the keys. Who’d be a writer, on days like these? END Briz 29/10/2010
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Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Block