"famer" poems
***Put on your yamaka, it's time for Hanukkah
So much fun-akkah to celebrate Hanukkah,
Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights,
Instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights.
But when you're the only kid in town without a Christmas tree, Heres a list of
people who are Jewish, just like you and me:
David Lee Roth lights the menorah,
So do James Caan, Kirk Douglas, and the late Dinah Shore-ah
Guess who eats together at the Carnegie Deli,
Bowzer from Sha-na-na, and Arthur Fonzerrelli.
Paul Newman's half Jewish; Goldie Hawn's half too,
Put them together--what a fine lookin’ Jew! [Esus]
You dont need Deck the Halls or Jingle Bell Rock
Cause you can spin a dreidel with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock--both Jewish!
[Esus]
Put on your yamaka, its time for Hanukkah,
The owner of the Seattle Super Sonic-ah celebrates Hanukkah.
O.J. Simpson-- not a Jew!
But guess who is...Hall of Famer—Rod Carew--(he converted!)
We got Ann Landers and her sister Dear Abby,
Harrison Ford's a quarter Jewish--not too shabby!
Some people think that Ebeneezer Scrooge is,
Well, hes not, but guess who is: All three stooges. [Esus]
So many Jews are in show biz--
Tom Cruise isn't, [tacit] but I heard his agent is. [Esus]
Tell your friend Veronica, its time to celebrate Hanukkah
I hope I get a harmonica, on this lovely, lovely Hanukkah.
So drink your gin-a-tonic-ah, and smoke your mara-juanic-ah,
If you really, really wanna-kah, Have a happy, happy, happy, happy
Hanukkah……. HAPPY HANUKKAH!***
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I want to be your franchise player;
The reason you come out under
The lights.
My name and number sewn;
A hall of famer that will
Inevitably grace the walls
To the corridors
Of your memory with
A bust of my face.
I want to be the One.
Not the backup on
The bench with a
Crooked cap on my
Head and my helmet
Between my feet.
I need playing time
With you.
I want to win.
Fiercely. I have
No intention of
Joining other
Clubs, and I
Wouldn't handle
Free agency well.
Ill put you on my
chest everyday
And go to war
for you. Point
To you from the
Field when we score.
Then come home to
You.
(Every time we're distant is the offseason. Every time we're
Together is a championship
Parade)
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delated, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
3.1k
He’s sitting there, Beats on music bumping
Losing himself in the rhythm letting the flow
Psych him up, his coach walks over and yells
At him GET YOUR *** OUT THERE. He takes
Off his headphones the final beat bringing
Back a memory
He was sitting there, the coach told him to
Take the bench, the other starter was out
There, where he should be. Gym class picked
Last again told he ***** no one wants him.
He’s tired of not being good enough he vows
To never let it happen again. And so he dedicates
Himself, pushing, driving, putting in the work
Needed to be a star, almost giving up
He never did
The ref looks at him and tells him to step up.
He steps up to the mat, he skates to the line,
He breaks from the huddle, toes the invisible
Line, steps up to the plate, steps Up next to his
teammate, steps up to the foul Line
The whistle blows
He shoots for the legs, he passes the puck
He throws the spiral, he throws his hands up
He swings his bat, passes the ball, takes the
Shot…..
He pins him in 30 secs and wins the championship,
He puts the puck in the back of the net for
The win, He throws another touchdown
Pass, He pulls down the most amazing catch
He crushes the ball for a homerun,
He kicks the ball into the net, he swishes
The ball, nothing but net
They call him the legend, champion
The monster, invincible, hall of famer
They ask how he done it?
He never gave up on that vow and he
Step up
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
This one is for my mother
My only gift that maybe and probably
On some levels just a re-gift
Of the gift she has already given me
Over the years and through the many
Pages in the many books she has read to me
The books that she pulled from her red-wooden shelves
And sat on her lap on top of peach printed skirts
And underneath her pale pink colored nails
Words that grew legs in my mother’s mouth
And were so well fed that they grew hands too
Hands, that stretched out so far they reached my ears
And tapped on my ear drums moors code
Tales of other sleepy children who just
Wanted to stay up, “please just one more chapter longer”
“Please, I’m not even really tired”
Tales that when looking back I hate to think
I never realized
How these tales reminded me of her
From every little detail minute as the
Punctuations that penetrated the spaces
between my mother’s long winded breath
One story I remember in particular.
The crescent moon that cradled the cat.
The cat that escaped from her farm in search of more milk
Than the farmer was feeding it
That cat who ran to the sky thinking the Milky Way—was just that.
Only to realize the love of the famer
Tasted better than how stars
Felt on patted and pawed feet
So the moon held the cat and slowly dipped its semi- circle
Cavernous cradle down to the earth again
Into the hands of the farmer
My farmer, my mother earth
With one undone overall strap hanging below her shoulder
That in my childhood I would tip-top to thumb the edges of
That metal that spooned the silver button hook.
The shiny metal like a bookmark
That I hope will never find its page
In a book I hope my mother will read forever.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
I wouldn’t say that life is fair,
but sometimes the wind blows in our favour.
We do sense tension in the air, every time life issues a disclaimer.
In life you may be coerced,
in to becoming a self blamer.
What bitterness and grief has life in store for me?
If only my good deeds redeem me from being a shamer.
You may mock me for what I am today,
but tomorrow to your deeds you will be a claimer.
Whatever good you do along the way,
will come back to save you when you need acclaimer.
On earth you have no time to spare,
on your target you should be the aimer.
Life can be shocking sometimes, but no need to be the exclaimer.
It’s little things that do count in life,
if to your soul you want to be a tamer.
A friendly smile or a nod of the head,
to your self-esteem you will be a reclaimer.
Or a kind word that might earn you respect,
or for which you could enter the hall of famer.
Honour your word and gain peoples hearts,
to your reputation it won’t be a restrainer.
Seek wisdom in the womb of life, to your dignity it will be a maintainer.
Don’t sell your soul for what it’s worth,
unless you want humiliation to be your enslaver.
Sep 11, 2024
Sep 11, 2024 at 8:36 AM UTC
I seen some shadows much like you,
But they don't scare me.
No, they don't scare me,
'cause lately, I'm so daring.
And I've been stepping into potholes
With my bare feet.
Since you've had me,
I don't hesitate with sharing.
And there's a strong, strong scent
From the pits of hell,
For you.
Probably a stench for me too,
If they question what I do.
'cause I've been staring at these blades
And assorting pills by hue.
But I ain't tryna touch that plant,
Because the famer's guilty too.
Now, I don't got no quick fix or a
Hit list.
I know my woman just might leave me
If I miss this.
So, into an abyss, goes all my wishes.
I can't stand it. All the pain makes my
Decisions.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
He was a wrestler but he died and he's gone for eternity.
He was a WWE Hall of Famer and he starred in Rocky III.
He had giant muscles and Hulk Hogan was his name.
He has perished and the WWE will never be the same.
Hogan was one hell of a wrestler and an actor as well.
This man had a terrific career, he was bound to excel.
Hogan had two children, he had a daughter and a son.
We've lost a wrestling icon at the age of seventy-one.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 10:05 AM UTC