"fletcher" poems
Tool of desperate confrontation
Object of pride for a grateful nation
In Baton Rouge on the mighty river
Kidd rests proudly
376' length overall, Fletcher Class destroyer
Like every ship, of oil she does smell
When I boarded her, she had something to tell
I was with a scoutmaster, my son and the boys
Concerned with their fun, and the making of noise
But late in the night, as quiet set in
Kidd started whispering, to my within
She spoke of the men who gave up their lives
Their children, their girls, the tears of their wives
Thirty-eight men, in fiery fuel
Hell's agony touched, a death so cruel
Fifty-five more, burned badly that day
Defending our country, our homage we pay
Visiting sailors will stand at attention
… and for a young Kamikaze, scarcely a mention
The big war was over, Kidd passed her test
Now to San Diego, for a permanent rest
But as men will prescribe, it didn’t last long
Kidd went back into action, near Korea’s Kaesong
When in Baton Rouge, you can visit the Kidd
If you’re bold, listen carefully, just as I did
You'll get half of the story, the rest we don't know
The men who have fallen, to Kidd's mighty blow
Let's set a new tone and have us some fun
The Kidd's crew were pirates but they didn't run ***
Those flat-tops were fancy, their flyers elite
In the galley was ice-cream, their reward and their treat
When a pilot was downed, Kidd quickly steamed
Then radioed the skipper, "your man for ice-cream"
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
The Ashes of a million souls drift down to the Baranco Wall and Moorland.
Seventeen thousand feet is All
Deep and dead is the cap on Kilimanjaro.
If a tree falls in the Forrest. you will hear it on Kilimanjaro.
Haunting stones on Easter Island whisper in the dead of night
and speak to Kilimanjaro.
Pitcairn Island far and lost.
Fletcher Christians mournful ghost wails and screams as the Bounty burned
a light seen from The Kilimanjaro.
Supai City Arizona in the bowels of the gaping gorge
looks out to Kilimanjaro.
Oymyakon Siberia. Minus 93 degrees. chatter and freeze
akin to The Kilimanjaro
World ends in the stratosphere
Fight for breath face you fears.
Where minutes pass like plodding years
in grasp of Kilimanjaro.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
things that fall:
petals
teardrops
snowflakes
rain
stars
time
shadows
leaves
the sun
and me
for you
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Keith W Fletcher
July 28 2016
In spirit I'm the Dark Horse
Fading into shadows of doubts
Optimism rides upon my back
Yet it's not enough to turn me
From those obscure routes
Where I too often find my solace
In the echoes of my silent world
As I run from my own hoofbeats
That I have been chasing
None hears the distant thud
From far below those lofty heights
Where I so often find
Myself being hurled
In absence I'm an empty space
Where once a possibility had existed
Like those gentle summer winds
That moves along unnoticed
Until dust or debris swirls around Acknowledging the air
That in my passing through...
... has just been twisted
In memory I am a faded color
Where no reference of what was... .....allows comparison
So no photograph
Or artistic rendering
Can ever capture the true identity...
....Of a shadow lost in shadow
Once the fading out has begun
In legacy I left a trail
Well worn and beaten wide
As I never took
The straight and narrow
I've always preferred...
... to move from side to side
So please...do not illuminate
The beloved shadows zones
Along the trail
For these are the places to take more time
Feeling the presence of all the ghosts
Those reminders of my dead dreams
I've left along there
To haunt me
Reminders of those times I fail
But that cliff edge
Where I so often hurled myself
To crash below
In muted
And too often painful
Solitaire Evolutions
That step off spot
Where my tracks end
That is mine and mine alone
Just as is ...
That Hallowed Ground...
... where I land
And where I lay... until I stand
To dust myself off.. or weep
So should I choose to curse my soul
I want no one else around
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
Keith W Fletcher
Jul 1 2016
Be still my thumping heart
Before you burst straight through flesh and bone
Upon hearing words your life you never expected to ever hear
Bringing life back to a heart once solid as a Stone
Allowing blood to flow through your now coursing veins
That had all but ceased to circulate through
In this cold and barren atmosphere where I've always had a fear
Living was just wasted on those like me who have never had a clue
What love was like beyond
This barren land in which we've lived
Should living be any way to describe
That which we have been doing
Encased in a cocoon of solid misery
Intent upon the dead reckoning course so long in pursuing
So caution please when intending to send any hope
To those who have all but died inside while waiting for Redemption
Are often shriveled husks of once proud but misunderstood beings
Who have lost any and all
True image of themselves
Loveless lives lost
In animated suspension
So carefull now as you have started
Life
Coursing through my frame
No memory of what I should be
That I have never had
-Fear reaches out to grab the arm setting off the silent alarm
That screams a warning to self preserve Or you will go Stark raving mad
STARK RAVING MAD!!!
But death cannot be far removed from this' non - life refrain
So if my heart should burst this day to be shattered into dust
I should take the chance
Letting
circumstance
Guide my weary steps
Taking the hand of you
Who is now reaching out
I give my all.....all that I possess...
.... I give you my trust
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Come on down to your Fletcher’s Store
It has all your needs to complete your chore
Marshal has it all you see?
Be it tools or p.p.e.
Obtaining kit is not that hard
If you have your induction card
But without your little piece of plastic
The treatment you get could well be drastic
Other than that, a cost code will do
That will prevent any further ado
If Marshal is otherwise indisposed
Help is near, it has been disclosed
His faithful helper Spiderman
Will always help you where he can
On the PC he also goes
Logged on as Marshal, I suppose
But back to the master of the store
He knows what’s behind every closed door
What stock he has, he knows off hand
spanners, raincoats , every little gland
a special order or a request
You can be sure, he’ll do his best
He is a man of his word
At toolboxes you may have heard
Laying down the law, giving you grief
Hoping to catch the lowly thief
Spending time with him, I have found
He is a rock, steadfast, morally sound
And if at times you may need a friend
Someone to listen, maybe an ear to bend
Someone there, sound and steady
You can count on Marshal Geddie.
Ernest 28 July 2011 (VPT)
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
Righteous anger is justifiable.
When it is called a pillage by those who do not understand, or those being enacted upon, it's context seems savage. When in fact, this anger is in its complete right.
A reasonable length of time to be angry is as long as the injustice prevails.
Where are we, if not in a place where justice is considered the norm?
We are here.
Standing upon our own bones in a burial ground we built ourselves,
By unceasingly digging graves for all of our problems and hoping the earth would provide wealth to our homeless.
Sometimes burying a problem only feeds it.
Instead of hiding it, we bury it in a shallow grave.
We allow it's toxicity to seep into our gardens, into our watering holes.
And it poisons us, it feeds us with inhuman practices guarded by a Cerberus built of lies.
Lies so poor in foundation we wind up burying our dead right along shallow graves.
Graves having constantly more and more dirt thrown upon them, failing to understand that a deeper hole couldn't even fix what handfuls of dirt sprinkled atop shallow graves are believed to.
So,
Perhaps the time has come.
For the dead to rise, because it's the dead who suffer. Poisoned while resting in supposed peace.
Perhaps it's time the dead find their expired hour glasses and empty them.
Refill them with gunpowder and make due for lost time.
Maybe these overgrown infants deserve the lesson, the one they fail to realize.
That shallow graves are swept aside by heavy rains.
That the dead don't rise on command, and that they lie in stillness by their own accord.
The streets need to ride the rising tides and open the empty plots. To begin writing the eulogies and engraving the tombstones. To commemorate the last of a dying breed.
And bury them in the cemetery behind the Heroes of Failed Revolutions.
Bury them in the graveyard that lies in the back of
The Fletcher Memorial Home
For
Incurable
Tyrants and Kings.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
for the students lost in World War II
1.
Kids.
Could they have understood this "sacrifice"?
2.
Kids,
on the edge of living,
about to dip into life.
3.
Kids:
epitaphs, Sunday daydreams,
skeletons wrapped in flags.
4.
Kids
whose lives are packed into one plaque
near Hardy Tower, tucked
behind bushes by the biology labs.
5.
Kids
stop every so often,
linger a moment over the names,
mouthing one or two
before scooting off to class.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
**** i was just thinking about porridge...
no... not Fletcher, Ronnie Barker...
**** what was i thinking of?
Quaker Oats?
it's not even funny... what was it?
ah...
black Hollywood taking over...
Denzel doing his Zen and D-end ****
Black Panther...
Black Panther?!
ha ha... is that some sort of Pink Panther
spoof?!
the Prodigy did a song for a movie...
one man army...
oh... right... you've forgotten its existence...
now we're getting all the activism revival
revamp?
Black Panther is like Pink Panther....
a ******* joke....
does anyone even begin
to comprehend... Spawn?!
Spawn is the reason why Batman became
Lego...
honest to god,
scouts' honor...
wait wait... so Spawn is bleak?
you know, that Lethal Weapon II South Africa
exchange... but but.. you're bleak!
or whatever the best coordinate association is...
with the mister-race...
who the **** wants to be
the Black Panther?!
all the crumpets / chiseled retrograde
crackers...
guess it's good i'm not slang
for milk0boy... ****** lactose intolerant?
too bad...
how about i **** off your ma ma?
Black Panther is ********
who wants to be Black Panther?
probably some educated counter to a Kanye West
commentator...
Spawn... all d-way...
v-way... but you know...
we figured: difference are so that we get a chance
to matter...
minstrel does the shuffle...
Black Panther my ***
compared to Spawn?
looks like...
the KKK embarked on an appeasement
treaty....
compared to Spawn,
Black Panther,
it makes Dave Chappelle
look like, ******* michael mcintyre...
which is funny... funny...
only when eating chips
and being attacked by a flock
of seagulls...
oi... watch this... Black Panther
propagandists...
who've never seen a minute's worth
of the film Spawn,
which could make any white boy say...
**** Batman, i wanna be Spawn.
wankers.
there's no culture war to be spoken of...
given that the said victories and losses
are so banal...
the, "war" hasn't even started...
and said people are claiming
either victories or losses...
we haven't even started!
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Before we begin let us begin with the silly name tags we've all been given
I'm Hank Fletcher and you'll be Roger Malore.
Ride up
ride up ! Come collect your coat buckets
let's dance a merry boogie under the sinking sun
I'll wear purple dancing shoes so you'll spot me in the crowd and leave the silver wear at home please darling,
I haven't a pocket to spare for all of your loose change
or all of your first change or last change no long change either
I'll take 3 fingers of radical change though
and have seven chasers of rabbits down holes
and wouldn't you know
I don't think we'd stop even if we could
we've only got goats of friendship on leopards nooses down by the ally
did I mention you've got a friend in me?
yes,
please
he can't stay any longer he's eaten up all of my pastries and done a huge mural of the french revolution in the bathroom
I can't stand the sight of ****** man ***** as I try to poo
god lord, would you believe he's done all the horses as well.
Now, now, **** it in
we'll never catch a break if you just give out frankincense every time you find a **** attractive.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
Azure limelight faded grey by the bewilderment
I am the King of All living, we remember
infested as the bunny and pine tree
weeping as mothers marry off their siblings
why wear white at weddings, why wish to be a innocent
a bottle of gin is a grin tonic for a child to see as an aching smell of visions last saw
as if Calvary was a horseman weilding a Lance
A tree to Long for us, grown in the desert
Already Peace flown in pure reverence Sang real
The Last Great Initiate,
Oh Reign, Reign, Rain, Rain, Reins, Reins
Dye his skin with the empowered wish of will
A well endless to stare through is warp drive
A might so glorious we all must avert our eyes, a New Motion
a **** gorgon, to start the serpentine on the sabbath
to revolve and molt in a revolutionary vulcan grip
to fly to the sky with birds writ uplift
delight, delicious, appeal. zeal, feel
Iesus covered in Liquid Cheeses
Sweet Fleeces its Christmas Season
Solar Deities yummy as Pizzas
A pie in the Sky is my age divided by the week
A pipe dream plumbed with gooey memories
the weaken ends of my jeans faded blue from seventy
charred black as the temples crystals phase out painted-glass Murals
too light to be mailed, too large to be contained by an envelope
too short to fit in the door way, too effulgent to weigh on the scale
Pi sees Men, laughing as a woman changing clothes on a curbside speaking
seventeen in one hand, zero at the bone in the other
IhavebeenChanced, Iamexceed, Iamtheether, Iamsanctioned
Fletcher Night: folllow your heart
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Angela Lansbury has perished after living for nearly ninety-seven years.
In 1948, she starred in "State Of The Union" and "The Three Musketeers".
When she starred as a murderess in "Please ****** Me!", her co-star was Raymond Burr.
She is best known for starring in ****** She Wrote" and people will always remember her.
She starred in "Death On The Nile", "Lace" and "The Mirror Crack'd".
Angela became famous because talent wasn't something she lacked.
Many will remember her as "Jessica Fletcher" which was a role that she portrayed for many years.
Angela is dead and when her friends and family attend her funeral, they will grieve and shed tears.
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 6:50 PM UTC
Irony often oozes the blood stain
That history will use to paint
An honest portrait of erstwhile deeds
Or to turn some altered soul to saint
Few are those that exist within the mist
Who loom larger than the shadow portrays
And seldom does a shadow exist undiminished
By the dreariest of all darkest days
So when seeking blood in passionate resolve
There comes a mordant aberration of unheralded stature
Rising to fly above mortal attributes into unremitted immortality
By assiduous conviction born of monstrous evil of unparalleled scale
Born among the Carpathian mountains
From the ancient and mysterious Transylvanian forests
One who seeks blood for righteous alliterations
Not for glory but for the saving grace
A quest to alleviate all alien allagory alligned along the meandering memories of non-mordant minded men
No imagery conjured by Bram Stoker thru Van Helsing
Encompasses the unmitigated reality seen
The lifelong - still beating strong - near century long shadow of the denizen of our brightest outlook
The creation of circumstance as much as man ( unkind ) made
Maybe unheralded by too many
For such a knave am I so sorely cursed now...
With shame
I ...who have always strived
to drape myself
in the raiment of the eternal optimist
Now pay overdue homage to the true and absolute optimist
BEN FERENCZ.... Is his name
Seek out his story now ..
.while he still lives
Reach back ..
Into those dark, dreary days
To share what history gives
and you will see what he means
when he say's
" I'm Right. "
For I truly know that he is!
Keith w. Fletcher
Humbled by the humanity exhibited.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
I wish
I wish I liked STEM
I perpetuate the stereotype,
women studying English,
and art,
and languages
My love of the arts,
and the humanities,
Is regressing women's history
But it is my right
My right to study art,
and languages,
and theatre
Women's empowerment
And fight for equality,
is so I can study humanities,
and Tiera Fletcher could study rocket science
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 2:29 PM UTC
Keith W Fletcher
March 9th 2016
Watching him that first day
He stepped out into sunshine
Stood staring around as if lost
Then took ten steps to stare at the sign
Memorial Hospital was what it read
And I couldn't imagine what thoughts
We're transpiring inside his head
I followed at a distance
To see what his day would bring
No thought of interacting or distracting
Just along with him I would string
He walked along for a mile or two
Just taking in the sights
And I almost started laughing out loud
As he fell backwards staring at some kites
Felt better when he took a seat
He just seemed to find pleasure walking
Easily he was distracted
By the birds the flowers or the kites
To these he was extremely attracted
What goes through his mind
This huge hulking man of carved stone
On the third day the sat on a bench for 5 hours
Staring out at the ocean
seeing something....
....something only he was shown
Those 4 days ...that early June
I followed him around...
... everyday
9 a.m. to Twilight's dimming Veil
So Friday morning was - as usual
8:30 a.m. coffee at the Sidewalk Cafe
Then I saw him...
.... standing at the rail!
Once I noticed him
He stepped around and approached
"Excuse me" he said " do I know you?"
"I've noticed you've been following me
But I haven't known what to do
I think ....I think... I have it figured out though"
Then he smiled a smile and cocked his head.
"I'd be very pleased if today you would walk with me
Unless you'd like to continue following along instead
"Although" he softly said " I'd be grateful
To share with you
Each wonderful new surprise
And see the joy on your face
Knowing ...
That I'm seeing it all...
... for the very first time.
Through your father's eyes!"
There are some things in life that are not to be denied
for right then and there I laid my head down on my crossed arms and I cried and I cried until I regained my ability to talk
While this man stood stood quietly ...solid as stone. Then i said YES it is a lovely day and i would love to accompany you on YOUR walk ..thank you.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
Wish I could get a little undrunk
So I could uncall you
At 5 in the morning, I would unfuck you
Honestly, this party's over
Everyone here should've gone home
But I'm afraid of being sober
'Cause the first thing I do when I'm alone
I start touching myself to the photos
That you used to send me
I should've deleted, but kept it a secret
Is that crazy to do?
So I squeeze out the lime on the ice of My drink
And the juice hits the cuts on my fingers
It still doesn't burn as much as the thought of you
Wish I could get a little undrunk so I could uncall you
At 5 in the morning, I would unfuck you
But some things you can't undo
I wish I could unkiss the room full of strangers
So I could unspite you, unlose my temper
But somethings you can't undo
And one of them's you
I'm afraid to turn the lights on
I don't want to face this rebound
Is it weird if I come over?
I want to, but I know that she's around
So I'm touching myself to the photos
That you used to send me
I should have deleted, but kept it a secret
Is that crazy to do?
Oh, I'm hungry and wasted and my hands are shaking
I shouldn't be cooking but spilling hot water
It still doesn't burn as much as the thought of you
Wish I could get a little undrunk so I could uncall you
At 5 in the morning, I would unfuck you
But some things you can't undo
I wish I could unkiss the room full of strangers
So I could unspite you, unlose my temper
But somethings you can't undo
And one of them's you
Got through every emotion
Right now I'm sad, I'm broken
But the bottles in the floor
I'm to buzzed to clean them up
Wish I could get a little undrunk
So I could, I could unlove you
Wish I could get a little undrunk so I could uncall you
At 5 in the morning, I would unfuck you
But some things you can't undo
I wish I could unkiss the room full of strangers
So I could unspite you, unlose my temper
But somethings you can't undo
And one of them's
You
You, you
Wish I could unlove you
You, you, you
Wish I could uncall you
You, you, you
Wish I could unfuck you
You
Wish I could unlove you
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 12:13 PM UTC
****** she Wrote?
I only ever saw
Jessica Fletcher
type.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:26 AM UTC
Hello, Poetry? Keith W Fletcher Poems Dec 2016 Back from the edge
It will soon mark 7 long silent filled years since the pain and depression that ended up inspiring this poem. During the band days of yesteryear we always had a chance to get together on this type of summer/ autumn holidays and raise hell and make noise and it was like a big family, so I repost this one here for whatever I can get out of it this time and for all that are ln need, for then (by all means) especially for you as well!
As if from out of nowhere Gnarled Twisted fingers With jagged rusting fingernails Reached out ... Grabbing me Dragging me... Back From going over the precipice Stopping the headlong tumble Into that deep dark echoless Abyss At that critical moment of complete systems failure ...When the call of the Void Seems impossible to deny Convinced That falling through the darkness Would seem as if I could fly Ive sensed that the siren song was calling to me As it had been all along So ,Just as I let Go ... Leaning in Relinquishing control Those wrinkled withered hands With the Twisted gnarled fingers And those rusted over fingernails Pulled me back... With Strength incomprehensible Freeing a Sinister scream of agony Pure pain and despair Ripping out and splitting the air As it rose up from the depths Of that deep Darkness... that Echoless void Someone had reached out... ... To save me So I turned to see who... it was That had pulled me back Wondering how it is... ... That they knew There was no one there Just the last fading remnants Of a shadow on the wall So I smile to the Fates As I gather paper and pen Making a note for my future Lest I ever forget and Tumble back in Then with withered and wrinkled hands I Hold Steady to the notepad With rusting fingernail adorned Twisted and gnarled fingers I begin A whole different flight As I begin to write Keith W Fletcher Written by Keith W Fletcher Oklahoma 490 naǧí, Ryn, Ami Shae, Keith Wilson, J Robert Fallon III, and 1 other Ami Shae Ami Shae Wow!!! This is one of the best writes I've ever read! Gives me hope! Thank you!!! 0 1 reply Dec 2016
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 7:24 PM UTC
Keith W Fletcher
Nov 27, 2015
Deny that you try
to be
Something that you're really not
And you will find
That the downward spiral....is infectious
With no cure for it
And no serum
To protect us
The spiral will go viral
Spreading like wildfire
Across ...the dry-parched
Landscape
Slapping you down
Trapping you with the sound
Of
Your own voice
Crying out from the wilderness
Do you really want to obsess ...
....on something...that
you don't really need to possess
Is is really so important
That you'll give up on yourself
To become a mannequin
Dressed up and standing in..
...the window
As
People go walking by
Glancing at you as they go
Do you think they really know?
Do you think they really care?
About all the things...you....
.....decided ..to sacrifice
In order to get yourself here
Nobody has to be the perfection of
A false identity
Unless
There is nothing else
That they can see
Is... as ...important as
The fantasy
That they keep building up
In.the wilderness
Where they hear their own voice
Calling out.....come to me....
Come to me --come to me
And I will show you who it is....
That you are ....supposed to be
And I will.give you everything
THAT.....YOU......DESIRE
If you can grab it ---you can have it
Then you can stand
In the window
As people keep on walking by
Believing that
You are
Someone to admire
But the dry parched landscape
And the downward spiral
Of all your false dreams
Is always being wiped clean
By the spreading wildfire
While the people ..just keep on
Walking by.....going places
LIVING REAL LIVES
While the mannequin in the window
Keeps watching
From the same spot
Still denying
That they're trying
To be --something that...
They're really not
Something that they're really not.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
The photos lay in a pile of dust
They’d gathered under the bed,
They’d not seen the light of day for years
Were neglected there, instead,
The wife found them with the first spring clean
And she dumped them in my lap,
‘Who is the girl on the Honda Dream,
And the guy in the leather cap?’
I must have shot her a funny look
As we guys are wont to do,
‘A girl I must have been going with
About twenty before you.’
She picked the photo out of the pile
And she brushed it on her skirt,
I thought, ‘Oh, here we go again,’
Her face said she was hurt.
‘How come I’ve never seen her before,’
She was getting close to tears,
I snatched the photo out of her hand,
‘It must be fifty years!
I can’t recall the time or the place
And I can’t recall her name.’
She punched me once on the shoulder, said:
‘You ought to be ashamed!’
That photo sat on the mantelpiece
And it stared at me for weeks,
A bonny girl with a pouting lip
And the wife gave me no peace.
It was, ‘Just what did you talk about?
What did she used to say?’
I said, ‘I can’t for the life of me
Remember a single day.’
She served the hot-pot up stone cold
And the gravy didn’t move,
I think she mixed it with concrete just
To show she didn’t approve.
I said, ‘I was only twenty then,
That snap was way back when,
We’ve been together for forty years,
Why drag her up again?’
‘You’ve kept her a secret all these years,
That photo, under the bed,
How do I know you’re not in touch?’
I said, ‘She’s probably dead!’
I racked my brains for a memory
But all I could see were thighs,
Pert young ******* and a petticoat
And a twinkle in her eyes.
But still I couldn’t recall her name
Or a single word she’d said,
Only the scent of her sweet young breath
As we rolled in her parents bed,
She’d clung to me on the pillion seat
As her skirt flared out, and streamed,
Down at the back of Fletcher’s Wood
On the back of the Honda Dream.
‘I want to know what you did with her,
Though it doesn’t matter now.’
(I’d fallen for one of those tricks before,
The wife’s a devious cow!)
I thought of the day the fun had gone
When we lay, looked up at the sky,
‘Ah, now I remember what she said,
One word, just one… Goodbye!’
David Lewis Paget
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
Keith W Fletcher Dec 2015
Twas the flight before christmas
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a computer mouse
All of the people and pets
Were nestled in bed
Waiting for a fat man
In a flying -reindeer sled
Just as I ventured
To slip off to sleep
A noise -- maybe a clatter
Was heard from the street
I ran to get me a view
Opening the window
I put my head through
Down on the corner
Across from the jail
A fat drunken bearded man
Was singing off key
Merry Christmas to all you boys
I hope ya all make it out without fail
The kettle had just enough money
To make my own flippin bail
I was annoyed so I yelled down
Go home you soppin santa --you stinkin clown
GO HOME-
So the real Santa might actually appear
F* off you a hole he yelled back
As he popped open a beer
I am the real santa you * head
Then he sorta suggested
My reindeer flew off when I was arrested
Mrs. Clause is so cold
Them elves is lucky they don't get molested
But if you're worried ya won't get your gift
Then get your dumba down here
And give me a lift
Hastily dressing I wondered
If anyone else might have heard
But the way they were snoring
Obviously they heard not a word
Grabbing a jacket I picked up my keys
Went out to take this crazy drunk home
So that he won't freeze
When I finally found him
It way back behind the dumpster
Where he was tossing his cookies
Being eyeballs by two coppers
Who looked like a pair of rookies
"COME ON " I pleaded " lets get you home"
He peered at his wristwatch"sh* he exclaimed
I'm supposed to be delivering gifts in Maine
He clumped into my new Volvo --stinking of *****
"A Volvo" he sneered why couldn't you drive a Ford ..comet
Then he mumbled some words below his stale breath
And my car floated up in the air -- scaring me to death
He yelled out commands as my car shot forward
"Rides pretty nice" he muttttered" but not as nice as a Ford"
"On Volvo .. On Volvo .. On ..oh heck .. Just hook a left
No nonono I mean right
Then he yelled out the window
MERRY(buuurp) CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD EFFEN
NIGHT. HO ** Cough cough Hoooo!!
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC