"francis" poems
"We can't afford to be wrong on this issue."
~ Francis Chan
With holy anguish hearts are crying
through feeble language urgently trying
to summon the sleeping now to wake
for souls' eternities are at stake
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
The root
Of ambition
Is ambivalent
There's no “one cause”
No one causes
A man
To make life decisions
In a day
It takes
Much more
For
A man to be successful
And real
With his inner-self
Accepting
The cards dealt
With the stamina
To play through
Exercising his will
With the feel
Lingering in every pore
Unsure
Of obstacles ahead
Headstrong
Through barricades
Bearing the bruises
Trampling
Over your own
Feet
Defeat
Seen in battle
But the war’s on
And the war zone
Isn’t limited
To a few
Years
Like ages 19-22
Whose to do
Worse
Who has more
Money
CARS
Clothes
And hoes
And whose vision
Is so small
To tack them
with success
All in all
And attack those
Who lack the
Wills
To move forward
And ignorantly
Attach it
With a phenomena
Of
Your unknowing
Root of ambition
Can spread
Like weeds
And weeds
Can **** ambition
Or spread
Like seeds
How many men
Dive
Head first under the influence
Or rise above
High
From the same drug
Barack Obama
Michael Phelps
William Shakespeare
Bill Clinton
Lebron James
Pablo Picasso
The Beatles
Jay-Z
Bob Marley
Conan O’Brien
Dr Francis Crick. (Nobel Prize Winner)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Salvador Dali
Victor Hugo
Kareem Abdul-Jabar
Snoop Dogg
Dr. Dre
Stephen King
Just to name a few
Maybe
Just maybe
It has nothing to do
With success
Or you.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
My dearest Frank, I wish you joy
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little pain
Compared with that of Mary Jane —
May he a growing Blessing prove,
And well deserve his Parents' Love! —
Endow'd with Art's and Nature's Good,
Thy Name possessing with thy Blood,
In him, in all his ways, may we
Another Francis WIlliam see! —
Thy infant days may he inherit,
They warmth, nay insolence of spirit; —
We would not with one foult dispense
To weaken the resemblance.
May he revive thy Nursery sin,
Peeping as daringly within,
His curley Locks but just descried,
With 'Bet, my be not come to bide.' —
Fearless of danger, braving pain,
And threaten'd very oft in vain,
Still may one Terror daunt his Soul,
One needful engine of Controul
Be found in this sublime array,
A neigbouring Donkey's aweful Bray.
So may his equal faults as Child,
Produce Maturity as mild!
His saucy words and fiery ways
In early Childhood's pettish days,
In Manhood, shew his Father's mind
Like him, considerate and Kind;
All Gentleness to those around,
And anger only not to wound.
Then like his Father too, he must,
To his own former struggles just,
Feel his Deserts with honest Glow,
And all his self-improvement know.
A native fault may thus give birth
To the best blessing, conscious Worth.
As for ourselves we're very well;
As unaffected prose will tell.
Cassandra's pen will paint our state,
The many comforts that await
Our Chawton home, how much we find
Already in it, to our mind;
And how convinced, that when complete
It will all other Houses beat
The ever have been made or mended,
With rooms concise, or rooms distended.
You'll find us very snug next year,
Perhaps with Charles and ***** near,
For now it often does delight us
To fancy them just over-right us.
5.3k
No we're not learning about inventors.
No we're not learning about scientists.
If we were, that would be great,
But we're not,
Instead we're learning about lying thieves,
And overrated ones at that.
We should be learning about real inventors,
That didn't steal ideas from others,
And were lucky enough not to have ideas stolen from them,
Like George Westinghouse.
We should be learning about real inventors,
And real scientists,
That sadly went unrecognized,
Because their ideas were stolen,
By so called inventors,
That were in reality total jerks,
Like Nikola Tesla,
And Rosalind Franklin.
However, instead of learning about true inventors like them,
We're learning about the likes of Thomas Edison,
Guglielmo Marconi,
James Watson,
And Francis Crick.
Here's a "fun fact" about Thomas Edison,
He promised Nikola Tesla 50 grand,
In exchange for fixing his machines.
However, when Nikola Tesla was finished,
Several months later,
He not only didn't pay Tesla,
He mocked him for asking,
He said that he was joking,
And according to some, he was offered a raise of 10 dollars
According to others, he asked for a raise, and was denied it,
Either way, Tesla quit.
Here's a "fun fact" about Guglielmo Marconi,
He didn't invent the radio,
Nikola Tesla did.
However, Marconi pulled an Edison,
And stole Tesla's invention from him.
Luckily, although sadly too late,
Tesla was rewarded the patent.
Here's a "fun fact" about James Watson and Francis Crick,
They took credit for Franklin's discovery.
Why do we have to sit in social studies,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And reading books,
And doing plays,
That people created for school kids,
About so called inventors.
When instead,
We could be reading books,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And doing plays,
That we created ourselves,
About real inventors.
I want to get a real education.
I want to learn about the truth,
Instead of lies.
So please teachers,
Principals,
Superintendents,
Common Core Professionals,
State Test Professionals,
Please let us learn about the truth,
Please don't make us learn about lies.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
farewell, father; goodbye, school
demagogues divide to rule
words my weapons
to try my tool
Francis of Assisi is a holy Fool.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 9:51 AM UTC
Along the banks of Lake Shelbyville
That’s what I think of when it’s your birthday
A camp fire burning on a cool April night
We two drinking hot mauled cider
Or better yet “Hornsby’s Draft Cider”
Talking and laughing
Making up parodies
Parodies of Zeppelin and Floyd songs
Listening to the nightingales and the crickets
And watching fire light
That almost appears to be living
Watching slow rolling clouds, and feeling the whispering wind
Rolling in and out and over and under
The engaging light of the moon and stars
And maybe some of our friends were there
And maybe it was only us
Brother and sister
Best friends forever
Retelling stories of our past
Creating memories for our future
Waxing religion and philosophy
Such philistines, think my parents
And your parents don’t get it
And yes we have separate parents
And yes we have the same parents
(Adoption is a funny thing you see)
You are my funny BIG, BIG, BIG brother
Santa Claus, Sasquatch, Cave Man, and Viking
And I am your little crazy sister
Flower Child and Sacagawea
And it is your birthday
And I love you always
Love, Sarah Jane Gillian Tiffany Michelle Whispering Wind Grider Minks Summers Jonathan George Washington Francis Fleming Greenlee Whiter Liston Hall
Aka Awesome Pagan Goddess
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
Yesterday
I was just like you
I rose with the rising sun
I brought a smile to all those who passed by me
Alan spoke about my colour
Brendon was amazed at my arrangement
Claire wanted to touch me
Dorothy wanted her perfume with the fragrance I carried
Emily wanted to take me with her
Francis wanted to give me to his lady love,
I thought I was the most important being on earth
I thought everyone loved me
I thought I brought a smile to people's face.
But today,
Am no longer loved,
Alan just walked by
Brendon bothered not
Claire cared not
Dorothy drove past
Emily ensured the same as did
Francis.
Because,
Today
Am nothing more than a withered rose
With my strewn petals in the pathway
And that's right
Step on or sweep away
For
All you people
Might one day end up just like me!!!
- A Withered Yellow Rose.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.
He had his own locker
a slicker and hat.
He also had cancer,
and a bad one at that.
From early on in his life
he fought neuroblastoma ;
An invasive tumor
a metastatic carcinoma.
His family who loved him
labored to save
their dear little child
Prince Liam the Brave.
He faced surgery bravely,
engaged in his fight..
He endured radiation
Chemo and knife.
When many a New Yorker
complains about stress,
Prince Liam was stoic
When put to the test.
Then just before Christmas
he suffered a relapse
He became neutrapenic-
His immune system collapsed.
With blood in his *****
And a spot on his lung
Liam grew weak.
his defenses undone.
An Amethyst stone
he received from a friend
was his talisman of hope
that he held to the end.
The worst part of the journey
was when hope was gone.
Then Liam lay, still and silent
in his mother's arms.
There are brave fire fighters
Who’ll be fighting back tears
Brave Prince Liam has died,
He lived only six years
There are many old people
still avoiding the grave
Who know less about love
Than did Liam the brave
We will gather together
In St Francis’ nave
To remember the life of
Prince Liam the brave
i
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
"See they come, post haste from Thanet"
See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride!
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder ridge.
Down the hill they're swift proceeding,
Now they skirt the Park around;
Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding
Scamper, startled at the sound!
Run, my Brothers, to the Pier gate!
Throw it open, very wide!
Let it not be said that we're late
In welcoming my Uncle's Bride!
To the house the chaise advances;
Now it stops—They're here, they're here!
How d'ye do, my Uncle Francis?
How does do your Lady dear?
3.7k
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is.
Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.
I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion
But on Protection Island
I feel
Protected.
Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child
I will be fine.
To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house
The protectors warm grin of welcome.
I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream
A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
(Sitting and drinking in the chair made out of the relics
of Sir Francis Drake’s ship.)
Cheer up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow;
Clap on more sail, and never spare;
Farewell, all lands, for now we are
In the wide sea of drink, and merrily we go.
Bless me, ’tis hot! another bowl of wine,
And we shall cut the burning Line:
Hey, boys! she scuds away, and by my head I know
We round the world are sailing now.
What dull men are those who tarry at home,
When abroad they might wantonly roam,
And gain such experience, and spy, too,
Such countries and wonders, as I do!
But pr’ythee, good pilot, take heed what you do,
And fail not to touch at Peru!
With gold there the vessel we’ll store,
And never, and never be poor,
No, never be poor any more.
3.2k
He came to the Philippines
To warm peoples' hearts
Filipinos here and there
Say he's the CHOSEN ONE
The Sky seems dark and gloomy
That may stop the Pope from going
But the Pope says no lets go
The people are waiting for me
No one can cease His Holiness
From becoming one with the Church
He is a certified rockstar
For todays Generation
His advocacies inspired us
To become a better Christian
To help the poor and the needy
And to nurture the youth of today
Let us never forget what he said
Though he left us already
History was made in this country
The country called The Philippines
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Things sometimes fall apart
Among sisters and brothers,
No matter what they once were.
Childhood picnics and dreamy games,
Memories of trips with Dad,
Since Mom was tired of us.
We would climb Appalachian peaks
Or drive to look at the Mayflower.
Every summer there was a golden week
A lakeside cottage and all-day swims
In crystal water, becoming mermaids.
But time passes and bitterness accrues.
Imagined slights grow like slow tumors,
Never excised but nurtured by some.
I go to college and am freed
From the poison of ignorant rage,
From the creeping depression left
Like diesel fog on an endless floor.
Four or five years of delight pass
With only hints here or there
Of a sibling’s misery at home.
Of a once close sister, Maggie,
Who is ignored and never loved
By any man she pursues.
She blames me for it, for reasons
I have yet to fathom.
Of a brother, Francis, deluded, drugged,
Steals the family car in a rage
And drives to New York City.
Of Deirdre, the middle sister,
Whose friend who knows men who feed
On her ignorance and rebellion.
Only Susannah tries to rise above
The maelstrom of misery.
I send her to a school far away
And she sheds despair, at least.
Decades drawl, children are born to us,
While the bridge between us, obscured,
Sags and frays under weight of rancor.
Christmas dinners and birthday parties
Turn into chores, invitations kept as scores.
Petty grudges, like acid, sever the bridge
At last, all ties are abandoned.
When we are all grown and scattered,
No one speaking to anyone else,
Unaware, uncaring about the others.
Only Susannah visits me and smiles,
With no ulterior plan for insane revenge,
Or accusations for errant slights.
Her once dark hair is grizzled and wild
And her girlish skin now creased.
But her treacle eyes, “black aggies”,
I used to call them, still shine.
Only Susannah writes a letter,
Wishing us well and
Healing scars made by others,
Returning the word “family”.
To my basket of small treasures,
I carry with me
Into the twilight.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 10:52 AM UTC
Oh Papa Francisco, Supremo ng Simbahan
Ang iya pagtambong daw ano ka bulahan
Siya naghatag kalipay sa aton duog
Matapos ang makakulugmat nga bagyo kg linog
Gani sa una nga adlaw sg iya pagbisita
Bisan gab-i don madamo guihapon nakita
Nga mga Pilipino nga nagdulog sa iya alagyan
Agud siya sugaton kg amligan
Sa ikaduha nga adlaw sg iya pag-abot
Iya gin-akigan mga pulitiko nga kurakot
Iya ginpahanumdom ang pagtatap sa mga karnero
Iya ginlaygayan ang mga pamilya nga Pilipino
Sa ikatatlo nga adlaw niya sa pungsod
Iya ginpahagan-hagan ang mga nagakalisod
Iya ginbendisyunan mga biktima sg kalamidad
Iya ginhatagan puloy-an mga imol sa komunidad
Sa ikaapat nga adlaw niya diri sa aton nasyon
Iya ginpakigkita mga lideres sg iban nga relihiyon
Iya gin-ulu-ulo mga kabataaan nga nagpa-utwas
Iya ginpangamuyuan ang bilog nga Pilipinas
Gani sa ulihi nga adlaw sg iya pagkari
Madamo sa guihapon nagbantay sa iya diri
Sin-o bala ang magakalipat sa isa ka Santo Papa
Nga bisan may bagyo sa guihapon nagbisita
Bisan iban nga relihiyon sa iya nagsaludo
Kay iya ginpamatud-an nga siya para sa tawo
Matuod guid nga kay Hesukristo siya tiglawas
Salamat Papa Francisco sa kabalaka sa Pilipinas!
-01/21/2015
(Dumarao)
*Pope Francis Fever Collection
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
Waves - Chloe Francis
My life is like an ocean
A space of unknown worries
My life is like an ocean
With waves of depression and anxiety forever rolling in
These waves are getting harder and harder to avoid
These waves are getting stronger and stronger each break
These waves are pulling me under further and further every day
These waves are consuming me at a concerning pace
It’s time to let these waves pull me to a better place
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 3:32 AM UTC
Mousy was a little mouse. He had a mousy tail.
And Mousy had a giant friend named Francis.
Who's a whale!
Now you might wonder how a mouse
could be friends with a whale.
Well.Mousy Mouse was a mouse
And he knew how to sail!
For Mousy was born on a sailing ship.
Far, far out at sea.
And having been born a sailor,
What else could he be?
The sailing ship was a mighty one!
With sails tall and white.
And Mousy would stand on the deck
And watch the stars at night.
Now Francis was a great big whale
Who came up once for air.
He looked up at the ship
and saw Mousy standing there.
"Hi there little mouse! Ahoy!"
Francis called up from the sea.
The waters great this time of night!
Come down and swim with me!"
"I'd love to swim with you great whale!"
Mousy shouted out with glee.
"My name sir, is Mousy Mouse"
"And what might your name be?"
"My name is Francis. Francis Whale Write!
And now that you and I are friends,
Come swim with me tonight!"
"And so I shall!" cried Mousy.
And he dove into the sea.
They swam around for hours!
It was quite a sight to see.
They swam and swam and swam some more.
Till Mousy finally said,
"I really should get back on board.
For I must go to bed!
Then Francis sighed a little sigh
And said "I understand.
"But your down here while the decks up there!
"I best give you a hand."
So he sat little Mousy upon his giant tail,
Gave it just a tinsy flip
And through the air he sailed!
Mousy landed on the deck.
As easy as you please.
"Thank you!" cried out Mousy Mouse.
"For swimming round with me!"
Francis said"that's quite all right,
We must swim again someday!"
And that's how they became friends
And still are to this day!
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:26 PM UTC
Do I write to cure my mind of the things unseen,
By any other human being,
To regain strength from the pain?
That solemnly remains,
In my heart relentlessly stopping me,
From pleasures that are gained?
Am I the one that’s standing alone in the rain?
Or am I myself the rain?
Is it me that is untamed,
Causing bad weather that strikes the pulmonary vein?
Though my thoughts I try to contain.
Am I like hurricane Katrina?
Yet not wanting to cause harm to New Orleans.
So can I relate myself to hurricane Jane?
Who quickly passes over the Bahamas,
Not causing too much disaster,
But after Francis what else is there to be seen?
Did I change everything,
Because it looks like everything’s the same.
Even without me there will be someone with my name.
Just not my fingerprints though, they would have never came.
So really is the world the same without me,
Or would it have a different frame?
©
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
Righteous soul
Emerge unscathed
From fires of temptation
Ignore the Hydra
Study the centaur
Link the division between
Destruction and creation
Goddess, queen, princess, witch
God, king, wizard, demon
A demon’s in the way
But the animals are on your side
Says Francis of Assisi
Observe the three in OM
Chant till you come home
Oh, righteous soul
Emerge unscathed
From fires of temptation
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
As I told you already that I was Graeme Thorne in the 1950s and apart from the fact I was him for just 8 years, I had a best friend named bobby Francis who was a very ***** fellow, well back then so was I
Bobby had a teenage crush on dody Stephens who sang pink shoe laces which was bobby's fave song and I, as Graeme Thorne thought yeah she is cute and bobby bought her album over to my house and you could hear his voice twanging with the words pink shoelaces and then in 1959 bobby bought pink shoelaces which caused a bit of shock for teachers at old scots college and Greame Thorne who was me said it looks weird that my mate is wearing pink shoe laces
But bobby couldn't give a flying **** about what people were saying about him
Just listen or try and get the memory of him singing
Tan shoes and pink shoelaces
A polka dot vest hey man oh man tan shoes with pink shoelaces and a big panamol
With a purple hat band and my friend bobby sang that with the same twang as dodi Stephens
Which could be the reason why
Bobby is having a tween crush on an older 13 year old singer
I as Graeme Thorne also had a crush on dodi and both me and bobby were dodi's dory but bobby's mum got really cranky with bobby for his voice because it could be a **** voice but bobby used bad language to tell his mum to get ****** and every time we went to the local shops in Bondi beach we bought our ice creams and sat on the beach singing the dodi Stephens hit
And then two gorgeous 12 year old girls sat near us and I said
How about a bit of sugar and bobby said for you maybe but I want dodi's pink shoelaces
And I told bobby to live in the realistic years and bobby said you can talk to these girls but I like dodi ok and bobby was ************ over dodi Stephens **** body while I as Graeme Thorne went over to the 12 year old girls and started to massage their backs and thighs saying to bobby these girls are a nice *** of sugar
For my spoon and as the girls left they kissed me as greame Thorne on the lips and left thinking my friend was a bit of a **** and when we got back to bobby's house bobby played pink shoe laces very loud as well as ************ thinking dodi is a 50s fox and I toild him that those girls on the beach were **** too and bobby said yeah I agree but I plan to finish school and marry dodi and then said he was Dooley and dodi is trying to keep me safe well in 1960 I was kidnapped and killed and bobby well I will never ever know if he got it together with dodi, probably not but in my current life at the age of 22 I heard bobby's twang singing pink shoe laces as I heard it on the radio and now I listen to pink shoe laces on YouTube
She is hot
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
Tho we be like strands of nettle, each with his own drop of particular poison, tho over the years we have tangled now and then like tomcats in the alley....
Be it not the beauty and allure of this gathering of writers to appreciate and admire the difference found within?
T'were it not for the likes of Francis this site would lack bite, would lack spice and would lose much of its' erstwhile attraction.
So wherefore art thou Frank?
I miss your stuff. I miss your sharp tongue...
I miss your intellect and repartee!
Wherefore art thou Francis?
M.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
"Lighten up Francis" -Bill Murray, Stripes
I have you in my head
sitting down
reading
now you're
smiling
looking amused
as you realize
I'm making
you up
It's my hallucination
you'll wear what I say
I like what you had on
yesterday
Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
Enero Kinse, Dos mil Kinse
Sa Villamor umindak daan-daang estudyante
Paglapag ng eroplanong Sri Lankan
Mga sasalubong naghiyawan
Pagbukas ng pintuan ng sasakyang lumilipad
Skull cap ng Santo Papa ay nilipad
Pagpanaog sa hagdan ng eroplano
Sinalubong ng mga sundalo at ng Pangulo
Pinatugtog himno ng ating bansa
Ganundin ang himno ng Vatican sa Roma
Dalawang batang ulila sa kanya sumalubong
Matamis na pagbati sa kanya ibinulong
Sa Pope Mobile na walang panangga sumakay
Ang Supremo ng Simbahan todo ngiti at kaway
Kahit gabi na kayraming tao bawat daanan
Hanggang sa Apostolic Nunciature na pagpapahingahan.
-01/16/2015
(Dumarao)
*Pope Francis Fever Collection
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
Well, what now, hey?
I threw the dog overboard yesterday.
The day before, the day?
Where will you go, hey?
I heard the orchestra-man play
The same way,
Sanctum, requiem, asylum
All Latin in his French dog-eared play.
Hear the monkey, playing accordion play
To the whirling whirly-whirly-ghig
Tre dramatique, no? Today
I understand you're just as "tramatig."
I want to hear your Frenchmen play
Play ***** pipes play play
In his dog-eared French organ-man
Play
But I cannot, cannot say
Tears of joy, in hydrant spray
The Hyades triumphant rainbow stay
Cough your little fears away;
Hear the Star Spangled Francis Key play
Frenchmen play, play,
Little piggies counted play
Black white keys with little piggle-plumps play
Atone-al, A-tonal---atonal tonal sounds as if to say
"Getting married here to stay"
All alone and all today
Settle down if for a day
And who will hear the trumpet play
When organ-man Frenchman say
"Where? Home of the free" and stay
Keep your hands away
Never want to let you say
"Hear me, hear ye, all you weary, weary dreamers
But never left your confidence like Russell-rustle leaf-blown willow-white
You fill them up with seventy two pay
Make a kite, to(k)night, allRight
Thank god for the fleas in the right
Hairless creatures for to sway
I threw the dog overboard yesterday
The day before, the day
And if you'd wanted it to stay
You should've say, you should've say
But never let my hand betray
The vein, the line, the artery
Of arterial shells bombastically
Loquacious to a fault, this day
They say "You want another day"
They say "You never wanted say"
They say "You wasted every day"
They say "They say, they say, they say"
But e'er forget, ne'er forget
I'll despise you abandon heaven for earth to get
And leave your money, your millions behind
For mansions with my Lord to find
But in the ceiling never was a god to pray
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC