Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"grandstand" poems
I'll settle for the 6 horse on a rainy afternoon a paper cup of coffee in my hand a little way to go, the wind twirling out small wrens from the upper grandstand roof, the jocks coming out for a middle race silent and the easy rain making everything at once almost alike, the horses at peace with each other before the drunken war and I am under the grandstand feeling for cigarettes settling for coffee, then the horses walk by taking their little men away- it is funeral and graceful and glad like the opening of flowers.
0
4.9k
No. 6
Don't knock what you've never tried Lock box with a heart inside Six shots from a forty five Punk rock makes you come alive Black-hawks in the clear blue sky It's ad hoc but you can just get by On Poprocks and cyanide Tick-tock time to decide What made you think that you could take me down? The method's flawed, but the strategies sound. What made you try to hold me back? I hope you're ready for the counter-attack. Backhand and you feel the heat Grandstand 'till you take a seat Kickstand just to keep your feet Firsthand watch you admit defeat
0
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
Punk Rock and Cyanide
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying. In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, please come flying, to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums descending out of the mackerel sky over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water, please come flying. Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags rising and falling like birds all over the harbor. Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing countless little pellucid jellies in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains. The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged. The waves are running in verses this fine morning. Please come flying. Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe trailing a sapphire highlight, with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots, with heaven knows how many angels all riding on the broad black brim of your hat, please come flying. Bearing a musical inaudible abacus, a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons, please come flying. Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan is all awash with morals this fine morning, so please come flying. Mounting the sky with natural heroism, above the accidents, above the malignant movies, the taxicabs and injustices at large, while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears that simultaneously listen to a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer, please come flying. For whom the grim museums will behave like courteous male bower-birds, for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait on the steps of the Public Library, eager to rise and follow through the doors up into the reading rooms, please come flying. We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping, or play at a game of constantly being wrong with a priceless set of vocabularies, or we can bravely deplore, but please please come flying. With dynasties of negative constructions darkening and dying around you, with grammar that suddenly turns and shines like flocks of sandpipers flying, please come flying. Come like a light in the white mackerel sky, come like a daytime comet with a long unnebulous train of words, from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying.
0
2.9k
Invitation To Miss Marianne Moore
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying. In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, please come flying, to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums descending out of the mackerel sky over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water, please come flying. Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships are signaling cordially with multitudes of flags rising and falling like birds all over the harbor. Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing countless little pellucid jellies in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains. The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged. The waves are running in verses this fine morning. Please come flying. Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe trailing a sapphire highlight, with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots, with heaven knows how many angels all riding on the broad black brim of your hat, please come flying. Bearing a musical inaudible abacus, a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons, please come flying. Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan is all awash with morals this fine morning, so please come flying. Mounting the sky with natural heroism, above the accidents, above the malignant movies, the taxicabs and injustices at large, while horns are resounding in your beautiful ears that simultaneously listen to a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer, please come flying. For whom the grim museums will behave like courteous male bower-birds, for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait on the steps of the Public Library, eager to rise and follow through the doors up into the reading rooms, please come flying. We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping, or play at a game of constantly being wrong with a priceless set of vocabularies, or we can bravely deplore, but please please come flying. With dynasties of negative constructions darkening and dying around you, with grammar that suddenly turns and shines like flocks of sandpipers flying, please come flying. Come like a light in the white mackerel sky, come like a daytime comet with a long unnebulous train of words, from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying.
Continue reading...
58
Spot, that lucky dog, is dead. He did not live to see what became of **** and Jane. Let me relate their history. **** and Jane now were in their teens Vietnam was our national hell. Jane mourned her fellows at Kent State. Dick's squad stormed Hue's Citadel. **** came back from Vietnam a changed and distant man. In sleep he'd mutter, toss and turn, crying out like one who's dammed. Jane became a feminist and in protest burned her brassiere. **** in monosylables proclaimed he loved Jane dear Soon Jane was having fun with **** in the back seat of his car. A different sort of fun, I think than they ever had before. They both tried marijuana and both of them inhaled They were discreet, unlike their friends and avoided time in jail. They lived together for a while Eventually they married. The product of their union was two boys named Tom and Harry. **** got work at Chysler standing right beside his Dad. He figured he was set for life. He became a Union man. Jane became a lawyer working for A.C.L.U. **** and Jane would often argue about the causes she pursued. By now the boys were growing up and spending time with Dad Out at Tiger Stadium they had seats in the grandstand. It seemed everything was perfect. Of course everything was not. **** and Jane fought frequently. Her career was getting hot. She no longer had much fun with **** the passion had grown cold. Cialis was not invented yet and **** grew fat and bald. Jane began to question why she ever chose to marry. Jane stopped having fun with **** Jane now has fun with Sally.
0
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC
More Fun with **** and Jane
Spot, that lucky dog, is dead. He did not live to see what became of **** and Jane. Let me relate their history. **** and Jane now were in their teens Vietnam was our national hell. Jane mourned her fellows at Kent State. Dick's squad stormed Hue's Citadel. **** came back from Vietnam a changed and distant man. In sleep he'd mutter, toss and turn, crying out like one who's dammed. Jane became a feminist and in protest burned her brassiere. **** in monosylables proclaimed he loved Jane dear Soon Jane was having fun with **** in the back seat of his car. A different sort of fun, I think than they ever had before. They both tried marijuana and both of them inhaled They were discreet, unlike their friends and avoided time in jail. They lived together for a while Eventually they married. The product of their union was two boys named Tom and Harry. **** got work at Chysler standing right beside his Dad. He figured he was set for life. He became a Union man. Jane became a lawyer working for A.C.L.U. **** and Jane would often argue about the causes she pursued. By now the boys were growing up and spending time with Dad Out at Tiger Stadium they had seats in the grandstand. It seemed everything was perfect. Of course everything was not. **** and Jane fought frequently. Her career was getting hot. She no longer had much fun with **** the passion had grown cold. Cialis was not invented yet and **** grew fat and bald. Jane began to question why she ever chose to marry. Jane stopped having fun with **** Jane now has fun with Sally.
Continue reading...
52
Are you relieved to be normal?? It's something only you see. Wasting away with a false impression we're all as strange as can be I take some consolation as light reflects differently before passing my eyes and disguising inside mistaken identity Spooked by our shadows safer with backs against trees Wandering hopeful in vast space kicking round autumn leaves Vanish like Houdini chained in a box at the bottom of the sea. Just like smoke through every vent caught by any breeze I think a part of everyone resides somewhere else The 21 grams we lose in death We've all wondered what it was in the corner of our eye Maybe you looking back at you now you've died Say there was no answer just questions? Would we stop looking for them in the bottom of glasses? Something seems strange but I'm not sure It's not a disease there is no cure It's not a house of cards or castles made of sand But a poisonous web spun by delinquent human hand Sunny days and weekend stays in places far from home Meet the locals to say goodbye before you've even said hello Leaves in trees so eager for a breeze to fall This is no life at all. Its one or two things that remind me it's a game The tedium like nails at scabs and the blood it'll bring A slice of lemon is all I need to add a little colour. Perhaps a banksy on my garden wall. Having a door held for me. Strawberries for breakfast. Punctuality. Four feet at the foot of my bed. Not waking contemplating regret. Sun on my face Sand in my shoes A different kind of saltwater kisses. Grandstand welcomes from close friends. Tearful goodbyes everytime. The magic must happen when I blink or during the blackouts when I drink.
0
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Blackouts
Are you relieved to be normal?? It's something only you see. Wasting away with a false impression we're all as strange as can be I take some consolation as light reflects differently before passing my eyes and disguising inside mistaken identity Spooked by our shadows safer with backs against trees Wandering hopeful in vast space kicking round autumn leaves Vanish like Houdini chained in a box at the bottom of the sea. Just like smoke through every vent caught by any breeze I think a part of everyone resides somewhere else The 21 grams we lose in death We've all wondered what it was in the corner of our eye Maybe you looking back at you now you've died Say there was no answer just questions? Would we stop looking for them in the bottom of glasses? Something seems strange but I'm not sure It's not a disease there is no cure It's not a house of cards or castles made of sand But a poisonous web spun by delinquent human hand Sunny days and weekend stays in places far from home Meet the locals to say goodbye before you've even said hello Leaves in trees so eager for a breeze to fall This is no life at all. Its one or two things that remind me it's a game The tedium like nails at scabs and the blood it'll bring A slice of lemon is all I need to add a little colour. Perhaps a banksy on my garden wall. Having a door held for me. Strawberries for breakfast. Punctuality. Four feet at the foot of my bed. Not waking contemplating regret. Sun on my face Sand in my shoes A different kind of saltwater kisses. Grandstand welcomes from close friends. Tearful goodbyes everytime. The magic must happen when I blink or during the blackouts when I drink.
Continue reading...
36
a cucumber sandwich shouldn't be made ahead of time as the liquid in the cucumber will seep through the bread like lime you'll have a wet hand as you lift the sandwich off the plate your palm and your fingers will be in a saturated fate always make cucumber sandwiches immediately before afternoon tea at this juncture of time the bread will not become so soggy your afternoon tea guests wont abide the seepage all over their hands it will make them feel like jeering spectators in a grandstand the most tempting cucumber sandwiches are never served wringing wet they have a dry bread covering akin to an indoor carpet to stop this sort of sandwich irrigation you must follow these preparatory recommendations
0
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Preparatory Recommendations
Fried green beens Whirl of the machines Flashing lights Squeals of delight Games to win prizes Drinks in all sizes Pig and cow judging Old friends hugging Bands in the grandstand Fried pickles at foodstand Gator bites and gyros Rides tossing to and fro Cotton candy Salt water taffy Beer tents Free events Pies, canning and art Contest to take part Many concessionaire Great old fashion state fair
0
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Old Fashion Sate Fair
*Atop the emerald earth, a bush of crimson ablaze. Blush of sunrise. Bruised rouge of sunset. Kaleidescope colors of complex designs complete. Ahh..but for the lingering questions. Questions that continue with the fresh of each day... Rita...We call to Rita! Our ethereal selves. She calls, We come Into her night of dreams Woven within her dreams of day. We come in Our Saintly stance. Rita hears. Knows Our hearts. And so to her, We present ourselves. Rita feels the plush nuance of Our ancient wisdom. A melding of truths Rita knows She is a conduit through which the breath of message and knowledge exchange. 'Sine timore' Without timidity or fear. Imbued deep within her Irish blood. Gift passed from the elders. Yet, this Lass of yore, stands away from the podium. Has chosen not to grandstand, or grasp boldness too tightly. Goodness of power is embraced laced with enchantment. Able to transcend The Veil, She walks Her path. Our winsome Saint of Impossible Causes.*
0
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Rita of the Saints
Atoms skitter to the center In the square dance of all matter; Quarks should rotate once around, Keeping us on earth firm-bound. Swing your partner far and wide, Perihelion's kept astride, And the strings of matter String along the boson's heart. Now come together; smatter, scatter; Atom-smashers do not matter, For this dance of matter Truly is a dance of higher art, Matter curtsys; and there's gravity Fills in each slight curving cavity- From above, you'll notice first It all starts from just one burst- So the particles keep on dancing, Midnight comes, and still they're prancing; Whirling, somersaulting like they never Dared to dance before; Keep on watching, as the clocks hands Travel once more past the grandstand; We're transfixed since matter never Let us ever see this door. We're the eyes and ears that dare To watch this tantric ballet, bared; Entanglement seduces; there's no other place to be- Bow to your partner in this deadly quantum duel of rivalry.
0
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 3:03 PM UTC
Entanglement
a cucumber sandwich shouldn't be made ahead of time as the liquid in the cucumber will seep through the bread like lime you'll have a wet hand when you lift the sandwich off the plate your palm and fingers will be in a saturated state always make cucumber sandwiches immediately before afternoon tea as at this juncture of time the bread will not be so soggy your afternoon tea guests won't abide the seepage all over their hands it will make them feel like jeering as spectators in a grandstand the most tempting cucumber sandwiches are never served wringing wet they have a dry bread cover akin to an indoor carpet to stop this sort of sandwich irrigation you must follow these preparatory recommendations
0
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Preparatory Recommendations
I ran my race,I did my best. I'm not the champion,I'm among the rest. After twenty six miles I'm scant of breath. I push myself but there's not much left. I search the crowds on Boyleston Street. for the friends That I'm supposed to meet. I see an upraised friendly sign that marks my race's finish line. Then thunder, fire, billowing smoke. The air is acrid and I am choked. The starter clock reads Four oh Nine as I fall across the finish line. I think of him from ancient times who ran a race as long as mine To Athens he sped from Marathon to bring good news in a troubled time. My news is evil, I scarce can speak of what I saw there in the street A loud report, a second bomb, A portion of the grandstand gone A blur of color, the flag brought down I see the picture but there's no sound.
0
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Marathon Man
Past the moon light over the tall knoll under the bows of the mighty exists a pond steaming from the warmth of the day like glass the water is still it is the stage for countless fireflies that dance with the evening chill there on the grandstand lives the olympian who gently glides in silent elegance looping under ribbons of light she is the matriarch of this small kingdom tucked on the edge of timber it is here a figure appears she is not alone peering from behind the steam his eyes gleamed slowly following the white he examines her majesty transfixed on ever feather he watched feeling strange he saw what lies before him a shape yet odd her glowing feathers she spread bathed in moon light her body ached twisted and full wings to arms feathers to curves beak to full rose eyes to blue her hair flowed a gray stream covering her subtle ******* he fell to his knees eyes wide hidden in spring fed grass his eyes following the slight shadows of her neck pass the barren of her belly down through taut slender legs he confessed, he declared that she was his the maiden now notice the eyes of another demands he reveals thy self from toe to tip the stunned man stepped a man of no work or duty nor rich or fame he stepped into view a peasant her ice blue eyes weave through his features their eyes met and as if fated they fell at first glance
0
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
The pond, the count, and the swan (Story Poem)
The morning light wanes out on open plains my belly debates croissants have to wait   All the nylon fliers like crayons palettes festival of spectacles So many favorites Up Up and Away a hundred balloons above lagoons and chimneys below valleys and alleys In one strong forehand a spectacular descent it looks unplanned a landing on the grandstand! There was no flaw only the applause at dawn, champagnes flow I stand in awe
0
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
Fiesta
Within the realm of unplayed instrumentation a crescendo of specific notes are lost dangling on high maple branches during autumn leaf change and only divots below the mowed through grassy soil throughout segregated quarantine reserves partitions of divorced land In the bottom of a child’s backpack so heart jarring and singularly dedicated to the wandering dreamer harboring any thoughts of doubt about what is and what might inhibit the coming up next covering over wooden plank necks with strings of primitive notation drafted inside the woods create, rows of ivory keys and ebony flats,   this includes either screeching or murmuring brass buttons can make And depending on the blow Lead based letters Squeezed together grammar and prose have no window to grandstand in a duel verses this one climb of instrumental verse these missing tones are in tangible reaches could even be in a soft mother’s dream waiting to be awoken to bring an awakening Who will seek and find this group of lost tones with striking nuances so spirit soothing that seeing the mere future is old news but instilling, feeling, and describing the true meaning of life after hearing what is under, inside and above this crest of colored resonance of tonal pitch... Or maybe it can insight a minor confidence in the one who lacks it to take that small step forward Ensuring another step This is one who will hear this
0
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 11:46 PM UTC
A lost climbing tones - and who will hear it
Obviously Both comedy and tragedy Feed on And are fed by reality With a savagery So if you play nice You might find the happy in strife Both can Take you by the hand And lead you to the promise land Your best guess of an afterlife Slice the tension with a knife To get the upper hand Don't bite the hand Try to Stick to The grand plan But prepare to fall when you take your stand Humble humility will get you knocked off the grandstand Then where will you stand? Honestly, It all feels like quicksand No buts, just and I too don't understand ©2024
0
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 5:56 PM UTC
~•§•~ Quicksand ~•§•~
Sound no trumpet before you, man's praise a hollow reward what good is giving alms like the hypocrites do in the streets? Practice your piety in secret The grandstand play holds no sway when you die Be humble and you will be blessed Be Simple and you will never perish
0
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
Sound no trumpet before you
Enero Diez y Otso, Dos mil Kinse Kayrami paring mga sumalubong sa kalye Unang tinungo Unibersidad ng Santo Tomas Tuloy parin ang pangaral at pagbasbas Nakipagkita mga pinuno ng ibang relihiyon Humingi ng pag-unawa at kapayapaan sa mga nasyon Nakinig sa hinaing ng mga kabataan Inalo isang batang babaeng luhaan Huling tinungo ang Grandstand sa Quirino Kung saan may pinakamaraming dumalo Tinig ng koro nakapangingilabot Mensahe ng Dios abot na abot Oh anong saya nang tawagin ng Santo Papa Na dakila ang aming munting bansa Ngayong kapistahan ni Santo Niño Kanyang ipinaalaala halaga ng mga bata sa mundo. -01/19/2015 (Dumarao) *Pope Francis Fever Collection
0
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:43 PM UTC
Ikaapat na Araw ni Papa Francisco sa Pilipinas
i am never leaving here i will sway and swing and fill the humidity around me with all the flavors that once ran through this beating body but I will not leave you see i never saw things upside down until we ran from everything until legs sold out and spent themselves on love on you and all it bought was a grandstand view of you still running still living
0
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
Nosebleed Seats
It was the birthday calender. It was the mean text. But it was the birthday calender first, tacked to the wall and dense with the names of people I didn't recognize. Larry something or other, Jessica (scribble), Monte the alien. So real and so grandstand - the year is congested with people. Existence is chock-full of experience, all scrambled eggs. And then it was the mean text. I know my relationship is falling apart, I read futures in overturned bowls of breakfast. At twenty three all I want is to be self sufficient and loved. So I let the buried dragon coin me trinket. So I payed for his auto insurance. So I almost bought him a house. So I dealt with veiled abuse - veiled, the phony ****** bride. I want to cook breakfast for nice people on planet tried and failed.
0
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
Untitled
Coming back Coming back without a grandstand Coming back from the hinterland Coming back as an old hand I had cast myself aside to focus on new graces Instead placing myself in permanent stasis I had all these grand plans and each one fell through So now I stumble on back down a crumbling avenue Never knew which dream to follow Never knew which pill to swallow Now my words they ring so hollow Now my passions no longer wallow Coming back Coming back to a humble home Coming back to a field to roam Coming back to find one's own The sofa begins to mold itself around my spine As I lay and acting out like it was all of mine Not wanting to address my failures or success Claiming that it was all just part of the process Never knew what I should do Never knew how to carry through Now it happens out the blue Now I need a new point of view Coming back Coming back to build myself Coming back to repair my health Coming back with the cards I dealt Never knew I had it in me Never knew if I could be happy Now I skip the hyperbole Now I give up emotional syncope Coming back Coming back to sing my song Coming back from what was wrong Coming back to live lifelong
0
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Coming Back
I let the ancients decide for it's them who ride roughly on the cobbled streets where my life is at bay. As they fly through the night with the reins of my day held tight in their hands,they grandstand to me as if I want to see what is slipping away. Let them have today for tomorrow is mine and time in small doses is all I can take,I shall wager a stake on the pinwheel of fortune that soon they'll be gone,washed up as sand on some far distant beach,within reach of the sea but far removed from me, I let the ancients decide,they reside in us all and the call of the wild will always remain on the lips of this child, so let them ride rough,I am strong and am tough,I can roll with the punches and knocks,watching clocks as they tick and knowing tomorrow will lick me into shape.
0
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
24/7
Brisbane bowling trip day 3 Today was the third day of my tenpin bowling trip in Brisbane I started the day having a late breakfast at 7-30 And after that I went back to the room till 10 Watching Frasier on tv after everybody loves Raymond After that we headed off to the bowling alley Getting ready to play bowling, it will be radical My scores were 136 and 106 and 116 And, mate, I blew those pins to kingdom come And then after that I went to the cafe at the bowling centre And bought sweet potato fries with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce And mate that was a dainty dish, fit for a king like me I bought three chocolates and one guy who was fat himself Told me if you eat too much chocolate, you will get FAT After I finished that meal, I went to the grandstand To watch Leckie and Stephen bowl And mind you they bowled fantastic I watched Shane bowl with Belinda and Paul bell That was cool After leckie and Stephen finished, our team posed for our team photo And the picture was so close to the bowling lane We were setting off the fowl lines It was fun laughing at that, yes it was After we left there, we put our bowling shirts out to get washed, so They will be ready tomorrow And after that we went to the OLD MILL for our dinner I had chicken parmigiana and I made a joke, of a chicken wearing pyjamas Ha ha ha ha, very funny And I had a pavlova for dessert And I walked home, and went inside to hang our Bowling shirts out to dry in the cupboard And watch home and away and the neighbours And the AFL footy, between port and Geelong Cats won, and I remembered Matthew Reid’s song We are Geelong the crappest team of all We are Geelong we’re always dropping the ball But the cats won, I wanted port to win😹😹😹😹😹 And now we are off to bed, goodnight At the club we were remembering all the home and away and neighbours Stars Now we are off to bed Good night😌😌😌😌😌😌
0
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 7:36 AM UTC
brisbane day 3
Brisbane bowling trip day 3 Today was the third day of my tenpin bowling trip in Brisbane I started the day having a late breakfast at 7-30 And after that I went back to the room till 10 Watching Frasier on tv after everybody loves Raymond After that we headed off to the bowling alley Getting ready to play bowling, it will be radical My scores were 136 and 106 and 116 And, mate, I blew those pins to kingdom come And then after that I went to the cafe at the bowling centre And bought sweet potato fries with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce And mate that was a dainty dish, fit for a king like me I bought three chocolates and one guy who was fat himself Told me if you eat too much chocolate, you will get FAT After I finished that meal, I went to the grandstand To watch Leckie and Stephen bowl And mind you they bowled fantastic I watched Shane bowl with Belinda and Paul bell That was cool After leckie and Stephen finished, our team posed for our team photo And the picture was so close to the bowling lane We were setting off the fowl lines It was fun laughing at that, yes it was After we left there, we put our bowling shirts out to get washed, so They will be ready tomorrow And after that we went to the OLD MILL for our dinner I had chicken parmigiana and I made a joke, of a chicken wearing pyjamas Ha ha ha ha, very funny And I had a pavlova for dessert And I walked home, and went inside to hang our Bowling shirts out to dry in the cupboard And watch home and away and the neighbours And the AFL footy, between port and Geelong Cats won, and I remembered Matthew Reid’s song We are Geelong the crappest team of all We are Geelong we’re always dropping the ball But the cats won, I wanted port to win😹😹😹😹😹 And now we are off to bed, goodnight At the club we were remembering all the home and away and neighbours Stars Now we are off to bed Good night😌😌😌😌😌😌
Continue reading...
42
Stand together! Stand tall! Stand proud! Don’t fall! Pick each other up! Stand for the rights of all! We’re louder as a unit! Isolated our voices become small...
0
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 11:00 PM UTC
Grandstand
Here's to reasons we fly between our dreams and the sky to the heavens above here's to reasons we love. In the desolation of a bankrupt nation where the hard pressed, distressed, the poorer and depressed in a state of denial put Jesus on trial I read a story that was written about the time god had smitten the wicked, it was wicked though I suspect also untrue. Why would a god of love do such a thing? We all sing out dirges we are the victims of pogroms and purges It wasn't just you I suspect that might be true. Projecting ahead I forecast the dying are already fed up and the dead will then try to rise up as Babylon falls. in the priest hole behind the false wall there's a skeleton a relic, maybe holy or that may be hocus pocus it's up to us to decide If he died did he rise? I don't know religion like the back of my hand don't have a grandstand view but it could be true.
0
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
The score line