"irvin" poems
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your *** magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
Do you want to know the truth?
The truth that hurts?
The truth you don't want to hear?
Here it is!
I am not a Dallas Cowboys fan.
There, I said it.
If you want my opinion on the Dallas Cowboys,
I'll be more than happy to give it to you.
They will not win another Super Bowl,
at least they won't in my lifetime.
In my prediction, they won't win for a hundred years,
long after I am gone, and long after you will be gone.
The days of Aikman, Irvin, and Smith are as long gone
as Tom Landry, and the use of that stupid hat.
Yes, I do know the wild, wicked history of what people call "America's Team",
the very same way an Atheist with a degree in theology knows the Bible.
Ask me which player snorted ******* during the Super Bowl
under the watchful eyes of millions of television viewers,
and I'll tell you that same guy ended up winning the Texas Lottery.
Ask me the name of the kicker that fooled around with a little girl,
ask me what Michael Irvin was doing on his 30th birthday,
ask me this, ask me that, and I will tell you,
and you will know that I will never love the Dallas Cowboys.
No sir, not when they currently have a wide receiver
with a tendency to lay hands on his mother.
Yeah, I know. That was a year ago. But still, he hit on his mother,
and I will never wear that scumbag's jersey
or shake hands with him if I saw him in person.
You may think I have a problem, and yes I do have a problem.
It's the Dallas Cowboys that I have a problem with.
They should never be on a football field
and call themselves America's Team
when they don't even have the best quarterback in football.
That's right. Tony Romo is a no-good prima donna
who will never live up to people's expectations.
Hell, he ain't half as good as Don Meredith,
and did Don Meredith win a Super Bowl?
Did Danny White win a Super Bowl?
Neither will Tony Romo.
Like I said, the Cowboys will never win another Super Bowl.
That's the truth, and if you can't handle the truth, then that's too bad!
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
Old Lincoln's creek comes to mind
when a dog's on my lap, a certain
song's a'whisper, a whimper, with
willows, and so much so, that the
once and promised immortality
evades, ever more than certainly,
more than certainty, when he'd said,
“hurry,” and I’d arrived too late.
And so I’d enter an empty home and
all that waits.
A ship hued red comes to heart
when the memories seem to spill of
only him. My legs were quite
weaker then, one plight, forgotten
and another one, my flailing hand,
with an only respite, offered rail,
and more frail, “hurry ****** –
He'd said, “HURRY!” and I’d
encounter again, an empty home
and all that waits.
And so, the house regressed, if only
earlier, so too, the boy, with his,
“once-again,” first steps home;
weakened toe after bloodied toenail,
foot after foot, inch after inch, but a
reminder to the hunters that in time,
they too, can become the prey when
switches sundered touch and
tomorrow's maw’d gape, “forget;”
That was when, “hurry,” could be
assumed, would be assumed and at
ends, we’d never meet.
And so I entered the empty home
and all that waits.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
It was famous celebrities I met
It was all in a normal set
I met David Rockefeller, former Chase Chairmen
He had a top position being the number one rank
We bumped into each other and talked for 5 minutes in Rockefeller Center
Later it was Cardinal Terrance Cooke of St. Patrick’s Cathedral
We shook hands on the steps of the Cathedral on 5th Avenue at a time when the church was celebrating their 100th Centennial
Who could forget Arnold Schwarzzenger long before he became Governor of California
It was a vintage when he competed in bodybuilding competition with the top Bodybuilding
Title being Mr. Olympia
We met at the Mid-City Gym, a ******** gym back in the day with many famous Soap Actors and Wrestlers who trained there
Speaking of Wrestlers, I met Superstar Billy Graham and Irvin, the Polish Power
Who could forget Ralph Nader, Politician advocate
It was at CNN Center in Atlanta, Georgia where met the Media Chief, Ted Turner
It was an acquaintance as he came flying through the stair doors where we were standing with our Tour guide
It wasn’t part of the tour, but was a lucky stride
So I was my own Walter Cronkite in seeing celebrities with my own eyes
My own Media event with captured moments in how my time was spent.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
Picks.
Salad tip ***
yippy mob wall
Alice sauna grill out
Irvin opal acerbate in
nope a two win on our stat yet
tricky yup us soup on twin
act unto Easter roller men
nine ugly mint hour wrapping eat
of all ocean
news itch oh
whence sir ramble off
focal loco wallet da boo
we ouch oak
epee un nah doe
walk err rem mess I owed
ax sack up at dress
suede aim mall Luke wine outfit
turn new aught Don elf
**** gain nip her cent
shoe Elvis sword
twine
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
The teams were bitter rivals and, judging by the score,
The Dodgers would be champions once they retired just three more.
Don Newcombe was pitching brilliantly and had a three run lead.
Surely he would slay these Giants and get the outs we need.
Then Al Dark hit a single and Mueller did the same.
(Surely there was just no way that we could lose this game.)
Monte Irvin popped-up- that’s one for our boys in blue.
Then Luckman hit a double and Newcombe’s day was through.
Two Giants on the base paths and Blue had a two run lead.
Ralph Branca got the call to get the outs we need.
Bobby Thomson was at the plate, some kid named Mays on deck.
Branca had an open base- would he simply walk the vet?
Branca’s first pitch was a strike and some gave sighs of relief.
The second pitch was deposited by Thomson in the seats.
In disgust Ralph tossed the rosin bag as Thomson made his trot
His failure made immortal by Bobby Thomson’s shot.
Dejected, Branca left the mound amidst a mad mob scene.
The number on his uniform? -A starkly black Thirteen.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC