"orton" poems
The Poetry Barn wasn’t really a barn
It was merely an old farm house,
It sat on the acres of Eddington’s Farm,
Surrounded by sheep and by cows.
But Poets came over from Stuttersby Dell,
Drove over from Scatabout Wood,
To write in the air of the Poetry Barn
About things, when they ought and they should.
They came from Great Orton, they came from Rams Well,
They came from Glenn Wheatley and Grey,
The best and the worst of the poets you’d find
At the Poetry Barn, every day,
The rooms had been empty for many a year
So they all sat on bundles of straw,
And when they ran out they would send up a shout,
So some would go out and get more.
The mornings would see all the Elegies worked,
The Epics, the Odes and Quatrains,
The Poetry Barn would then grumble and groan
As the Dirges would enter the drains.
By noon the fair Sonnets came into their own
With just the odd wanton Lament,
When poets would seek out the culprit to find
One grinding his verse in a tent.
By evening they’d work on the Pastoral,
The Sestet, the Roundel as well,
And those at a loss after losing the toss
Would be stuck with the old Villanelle,
They’d all settle down when the Moon came up round,
And the stars twinkled boldly in rhyme,
When one asked the other, ‘pray, what rhymes with brother,’
And he’d say, ‘your Mom, all the time.’
The poems would stick to the inside walls,
Would tear at each other like knaves,
They’d fill up the aisles and lie flat on the tiles
And would damage the old architraves.
At night you could hear all the horses hooves
As they carried the good news to Aix,
And in came the wedding guest, him with the albatross
Counting his many mistakes.
I saw that they’d burned down the Poetry Barn
With one sad, incendiary rhyme,
A poet called Glover who wrote to his lover
‘My candle, you light all the time.’
The straw caught alight in his lover’s delight
And they fled from that bastion of verse,
I just penned this missal for someone to whistle,
The one that he’d written was worse.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
I don't know how anyone would feel about this.
I bet they would stop reading me if I do this.
But this is one of the things that I really love.
And I'd be able to write about it for hours.
So if you are a wrestling fan, then keep reading.
If you're not, the you might wanna stop.
Alright, if you are still reading this, thank you.
Now I can get started and tell you what I know.
I know what a bunch of the moves are called.
And I can tell you who my favorite wrestlers are.
I can even tell you what my favorite storylines are.
I have a variety of wrestlers that I like to watch.
There are some that I don't, but I like the music.
You know, the music they use when they come out.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like to watch are:
Jeff Hardy, Shawn Michaels, Triple H, John Cena,
The Bella Twins, Kelly Kelly, Mickey James, AJ Lee,
The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Santino Marella,
Trish Stratus, and Brie Bella (on her own).
I love these wrestlers for a lot of reasons.
And if you want, I'll make a separate thing for each.
Just like this if you want me to, and I will.
Anyway, the wrestlers that I like the music to are:
Randy Orton, Edge, RVD, Christian, Eve Torres,
Brie Bella, Trish Stratus, The Rock, Jeff Hardy,
Kelly Kelly, Shawn Michaels, and Mickie James.
Alright. the names are practically the same.
But that's because the music is very catchy.
My favorite storylines are the following:
Shawn Michaels and JBL (late 08 - early 09)
Brie and Nikki Bella (Happening right now)
Jeff and Matt Hardy (2009)
Shawn Michaels and Chris Jericho (2008)
Triple H and Randy Orton (Mid 2009)
The Rock and CM Punk (2012)
Jeff Hardy and CM Punk (2010)
And I'm sure that there are more.
I just can't recall them at the moment.
But I think that this will do for now.
I hope you liked this.
Please give it a like you want me to get
into more detail about the wrestlers.
And if you want me to get into more
detail about the storylines.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
The Lady Mary took to her bed
On the last of the mad March days,
She’d strained her constitution, she said
At that upstart, Shakespeare’s plays,
The ruffians at the Globe were known
To be often rotten with fleas,
‘I must have been bitten,’ Milady said
With her skirt drawn up to her knees.
The footman fastened a painted sign
‘No Visitors’ up at the door,
While one of the maids got down on her knees
And scrubbed at the parquet floor,
Milady took to her poster bed
By a window out to the square,
‘You’d best get down to the Fleet,’ she said,
‘Lord Orton is working there.’
The doctor came with his physic
Carried a nosegay close to his face,
The cane that he prodded Milady with
Would leave her with little grace,
‘The swellings down in Milady’s groin
Will have to be truly bled,
A mixture of clay and violets then
Applied to the sores,’ he said.
The mist swept in and the night came down
As the fever grew apace,
And dark black pustules grew and swarmed
At the Lady Mary’s face,
A shadow fell on the window pane
Of a man stood out in the square,
‘Who is that nightly visitant,
And what is he doing there?’
She couldn’t make out his features for
His hat was broad of brim,
Shading his face and hawk-like nose
Though he kept on looking in,
‘I have a terrible feeling that
I’ve seen that man before,
He’s come from the coffin-maker, and
He waits outside my door.’
She slipped off into unconsciousness
So the footman let him in,
To measure her with a piece of twine
From her head to below her shin,
They waited then for an hour or two
While the doctor had her bled,
She cried aloud at a fancied shroud
And she shrank from it, in dread.
Late on the second day she woke
Lord Orton at her side,
Holding a faded nosegay to
Protect him from his bride,
She heard the clatter of wheels pull up
Outside in the darkened court,
And cried, ‘My Lord, will you leave me now
That my time is running short?’
She lapsed back into a coma, but
She could feel the tremors start,
And something strange had begun to change
In the beating of her heart,
A rattle deep in her throat began
And resounded through her head,
Just as a voice, it seemed to her,
Called out, ‘Bring out your dead!’
David Lewis Paget
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
It's not the ticker tape parade when the police come to raid you nor is it a polite knock on the door
It's just a smack in the chops by the boys they call cops
I don't like this play any more.
" ***** up your ears"
from years ago
was the best show that
I ever saw
but Orton's long gone
we
carry on
as if it never happened
at all.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC