"renowned" poems
He pulled and parked the supply red wagon,
then climbed the mast to the captain's cabin.
Captain Red is ready for adventure.
A quest to collect the world's best treasure.
His pirate crew is renowned far and wide.
They're rough and tough and they don't ever cry.
But none of them boys has the captain's stuff.
So don't mess with him, man, cause he don't bluff.
This motley crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
whales, whirlpools, storms, mermaids, krakens and kings.
"Set sail," squaws the boss as he munches lunch
and the Ocean Destroyer leaves port Wunche.
These rolling green hills are now ocean waves.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Benjamin!" beams the first mate Susanne.
Impeding the journey that just began.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The first mate trumps the captain, Ben will learn.
...
Her spacesuit crew is renowned far and wide.
They're smart and nice and they don't ever lie.
But none of these girls has commander's stuff.
So don't mess with her, girl, cause she don't bluff.
This brainy crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
aliens, black holes, stars, and martian springs.
"Lift off!" beams the boss as she munches lunch
and the Star Chasing Rocket leaves base Wunche.
These rural backyards are now rocky space.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Susanne!" beams the pilot Benjamin.
Impeding the flight before it begins.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The pilot trumps commander, Sue will learn.
...
Boys and girls grow up and out the front door.
Those children’s games evolve to adult chores;
those kiddy lawns to grandparent’s domain.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Deep in a magic forest, with big old magic trees
And all the magic creatures that live inside of these
There is a magic island, upon a magic lake
And on the island stands a stool, the like no man could make
And on the stool from dawn to dusk, resides a little man
Who spends his days in deeper thought, than any mortal can…
How does he think so many thoughts, well you must realize,
That though the man is small, his head is twice the normal size.
And as for food, well first of all he quite likes eating bugs
Beetles spiders, grass hoppers, slimy snails and salty slugs!
Inside his beard he keeps a hive, so honey he can eat,
And sips the dew from roses, which he grows atop his feet…
And when the night time brings the cold, the old man doesn't care
He simply covers up, with all his long and tangled hair!
Regardless of his oddities, the man is still renowned,
For being quite the wisest man, who never can be found.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
He owned books on many subjects
leather bound, with complex concepts
on which he'd ponder and reflect
He had it all, in some respects.
He could lecture quantum physics,
English literature and economics
He was renowned in academics
Though many found him quite eccentric
He explored the world only to find
That there's more to life than a brilliant mind
That there was a piece of him...undefined
See, He had never loved. He'd never pined
He knew all the math, knew all equations
He'd been to every corner of every nation
He'd learned 28 languages, knew every translation
But he was distraught by this realization
The pain he felt was too great to bear
He sank into the deepest and darkest despair
His heart was in need of dire repair
Finding love was his only prayer
He bumped into her by happenstance
and what began as an ephemeral glance
became a sucker punch from romance
She thought he was sweet, so she gave him a chance
That's when the world's smartest man finally learned how to dance
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
The Story
by Kamal Nasser
translation by Michael R. Burch
I will tell you a story ...
a story that lived in the dreams of my people,
a story that comes from the world of tents.
It is a story inspired by hunger and embellished by dark nights of terror.
It is the story of my country, a handful of refugees.
Every twenty of them have a pound of flour between them
and a few promises of relief ... gifts and parcels.
It is the story of the suffering ones
who stood waiting in line ten years,
in hunger,
in tears and agony,
in hardship and yearning.
It is a story of a people who were misled,
who were thrown into the mazes of the years.
And yet they stood defiant,
disrobed yet united
as they trudged from the light to their tents:
the revolution of return
into the world of darkness.
Kamal Nasser was a much-admired Palestinian poet and Palestinian Christian, who due to his renowned integrity was known as "The Conscience." He was a member of Jordan's parliament in 1956. He was murdered in 1973 by an Israeli death squad whose most notorious member was future Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak. Barak (born Ehud Brog) later ruled as Israel’s tenth Prime Minister from 1999 to 2001. His adopted Hebrew name Barak means "lightning." As a younger man, Brog/Barak was a member of a secret assassination unit that liquidated Palestinians in Lebanon and the occupied territories. In the 1973 covert mission Operation Spring of Youth in Beirut, which was part of the larger Operation Wrath of God, he disguised himself as a woman in order to assassinate Palestinians. The raid resulted in the deaths of two women, one of them an elderly Italian. Two Lebanese policemen were also killed, along with the poet Kamal Nasser.
Nasser was the PLO's most prominent Christian and he enjoyed "great appeal" in Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq "both as a distinguished poet and likeable personality." He was the “conscience of the Palestinian revolution,” according to Nazih Abul-Nidal, who worked with him on the magazine Filastin al-Thawra. Nasser “had the most democratic outlook of all Palestinian leaders at the time,” he recalls. He respected opposing views, admired the commitment of young people, and was a major recruitment asset for the Palestinian revolution. “That is why he was put high on the hit-list.” The previous year, the Israelis had murdered another renowned Palestinian writer and activist in Beirut, Ghassan Kanafani, by booby-trapping his car. Nasser’s successor, Majed Abu Sharar, was also assassinated by Israelis, in Rome in 1981 while attending a conference in solidarity with the Palestinian people.
Keywords/Tags: Kamal Nasser, Palestinian, Palestine, PLO, Conscience, Ramallah, Christian, religion, poet, Arab, Arabic, Arab Spring, betrayal, conflict, courage, devotion
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
1, 2, 3,
Starting to have me disagree.
Starting to realize what you’ve done,
My fat tears fell, my anguish began.
Falling into despair,
Feeling that as if my heart was set into flares.
Falling into the ground,
Never expecting it was you, a person well renowned.
Anxiety crippling through my veins,
You adding up to all of the pains.
My heart breaking into shards,
Thoughts cannot be expressed in words.
Putting up a mask,
As if it’s becoming my task.
Never knowing me at my worst,
Never really knowing you made me burst.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
Shouting for longevity,
Slamming at the counterers…
- upon your dignified respite!
Would-be detractors without brevity,
Before the wine-dark Sea at night…
A pleading to philosophy of commonly renowned,
Beating sand and posturing, uncouth before a crown;
“Priam please!”
Sun and Moon,
two sons shall plead,
nay, -beg in tandem with the man;
“He serves the seas, trust him please, our father; this priest of Trojan-land!”
Laocoon
“Fear the Greeks, of mind I speak, approval by a van-i-ty; it surely is a death you seek!
An asp this horse, gift no more and tragedy in due remorse,
I beg of you my call to heed, wooden-burnt this crispy steed,
…alight in flame, glorified name; Poseidon shall endorse!”
Priests of Apollo
“Ridiculous! Worship we must, now bring it to the City thus!”
Laocoon
“The actions of accursed Kore,
Need I remind you all Paris caused this war?
For he mocked this god, the abyss it knows, with terror comes a deadly tide,
**** that fool and his fiddling pride!*
Burn this beast we must with haste for Greeks they have a certain taste,
Their acts meant always to confound, wily, since they were unbound.
What harm may do, to rest at shore? Consult the stars of yester-yore.
Assign no chore, one heaven’s night, plus a day, to sit upon our princely shore?”
Setting
(read/spoken at the fastest pace the reader can go)
A horrid hiss above the wave as two doth slither from out the cave…
The creatures from the darkest days, ancient spectacle for the knaves, bear witness to the punishment, commanded by a great trident, hearing screams of bannermen, for King and council a shocking twist, serpents ****** from out the mists, encircling priest and his kin, the howling they had done no sin, never be forgot-ten, as Typhon cried out merrily, serpents and the tragic sea; swallowed up all the three.
Priam
“Farewell dear Laocoon and two sons with thee!” *
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
The Sword of Non-Violence
The time we born
Is a age of war-mongers
East to West
South to North
Throughout the World
There's not a single moment
You can't heard about a war
It's a must in our daily life
May be in lieu of civil war
But it exists
None can disobey it's presence
And,where there is a war
There must be a weapon
And,in true sense war can't be without weapon
There're so many varieties of this weapon
Even may be countless
But,once a person made exception
Yes,he invented a sword
The SWORD OF NON-VIOLENCE
Strange it seems to be
But,it's fact
And,we should proud of him
Because,he's an Indian
We all know him as Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
Also renowned as Bapuji i.e Father of Nation
We celebrate his birth anniversary as a holiday
But,did we even use his weapon once in our lifetime?
Surely,the answer would be no
But,if we really respect him
We should do so
Isn't it?
Think it off!
And,last of all I would like to conclude with
If he can so we too-Written on 02.10.2012
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
Hades,
God of the dead
King of the underworld
And all of its shades
The Unseen,
Giver of Wealth
Keeper of the hound Cerberus
Brother, one of a grand trio
With sisters of wonder
The renowned wealthy one
Judge of the dead
Mighty ruler is he
Keeper of mortal souls
Great is he
Upholder of the balance
In the kingdom below
Mortals, how they tremble
At his sheer power
His word is his command
Strong is he, astounding among the gods
God of peace for the deceased
Upholder of funeral rites
Defender of burial rights
Due onto the dead
Regal is he
The all-receiver
Blessed is the abundance
Of wealth he bring
Mysteries of the dark
Oh great one
Whom mortals hold
Both honor and fear
Whom many indeed revere
Divinely dark
Hands upon the earth
Reaching far below
To his realm, his domain
Sacrifices to him,
Offerings to the King
Whom ride in chariot of gold
Drawn by four horses immortal
From his kingdom below
The legends that did grow
Carrier of the scepter
To guide the shades
With his power and mystery
Thousands know his name
The God Hades
- Jay M
October 5th, 2021
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
There is a young lady called Anna. She is a loner. She lives alone with her two cats. They are her world. I am a cat lover myself and have 2 little cuties in my nest. But these cats are just plain feral. They terrorise the other cats in the neighbourhood and **** in all the neighbours’ garden.
She works Monday to Friday for a recruitment company. She leaves her flat in a purple Mazda convertible which is renowned for being a Hairdresser’s (AKA dumb **** car. Every day she leaves at 7.30am on the dot and every day she arrives home at 7.15pm on the dot.
Once at home she turns on her TV cinema system (sub), just to watch the TV.
*****
At the weekend she also leaves her stinking putrid ******* bags out in the communal hallway.
*****
She ignores her neighbour’s knocking on her door. She ignores the notes that they put through her letterbox.
*****
So as Anna was not willing to speak to her neighbours directly. They had no other way to turn apart from to report her to Environmental Health for playing her TV cinema system (sub) too loudly and also for the disgusting ******* that she regularly leaves out in the communal hallway.
*****
In which she returns the compliment by reporting them (said neighbours) to the Environmental Health for:
1) Shouting at each other,
2) Talking too loudly,
3) Banging kitchen utensils on the floor when she is in her kitchen
How deluded is this *****
At the same time that her neighbours reported Anna to the Environmental Health they also spoke to the Community Support Officer. They advised them to contact the Mediators in their local area. Which of course they did. The Mediators arranged to visit one evening. Unbeknownst to them they parked in Anna’s allocated parking space. Once they had finished with her neighbours, the Mediators returned to their car. Just as they were about to reverse their car, Anna arrived home in her Mazda convertible and blocked them in.
*****
When she got out of the Mazda convertible, with attitude I might add, she asked the Mediators who they were. They then introduced themselves. Once she knew who they were, she invited them into her flat to hear her side on the story.
YES I AM HER ******* NEIGHBOUR AND YES I AM STILL WAITING TO HEAR BACK FROM THE MEDIATORS……
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 11:21 PM UTC
I was flabbergasted when given the chance
To join the renowned Roscoe's Oddity Of Circus
With no actual talent to speak of
I was pretty much dead in the water worthless
But Roscoe in all of his wisdom
Put me in charge of the Bubble machine
Low and behold people
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I started out with simple patterns
Blowing one treasure at a time
As things progressed rather quickly
I soon had Bubbles dancing in Mumba lines
There wasn't a Bubble imagined
In which I could not achieve
But like I said at the very start
Turns out...Bubbles is "ME"
I even perfected what I like to call
The "Fantabulious Bubbles De jour"
In the Bubble circles in which I blow
I've become quite the Bubble Lore
My Bubble forte soon became
Floating Bubbles of Super Stars
*I'm not one to "POP" Bubble names*
Suffice it to say you know who they are
These days you don't have to go to the Circus
If you'd like my talent to see
I'm the one who does those Bubbles with the tiny words
In the Sunday comics you read
Why I've even been to the U.N.
Where the "Big Cheese" was highly pleased
The way I blew name tags and place mats
For all the visiting Dignitaries
But my favorite pastime after all these years
Even with all the fortune and fame I've found
Is relaxing with my Circus buddies
And blowing Bubbles of "Bubbles the Clown"
Just think when I joined the Circus
I had no talent in which to show
Who knew all it was that I needed
Was one good bubble to blow
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
#*Hello, HP Fashion Designers
The latest
Where I find
Brand new designs
New fashions
Styles
Colour of the soul and rhymes
Amazing lines
The Homepage
The
Classics
Vintages
All Renowned
Designs
Evergreen styles
One is sure to find
The Front page
The designs that make trends
Latest
Classic
Vintage
Could be any
Liked and Loved
No ends
Followed by many
All In Vogue
Perfect designs
The HP Trends
Love all styles
Trends or not
Certainly, check them all
The HP designs
Creativity a zest
At its best
Never put it to rest*
Happy World Poetry Day#
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
Born Robert Nesta Marley on February 6, 1945
In nine mile, St.Ann
Emancipate yourself from mental slavery none
But ourselves can free our mind
I grew up on that prophetic message and philosophy
And it never left my soul or mind
You have left a legacy
World renowned
This dreadlocks man left his mark
Permanently
I believe you were before your time
I was not yet born
When you departured
But your music was my friend
I was built on your roots
Something music lacks today
Your words emanate so powerfully
That builds faith and tear down injustice
It inspire greatness
I remember the man who chants words of ball of fire
Hitting beyond anyone’s imagination
Or comprehension of his God given talent
He has touched hearts from Jamaica to America
Europe to India to Africa all over
His music is worldwide
It’s like a life’s guide
Whether ball head or Rasta man
Bob Marley music lives on
I have yet to see someone like him
His legacy continues with his sons and daughters
With every Jamaican
His message was deep, spiritual and philosophical
To the soul and mind.
R.I.P
The Great Reggae Legend.
All Rights Reserved.
Christena Antonia Valaire Williams
Jamaica W.I
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Hello everybody. My name is Neal and I'm your tour guide.
The first creature that we will see is a koala, to your right. Do you know that koala's have fingerprints very similar to those of humans?
So much so that their prints have been mistaken for a human's at crime scenes?
Anyways, this leads us to ask some very important questions: are methods of finding criminals therefore unreliable? Is it truly possible to avoid imprisoning those that are innocent? Is reality merely an allusion?
Or, more importantly, was it my boyfriend John with the good fashion sense that took my hairbrush? Or was it that little ***** Bernard that is hiding in the top left corner?
Anyways, to your left you'll see our world renowned snail tank. Snails can sleep for up to three years at a time....
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
1
My first is no proof of my second,
Though my second's a proof of my first:
If I were my whole I should tell you
Quite freely my best and my worst.
One clue more: if you fail to discover
My meaning, you're blind as a mole;
But if you will frankly confess it,
You show yourself clearly my whole.
2
My first may be the firstborn,
The second child may be;
My second is a texture light
And elegant to see:
My whole do those too often write
Who are from talent free.
3
How many authors are my first!
And I shall be so too
Unless I finish speedily
That which I have to do.
My second is a lofty tree
And a delicious fruit;
This in the hot-house flourishes--
That amid rocks takes root.
My whole is an immortal queen
Renowned in classic lore:
Her a god won without her will,
And her a goddess bore.
4
Me you often meet
In London's crowded street,
And merry children's voices my resting-place proclaim.
Pictures and prose and verse
Compose me--I rehearse
Evil and good and folly, and call each by its name.
I make men glad, and I
Can bid their senses fly,
And festive echoes know me of Isis and of Cam.
But give me to a friend,
And amity will end,
Though he may have the temper and meekness of a lamb.
3.8k
In tales of old, on Mount Olympus high,
Where gods and goddesses roamed the sky,
Aphrodite, fair and beauty's muse,
But whispers tell of a love confused.
In affairs of hearts, her charms renowned,
Yet rumors spread, a deceit profound.
Her love, a tapestry woven with desire,
Yet secrets whispered, fueled the fire.
A cheater in the game of divine affection,
Her heart's allegiance sparked introspection.
For Cupid's arrows, not always true,
In love's labyrinth, confusion grew.
To Ares, god of war, she turned her gaze,
A clandestine affair, a dangerous craze.
In the shadows of Mount Olympus, they conspired,
Love's flame illicit, yet never tired.
The gods above, in their celestial court,
Witnessed Aphrodite's love distort.
For in her quest for passion's sweet embrace,
She left behind a trail of love's disgrace.
But was she a cheater or victim of fate?
In the realm of gods, emotions intricate.
Aphrodite, tangled in love's intricate dance,
A celestial romance, a fateful circumstance.
So, in the pantheon's tales of divine deceit,
Aphrodite's story, in whispers, we repeat.
A goddess of love, entangled in desire,
A cheater or not, the myths conspire.
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 10:52 AM UTC
He was only three foot tall, but
He wanted to be like his
Famous daddy
"The pirate" long bob
Plated
Silver
Toe
A renowned pirate or so
He told me.
So he looked around the house
to what he could find,
A hook was out of reach
As it was dangerous you know,
it could take an eye out
or if trod on cut your toes,
He would have defiantly have shed a
Tear
Or
Three,
So he found a spoon, not
Gold
or
Silver
Not plated precious,
It was copper it would have to do.
So he put his hand up his sleeve,
Holding the spoon quite
Menacingly,
I'll scoop your ice cream
From right under your nose,
One scoop,
Two scoop,
Three,
"Ill bounce the bowl upon your head"
"Then run so you never knows it was me"
"Who had eaten your desert from"
"Right under your nose you see"
He giggled and smiled a child's grin,
What next does a pirate need to be
"King of the sea"
A hat he thought,
As he looked around his fathers hats
Covered his head,
He walked in to
Table
&
Chair,
For it was to big over his eyes,
He was unable to see.
He bounced Off the door, the bed, the
Window sill too, with holes cut he still
Was unable to see properly,
So he got a sock with a patch on the heal
Putting it on his little head
looked in the mirror amused
By what could be seen.
I need one more thing
To be like me pa..
A ship to sail the high sea,
But he was only tiny 3 foot tall was he,
So he looked around
Finding a table in the yard,
Discarded but could be used by he.
"A sail was needed"
A table cloth tied to the back legs
To catch the gusts of wind yar see,
A crew was needed??
But there was only room for
Him
And his parrot
Reginald,
*******
*******
He would squawk at me,
A I dry one given and a pat on the
Head from me.
I was known as a captain on
My
Green
Sea,
Plundering the apple tree
The raspberry bush
All the berries were now mine
That I could see,
I wanted to be like my father when I grew up
But lets be realistic I'm three foot
"I'm four and three months"
Who would be scared of little spoon pirate me.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
293
I got so I could take his name—
Without—Tremendous gain—
That Stop-sensation—on my Soul—
And Thunder—in the Room—
I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned—how—
And all our Sinew tore—
I got so I could stir the Box—
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath—
As Staples—driven through—
Could dimly recollect a Grace—
I think, they call it “God”—
Renowned to ease Extremity—
When Formula, had failed—
And shape my Hands—
Petition’s way,
Tho’ ignorant of a word
That Ordination—utters—
My Business, with the Cloud,
If any Power behind it, be,
Not subject to Despair—
It care, in some remoter way,
For so minute affair
As Misery—
Itself, too vast, for interrupting—more—
3.5k
Come and hear the tale of a falling
This failure of a king, his story appalling
Come and hear of his last moment's calling
This man whom we once called our king.
A mad king anointed with power in mind
Crowned by desperation, crowned by the blind
A tyrannical king; No worse will you find
For this man is a servant of Hell.
He comes and he swears in God's holy name
To cater the people and lands that they tame
But it's I who knows of his little game
The political regime that he runs.
He sits on his throne and barks at his men
Demanding the whys and demanding the when
Slowly but surely he wears the string thin;
For the people may tolerate so much.
He works through the town, donning his crown
A hat that is envied by all in the town;
For the man is rich, the man is renowned!
This man whom all call their king.
Beneath him men die, but criminals don't pay
Put them to death, that's what I say!
This kings way is in no way the right way
But we the people can do naught but pray.
But good men exist, whom jail the unjust
Good men who work to earn the town's trust
And these good men speak out, shaking out the dust
And speak out against their king
The king starts to fear, his gate is now closed
And he starts to regret the options he chose
And now by good men this king is deposed
By good men this king is denied.
Now we call him a tyrant, we call him a fake
We spit on his image, his throne we forsake
We take up our arms, pitchfork and rake
And march to his door to knock.
Some killed by guards, but good men prevail
And blood rains down like late Summer hail
And in the end we hear the king wail
His death is announced the next morning.
Good men cheer and king's men glance back
Wondering what it was the mad king lacked
Though who didn't expect his castle ransacked
For was not the king of the wicked?
It matters not in the end, you will find
Good men un-knotted this terrible bind
They laugh and jest at history behind
And cast themselves to a new king.
But this ballad of history will soon be repeated
For in the halls of recurrence it is seated
This tragic comedy of rulers so heated
This tragic tale of a king.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
To and fro I travel
Yet I find no place to rest
My heart is but a shadow
Darkness with a breath
Home is but a memory
As I lay upon hard ground
And dream of ancient glories
When I was once renowned
Now I am forgotten
Demonized by lore
Cast into a hell dimension
Just beyond life's door...
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
Sticky Sticky, So **** Sticky,
Us Brits and our Weather
are so **** Picky
Sun Beats Down, Evaporates the Frowns
Then there's the complaints for which wer are so renowned
Too Cold, Too Hot, Please Just Stop...
I was waiting all winter long and now you strop
I much prefer shades to a winters coat
Up round my **** not up round my throat
Own far more Mini's than I do Scarfs
and it was the Summer Holiday's I had most Laughs
So you can keep your dreams of cosy nights in
As I excite the 'Vit D' and Tan my Skin
All trhose extra layers keeping you wrapped
I prefer the White lines where my Crop-Top Strapped
"I can't Move, Think I'm Melting",
I quickly choose 'Rays' over 'Downpours' or 'Peltings'
Sitting at this screen writing is now getting Tricky
It's Sticky Sticky....Too ****** Sticky... Yeergh!
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
He was renowned for his humility
even to his friends, he was fatherly,
he walked through life limping,
and yet in some way, his limp was triumph.
he had been told he would never walk again from his early 20s
he walked until the day he died what felt late in his 60s
he never abandoned those he loved
a father like no other
even when he was unsure if he was enough
he boxed my ears occasionally
sometimes he chewed me out for doing foolish things
but never did i think he did not love me
he told me almost every day until my teens
and then his voice got quiet, and i saw him less often
but he didn't have to say it
by then i understood
his was a love that -though a bit tough
a bit rough around the edges
stood. would always stand
perhaps a bit broken
but always, always there.
Daddy, without you
i would not be me.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
Wrap myself up in Saturday
Tighten the day around me
Relaxation should be fashion
With a stage of people lounging
Letting the week fall away
Wouldn’t that be luxury
A runway show
Of casual mornings, easygoing evenings
Affordability in the convenience
Drink down fancy coffee and hot chocolate
As Saturday becomes a world renowned designer
Of my relaxation
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 12:48 AM UTC
--To W. A.
Was I a Samurai renowned,
Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bow?
A histrion angular and profound?
A priest? a porter?--Child, although
I have forgotten clean, I know
That in the shade of Fujisan,
What time the cherry-orchards blow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
As here you loiter, flowing-gowned
And hugely sashed, with pins a-row
Your quaint head as with flamelets crowned,
Demure, inviting--even so,
When merry maids in Miyako
To feel the sweet o' the year began,
And green gardens to overflow,
I loved you once in old Japan.
Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round
Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow,
A blue canal the lake's blue bound
Breaks at the bamboo bridge; and lo!
Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow,
I see you turn, with flirted fan,
Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . .
I loved you once in old Japan!
Envoy
Dear, 'twas a dozen lives ago;
But that I was a lucky man
The Toyokuni here will show:
I loved you--once--in old Japan.
2.5k
Reading the other day,
an article about some,
Renowned fellow's notion,
On the study of "Human,
Productive Locomotion".
A reputed Authorty,
of "Time Management",
His main proclivity being,
The belief in his increasing,
Other peoples productivity.
Modulating their all too,
common Human tendency,
For naturally wasting time,
and non productive energy.
Him asserting himself to be,
a self styled know it all,
Bonafied Expert in Efficiency.
Now I can see,
How it might be,
That this type of study,
Offers some relevancy,
For the Barons of Industry,
What with them regulating,
The flow, While streamlining,
and furthering the advance,
of all things, relating to commerce.
A purely Scientific belief,
For the primary benefit,
Of the Time Clocks sake,
And all those Bosse's
Emotional financial betterment.
But what on earth,
did that have to do,
with an old retired,
fool like me?
What matter that,
I merely sit and think,
for hours at a time.
Read the paper,
or a book,
Computer chat,
or cook?
Putter in my garden,
Or gratefully just stare,
at big billowing clouds,
or rainbows in the air.
Or perhaps I choose,
to hug my wife,
Or chase my Grand
Kids up a tree,
Maybe grab a nap,
Or even take a ***
Pet my dog,
Or have a Beer.
Watch the Tube,
a little bit,
Or congregate to meditate,
with a convivial group of friends.
Maybe take a walk,
Down by the river.
Get out my old,
Bow and Quiver.
Wash my car,
Cut some grass,
Go to my writing class.
Slip on down,
to the " Red Dog Saloon"
Where I'll promenade,
A little Texas Two Step.
Come home in time,
To unwind and,
watch some David Letterman.
What's efficient,
and what is not?
Clearly, that interpretation,
Is completely up to me.
No Efficiency Expert needed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC