Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"roger" poems
‘To bed! To bed!’ Said Sleepy-head; ‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow; ‘Put on the pan,’ Said Greedy Nan; ‘We'll sup before we go.’ (from Mother Goose) They sat at the kitchen table as The candle flickered low, And Greedy Nan put on the pan To indulge her sister, Slow, While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle Blotted her book with tears, And thought of her Beau from long ago Who she hadn’t seen for years. ‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me, Why doesn’t Alan Dell? I’m wearing the dress cut low for me And I’ve hitched my skirt as well. I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so You’d think it would drive them wild.’ ‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow, ‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’ While over the pan stood Greedy Nan, Was cracking a turkey’s egg, A lump of yeast and a slice of beast And a single spider’s leg. With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat And a toe of frog for the spell, She needed to turn her sister off From her crush on Alan Dell. For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl And would have to marry first, The other two would wait in the queue Or their fortunes be reversed, The omelette sizzled, and in the pan She added before they saw, A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant For the mating game meant war. She sliced the omelette into half And she served them up a piece, ‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle But Slow enjoyed the feast. ‘I’m not that terribly hungry now I’ve cooked it up in the pan, I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’ Said the scheming Greedy Nan. They finished up and they sat awhile, And they mused about their fate, ‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon, For us it will be too late.’ ‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’ Said Nan, without a blink, Lured them away from her secret fire To confuse what they might think. ‘The room is woozy, spinning around, I’d better get me to bed,’ Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown Saw Dwarves dancing in her head. But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan To clear all signs of the spell, Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned For the sake of Alan Dell. And when he came in the morning Greedy Nan was sat by the door, While Annabelle and her sister Slow Were lying dead on the floor, ‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al, It was only a simple spell,’ But as he cuffed and led her away He frowned, did Alan Dell. David Lewis Paget
0
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
To Bed! To Bed!
‘To bed! To bed!’ Said Sleepy-head; ‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow; ‘Put on the pan,’ Said Greedy Nan; ‘We'll sup before we go.’ (from Mother Goose) They sat at the kitchen table as The candle flickered low, And Greedy Nan put on the pan To indulge her sister, Slow, While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle Blotted her book with tears, And thought of her Beau from long ago Who she hadn’t seen for years. ‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me, Why doesn’t Alan Dell? I’m wearing the dress cut low for me And I’ve hitched my skirt as well. I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so You’d think it would drive them wild.’ ‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow, ‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’ While over the pan stood Greedy Nan, Was cracking a turkey’s egg, A lump of yeast and a slice of beast And a single spider’s leg. With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat And a toe of frog for the spell, She needed to turn her sister off From her crush on Alan Dell. For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl And would have to marry first, The other two would wait in the queue Or their fortunes be reversed, The omelette sizzled, and in the pan She added before they saw, A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant For the mating game meant war. She sliced the omelette into half And she served them up a piece, ‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle But Slow enjoyed the feast. ‘I’m not that terribly hungry now I’ve cooked it up in the pan, I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’ Said the scheming Greedy Nan. They finished up and they sat awhile, And they mused about their fate, ‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon, For us it will be too late.’ ‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’ Said Nan, without a blink, Lured them away from her secret fire To confuse what they might think. ‘The room is woozy, spinning around, I’d better get me to bed,’ Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown Saw Dwarves dancing in her head. But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan To clear all signs of the spell, Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned For the sake of Alan Dell. And when he came in the morning Greedy Nan was sat by the door, While Annabelle and her sister Slow Were lying dead on the floor, ‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al, It was only a simple spell,’ But as he cuffed and led her away He frowned, did Alan Dell. David Lewis Paget
Continue reading...
72
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009
0
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Untitled
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009
Continue reading...
76
I SAY that Roger Casement Did what he had to do. He died upon the gallows, But that is nothing new. Afraid they might be beaten Before the bench of Time, They turned a trick by forgery And blackened his good name. A perjurer stood ready To prove their forgery true; They gave it out to all the world, And that is something new; For Spring Rice had to whisper it, Being their Ambassador, And then the speakers got it And writers by the score. Come Tom and **** come all the troop That cried it far and wide, Come from the forger and his desk, Desert the perjurer's side; Come speak your bit in public That some amends be made To this most gallant gentleman That is in quicklime laid.
0
14.6k
Roger Casement
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009
0
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Untitled
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is Vanda Station. We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind. If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station. Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions. November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station. Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island. For the next few hours There was no word worst feared not heard The radio crackled through the night In the un natural sound of SSB All crew up drinking coffee and tea with the midnight sun Glued to the HF single sideband November zulu niner zero one November zulu niner zero one This is mac centre mac centre howcopy November zulu niner zero one This is vanda station vanda station five four zero zero Relay relay mac centre mac centre Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen Relay relay mac centre Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy All through the night Over and over Hour after hour The same message Until that fateful call Feared by all Mac centre mac centre This is navy three two one wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy mac centre navy three one niner Longitude One six sefen Two sefen echo Latitude Sefen six Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre mac centre This is Navy three two one Correction Correction I say again latitude I say again Latitude Sefen sefen Two six sierra howcopy Mac centre Navy three two one Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors Howcopy So it was then, That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship by not relying on one thing alone. was repeated in similar fate by a latitude error in the crash site location message from the search aircraft XD01-48321 that found a terrible sight that the sun stayed up on late on a truly awful night when 257 souls met their fate. ©GARY LEWIS.2009
Continue reading...
76
I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king My friends all liked the Beatles But, that was not my thing I liked to hear the fiddle To hear the joy burst from the strings I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king I remember me and Grandad Listening to the radio We would listen to the Opry While my friends went to the show Johnny Cash, The Gatlins, Grandpa Jones, and Old Hank Snow I was raised on country music I just wanted you to know I loved the feeling I would get when I heard a country tune Singing about trucks and girls And a golden Tennessee Moon Charlie Daniels, Jimmy Dean The Judds, and Roger Miller Willie, Waylon, Tom T. Hall and Jerry Lee...the Killer I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king My friends all liked the Beatles But, that was not my thing I liked to hear the fiddle To hear the joy burst from the strings I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king Country lost it's western and Rock it lost it's roll But, still old country music Those tunes just made me whole I learned all of the lyrics And I love to hear them sing I grew up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was King I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king My friends all liked the Beatles But, that was not my thing I liked to hear the fiddle To hear the joy burst from the strings I Grew Up on Country Music When Rock and Roll was king
0
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I Grew Up On Country Music
Arrange communication, over. Roger, Out. Inform the Chain of Command Contact the Chaplain Execute a satellite uplink Notify the next of kin Start the phone tree Make the arrangements Honor the deceased Comfort the family Pray for the soul
0
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 2:00 AM UTC
Arrange Communication
Mud is good, Its dead good mud, It's in me blood, But where not understood, Us people of mud, In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank, I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks, The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge, In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean. Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity, But it’s fallen apart, Don’t lose heart. I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown, I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown, There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies, Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger, There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens, Hunks and punks, lonely drunks, Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in ***** Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas, Coz of all the rain, But it’s all good, coz we come from mud, Let’s cheer, why? Coz I’m here, I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh, I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy, I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks, I like bags and wags and cigarette **** but not beer, I’m fine on wine if I take me time, I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it, I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar, I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd, I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round *** but I’m me you see, I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere, Coz I care, I’m good, I’m mud; it’s in me blood, Understood By Christina Ford
0
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
Mud
Mud is good, Its dead good mud, It's in me blood, But where not understood, Us people of mud, In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank, I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks, The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge, In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean. Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity, But it’s fallen apart, Don’t lose heart. I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown, I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown, There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies, Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger, There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens, Hunks and punks, lonely drunks, Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in ***** Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas, Coz of all the rain, But it’s all good, coz we come from mud, Let’s cheer, why? Coz I’m here, I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh, I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy, I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks, I like bags and wags and cigarette **** but not beer, I’m fine on wine if I take me time, I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it, I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar, I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd, I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round *** but I’m me you see, I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere, Coz I care, I’m good, I’m mud; it’s in me blood, Understood By Christina Ford
Continue reading...
40
I know from my past, gym class From locker rooms, I learned fast That lots of guys have winners But my sausage is from Vienna. I got a little bump, a tiny little lump, Like a hamster has taken a dump. Nothing bulges my shorts at the crotch. Not much there for anyone to watch. But our society puts the emphasis On just how big your business is. If you have a tiny peter, my friend Many kinds of applause will end. Go read the writing on the walls, Because you will inherit the catcalls And no matter how much you moan They come through no fault of your own. Regarded as less than a man; sick Or perverted to have a small **** As too often I have been told Since as a kid and not very old Amid laughter and cruel jests I have learned a big **** is best. No matter it’s something I can’t change, Apparently a small ***** is strange. In time I left behind those taunts As I left behind adolescent haunts. The pain has become only a taint; The scars of bullies with no restraint, But I am sure I never will fully be Free of their thoughtless bigotry As I reach the age of an old codger Dealing with life with a not so jolly roger.
0
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
***** ENVY
I will follow you Down the alleyways of your mind Lying under your sun Meling into dreams Left behind by a shadow We are loves words Floating in time The adventurers of space Touches emblems, enshrined Never let it be said We didn't care For every fraction of day Held together This man and this woman Looped by a golden bow. Love Mary For her Roger ***
0
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
I will
I remember how he walked through the door; How sunnily it begun. I remember the white color of his shirt on which DPS GANDHINAGAR was written. I remember his crooked smile and also his sweet words. I remember how he said 'Hey,Amaya'; While I blushed and flushed! He simply became my crush. I remember thinking that for life he was mine,when suddenly my dreams were crushed. There was lot of pain and ache and sorrow,And I remembered how sunnily it had begun. After crying over him for months I found someone whom I loved. Then came another storm,it took him away from me for forever and I didn't care; For I had learned what infatuation was! Then I got to know that Roger Federer is the one.
0
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
My Teenage Crush
I am the young girl running around the house, looking for the pony, on Christmas morning, while the ship is slowly sinking, in a manure flavored sea. I am the armless tennis player that is convinced he will defeat Roger in less than an hour, using just one ball, over and over again. I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial, with a big stupid smile in my pocket, and a tinny black book in my soul. I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness and I will be the one that lands on his feet, in Scottsboro heaven. I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta, having a croissant, waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what? I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title, even though I haven't read the ****** thing and I have no sympathy, whatsoever, for any anarchist. Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me in complete anarchy. I am the one that wakes up every day with a stupid smile under his nose, not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure. The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up, ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant ***** with no desire to go to outer space, but with huge hopes up his sleeve for M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge. I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge, and I am aware that all that space debris in my head will do some serious damage one day. If they ever figure out how to get it all in. I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around! the encore of every good concert, the yin for the panda **** the slim leg for the flamingo, the gambler, the rambler, the day rider. I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and all of this infinite blue soup is nothing more than a Saturday stroll. I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe the purest air that someone could ever breathe, I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced. You have my word! I am the skin before the needle shoots up all its ink. I will be perky. I will be green.
0
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
̄\_(-_-)_/ ̄ ̄\_(ツ)_/ ̄ ̄\_(-|-)_/ ̄ ̄\_(-!-)_/ ̄ ̄\_(# #)_/ ̄
I am the young girl running around the house, looking for the pony, on Christmas morning, while the ship is slowly sinking, in a manure flavored sea. I am the armless tennis player that is convinced he will defeat Roger in less than an hour, using just one ball, over and over again. I am Roy Wright at the beginning of the trial, with a big stupid smile in my pocket, and a tinny black book in my soul. I am the faithful survivor of unfaithfulness and I will be the one that lands on his feet, in Scottsboro heaven. I am Bartolomeo V, the one with no vendetta, having a croissant, waiting for Nicola to shave, before we take off in one of Rothko's paintings. May the 5th be with the ones who actually did it.. and, you know what? I honestly think Cronaca Sovversiva is a great title, even though I haven't read the ****** thing and I have no sympathy, whatsoever, for any anarchist. Hell! It's hard for me getting my **** together in complete order. I don't want to think what would become of me in complete anarchy. I am the one that wakes up every day with a stupid smile under his nose, not remembering the scent of yesterday's failure. The one that starts dreaming as soon as he gets up, ignoring the fact that he might be an ignorant ***** with no desire to go to outer space, but with huge hopes up his sleeve for M. Damon and his agricultural knowledge. I am in favor of all fancy schmancy Earth saving knowledge, and I am aware that all that space debris in my head will do some serious damage one day. If they ever figure out how to get it all in. I am the tic, that will come after the tac-toe, this time, and not the other way around! the encore of every good concert, the yin for the panda **** the slim leg for the flamingo, the gambler, the rambler, the day rider. I am the Syrian boy that just learned to swim and all of this infinite blue soup is nothing more than a Saturday stroll. I will get in the back of that truck and I will breathe the purest air that someone could ever breathe, I will sleep the sleep of reason and monsters will not be produced. You have my word! I am the skin before the needle shoots up all its ink. I will be perky. I will be green.
Continue reading...
56
my name is roger rabbit, i'm fed up of my job ,head is always throbbing, my best mate is a **** batteries up my ******** make my ears vibrate, sat astride a ***** intitled master bate. i've no control or vision as i get shoved about, ears are always tickling... smelling like a trout. hate my new vocation, you might think it's funny, my other job was better, when i was easter bunny.
0
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
roger the rampant rabbit
. **•atop the mast billows my wind-tossed rag•grinning skull embla- zoned proud•the starkness of black upon my flag •piercing the encroaching sea mist and shroud•her- ald the sight of the jolly roger • instilling trepidation in all who sail through my turf • fuelled by the thirst to pillage and plunder•others before, have sunk into graves beneath the surf•my salt encrusted timber creaks                   a frightening low                growl• my hull                       would pum-                     mel thro- ugh the opposing waves•    my sails bloat full trapping winds that howl•my       deck bears the screams of a thousan-            d slaves•know me, seafarers... i am no legend but truth•avast! seafarers, i am the tale that looms•believe me, seafarers for i am ca-        pable         of all         things** •••                                                         •••   **uncouth                                                 •fear me, seafarers for                                            i am your doom•you could                                 sail the seas with the world's most                    skillful of crew• you cannot deny the inevitable heavy hand of fate•be- cause once my vessel comes within view                             •you would know for certain                                that it's already •••••••                                       ••••••• •••••                                               •••••** too late•
0
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
Avast!
. **•atop the mast billows my wind-tossed rag•grinning skull embla- zoned proud•the starkness of black upon my flag •piercing the encroaching sea mist and shroud•her- ald the sight of the jolly roger • instilling trepidation in all who sail through my turf • fuelled by the thirst to pillage and plunder•others before, have sunk into graves beneath the surf•my salt encrusted timber creaks                   a frightening low                growl• my hull                       would pum-                     mel thro- ugh the opposing waves•    my sails bloat full trapping winds that howl•my       deck bears the screams of a thousan-            d slaves•know me, seafarers... i am no legend but truth•avast! seafarers, i am the tale that looms•believe me, seafarers for i am ca-        pable         of all         things** •••                                                         •••   **uncouth                                                 •fear me, seafarers for                                            i am your doom•you could                                 sail the seas with the world's most                    skillful of crew• you cannot deny the inevitable heavy hand of fate•be- cause once my vessel comes within view                             •you would know for certain                                that it's already •••••••                                       ••••••• •••••                                               •••••** too late•
Continue reading...
32
We met through a latched gate down a straight concrete path With flowers and grass on either side To a white cottage with a Thick thatched roof. To the right of the front door Was a climbing, yellow,’ Chelsea’ rose. The garden was an orchard of tenderness with Five elderly leaning apple trees bearing fruit. And David Austin roses in a variety of colours Many wild and cultivated flowers grew and plentiful Of bird song. Roger and I sat together at a small Table and chairs And were given a delightful meal Of chicken and vegetables Followed by ice cream and mixed fruit salad After resting with cups of tea I wandered round the garden to see all the Beauty of this wilderness and a boat in a large Rather dilapidated shed Later to be rebuild into a fine garage of Original Suffolk stone and two wooden doors. Our time together was very precious to me. Filling in much that I had heard about, but Never encountered, from a very dear relative. In the afternoon we went into Bury St Edmunds central To see the Cathedral, Abbey Gardens, with resplendent Flower beds frequently replenished in an abudance of colourful changes and the antiquated book shops. The day was concluded with strawberries and cream in the Park sitting on a bench in the sun. We had a long journey back to Watford. I never forget this day so unusual was it Made by my friend. Love Mary xxxx
0
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 4:51 AM UTC
Meeting a friend.
He is just like a Fatherer for Tennis! Roger at 35 works out with dedication, He also is a great human being in life, Roger is just awesomely as a human. He has a large & kind golden heart, Roger Federer is an angel of Earth.
0
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
Roger That
I sit on a droopy windowsill and gaze out at the stars above me in the stately sky of coal. I let the smoke fill me, pollute my corrupted lungs, ‘til it plugs me, completely consumes my sticky soul, and midnight sorrow blanket hugs the heart in my hole. I sit and I consider the sky with its million-and-one jewels that adorn the vast carpet of night and its one, lone cloud that slowly drools fat, drippy drops of deep fed'ral blues. The ashy, burnt taste is still in my throat; it lingers- a dull, cloying candy cane. The muted flavour chokes and jabs and pecks persistently, in the back of my brain and leaves a steel blue/gray trailing stain. Vague memories of fourth-grade English lessons take me with a deep sigh to forgotten thoughts of Roger McGough and unrequited love- dazed recollections of school poetry taught in obscure slate-blue classrooms, littered with blots. It seems feeling unreturned affection isn't quite as great as I’d thought after all. I must've been wrong, all those hazed years ago, when I yearned to feel unrequited love’s fall, convinced it would be a wondrous, dazzling ball Instead, I'm just ******* in the pale-ing sky that seems to be growing into lighter hues- the navy’s turned to electric, to powder, matching the sapphire in my soul of glue. I'm suppose I'm feeling somewhat, slightly blue. .
0
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Blue.
Voice Rejoice by Roger W Hancock Victory Voice, voicing calmly, enunciating clearly, slow deliberate talking, battling the stuttering. Fighting the stammering, during my conversing, when heard clearly, spoken calmly, Victory’s rejoice. © 12-07-2011 Roger W Hancock, www.PoetPatriot.com
0
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 2:56 AM UTC
Voice Rejoice
O WHAT has made that sudden noise? What on the threshold stands? It never crossed the sea because John Bull and the sea are friends; But this is not the old sea Nor this the old seashore. What gave that roar of mockery, That roar in the sea's roar? The ghost of Roger Casement Is beating on the door. John Bull has stood for Parliament, A dog must have his day, The country thinks no end of him, For he knows how to say, At a beanfeast or a banquet, That all must hang their trust Upon the British Empire, Upon the Church of Christ. The ghost of Roger Casement Is beating on the door. John Bull has gone to India And all must pay him heed, For histories are there to prove That none of another breed Has had a like inheritance, Or ****** such milk as he, And there's no luck about a house If it lack honesty. The ghost of Roger Casement Is beating on the door. I poked about a village church And found his family tomb And copied out what I could read In that religious gloom; Found many a famous man there; But fame and virtue rot. Draw round, beloved and bitter men, Draw round and raise a shout; The ghost of Roger Casement Is beating on the door.
0
2.6k
The Ghost Of Roger Casement
You can rate me, You can bait me, You can freight me, You can strait me, Simulate me, Even better Drop a roofie, Game a debtor. You're so groovy, misbehaving, Misbehaving, Give it to me, Trouble waiting, Fascinating, Always mating, You can wake me, You can slave me, You can grade me, You can shave me, Integrate me, I pulsating A new navy, All the skimmings, Underpinning Jehovah's witness, Keep on stalking, Better fitness, Keep on shocking, Shell is thinning, Gettin' gotten, Rot 'n' reeling. Don't touch my bikini. Better smile when you see me, You can stare That's a freebie. Don't touch my bikini. Looking is free, But touching's gonna cost you Something. Smooth and lanky, Hanky panky, Got no treat or New York Yankee, Super leader, Count to seven, Go to Paris, Break the leaven, Roger Maris, Bleed the Czar, Shooting star, You're so levy, You're so sunny, Getting ready, Here's the money, Socking heady, Making honey, Toasting herons, That's not funny, Waiter Betty, Way too **** You're so on it, You're so honest, You can fool me, You remold me, All the preachers never told me, Heavy breathing Punting reason, Welcome season. Don't touch my graffiti. Smile if you dare, Oily oinkers everywhere. Keep watching, you graffiti. Next time you'll learn That touching's gonna cost you Something.
0
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Don't Touch My Bikini
President Reagan sat by himself in the White House Trying to understand what had happened. He heard his wife scream What have you done with my husband? I want the real Ronnie back! He sighed. This is what happens when you listen to experts. Reagan had been in debates before. From Kennedy to Brown to Buckley to Carter. He did it his way. He won his way. Reagan always liked stories and humor. Details and data, not so much. He always thought that statistics don’t feed people. Because people can’t eat an equation. But the experts said that he should have more knowledge. Reagan listened to them. The thing was, it was too much knowledge. And Reagan had to be president. So when he debated, he was tired. The youngest looking 73 year old man. Just looked ancient at this point. He held onto the podium As if it had answers. But the podium gave him nothing. His actor’s instinct called up an old line. There you go again. It worked against Carter. But Mondale neutralized it. Mondale was good. Not like Kennedy, who was more passionate. He remembered Bobby very well. He would have made a great president, if he had lived. Or like Buckley, who had the scholarly instinct. Because he read books when Reagan played football without a helmet. Reagan defeated both of these men. But he did not beat Mondale. Because Mondale had answers for everything Reagan said. Reagan pondered to himself. I must have something for which Mondale does not have an answer. I must make something that Mondale cannot answer. But I cannot tell the experts. They are nice people. But they don’t know debate, I do. So I can file it away. It would be a break in case of emergency punchline. The phone rang and it was Roger Ailes. Ailes said, Mr. President you were not at your best. But the sun will rise again. Use a laugh line as your life line. Rely on personal experiences, not dead data. Remember Mr. President this is your re-election. Reagan took that to heart. And the second time around, Ronnie was back. He grinned because this time it was fun. But Mondale was still good. And then the question came. The question for which Ronnie was born. It was about President Kennedy’s working hours during crisis. And if Reagan had the stamina to match Kennedy. Reagan smiled. It was time to pull out the joke. He said, I will not make age an issue in this campaign. I will not exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience. Reagan delivered it perfectly. And suddenly, he heard laughter Laughter from the questioners. Laughter from the audience. Even laughter from Mondale. Tears of laughter. Reagan drank his water and smiled. The Gipper scored a touchdown again. And hit it out of the park.
0
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
Ronnie, use a laugh line as your lifeline.
President Reagan sat by himself in the White House Trying to understand what had happened. He heard his wife scream What have you done with my husband? I want the real Ronnie back! He sighed. This is what happens when you listen to experts. Reagan had been in debates before. From Kennedy to Brown to Buckley to Carter. He did it his way. He won his way. Reagan always liked stories and humor. Details and data, not so much. He always thought that statistics don’t feed people. Because people can’t eat an equation. But the experts said that he should have more knowledge. Reagan listened to them. The thing was, it was too much knowledge. And Reagan had to be president. So when he debated, he was tired. The youngest looking 73 year old man. Just looked ancient at this point. He held onto the podium As if it had answers. But the podium gave him nothing. His actor’s instinct called up an old line. There you go again. It worked against Carter. But Mondale neutralized it. Mondale was good. Not like Kennedy, who was more passionate. He remembered Bobby very well. He would have made a great president, if he had lived. Or like Buckley, who had the scholarly instinct. Because he read books when Reagan played football without a helmet. Reagan defeated both of these men. But he did not beat Mondale. Because Mondale had answers for everything Reagan said. Reagan pondered to himself. I must have something for which Mondale does not have an answer. I must make something that Mondale cannot answer. But I cannot tell the experts. They are nice people. But they don’t know debate, I do. So I can file it away. It would be a break in case of emergency punchline. The phone rang and it was Roger Ailes. Ailes said, Mr. President you were not at your best. But the sun will rise again. Use a laugh line as your life line. Rely on personal experiences, not dead data. Remember Mr. President this is your re-election. Reagan took that to heart. And the second time around, Ronnie was back. He grinned because this time it was fun. But Mondale was still good. And then the question came. The question for which Ronnie was born. It was about President Kennedy’s working hours during crisis. And if Reagan had the stamina to match Kennedy. Reagan smiled. It was time to pull out the joke. He said, I will not make age an issue in this campaign. I will not exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience. Reagan delivered it perfectly. And suddenly, he heard laughter Laughter from the questioners. Laughter from the audience. Even laughter from Mondale. Tears of laughter. Reagan drank his water and smiled. The Gipper scored a touchdown again. And hit it out of the park.
Continue reading...
73
Listening to George Jones. Or Mel Tillis. Or Maybe Mickey Gilley. I'm just a country boy listening to a country song. Good loving. Or a good feeling. I'm just a country boy listening to a country song. Listening to the original Statler Brothers. Singing Flowers on the Wall. Or Marty Robbins singing My Woman, My Woman, My Wife. There's nothing greater then a good country song. Whether it's by Johnny Cash. Or Johnny Paycheck. Or Roger Miller singing Dang It. There's just nothing like a good country song. Sure they reminds you of the blues. Or the blues reminds you of country. Either way the message is cleared. There's nothing like a good country love song. Throw in some Tammy Wynette. Or Loretta Lynn. Or play you some Dolly. And you'll see the story happening. Cause there's nothing like a good country song.
0
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
A Good Country Song
Like a ghost on the wind She comes from the sea And trembles the foe So wild and free With swashbuckling swagger And a Jolly Roger laugh She flies the black flag On a whalebone staff She has terrifying eyes And a ring in her ear And on her sun tanned face A flippant leer With a bone-cold glare And a sneer on her lip She has coins in hand And a cutlass on hip With a thunderous blast From her cannons' might She plants fear in the strong And steals the fight She takes all that's lost And turns it to gold For she's crafty and devious And frightningly bold She is dashing and daring, A fierce buccaneer Faces of many Pale when she's near From ocean to ocean Her tales are spun About the queen of the pirates For in the end she won
0
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Queen of the Pirates
The ceiling of the grand ballroom Opens as if it were taking in a deep breath. All of the golden oil painted negative space And striped Moorish arches allow the chandelier to shine Blood red. The pirates hung from the ceiling, Each with his wrists bound to his ankles, Festooned in the shape of a teardrop Or a bell or a drop of blood. The Jolly Roger slowly turns Without even a slight breeze or breath, Dangling from a single chord of rope. How jolly Roger used to be before the navy came, Smiling at the sinking enemy ships set on fire by black powder. Perhaps he still smiles, even through the darkness, Even through the gaping, gasping Cannonball holes you can almost hear moan On the side of his ship far below the surface of the sea, And hangs high and proud on his ship’s tallest mast. Perhaps the pirates hang high too, robust and glorious Like their billowing flag, shameless and naked With nothing to hide and everything to be proud of, a trophy Not for a queen and her navy But for themselves and the successes of their wanderlust.
0
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Waltz of the Jolly Roger