"sarge" poems
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
Charlie the gnome needed a home
and so he looked around,
the garden shed too big he said
and too high off the ground.
The bar b que would never do
the ash would make me sneeze,
so on I go look high look low
in and around the trees.
The bird box white would be too tight
with chicks that chirp and cheep,
and constant song the whole day long
I'd never get to sleep.
The kennels large but then there's Sarge
and all his smelly toys,
plus after dark he likes to bark
and make a lot of noise.
The house I found is out of bound
too many folk in there,
so I'll stay out and look about
as I don't like to share.
A wooden crate there by the gate
would make a perfect home,
it's not too small or wide nor tall
it's just right for this gnome.
I need a door and windows four
some carpet and a bed,
a rocking chair would look good there
or maybe there instead.
Yes this is fine and it's all mine
with roses all around,
the place it seems straight from my dreams
is what I think I've found.
Charlie the gnome no more will roam
his house is warm and bright,
with flower beds of blues and reds
and picket fence of white.
A wooden crate down by the gate
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
i love how after 70cl of whiskey my
metabolism is up and running -
i know, egoistical self-indulgent crap,
but it works! i get to say **** you
to 99 people and say: come on in
to 1 - but that doesn't even
matter, given the circumstance
of the 1 being a schizophrenic;
but hey! i grew a beard
after all, being post-25 years of age,
so a fully grow Amazon on my cheeks
and chin, a welcome reminder of:
the Aztecs played football too,
but it was more like
****** of San Francisco mixed
with golf mixed with netball
mixed with the ailing N.H.S.
chanting: god save our bed-shitting queen,
god save our precious artefacts from
Hindustan. and Gobi the cabby from
new Delhi -
god save our... a round of pints for the lot
of us! way-hey! charging into crusades with
a jaguar export from Germany under
the slogan: Vein Diesel biceps-flexed:
too fast, and two of each:
that'll be a pistachio - say it as meaning
lime green, go on - oi! ******
who's that Russian hooligan with pistaccio?!
one keg-pouch over here must have minded
the safety-belt limit
prior to a heart-attack and you're giving me
all Abba lip-sarge and surging...
gimme gimme a man at half time...
two pints and a burger in and i'll be
juicing up a saxophone for a crescendo better than
this one...
well... it was lovely to meet you, send my
best regards to your mother, a sincerely;
i swear to god, when i'm done, the only
person you'll be phoning will be your mother.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Mona Lisa 7 days in,
Beaten lost confused terrified
Recovery gangstA in the hood,
Pushpush, pulloull,bimbam,
Coach hollering at her,
Sarge growling at her...
He hates her, she can't do this,
It just don't work.
But she ain't using
She starts back eating,
And this ******* starts cleaning her house,
Fixing her bathroom,
Pruning her yard,
But he hates her...
Minute by minute,
Hour by hour,
The Spirit grows
Mona getting stronger
Listening, taking,working
Following the suggestions
Maybe, just maybe,
There is a Wizard of OZ,
. BUT he hates her...
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
Sign there son
You will be paid
Take the shilling
Europe awaits!
Grab your rifle
Grab your sack
Tell your mum you'll be back
Meet new friends
Palls together
All aboard and off to The Somme
They were just kids together alone
First the smell
Then the noise
Far from what you left at home
Then the shells begin to fall
Like nothing you had seen before
You're wet and cold and in a hole
Shaking with fear not the cold
Your friend just passed in a puff of smoke
His head was first, then his *****
His legs are spread across the floor
Then another explodes next to you
The smoke clears and the Sarge smiles at you
Like a statue painted red
He doesn't know he's already dead
Mother Mother! Others scream
But cries and wails no one hears
None of this can be real
You're just a boy and soiled with fear
Fifty years past then more
At night you still hear the screams and cannons roar
Like yesterday but years before
It didn't end all the wars
They made a sequel a bigger cast
Not your turn now to carry the flag
With one arm you can't do that
And your lungs still burn from the gas
Once again the generals cried
"Come on lads, we need you now, come and sign the Sgts form"
But was Tommy on the top once more?
Or did they use anothers name, to sign your precious lives away.
When oh when will all the madness end
For The Somme took away your friends
Only poppys now remain
Over fields where Britains youth lies slain
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
I walk old and gaunt
Floating ghostlike down old haunts
Martinelli
And Washington
And East Lake
I return
Far flung from a prodigal son.
Empty streets reflected in empty eyes
Power lines buzz in futile rebellion
To the silent black night.
I pull my jacket tight.
Stop at the Villager
In search of an old friend.
Security shakes me down
“Do you have a pocketknife?”
I laugh.
Look in at the eager faces.
They hail the old demon
I ran down in futile chases.
See Charlie and Sarge.
They’ve forgotten who I am
And shouldn’t remember
Anyway.
Turn back to the dark,
To the dim streetlights
Glowing exhausted and pale
Like me.
Light up,
And fill my lungs
With deathly relief.
Traffic lights mist
In cold colors
Where shadowed roads meet.
Something here died.
Something close,
Something warm.
I walk on,
Old and gaunt,
Floating ghostlike down old haunts.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
A badge without condition bought cheap, from a thrift store
Lies with brass medals and plastic ribbon, from uncaring hands.
A paid add on the paper floor, claps on the back from glad-hands,
Claps for marrying poor, she’s worth it, all her rotten core.
You walk with conceit, when the army stamped it’s boot,
A doctor’s note, before the sarge could break your seat.
Readies from your parent’s purse, a hand-out on the brew.
You queue for ****** on the roads in a pimped-out hearse.
Slurred words drawl from the dark, blood spit on the street,
Fistfights punctuate grammar like an exclamation mark.
You clone another you, spat from the womb cold;
A mother’s love wrapped in smoke of cozened blue.
There is no end to your ambition.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
Bend the ear of a wise old man
and tell him what this place is
over and over, you'll waste your time
just shouting empty phrases
He won't read lips, he's never has
he's spent his life just is he as
He's all mixed up and all that jazz
the words, his mind erases
And yet somehow I never fail to communicate frustration
it's always clear and never lost, a visual translatio
He speaks of friends he lost at war
and thinks his child is only four
incontinent and up all night
prefers you called him 'Sarge'
Sit beside him, don't you worry
let him eat without the hurry
let him lead, and listen well
you'll come to love The Sarge
Guide him gently down the aisle
He's got a limp, it takes a while
overlook the caustic tone
Commanding was his station
Now take the time to softly smile
mind your manners, march that mile;
don't patronize, but recognize
to him you're Gomer Pyle.
Someday you'll know how it'll be
if you reach that golden 93
you hope your mind will last as long
but there ain't no way of telling
They say that it is in the genes
but who knows what brings down our beans
if we lose our ears and minds
let's hope there's no one yelling
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
One million little crosses all in a row
One million little crosses all on a hill
Remember, remember what we fought for.
Remember Remember what we died for.
I remember the smoke and the noise,
The cause seems long lost.
One million little crosses all silent in a row
One million little crosses all silent on a hill.
Look down look down, over the sleeping valley
Look down look down, over the rebuilt city.
No more planes, no more bombs.
Dear Danny Whizbang, you can finally rest.
One million little crosses laid out side by side
One million little crosses just sleeping in the shade.
Dear Danny Whizbang- poor boy.
Remember, remember what we fought for.
I've lost the cause in the fog of war.
War is war and hell is hell but at this point it's so bad I can't tell;
Which is worse for my health, the bullets being fired at me or the poor meal ration.
Remember me back home, call me a hero.
I got a medal pinned on my chest, took seven more through my tactical vest.
Dear ma, pa, friends and pals, tell her I loved her and she was my only gal.
Dear ma, pa, friends and pals, say something nice bout those who don't make it back- I may not survive the next-ATTACK!
Sarge just gave the order, so up and over the top, last one home missed a bullet by a stroke of luck.
One million little lives laid to rest in a field.
One million little lives put to the test.
Pay em your respect, then finally allow them rest.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
September 13th at 10:45. Courtney Bradford has been missing now for exactly 2 weeks now and we have no leads. If you have any information regarding her disappearance please contact us asap . She is missed by her loved ones……
Or am I?
If I went missing would you miss me?
Or just keep living life like nothing occurred.
Would you miss my smile
My laugh
My humor
My beauty
Would you miss me at all
Or is the very though absurd
Yes I have friends
But my friend has another friend
So if I went missing on Monday
Will they forget me by the weekend
Yes I have family
But my family is rather large
Would I fade to the masses
Or would they demand answers from the sarge
Yes I have a babe
Or something of the sort
But he has other babes
So I’ll be forgotten my March
Its been two months
With still no leads
The investigation is now over
My eulogy reads
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Am I winning?
Have I won?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.
Am I living?
Yes, I am
Have I lived?
Yes I have
Lo, and be hold
beholden’ on
this is the future, my future, your now,
you may change what comes next,
but my bit of this idea was thought
some time ago.
----
say stretch, tendere, eh, say stretch
yo’ sorry ol’ attent-attention
three sibling boys march past me
counting cadence, 30 per
hup two three
--- why is this so easy to see
as real in any
boy I ever knew, the boy who leads
is 12, the sarge is 8, pfc is 5,
War, The idea of war, itself, an imagined
anthropomorph
in many fantasy experiences, in tranced
story-wise, tuned to the game
as to life, these see war as game theory,
rage from another age
lurks among the liars, there flattened
on the inner edge of the wall they wished
to form from fear and hate idea viruses.
Yes, Seth’s original strain, pure conjectural
objects orienting precepticons…
Can you see me now?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.
Ecce **** Augmento.
Yah. You may say… whoso ever
or who so
ever or whosoever makes peace
appear
as here, at this point, in time
we think of as then and now, you know.
Wake up, take your watch.
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 7:40 PM UTC
Keep the blunts in rotation love to freak haitan to jamacian
As well as the columbians womens
They lay up under me like a canopy
I got the shades blinding haters from my sunshine
Restrictin' minds from.the flash of my nine
Milly make ya body dance silly fools talkin' itty
Bitty I'll close ya mouth like hello Kitty
Gettin' nine stitches like 50 but once the shells drop
Ill promise I'll finish you off turn ya melon hard from soft
Soul lifted soon to be shifted off in the mother ship
Even in heaven I got a throne where none can withstand the dangerzone prone
My lyrics are mathed graphical swarming so fast it'll create a black hole
I'm going viral check my flows that spiral
Deep in ya head extractin' all thoughts that shed
Nothing but bloodshed all in it for bread
I get breakfast and head while ya beatin' off instead
I got a millions rhymes from blunts I puffed a million times
Keep em line I be the lyrical street sweeper
So stay at distance or face brain damage from the speaker
Huh a million...
My lyrics are carefully chosen growing for the ozem
I lay burning paths deeper than ozones
Suckas claim they King when they just roam
Another chapter to my tome tapped up and all alone
Exposin' wounds and broken bones
Around the battlefield emcees kneel
Cuz they know.i.be the real deal like Holyfield
A deadly left jab you can feel o so real
Closing down the Earth's atmosphere so all would feel
My lyrical drillin' curin' rhyming diseases with my rappin' penicillin
And ain't no killin' us we soul survivors
Improvise tactics wiser than Mcgyver
Living across the enemies wire my desire
To whole this rap game up shooken' up
I'll be mobbin' like M.O.P so ante up
Over runneths my cup full of Henny and syrup
Got a few cuties from eastern europe
To Belize so stand at ease when ya see a Sarge talkin' and nobody walkin'
Away clean glitter and gleam shatter ya dream
Cuz I be Wu Tang after the cream
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
Alone in quiet hours
Quiet while people come into the room
“What is the matter?”
“Why Don’t You Create?”
“Lack of affection. Lack of Mutual Understanding.”
It’s a Holocaust and doom.
1,000 knives stabbed in my back
“Why are you here? If you refuse to return my soul’s
Energy? Am I your Shrink within an emotional attack?”
A snack?
A temporary fix?
Some kind of drug that only lasts but a very short time.
“You don’t know my grief! You will never listen!”
Not without a fight.
I feel exhausted.
Why must I aid you in your life’s quarrels?
If my questions and tears remain unjustified?
To the likes of you?
A one way street. I need replenishment.
Of energy taken.
True soul equal distribution..
No more of your punishment.
I’ll find a way out of this corner.
That I was pushed into.
Due to my past?
My deficits?
Me needing you?
More than you see….You see right through me.
Attack me when I’m down.
Trying to **** my victories and my wins….
As you return home and the routine, again, sure shall begin.
I have ideas on your weakness. It is your Father’s Pride
Embedded into you.
Becoming too strict to even smile?
Discipline overloaded the machine..
That you have become.
See me remain, myself.
As I need no energies that come
when I feel and get reprimanded…
from these moments that are quite a scene.
You are unwilling to learn.
No older dog needs to learn new tricks?
Age plays no card in this gamble…..
As your soul needs it’s own recharge.
Feel my breeze as I walk ahead and disappear.
“Salute to the Sarge.”
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 10:40 PM UTC
The battlefield was a moonscape; craters here and there.
They were grateful to find cover, what with snipers everywhere.
Jack and his buddies hunkered down despite the cold and wet .
Time to share a cigarette and give voice to their regrets.
Jimmy left a girl back home he'd planned to make his wife.
Arthur came from money; once home he's set for life.
There was this one small problem; the foe still in the field.
Human flesh cannot resist the penetrating steel.
Jack imagined being home, once the war was through.
His girl was not some beauty Queen, but at least her heart was true.
All around their sinecure the guns, like thunder, roared.
Jack felt the terror clutch his throat, and he'd been scared before.
That was where we found them, in that cratered pit.
At least they all died quickly, slaughtered by a lucky hit.
Our Sarge would add their dog tags to others he had found.
Western Union made a nice profit here upon this battleground.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC