"setters" poems
Woof.....woof.....woof...woof....woof....wooof
Some Red setters dogs are eating Jewish people
in England
But why, do call them off, they are british people,
The are hard working, Industrious, Entrepreneurs,
Professors, Doctors, Lawyers, Bankers, Entertainers
Scientists, Writers, eminent Surgeons, Artists, these
are nice Britons....stop the dogs, stop the dogs.....
Woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof...woof woof
Some Red Setters dogs are eating and biting some
Labour MPs all over the country
But why, do call off the dogs, No! we have a list and this list, highlighted the behaviour of a number of Left MPs, including Jess Phillips for telling Corbyn’s ally Diane Abbott to **** off”, John Woodcock for dismissing the party leader as a ******* disaster” and Tristram Hunt for describing Labour as “in the ****
and all the other hard working Moderate MPs who dared protest at Anti-Semitic stance or supported the Jews .
Woof.....woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof...woof
Some Red Setters dogs are devouring some minor
Royal from Africa
But why, do call off the dogs. No that ****** has a big **** he's
Charismatic, intelligent, wholesome, has good work ethics, polite,
wise, charming, generous, witty and a ****** good lover and to top it all he's Royal. Now that's ******* GREEDY, how much can a
******* man have. NO! he's a goner. He is too perfect, he must be hounded and persecuted to death.
Woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof.....woof.......woof
Grrr.....woof.....Grrrrr....woof...wooof...Grrrr....wooof
Congratulations People, we have got rid of them all
we now have real democracy, we have a real society now
Get in the dogs ... And all you useless ******* people shut up!
And report to the Labor Camps 7:30a.m. tomorrow
You're Working Class and now you ****** have to work!
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
Grandad's gone.
He's still with us, but....he's gone...if you understand me correctly. Hasn't been with us for a few years. We thought it funny at first, till we realized what was happening. Then it dawned on us....he didn't know us anymore. Lifetime's of memories....events, holidays, pictures, kisses, hugs and laughter....and only we could remember them. When we told him about them, he would smile and stare away...trying to find them in his mind, with no luck.
When it started, he was telling me about a dog that he had heard about. A poyne setter, he called it. I told him, I'd never heard of it. He couldn't tell me what it looked like, just what it was called. When I looked it up on the internet, the closest I found to it, was the plant...a poinsetta. I told him it was a funny joke, but he got mad. Told me he saw it on a dog show on television, it was a dog, a Poyne Setter, and he was angry at me.
Not long after that, every time he saw me, he said "Anne, can you do this for me? or Anne, can you get me that?". My name is Sarah, Anne is my Aunty. She's been gone since 1963, car crash. I'm not Anne. I thought he was doing it to make fun of me for the Poyne Setter thing. He wasn't. We were losing him.
He talked a lot about the early sixties, kept on calling me Anne. I put up with it, because for every time he messed up my name, after a short spell, he'd get it right and we'd be fine.
A few weeks back, it happened again. I hadn't been around for a while and he sat there, looking out at the sea from the porch, when suddenly he turned to me and said "Anne...I need you to find me something". I said sure Grandad...he didn't notice.
"I want you to find me one of those sweaters they keep talking about...one of those fleece things. But, he added...I want a wool one, a nice wool one. A Wool Navidad....not a fleece navidad, but, a wool one. This time, I knew he wasn't kidding.
I told him, I'd look. He smiled, and turned and kept staring out from the porch. He always loved his porch. Full of plants out there to tend, when he remembered. Most of them were dead or dying now, which was sad because he always took such care of them.
My favorite, was always the wandering jew....he'd kept it alive for nearly thirty years now. I was keeping it alive, he didn't remember it at all. We used to joke about the name, he called it a creeping jesus....just to get me angry. Now, it was just a plant, he didn't remember.
We've lost Grandad. He's still here, but, he's gone. I hope he finds us in there some day, creeping jesus', fleece navidads, poyne setters and all.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
beard-red explorers
pillaging-horror practitioners
tribal-family groups
insurgent-nomadic roots
that
trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans,
continuously-toilfully matters not the demands
women and men side by each
beastly-feasters no table safe
stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif
in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce
pagan-purveyors by rites
despised-womanizers
siege-setters
monk-murderers
a blood-spilling bee
treasure trove crash n’carry
Thor had his hammer
every wave-rammer had an oar for every
pair of life-stained hands, the stains
were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others
blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers
and yet
discoverer’s children
wandering wet-wilderness
found a Stormy-Stop, a few
actually, and one be Newfoundland
may-haps they settled in peace.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
"Going to be late for dinner. Rush Hour!"
Playing with the Platypus
pretending the Preying Mantis
made a makers mark
on the playing cards
secret Joker Deck.
Sitting on the sticky stick of stickers.
Sitting in the setting set by the table setters.
Sitting on the soft sofa sipping the sour soda.
Alliterating the alternate wording worth alliterating.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
*May clover brighten your path
And sunshine lighten your way
Down the path to your farmhouse
Where daisies dance and sway
Inside the home where love resides
In a comfy arm-chair is where you'll rest
After a hard day's work, you now relax
As the dying sun fades in the west
May some charming thought
Bring a smile unto your face
As from your covered porch you watch
Our handsome English Setters race
So, go ahead and make a wish
For brighter days in store
Where our home upon the hill awaits
Waiting evermore*
~Marian~
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
An ashy weeping willow,
Lay in my wobbling garden.
Like a cosmic silver pigeon.
Up: the still, leaden flow
Sailed - a cold, prowling woe,
Charging to pounce on Carthage.
In: the wreaths of smoke letters
Gather as leaden fetters,
Then dart like Irish setters,
Released after a game.
LazharBouazzi, January 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
Part I -You are my top drawer man
Well I have to confess, my life has turned out quite nice to be fair.
Don’t think for one minute that I am not deeply thankful; do you think I don’t care?
There’s money in the bank and look even a new convertible outside
Zero Percent how could I resist, you would do it too if you could just feel the ride
The mortgage is all paid, so the money that’s left, it is all mine
My poor dad he worked so hard, he did lots of overtime
He held down two jobs just to make end
s meet,
And then they left and they left it all for me to spend
Bless
So I’m determined, the way they scrimped, I will not do the same
I won’t squander my life for that would be such a shame
So tonight I'm off, heading once more to one of those exotic places
Places where mankind has so far left very few traces
When one day I lie on my deathbed, Wracked by Disease and Succumbing to Pain
I will remember all those places and how I wish I could go there again
Nowhere will be where I haven’t been
On this earth there will be no wonderful sight that I have not seen
I am going now, I must get my flight
It’s the jet setters life for me, oh my what a delight,
But I just have to go and you knew this time would come, so no reason for tears
Promise to stay faithful and allay all my fears
You are the only man for me, and when I get back you and I can love again
You are my dream man and my life without you would be such a pain
You know how much I love painting the town red
We could do dinners and theatres, wine tastings and afterwards to bed
When we go out for a drink, as always you can drive
and as for me, well I will be alongside
Oh bear in mind, cash will be tight, these trips cost the earth you know
There won’t be much spare, so maybe we could just catch a late night TV show
Oh darling you definitely have a place in my life of that you can be glad
But there are things I must do and places I must go so please you mustn’t be sad
I know a man, he will come along, and luckily he lives in a drawer just below yours
I intend to open it before I head off and out he will come crawling on all fours,
I know it’s awkward but you will just have to get back inside
I won’t be gone long and when I come back you can pop out and come for a ride.
Oh and when you come over, you can put balm on my back
And afterwards who knows, you and me could even end up in the sack
What an odd question “Are you left or right handed” gosh indeed why do you enquire?
Well how should I know, I haven’t been watching and to respond to silliness I lack all desire
After all I don’t think you and I have been together for very long
Six years in June or was it April and oh my your love for me it is still so strong.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
Let’s take a tour through the galaxy
I’ll show you the stars hung just for me
We’ll dance in their light like Fred Astaire
Quite the pair, ignoring everyone’s stares
We'll be the two hottest on this date tonight
Let’s overdress and wink when we fight
We'll cut spot to spot, swanky jet setters
Limousine roof out, we’re red carpet steppers
Piano keys open all the doors for us to go
Slipping back stage to see the real show
Sipping martinis till the next party starts
Tripping farther down the boulevard
We don’t ruin the night with conversation
You and me honey we’re a revelation
We don’t mix the night with conversation
You and me honey we’re a revelation
Don’t say it out loud I can hear you thinking
It’s not about talking it’s the champagne drinking
I join you for another glass or three
I like the way it makes you stare at me
I get stuck in your quicksand eyes
Your two lips become my slow demise
The darkest corner of this club sparks up
Like diamonds and gems you light it up
then...
Your hair’s a mess, my tux a wreck
I wrinkled your dress, you bruised my neck
You lost an earring, you bit my chest
My back is scratched and you’re still outta breath
We don’t ruin the night with conversation
You and me honey we’re a revelation
We don’t mix the night with conversation
You and me honey we’re a revelation
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
A girl walked out of the thrift store,
Sporting a green leather pea coat.
She was accosted by a budding socialite,
Who complimented her garish green.
"How dare you call it 'Green'!,
Can't you see what this is?"
The socialite-turned-desperate shook her head.
"'Tis the colour of the trees after spring."
"Green?"
"No, silly. Beautiful."
And thus a trend was set.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
What happened to the days of true scholars
Ni**a who acquired knowledge not just dollars
We keep regressing as time goes on
We gota do it better than those who are gone long
Ago
When times we're more difficult
Gota get back to the origins on how theories were born
F**k rules
Be the exception and keep on going
Growing to infinite possibilities
Study everything under the sun
Be one with the universe since it begun
We ain't gonna win the war be we still gotta
battle
Cause
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
We gota shake society like those who have come and gone
Make a everlasting impact
Before you're done
F**k following the rules and
Getting a job that's cool
And sit in a office just to be a tool
Go out there
Risk your life
Become incredible and **** the hype
We can't win this war that is true
But we can fight and break open the truth
Cause
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
Those considered outcast or wierd have it clear
They understand that what we are shown doesn't come near
Of the true potential we hold
We must be bold
To bypass all these corny measured goals
Be an individual
Don't conform
We are born to break past social reform
I wanna preach love and individualism
Not stay stuck on hate and be subliminal
Embrace your human spirit
And block out the political
Those policy setters
Carry an umbrella
While we stay roofless and go toothless
Cause
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
There's a silent war going on
Going on
Going on
Go against the grain
Embrace your heart
F**k your mind
It's been molded by the naysayers
Who just want to increase their dimes
Be you
No one is you
Set out on a mission and do it soon
Don't stay stuck following polices set by bullies
I know people need the money to get by
But if you take that thought out of your mind
One by one
Human nature will return to it's true kind
And maybe we'll have a chance at winning this war
A lot of us battle
And that's a real goal
Cause
The silent war just begun
Just begun
Just begun
The silent war just begun
Just begun
Just begun....
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
Where the off keys are the subtleties
Missing symmetries linking beats
Rhythms rhyming daytime stories
With nighttime attitudes
Dudes and ladies
Going crazy in lime light
More impressed by concept than conception
Misguided perhaps
maybe blinded
Influenced so greatly
By something stirred gently
On the off chance
What they need to say
Matches what was heard
Wheezed into a microphone
30 feet away
Elevated, but not above
Their ability for connection
And desire for attention
Packed rooms full of people
Wanting a label
To cling to or sing to
Making it easier to declare with conviction
Instead of trying to stick out by fitting in
(Afruitless effort, except by the trend setters)
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
where the beauty is?
why do we only see the beautiful ones on display,
perfect as complete perfection, photo/makeup/cosmetic correction can make them stay...
replay, forever young, caught in some perpetual still life like on a canvas,
flawless, braless with ever perky ******* and bright white teeth polish,
bronzed skin and too tight everything, my god how the world must sing
whenever they strut their **** all around and bring
the rest of us less than perfect ones down by saying... nothing
according to the magazines, there go my dreams,
all in a too fat, too flat, where the fuck's my **** at,
reality in play, myself is where I stay,
stuck, in 6 weeks you can be like them, in six months you can be like her,
in 6 years you'll be like you... cause that's the cards we're played,
the genetic makeup, life breakup, reality shakeup is
that the impossible really is just that,
the beautiful really are just that,
and inside I'm just that
so wake up all you magazine covers, look up and take notice all you trend setters,
stuck up, rich ***** fake *** wanna be real but gotta fake it *******
this... is where the beauty is
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Watches
Great trend setters
Designed fashionably
Time-telling trap around your wrist
Quartz face
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
Héroes
You and I, You and I –
Are heroes who are misaligned
With countries, guilty of restraint
With folks, born under quite a different reign
With foreign thought repertoires
That couple monolingual stars;
With fledged serenading creatures
Behind shut windows of indifferent teachers,
And alien, dry air in one’s
chest,
Deserting lungs after the heart had been undressed.
Yet for a brief period of time
Whilst a busker performed for a dime
There was a pact between jet setters:
To roam the Roman soil no matter
What it takes, for it has been professed
That we embark on this exhilarating quest.
As much a blessing as it is curse,
It has no expiration date, unlike this verse.
Dear designer of a multi-universe!
Please make, at last, a place come forth
Where writers, both rereading Keats,
Could start a revolution on your paper sheets
Would you allow?
Might never know, because for now...
...You and I, you and I
Are festive effigies they call their shrine.
Rising above confetti-covered streets,
We regenerate to liberating pagan beats.
Who knows, perhaps, this self-repeating theme
Is, indeed, a dream within a dream;
Perhaps.. The nightly waves after demise
Are morning rays that make up the sunrise.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
Hidden in the pleats
where all of life's defeats
are sewn into the kilt
behind the walls
I've built.
When Donald,
who was my Uncle,
on the Scottish side,
took his red setters for a walk,
they more than often ran
through the fences
along the old track that led
to the power station.
He would call and they would
stop
tails stretched
like fingers pointing
to an adventure
denied.
Donald died many years ago
I hope he still takes his dogs
walking along different
tracks in the same place.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
*A deadly task at hand , see the November broom sage conforming with the lay of the land
The smooth stones are secure in their creekside homes
Adolescent Crepe Myrtles abide in the company of elder Oaks
Every plant allotted soil and very much aware of their place
Under the ever meandering compression of man with a valuable lesson of humility and grace
Behold the wall builders , the ceiling setters , the clothed and the rambunctious
The soil breakers , the ravagers , the fire starters , the problem
solvers mingled with the war mongers
The breath of creation fueling their thirsted conflagrations
Behold "the thinkers" , destroyers and the manipulators* ..
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
I'm not a hippie she non sequitured
as I asked her questions
I'm not a hippie
I'm not a hippie she vociferated
It's okay I'm not a hippie either
I overly averred
Then we talked and agreed
and got warm
and got wet
Two years later we met again
It's like that sometimes for the jet-setters
"Hi" she smiled
"Hi" I returned
Did you hear the new (hip hop/rap star) album
she inquired
I'm not a hip hopper I stated
"What?" she questioned
I'm not a hip hopper I re-replied
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
I caught my man panhandling I handed him my last thread of common sense, he only wanted the dollar
That's all I had left, reds an ugly number
Sensitivity is rarer than ever when you can barely feed you're kids on those old vendettas
I bought a bottom level house when the promise of higher living was brighter than sun setters
Told my girl we'd be living better
Now her head wrap, look like Erykah and I stole the fabric from the thrift shop, the irony did not register
Ain't no love in the struggle
Even less in hip hop
But I'll keep ******* around with **** until my ******* mix tape pops
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Encorporations, Liebling --
Weforms, y bubbles in being buvvles.
Ancient knowing, long sacred, hidden,
as with the legend of confused names,
Epimythiums accosting promethean bets,
day and night, eat your heart out, free
from regrets, satisfied mind, okeh, free
to act as agent
for lady liberty, here post feudal self,
as discovered in a canyon, much the same
as Sha'gri La from story, Havasu Canyon,
as home of a boy I knew, whose grandfather
had made peace, with good intention,
to remain in Supai until the end of time,
then, there come the missionaries, guessing
Victory in Jesus would rouse the innocents
to repent for never having imagined Hell,
as sure as can be made believe,
by **** sapien innocents,
never led by setters free,
into known uses
of old Eber clan ever words,
otherwise, still, small, breather thinking ideas,
whims like what if this is that, and we ready,
readers like think as fast as we can write,
as if we have been taught to dance
as when we drum along and dance
in mindful memorizational motivational wills,
to live the story we form as our weform agrees,
these are the realms of spirits, these are words
enough for the wise in any situation, sent, willing
to breathe, and feel, the whole wind working bit,
the smoke you may use, indeed, see believing
work out a salve for that itching ear, feeling
we form on-demand, at hand, at touche', indeed,
doing done, done did get done, this away from that,
back to the future,
through common senses used,
globally translatable
with Google Translate, using
copy and paste
of encoded letting out of dogmen,
from another mindform mingled
with mine, shall we
imagine Ancestory.com as a technology needing a lie,
to make believers
in what DNA can prove today,
if we go back far enough,
we were masters or slaves, and masters knew,
what slaves were not at liberty
to know,
without former knowers telling, so
dystopia ontological negative hope,
the princess and the pea, and me,
the wildass idea,
in the vineyard,
as the a sunbeam purpled
in a cluster
carried me
in a reverie
of poetic grandeur
indeed, into the afterward, ward after last.
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 5:07 PM UTC
Anti meta
Comcrete set up
Setters of faulty
Metaphors for people
Who lift up lofty heads
But live up to sheeple
Templetes originated
from deathly dates
With themselves
us who help also need help
Dark and light felt
Then dealt like oh well
Welp in the wealth of emotion
a potion of feathery pelts donned
Like ethreal dust held on songs
time pawned from before time
When life was long,
horizons dawn held in cymatics
of gongs, elastic and long light
Semantics derived of mind
Conciousness aligned like nature upon paper
The concious cant arrive at a savior. Plight of those lost in the layered reality catered to totality
the fader is banality
Launches fate in fame and fatality
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 5:04 AM UTC
I think I should make it public
How my love for compsci’s static
My hatred is a void
main(String args[]){
Where should I start?
Where DO {
I start?
BREAK; it down
To packages to classes
I might just need glasses
Primitives and variables
Freedom: Inevitable.
Step 1: Initialize
Step 2: Declare
Step 3: glare
Then pull out your hair.
Int and Strings
Those petty things
I’d rather float
Than write oop notes
IF my love for this
Was put digitally
boolean love = true;
You have no ******* clue!
Private or public?
A Return or a void?
Oh functions
Just send me to oblivion
Those red squiggly lines
I’d rather be blind
It’s only one sign:
There’s millions more of its kind!
Case 1:
The brackets that contain
everything.
There’s the round ones
The squiggly ones
The square ones
That come in a pair
Case 2:
Dots.
I’d rather be on ***
Case 3:
Capital
Letters.
Static
Behaviours.
Comp-sci, my saviour
I love shedding tears.
G
U
I.
More like **** you goodbye
Grid layout my ***
Only way it’d look nice
If it was FOR Windows95
I should just make an arraylist of MyLove[];
Because my love for compsci
cannot be bound by numbers
Oh! OP -
Don’t forget the getters
And the ****** setters
I’ll set this straight.
I don’t get
your
traits.
}
}
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
"
I love YOU
YOU YOU YOU !!
( you mean .... Me (?) )
No no !
It's just a generic term --- meaning " my love "
///
I love YOU
YOU YOU YOU !!
•
( well -- Why are you addressing it to ME ?
Why don't you just tell " your lover "
And leave me out of it )
///
Because
This is the APPROVED STYLE
Of poetry here on HP
And I want to be popular
So I write the way the
Popular Poets write
I know all the poems sound the same
And the same ole LIKE pictures come up
And the same inane HELPFUL
and COURTEOUS comments appear
BUT
this is what our
TREND SETTERS
want
&
I do so want to be popular
So
I love YOU
YOU YOU YOU !!
//
( Version # 1, 643, 810 )
Hope you like me !
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC