"stoutly" poems
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
'What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the 'praste' cried aloud in his haste,
'Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him.'
'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
'Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
'Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled 'MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened 'Maginnis'!
3.1k
My brother is very lazy.
Every day he drives me crazy.
I love him to bits I'll have you know,
I'll defend him stoutly against any foe.
I've never seen a man so stubborn,
His wife must find him hard to govern.
I still love him, for all his faults,
There's nothing like him
In any bank vaults.
Paul Butters
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
I
My five-five-fingers of my hands
Zestfully lived In serenity.
The three thrill fingers of my right hand:
Thumb, index finger and middle finger
Stoutly lived civilly and gleefully
Amongst her BROTHERS:
They rested gleefully upon the placid,
SHARP-SABLE-POINTED-DART.
II
Sharp sable pointed-dart;
Perched in the midst of the three thrill fingers
And laid rest upon the hungry,
****** DUSKY-SHEET, which sprawled
Bear flat on the glossy desk.
The glossy desk accompanying the earth
The earth accompanying its depth.
III
The other two fingers of my right hand:
Ring finger and little finger
Calmly leisure, plopped on the hungry,
****** dusky-sheet
And lent ears to the Sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering vignettes of yesterday
Muttering vignettes of today
Muttering vegnettes of tomorrow.
Upon the glossy desk
My five fingers of my left hand too
Laid rest, and eyeballed the sharp-sable-pointed-dart,
Muttering deep thoughts.
IV
Look,
All you who waded through lines:
All you who unearth the heart
Of this earth, hunting for treasures
Pore over my ten fingers.
My ten fingers,
As pure as a full ****** moon.
I have dunked deep my five fingers
Of my right hand with my progenitors
In a bowl of sweet dishes
And nibbled singed YAMS amidst
The thriving vegetables.
V
But my forefinger of my left hand
Never been raised above
To curse the heavens
Never been raised up to pinpoint
My progenitors' homeland
Never had it tasted any depravity
And never will it be licked
Or bit by the savage butchers of Meat
Who loved to fatten themselves on ******
And gratified their heart with
Juicy cup of blood and gore.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
like many stoutly claim
as members of some Christian faith
love our neighbors as we love ourselves
then why do we look down on those
of different creeds and cultures
skin color, clothes, or hats
suggest to keep them out by building walls,
suspect them of barbarian ways,
let them drown,
put them in camps,
build fences,
stop them at our borders,
prefer
in short
to have them elsewhere
maybe we should love ourselves much more
so we can better love
the tired, hungry, and the poor
who come to our shores and borders
in search of safety and shelter,
freedom, and human dignity
let us remain easy, and truer
to the spirit of our Liberty,
remembering our heritage
and that of our parents
and their parents
most likely immigrants from somewhere
looking for a better place
to have a life and rear their children
it helps to see our neighbors as our friends
rather than enemies
and love them like we love ourselves
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
Clouds
are made of clear
droplets.
Plump
or wispy or
massive,
or
spotty, quilted,
misty,
or
blanketing, long,
stoutly--
They float sometimes.
Sometimes they drift.
Sometimes they seem to stay in place.
They hurry or rush other times and
They collide--
Or meld together
to make love.
They are made of clear droplets
of water.
Clear/
Transparent,
Immeasurable
Drops--
That make
White
or
Grey
Clouds
With charges that storm.
With storms that charge.
They seem so tangible.
They seem so comfortable.
Anyone would fall to their death
if he were not an angel
pausing to rest.
Rorschach.
Clouds fall apart
when it rains.
Droplets fall from the sky.
or
Clouds fall from the sky.
And,
by the way,
Thunder
and
Lightning.
-LP
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
I spoke to an ant,
she complained that
the world treats
her with utmost contempt;
most animals will second it
she stoutly claimed.
(except few lap dogs and arrogant cats)
we need to organize
a world parliament,
to include, all living things,
all good people,
kindly look in to it
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
Glowing sea tries to touch the sky, again and again,
As I appeal for your love even in inevitable constrain.
Endless sea merges with sky far away from the earth,
Just like our souls amalgamate with eternal love and mirth.
Glistening sands adorn with starfishes spark in the sun light,
Looks like the bride’s costumes dazzling in the marriage night.
Roaring of sea sounds like the echoes of your heart,
Stoutly says on our holy integration is never for depart.
Glittering sea’s waves knee down and the tides go up,
As we bow down for God’s blessing with great hope.
The sacred sea shore gives the pleasure of eternal feeling,
As your love heals the soul and refine internal feeling.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
Although I walked thoughtlessly
Beneath the doctrines and sciences of men
And all the path I trail led to rust
Like the scriptures speaketh stoutly
The tail of every dust is rust
Yet still I laid beside him
Like one of his darling grungy garments
Elected out of the trivial
An inexplicable love
I doubt men had shown in the histories
Such a great mystery of love
For even in my malodorous transgressions and atrocities
Did he prize and pride me into his waters
And washed me thoroughly of my smirch;and made me whole
I reminiscent the deeds of old
When I stride in the midst of the sadducees and pharisees
Wallowing the mire
The envious glares in my eyes,deceitful tongue
And the felonies that pitch tents on my heart
Yet he never let me by or alone
In the tides of death nor drown into the deep abyss
What a love I've found with no bounds
A love that crowns the tramps
And make them champs
A love that shove all iniquities
Dear Jesus thanks for your love
Like a flowing stream
I lie tranquil in its showers
Like a flower,and quail not
What a lov-u
Amen
What a lov-u
©Historian E.Lexano
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
In a garden filled by inky night
she reads by fairy firelight
with dreams of magic and of cheer,
in a land when fantasy draws near.
Where unicorns flutter in mid-air,
and fairies shimmer with stardust hair.
Dragons twirl brazenly in a silky clouded sky,
while knights suited on horseback stoutly ride by.
Grinning trolls armored with riddles creep
to divert from their overgrown castle's keep.
The moon princess softly trills a serenade,
and frolics in an open cornflower filled glade.
Flaxen mermaids with encrusted combs of stone
sit on tufts of a verdant seaweed throne
whispering tales of prized treasures aglow
buried deep beneath in the sea below.
Stars blanket in the velvet overhead
as she sits and savors the legends read.
The sights found in writings all retold
are worth more to her than pirate's gold.
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
Off the silvery coast
A starving shipwreck flees
To escape, what can it be?
Just a murdered vessel's remains left at sea
-
On the open wilds, the woody plains of life
There always will be strife
A young woman turned to wife
But she don't love
-
In the icy wilderness, a man treads stoutly on
He is lost, but feels at home
The darkest place is safe, secure, and silent.
-
The hermit waits away the days in shadow, without sun
The hermit waits away the days in peace, without a soul.
The hermit has no need to wander wearily away
Until the break of day
What are the chances that he'll stay?
What are the chances that they'll understand me?
-
You walk a pace, the human race, divided, in your hands
A beach
In water
Sand
They never come together
They are separate.
-
Each one wishes, waits to show
That they indeed are real
They they indeed can feel
That their hearts aren't made of steel
And if pacts were signed they'd boot across the shores to face their fears.
-
A man will show his lover the hidden secrets of his heart
And if they break apart
The secrets will run lost in callous hands
-
Would it be better to isolate?
Or learn to face the pain?
I am lost in hail and rain
And my head is breaking out with sores and sorrows
-
The hermit waits away the days in shadow, without sun
The hermit waits away the days in peace, without a soul.
The hermit has no need to wander
For he has found himself in silence
And there's no need for alliance
No secrets shared, nor hidden passage found.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Different, you and I
Never see, never aye
I hear you scream,
I shout the steam,
We never seem to be,
Connected, you and me,
I dare to care, woe and woe,
Control, so and so
Much we have been,
Oblidged but paper thin,
The bond is dimly stoutly and scrim,
A short shot end of endless whim,
The best I could ask for,
True friend with shaky splendor.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Midnight,
An hour for evil to be smite.
The fallen angel said: let there be night!
And God said: let there be light!
Tis’ the hour of His birth,
And the time of our rebirth.
Oh, believers of the heavens,
Tis’ the hour of your redemptions!
To within our souls,
God has sloped his hands over Heaven’s grassy knolls
To cleanse the ink of sin
That too many of our free-wills are stained within.
On the eve of His birth
And the time of our prayer for rebirth,
All the peoples of the Faith dance in spirit,
So, tis’ the night our Lord shall save it!
Oh, sinners of the of the earth themselves
Best pray for their holy escape,
Redeem yourselves! Release yourselves
from Lucifer’s black cape!
The light of our Faith skewers any darkness with a holy sword,
For the newborn babe of this hour of our Lord.
As brilliant, and mighty as he will one day stoutly stand;
Leading us of the true Faith through every land!
Within a humble manger,
Over a now sanctified bed of hay,
Far from sinful danger,
The King of Kings lay.
Our Faith and Pride follow!
For those filled with sorrow.
Open your arms for the redeemer!
For a true child of God finds this not as a dreamer!
Breaking every bind between Faith and sin,
The Lord has freed the believers in the world they abode in.
We now on this night see a sinner; a slave,
But by the grace of holy-love, we now see a brother that unto us fate gave.
And for this, we are forever grateful to Him
And we shall on Christmas Eve sing his hymn.
From His birth, to His suffering, to His rebirth.
So, now tis’ the hour of His birth.
Believers die to rise,
Sinners die to have a fall so grim.
In death we rise.
In death we rise with Him!
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
4 thru 12
in the midst of Detroit suburbia
hot burn the 67 nights and fear
shot thru my night for I but a young
one naive saw the elders, saw through them the need for fright-
and saw pictures of fire and infernal desire
that burnt my inside skulls hide
and made me to this day run and hide
close they showed on 6 o'clock news
were souls from hell the dour days
they burnt they neighbors and brought the guard to put them stoutly into place
and shot shoots hot into my very soul
unknown to me ,I was a young naive boy,
was the reason man turns against man in
fire then loots souls mercilessly lost in me,
confused and no believing excuses or religion,
when man turned against man, and fire reigns, was for me the time for a new coalition. An absolution that once burnt my brain I would understand.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
The night was my place in this world
A place where i feel at peace, unfurled
And not in pieces
But whole, like Paganini's caprices
Walking down the streets
I heard the passing wind
Roaring through lanes a many
Without people in them any
Dogs barked
And cats growled
In the distance i heard foxes howl
For this was a symphony In the dark
The full moon shined bright
For this was a glorious night
It wore its scars of astronomical bombardment, proudly
For it stood through those times stoutly
I walked by a watchman half asleep
Snoring away into the darkness
Counting sheep
Unappreciative of the starless night sky
I walked the walk
As many talk the talk
For I
Couldn't get over that late night high
Passing by a park
Deserted in the dark
I sat on a swing
Moon-flowers blooming, more awe inspiring than anything
As boring as it may have seemed
This was, for me
Even though many may disagree
This is the dream
looking down at the barren ground
Listening to the grasshoppers chirp
Was when i had a realization, profound
Life was a cycle of calm and dismay
And the night;
Is like a zayas
To balance out the chaos
That of the day
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 6:30 PM UTC
She came back today
new hair swishing, talking, laughing
non-verbally different.
trendy, mismatched clothes
shapeless pants
a cheap embroidered windbreaker.
even with heels, she seems below me,
no longer restrained, outspoken, quiet, or fun.
I’m grasping for normality,
clinging onto her old expressions
that rolling of the eyes
flicking of the tongue
replaced by swishing
maneuvering, stoutly and gracefully
all at once.
once we were little planets
now transformed into a shooting star
and me, firmly grounded in familiar earth.
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
The little blue teapot was exactly that, small,
enough for a sant two cups of tea
or an almost generous mug
In saying it was blue,
It was a comforting
royal shade,
with a shining glaze
Stoutly round
With a sphere as
the top notch handle
All in all
a cheery
little thing
Cheap
and
utilitarian
How many cups
had it processed:
delivered
with a
drip or dribble,
that was at first annoying,
but
eventually
becoming
an endearing part
of the overall charm of the piece
It would be generous to say
millions;
But
truthful to say
thousands
of
thousands
As the age of the *** was 12+years
of almost continuous service.
In which time
it had been
witness
to every
emotion.
Conversations baring
soul and psyche.
Mental discombobulation
and
emotional acrobatics that would easily gain
employment with
Circe de Soleil
All whilst sitting solidly still
on the table of the day.
The little blue teapot was simply
a background character
in the soap opera
of it's family
and their friends
And
because of this,
It's
sudden
shattering
demise,
upon the slate floor yesterday.
Brings forth this eulogy to an everyday object
Considered
by many
to be just
a thing
But to this family
a treasured piece
of daily routine.
Reached for
with
muscle memory.
A dash of color
at breakfast,
Comfort
on a cold night
A genies lamp
to a
small boy's
growing imagination.
A gift
from
one friend
to
another,
for the
shared cup
of
Russian Caravan Tea
and a chat
that set the world to rights,
at least for another day
or two.
The little blue teapot was exactly that,
Ordinary
But also;
So much more
than it
purported to be.
So...
so
much more.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC
All the splendour and all the luxury of the piper goes back to the primordial material where it was created! The eyelash-spiral liquefaction of celebrity divas; The sticky gum of dovetail make-up shall be forgotten; And when the abundant rain-channels of the honest soul Are full, and the root-root of sensible sadness Has passed through every hesitating, half-weary man! For the world of Hyena has always cursed and despised the known child-fearer!
In-happening, in-between chattering souls, the wretch stumbling can seldom keep order! In every petal an orphan self shudders for the coming Spring! Like solid concrete or prison wall, on the bustling fields of our memory, seems to halt The sacred age of memories in peace! In every prostituted maiden there still lurks her angelic, girlish self: that her ancient craft may mean only survival and hope for tomorrow! She will interact with this superficial, cupping world if she consciously surrenders herself to it!
Like a sentient, childish angel, when from his cracked, twilight-flooded lips eagerly oozes the faithless, flowing blood; he commits sacrilege who raises his destructive fists to exotic flower-stalks! We should cling stoutly to the World! Without cheap pimps and lice, in a deep-feeling and enduring trust - Now and Here are already shattered from us! - With enduring trust we should go on, persevering in humanity on our bumpy life, and as we often fall, stumbling on our limp, we must learn to stand up!
Feb 19, 2022
Feb 19, 2022 at 1:35 AM UTC