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Babu kandula Jul 2014
133 billion pounds in America
4.2 million Tonnes in UK
50 million kilograms in Australia
230 million Tonnes in Africa
1.3 billion Tonnes in Switzerland
222 million Tonnes in Malaysia
580 billion Rupees(Indian currency) in India
33.79 million Tonnes in Saudi Arabia
What are these numbers?
Amount of food we are wasting per
Year
In Tonnes, Kilograms, pounds
I was shocked knowing about
These figures
Really if we can save this
There will be no
Hungry stomach in the world
What you say?
Penpal Mar 2017
World is given through her womb
Life by her love
She's a shooting star
Fulfilling the dreams of others
Forgetting her ones.

We don't dare to appreciate her
We don't care to her feelings,
Nor her dreams.
She swallows her pride
To serve us might.

Love her, she loves you tonnes
Ignore her, she loves you loads
Ignores our ignorance
And tolerates our flaws
Complaining never

Her cries are often unheard
With tears invisible,
Trauma a smile
Patience at infinity
With words unspoken.

She's a ocean
Vast to explore
Hard to understand
But plain as river
With thoughts deeper.

Her self respect
Often misspelled as ego,
Society mocks her down earth
And she raises like a tree
From a buried seed

Her every move
Is judgemental,
With several eyes poking her
And so she became unpredictable.
Never try to understand, rather love her.

She gives life. She is a mother.
She makes home. She is a wife.
She is a sister, a savior till the ends.
She is precious because she is a daughter
She refuses to retire because she's born a woman.

And do you feel she deserves just a single day!?
Sheldon Dsouza Jun 2017
There once lived a boy young of age,
Candy he loved so much his teeth had caves.
Not one or two could satisfy his urge,
Tonnes could go down his tiny throat.

This one time to the market he went,
His mother holding him firm in the grasp of her hand.
Seeing him sad she saw him standing then,
"Go get some candy" she said putting two pennies in his arm band.

Off he ran to in search of candy prime,
His eyes moving vigorously from left to right in search of the candy store.
Then he saw it, that glorious gleaming colourful shop,
His one and final destination, his stop.

It was small yet filled with people from all over the city,
Every one, young and old wanted a piece of candy.
The little kid pushed and pulled with all his might,
A piece of candy he craved like the elders craved shandy.

The din and crowd couldn't lower his spirit,
His eyes set on this sugary treat, his favourite.
But till the time he could get to the counter,
The last treat the man in front bought for his little daughter.

The kid got all teary eyed and walked out of the store,
Standing outside he watched all the other kids happily walk out of the door,
Drops started falling to the ground,
The girl from inside watched him all along as he cried and frowned.

The little kid's world had fallen apart for a minute,
Till this cute brown eyed girl decided to do something about it,
She went up to him and asked him if he wanted some?
All she wanted was for him not to be so sore.

The teary eyed kid looked up with a smile,
He nodded in cheer as he wiped his tears.
A huge bit of candy he took as he reached for his arm band.
Searching for the two pennies to repay the little girl.

To his dismay only to realize,
The money had fallen down somewhere in the struggle.
Gulping down saliva he dared to let her know the truth,
"I have no money to give you", he said.

"Its ok", said she with a beaming smile,
The boy nevertheless decided to give her his favourite arm band.
That day those little kids exchanged more than just candy and a piece of cloth,
They exchanged smiles, kindness and pieces of their heart.
For the lonely,
for the loveless,
for the forgotten and overlooked,
for the discarded and trodden on,
for the neglected,
for the ignored and mocked,
for societies weeds,
for circumstantial weeds.
For you outcasts are weeds
the flowers nobody wants,
but
weeds are resilient.
They persevere where others can not.
Often mistaken for weak, but no,
weeds are strong
and tough enough to break through tonnes of concrete
and metal.
Clever enough to find growth in places
others perish in.
Adaptable to every habitat and
brave enough to exist on barren wasteland.
Weeds need only the tiniest of a chance to flourish
For the unwanted,
for the unclaimed.
You are beautiful.
You are equal to every other flower.
You are the Charlock, the Buttercup, the Clover,
the Pinapple-May-**** and so much more.
Next time you see a **** by the roadside,
or peeking out from a crack in a wall,
or between paving slabs in a busy city,
or overgrown in a garden,
or weaving through rubble and debris,
take heart
lonely ones.
You are not worthless
You are magnificent.
I've always loved weeds and have been one for so long. We are many, mo cara, we belong
Zani Jun 2017
Welcome to the feast
We all come here for the hunger
Come and take a seat a while
Lets talk of friends
Lets talk of style


Elizabeth Squires
She is one to admire
Connecting the dots
So that love may transpire

Kim Johanna Baker
By God’s blessings and grace
Makes this portal
A magical welcoming place

Then there’s Temporal Fugue
Who’s magic awakens
With his humour
Much of my time he has taken

TSPoetry is a royalty
With his noble voice honours me
How much sense that I make
From the words that you’ve choiced

Donna Jones
The three line queen
Pure joy through her literature
Now I’m forever dreaming Haikus

Ouise Godsent Abode
He knows
With five lines he unravels
Then tickles your bones

z-blossom your stanzas
Are so pleasing to the eye
How the vivid words ring
To my ears as sublime

CGY Your haikus
They have blown my mind
To collide with Benji’s
Beautifully long, flowing write

Ghostwriter and Mykayla shea
Even though I rarely see ye
I’ve read through most your poetry
And hope that there’s loads more to read!

As for Clark Dave Hitchens
I just read him in my kitchen
This way I found a witty rhyme
But not to undermine his brilliance

Janae you are on it
Red Flag, Daydream,
Magic Kiss, Invisibility,
Brain *****

Vlassis I will quote you
When I need to charm a woman
Otherwordly Wanderer
When some hope I need to summon

God bless to Tyler Mathews
He is posting every day
I hope the universe conspires
For us to carry on that way!

To learn of freeform prose I can
Take a scroll to SR Millan
And if I want a treat dessert
Ellie Graves has tonnes and tonnes of work!

Zhanuary Arielle
So much passion your words tell
I feel I understand them
Natural imagery does us well!

Marie James Alexander
I pandered to the thought of you
When I put Ramen in my soup
I chuckle at some words you choose

Daniel Steven Moskowitz
Your poetry endless
Your writing is phenomenal
Your arguments relentless

Camiliamhd I wish that I
Could read what you are saying
When I read your pretty poetry
I feel like I am praying!

Vanessa Gonzales
She has got the attitude
With Fredrick Njoroge block style
They push onto higher altitudes!

Kesha You have peirced me
With your double barrel stanzas
I had to go read SoulSurvivor
To practice on my Mantras

Now that the round is over
It is time for us to feast
I thought that I'd invite you
So that we'd have a chance to meet

Thank you all for being
Thank you all for caring
Thank you all for sharing
Thank you all for reading

<3
Bon Apetit!
Ben Jones Nov 2013
Outside an average sort of house
Upon a quiet street
There stood a man of honest heart
All grim and weather beat
His face awash with bafflement
A letter in his mits  
With Lots of Love from God himself
And golden twirly bits

He'd read it over breakfast
Then read it on the loo
Considered re-addressing it
For number forty two
Within the silver envelope
In angel script, embossed
Were plans to build a massive boat
Materials and cost

It seemed, he'd have to build  it
As the letter looked legit
So off he sped, to B&Q;
To show the holy writ
The manager was confident
The price was mighty bold
Delivery on Saturday
For every item sold

So late, on Friday evening
He popped out for a walk
Upon his road, he drew a boat
In vivid yellow chalk
When morning dawned, a knocking
And some paperwork to mark
For a thousand tonnes of timber
For construction of an ark

He set out with his hammer
And he smote the nail and tack
By afternoon, the road was blocked
With traffic tailing back
A keel was just discernible
Beginning to take form
By evening, the media
Was whipping up a storm

Up marched a bold reporter
From the Three Times Weekly Herald
He said "So you'd be Noah then?"
"Not me" said he "I'm Gerald"
"I got this 'Oly telegram
And God has chosen me
I fill a boat with wildlife
And sail the salty sea"

By night he was a laughing stock
On YouTube and the news
But a sturdy man, was Gerald
And most vehement in his views
When asked to show the letter
He graciously refused
"Just have a little faith" he said
"We'll soon see who's amused"

The church were being skeptical
And held the press at bay
The Council sent him letters
At a rate of four a day
The hull was soon completed
And he laboured on inside
Constructing some amenities
To house them on the tide

A swimming pool for waterfowl
A wall of rodent wheels
With bowls for every kind of fish
And a big one for the seals
A filing box for butterflies
To stow them all away
A pigeon hole for pigeons
For the bees , a large bouquet

A puzzle for the monkeys
A wardrobe for the moths
A lion for the antelope
A jacuzzi for the sloths
A fully fitted nursery
For when the ewes had lambed
The wasps would have a picnic
And the beavers could be dammed

Through night and day he toiled
He relieved himself in shifts
In time, he built a sauna
And a pair of turbolifts
The council grew impatient
And the neighbours were in fits
They begged him to remove his boat
Entire or in bits

Then promptly, after dinner
As he sat upon the deck
There called a suited doctor  
With a badge around his neck
There followed many questions
With a host of funny looks
While outside went from 'fine and warm'
To 'just the thing for ducks'

That night, began the deluge
So Gerald found his crew
He robbed each local pet shop
And attacked the nearest zoo
Collected every animal
And fastened them in tight
The waters coursed along his street
As dawn replaced the night

'Twas then a thought occurred to him
A kind of mental swerve  
His road was more a crescent
So his ark was on a curve
But just then the currents took him
He sailed off along the bend
For six weeks, going round and round
To land at home, The End

**
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2010
Written in the language of the hard hats and dedicated to each and every one of us who have endured this horrible ****** Winter weather*

Rain in gouts from June till now
There's blue clay mud forever,
Orange excavators ply
With sturdy tracked endeavour.
Lakes of water, turgid brown,
Are Swirling  with the flow
Of four inch pumps in overdrive
With ****** all to show.

Streaming rainfall day by day
As dogged men press on
To concrete saw and generator's
Screaming, nearby song.
Welders, under shelter, flash
Their lurid silver light
And ghosts of reinforcing bars
Reflect like day is night.

Mightily the ironwork
Descends by crane to trench
And snaking snout of concrete pump
Disgorge their load to bench
The magic of the bentonite
Performs it's subtle dance
And the concrete locks for centuries
As thunderous skies advance.

Knee deep in the morass
With perplexed furrowed brow,
An engineer is pondering
A sticky problem he has now
How to isolate contaminants
From mud to water flow,
How to guarantee the purity
As seaward tonnes of it does go

And still the deluge thundered down
Relentlessly it poured,
Day to day and month by month
Despite the plea's implored.
Relentlessly the hard hats
Bent their sodden backs to task
And forged a mighty work of progress
.... More than anyone could ask!

Amazing the endeavor,
Just amazing how they work
How men can face adversity
And simply will not go beserk!
How bounteous camaraderie
Generates between ranks.
When the hardship is shared
And the boss smiles... thanks.

For the roof beams are settling
And those deep holes begin
The tunnel takes shape
As slanting rain whistles in
And the big trucks do loiter
To idle there for a bit,
As the loud water blasters
Clear the clogged wheels of ****.

And the public all clamoured
To wait and queue in the stall
To watch and to witness
A quite remarkable call.
For the old Birdcage tavern
On that grim cloudy day
Promptly lifted her skirts
And slowly scuttled away.

All the glue and epoxy
And the rivers of nails,
And concrete trucks queuing
As the ******* flails.
And steel by the megaton
All rusted and twitched
And worriers worrying
Till the problems are fixed.
And the augers are drilling
In a great tandem arc
And nobody knows
Where the **** they can park!!!
  
Then the bright sunshine breaks
And the smiles all appear
And the work rate accellerates
For the way is now is clear
To inter that  dear old Vic tunnel
Down deep in the sod
Then you'll hear us all chortle
"We've ****** done it ...Thank God!"


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
3 October 2010
Shiv Pratap Pal May 2019
Let's **** Gandhi
Let's **** Gandhi

Again and Again
Multiple Times

Gandhi Must be killed
He deserves to be killed

Because he killed no one
Neither human nor animal

Collect all your weapons
Load missiles and guns

Get some good Gun powder
Quintals and tonnes of it

Make sure to **** this time
Be sure, you mustn't fail again

But can you really **** Gandhi
No you can't, I bet you can't

You already tried and retried
But Gandhi remained alive

Gandhi Never died
He will never ever die

Gandhi is not a person
Gandhi is thought

Gandhi is Philosophy
Gandhi is Lifestyle

Gandhi is Liberation
Gandhi is Struggle

Gandhi is Courage
Gandhi is Peace

Gandhi is Gentle
Gandhi is Strong

Gandhi is Treasure
Gandhi is Heritage

Gandhi is immortal
You fools are mortal
You don't have the right to assassinate even if you cant agree.

Whether Mahatma Gandhi (Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi)  needs to be assassinated again and again? Will he really die?
Lalit Makker Mar 2013
i know it today,

life is a short stay,

amidst all wants and desires,

of which one never retires,

desires for self and self ones,

greed together of million tonnes,

such things though many times,

force me to think of crimes,

betraying someone's trust,

for things less worthier than dust,

seeing death every other day,

still thinking we are here to stay,

for and ever till,

our pocket affords the bill,

but no thought is given,

wether we go to hell or heaven,

our debts money won't pay,

karmas will be counted for each day,

during our life's course,

when we did things with force,

which was given temporarily to us,

to display whoz god and what he does,

acts of humans should be such,

giving an estimate of how much,

greatness would be in the one,

who owes such a nice son,

who loves him and all,

whoz values are infinitely tall,

whoz presence inaugrates all ethical energies,

whoz work is beyond all intelligent strategies,

who realises god's omnipresence,

and make him his life's essence,

remember all my dear friends,

when all of our life ends,

our powers won't accompany us,

as in life's course it does,

what goes with thw soul then,

is all of those times when,

we have made someone smile,

and loved some other for a little while,

laughed in someone's good times,

cried in other time of destiny's sad rhyme.

I know it today..........................
H Phone Mar 2018
I wish I was strong
I wish I was strong enough to get out from under the comfort of my sheets
Or the warm water washing over my body in the shower
I wish I was strong enough to open my books,
Instead of listening to the same five songs again
I wish I was strong enough to get over a loss,
Be it a failed exam or a boss I can’t beat in a video game
I wish I was strong enough to help my friends
Because that's the person I strive to be
I wish I was strong enough to keep that job


I wish I was strong enough to like my own works
But it’s hard to when they look like this
No rhyme scheme or metaphors
Only thing this poem has got going for itself is that repeating stanza
Real clever or whatever
You call it slam poetry
But you might as well call it sham poetry
Slam poetry
Because you need to be slammed drunk to enjoy your poems
And don’t even pretend like you didn’t notice
How no one seems to give a **** about this
This series of ‘works’ that you’ve been putting out
Where all you do is ******* swear and shout
At yourself
******* hell

I bet your last line would have been
“I wish I was strong enough to love myself.”
Boo ******* hoo
Too ******* bad
Because you’ll only love me the moment you realize
That what I say is true
I’m not gonna say that I’m only rude
Because I love you
I hate your guts too
much for something so…
Sappy
You’re a bit of a sentimental, right, boo?
If sentimental meant pushover

Criticism!
Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
Oh wait, no, I don’t really care
Because even you’re aware
How you’ve locked yourself in an echo room
And the moment someone tries to break through…
“Don’t worry, I can take it.”
And then you write something edgy like this
You can’t take advice for ****
Because that’s your ******* deal
You’ve got tonnes of people giving you the advice that you need to heal
And you ignore every single one of them
Acquaintances, friends, family
And what about me?
DO I REALLY NEED TO ******* YELL TO GET THROUGH TO YOU

But It’s pointless anyway
You’re on auto-pilot already
Just cut the act and write your cringy addendum poem
We’re done here
...
Raihah Mior Jan 2016
Oh ***,
you and your puns
I've had too much fun,
laughter- tonnes and tonnes

Happiness to me
is like sticky toffee buns,
bubble-shooting guns,
or late night cartoon reruns

But with you,
it's like a thousand splendid suns
Joe Cole Jun 2014
T Rex thought he was the king but truly he was no such thing
he was a bully sad and weak who prayed on those to young to speak
Then came the day when baby Trice
got to close to Rexies lair
Rexie thoughg his luck had changed and now would play the Rexie game
Which was to take the young and weak
so soft and tender, good to eat
Rex thought I will have some of that
the baby trice will be quite a snack and fill a corner of my tum
But Rex had made a big mistake, oh dear a grave mistake
For round the corner came trice's mum weighing a bit
more than about three tonnes
Three big horns upon her head
One jab from those could leave Rex dead
She gave poor Rex an evil stare
said "Bite young Trice if you dare"
Then I will deal you a mighty thump
and I promise you your bone will crunch
Poor Rexie backed away in fear and in his eyes salty tears
People thought for many years that Rex was king and had no fear
But they didn't know Triceratops,  the bravest dinosaur of the lot
An un edited bit of fun
Geetha Raj Nov 2011
I hear you are getting married
I don't know what emotions it yield
I am numb when I think of you
Or is it sadness that I feel?

I'm reminded of the times together
Whether good or bad, I can't gather
I remember I was told that we had no future
But why exactly, I yet do not know...

Your sister compared me to a ****
With whom no man could have a future
For what erroneous sin of mine,
That mystery, I am yet to unveil!

To your family - we were not compatible
Or was it more to do with the dowry and sorts?
Compatible indeed, in monetary terms perhaps?
But did you not fall for me, to pursue more than worldly dreams?

Your reasons too, were beyond my reasoning
And your tears at times seemed forced to me
You said I was a fairy, placed high on a pedestal
Who could be worshiped but to the world could not be revealed.

You soon let go, marking the end of 'we'
A year gently passed and it was an ordeal
Yet I thought when I move out, you would feel
That we were the best, that was and could ever be!

And that with time life would bring you back to me
I wonder why I had cringed at being set free
Longing to be with someone, who'd never stand up for me.
And a year was gone before your call woke me from my dream

You said you had missed hearing my sweet, lovely voice -
And remembered clearly that I had a **** toned body
Gently reminding me that our love was dead and gone -
You told you did think of me, though you were over me long ago!

Numbed by tears, I heard you ask me to fall in love again
And claimed that my man would be the luckiest of them all
And assured he would be dead, if a tear to my eyes he brought -
For as a 'friend' you would guard me against all odd!

Convincing that you too longed to see me again
Promising me to meet up the next time you'd come
Leaving me, like the previous year, completely shunned
You hung up, leaving no more strength in me to summon!

-------------------------------------------------------
­
Now, I'm frankly done
I have cried enough without cursing you
Lied to myself, trying to cheer all
And held myself steady, in spite of all that dreary!

And one day you walk into my house
With my man, as an uninvited guest
With caution I welcome, trying to be courteous
For I know your ways, your ease at getting flirtatious.

You claim you are visiting, you have come for a wedding
I wonder why after years, you do not choose to go home
To your ailing father, nor to your aging mom
Nor to console a sister, over whom you had cried tonnes!

Or to your beloved fiancee - who was yours
Even when you'd called to tell me I was hot!
To that pretty face which had been waiting for your arrival
And will be betrothed to you, within a month!

Your ways have always left me awestruck
And yet I have tried to treat you with respect
But now, you have left in me no more emotions -
Than to despise a name that was stuck to me by birth!
Written on 17th May, 2011.
Sometimes I think, it is better to write. Than to have it all in me.
Let me see if I will live longer this way!
SJPugsley Apr 2020
In the land of Coleridge and his Ancient Mariner,
    In a time of coal fires, wooden boats and horsepower,
There is a story of the Lynmouth Lifeboat Louisa
    And the night horse and man over 13 miles pulled her.

Two of the afternoon clock struck a chime,
    On January 12th, 1899.
The wind howled and the sea it roared,
    Flooding ports and railways, taking off windows and doors.
The ship, Forest Hall, with masts a three
    Was being towed up Bristol Channel with a crew of 15.
Bound for Liverpool, at St. David’s Head she cast off,
    But the wind, it blew stronger and the waters grew rough.
Suddenly the cable grew taught and then snapped,
    The tugboat immediately came about to get back.
For over an hour they tried to re-fix the line
    But the storm was upon them, they had run out of time.
Captain Uliss made haste to anchor at bay
    But another obstacle was thrown in their way.
The rudder of the Forest Hall was broken by a squall,
    To the mercy of Poseidon and ****** they were all.
The ships’ anchor dragged, no purchase it found
    The ship was headed for Exmoor’s rough ground
At 6:33pm a telegraph was sent
    From Porlock to Lynmouth the Postmaster went
“Large vessel. Distress. Offshore Porlock”
    Five minutes later the first signal rocket went off
Out into the pounding rain they ran
    Those lifeboatmen and locals to lend them a hand
The waves loomed over the watch tower on the pier,
    Then crashed down in fury which deafened the ear
“Tis hopeless” the Coxswain, Jack Crocombe, said he
    “ain’t a crew in the service who could launch safely”
“From a more sheltered station we’ll call a new boat”
    And to the post-office they went, to send a telegraph out
Tap, tap, tap on the Morse key he pressed
    But nothing was happening, there was no line left
Blown down by the storm, and all hope with it,
    “The duty is ours, but we cannot fulfil it”.


Part 2:
“The duty is ours, it’s us or nobody” he shouts
    “it can’t never be nobody, go we must”
The protests did start, and questions did fall,
    But the Coxswain had an answer to silence them all
“Now, I know that we can’t launch her from ‘ere”
    “but it’s thirteen miles to Porlock Weir”
The voices were shouting, no one knew what to do
    But the Second Coxswain’s voice carried on through
“Jack, we’ll need ‘osses, every ‘oss can be spared”
    “if we got enough power, we’ll get her there”
The choice had been made, the die had been cast,
    The crew had a plan, a solution at last
Around came the Lifeboat Louisa, so grand
    Standing 34ft long and 7ft wide on land
3.5 tonnes was her unladen mass
    The add thirteen crew, oars, rigging and two masts
The shafts had been fitted to the carriage with ease,
    Rarely used but kept in the boathouse for needs
The horses were hitched, the carriage coupled on.
    In total, the train was one hundred and thirty foot long
“Right then” said the Coxswain “let’s be off”
    “up Countisbury Hill!” but as soon as they started, they stopped.
The horses did not pull together as a team,
    The wheels were stuck in the parapet, of the bridge over the stream
In minutes it was fixed, and it started again
    This time all horses were pulling the same.
Up Countisbury hill, they walked on and on,
    Until they reached open ground, then the protection was gone
The rain thundered down; the wind raged again
    Still the team kept on going, the pace slow and same.
All of a sudden, the carriage plunged to the right,
    A four-foot wheel came off, then rolled out of sight
“There’s a wheel off!” the cry rang “get them scotches under!”
    It was the front offside wheel that was causing this blunder
Nearly forty minutes it took to replace the wheel
    Still the great storm refused to heel
But then they were off, nearly conquered the hill
    But many more challenges faced them still.
The Blue Ball Inn marks Countisbury Hill peak
    And hot cocoa and brandy helped restore the weak.
Now they pressed on, ten miles to go.
    They were making good progress but painfully slow.


Part 3:
The rain had stopped, the lamps shone bright,
    This brave crew continued through the night.
The party had by now reached Ashton Lane
    Where their troubles soon were to begin again
On this narrow road, the walls were strong and thick
    Impassable for the carriage, but Coxswain Jack had a trick
“We’ll pull the boat through the lane on the skids”
    “The carriage can go o’er the moors with the kids”
So once again horse and train were detached
    A new plan at work, only recently hatched
Eight horses pulled the carriage away,
    Leaving ten to continue to Porlock Bay.
The boat was pulled down Ashton Lane
    Later, all men agreed this was the worst part of the way.
Mud underneath, and walls closing in
    Barely inches to move and soaked to the skin
Boast, horses and carriage finally together again
    Made their way onwards, leaving the lane
Half past one, on that stormy black morn
    County Gate was passed, conversation was born
The crew started talking, spirits, they grew
    But a challenge was coming and this they all knew
Porlock Hill was coming their way,
    Navigating this death path was tricky even in the day.


Part 4:
Porlock Hill, as the locals say
    Is the devil incarnate come night or day
But the brave men from Lynmouth at the top they stopped
    Safety chains, drag ropes and skid pans were fitted against the clock
Four horses at the front to control the bends
    Ten at the back plus men to see this through to the end
Down the twists and turns the crawled
    On the drag ropes and harnesses, man and horse hauled
Round the last corner “We’ve done it!” “We’re down!”
    Sighs let out, smiles put on, it was an inspiring sound
Then all at once, morale took a plunge down,
    As they stared at the entrance to Porlock Town.
Old Widow Washford had a cottage this end,
    It would be impossible for the carriage to round the bend
The wall of the garden would have to come down
    So, the crew started trying to widen the ground
“What are ye thinking at this time o’ night?”
    “How dare ye start bangin! Gave me a fright”
Old Widow Washford’s head poked through the door
    Was there no end to the troubles faced on this moor?
Once again, the Coxswain had the answer and said
    “Don’t worry, we’re just widening the road dear. Go back to bed”
The old woman was dressed and out in a flash
    Shouting encouragement, soon the wall was hashed.
Six inches more, they needed to pass
    The corner of the cottage came off at last.
Five of the clock struck the morning chime,
    For most people here, that was rising time.
Out of the town, and past the Ship Inn
    The last part of their journey was soon to begin.


Part 5:
Half past five when they reached Porlock Weir
    They were soon stopped by people when drew near.
“You can’t go no further” the Anchor Hotel Landlord said
    “the road’s gone, Jack, to the beach, nothing’s left”
Only half a mile stood ‘tween the crew and their goal
    They would not let this stop them, oh no.
The top road they took, almost as narrow as Ashton Lane
    An exercise none of them wanted to repeat again.
The train drew on, till they reached a tree
    An old Laburnum standing between them and the sea.
Down it came and then back on their way
    The light was beginning to turn night to day.
The boat reached the beach, the flares had been lit,
    The ****** poised with their oars, ready to hit.
Holding the stop, Second Coxswain yelled “HAUL”
    And down shot the Louisa, into the squall
The oars struck together, through the roaring sea
    Sails hoisted, oars beating, wind blowing hatefully.

It was on the morning Friday 13th January,
    That Lifeboat Louisa of Lynmouth launched at Porlock from Countisbury.
Ten and a half hours, over thirteen miles
    This crew and their boat had endured many trails
The Forest Hall was reach, her crew all safe
    Back to the mainland they made at pace.


Jack Crocombe, George Richards, Charles Crick, Richard Burgess,
    Richard Ridler, David Crocombe, Bertram Pennicott, William Jarvis.
George Rawle, William Richards and John Ward
    John Riddler, E.J. Peddar and Richard Moore.

All of them crew members on that historic day
    And for this they are remembered in every way.


But I give my thanks to the crew mate who gave this story to me,
    My Great Great Grandfather, Lynmouth Lifeboatman
        William Sellick Pugsley.


Sophie J Pugsley
Great Great Granddaughter of crewmate William Pugsley of the Lynmouth Lifeboat Service.
Anyone Sep 2018
.                         I was born with a defect.
It has a great impact.
One testacle, one less
Than everyone else.

I can't tell my partner.
She'll think less of me then.
Aren't they supposed to be a symbol
Of manliness? One less thimble

Of mass, results in a loss
Of ounces of courage,
And a weight of tonnes
On my shoulders.

I've been led into
Believing manhood is paramount.
Without it, I'm less of a person,
Less of a reason

To be whom I should; to be desired.

It's hard to stop thinking it
When it's you yourself telling it.
External influences become internal doctrine.
Inescapably real, incessantly there.

Loss of masculinity,
Yet retaining functionality.
It seems people never notice something's wrong
As long as you appear to act 'normally'.
This isn't my story to tell. I am still on the fence as to whether I should have written it.  But it helps me to understand the people close to me when I use their perspectives in poems I write. Either way, here it is.
David R Apr 2021
On the first day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the second day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the third day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the fourth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the fifth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the sixth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the seventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the eighth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the ninth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the tenth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the eleventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea

On the twelfth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Twelve million tonnes plastic waste, eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
Adam Childs Nov 2014
I am honey coated
In the dawn yellow sun
As I walk softly
Through the glazing savanna
Intimately married to
My body I feel all
Her strength and power
My low center of gravity
Pushes down 2 tonnes
Of my power house weight
Almost buckles the ground
It is as though the earth
Beneath me becomes concave
As I stand on a spongy soil
As the landscape rolls up
To a brand new sun

If the rest of me forgets
Where I am going submerged
In flaky doubt my hard horn
Points the course through the
Clouds of apposing forces
As even the Gods are forced
To part the way like the red sea
As I plough through space and time
Nothing dictates to me
As I chase away darkness
And carve out doubt
Breaking spells while proceeding
All ghost will run from me
Possessed by the devil
I will DRIVE  him out
For I am the AFRICAN  EXORCIST

Careful where you step
Because I hang over
The savanna like a
Silent volcano
Run and hide if you
Ever hear the huff and
Puff of my disgruntled being
As you better get out the way
Without any delay
As I blaze new pathways
Showing you a brand new day
As I smash through obstacles
You or the world

I feel my center speaking
Opening , EXPLODING into
Inside out spaces
Multiverses are vibrating
As I ride on a wave
Of infinite forces
combusting
I am fired forward
With rocket fuel
As I reach new places
Expanding into worlds
Of high and far out spaces
Greater than I know

Hesitation and procrastination
Will be trampled on
All those blown over by life
Jump on my back
And I will stampede you
Through this world
So dare you attack
Or cover my track like weeds
With feeble words and excuses
As they strangle my future path
And my lava filled belly
Will blast them with fire
Melting and molding
My internal landscape
As I imprint my freedom

How I love you Black Rhino
You have my attention
So can you please point
Your horn in the right direction  
FORWARD AND UP
Forward and up for me
As I ride with the BLACK RHINO
I unwittingly wrote this today while someone in a zoo was being attacked by a Rhino , guess there is some thing in the air . I hope he is OK
C-wolf Mar 2014
My head is full of words 
But they cannot pass down  the streams on my face,
to the waterfalls in my neck,
to the steady river in my arms,
and explore the 5 sea-fingers
around the oceans of paper.
To battle the waves of rhythm
and dramatic pauses,
cliche's and stanza's with an ending of finesse.

My head is just a mess;
No real formation ofright nor wrong
of care or apathy,
Days go by where i mix the two like sweet and sour,
The casual joke comforts the bitter gloom.
                                      
My head is full of ****;
Tonnes and tonnes of it,
I cant even begin explain its contents or describe the frustration it brings.
I have no sense of rhyme,
no sense of time,
no sense of form.
My words turn from sadness to glee
in less than six words.
No sense of anything.

My head is an empty pit;
                            

I write more about writing poetry than poetry itself.
(Edit) finally sorted the terrible formatting, hopefully it's an easier read now.
Julian Delia Aug 2019
Last July was the hottest month, ever.
That is, ever since we ‘officially’ started tracking weather.
The Earth is lying on the bathroom floor, wrists severed;
I wonder whether this is a storm we can weather,
Or whether we’ll all perish together.

Greenland lost 12.5 billion tonnes of ice sheets.
That is,
The island that was 80% ice is becoming one, giant, puddle.
The earth is about to be slain, a warrior conceding defeat;
Huddle up, give your loved ones a cuddle,
For we are so troubled that any aliens out there must be truly befuddled.

My generation was born with a guillotine looming over our heads.
An impending sense of dread,
As corporations put on their executioner’s hoods,
And reach for the lever.
A sordid reality in which to save the planet,
One must fight one’s own government;
A reality in which we may have done permanent damage,
A reality in which valour gets no monuments,
But only condemnation and incarceration.

Remember these names:

Julian Assange. Currently awaiting an 18-count indictment charge from the US.

Edward Snowden. Could face up to 30 years in prison if the US get their hands on him.

Chelsea Manning. Spent 7 years in prison.

Abdullah Öcalan. In prison since 1999.

Edem Bekirov. A man who has been dying in prison for the past year.

Benny Tai. Sentenced to over a year for fighting for what is right.

Nasser Zefzafi. In prison for the next 20 years.

Kerry Shakaboona Marshall. A man who received a life sentence aged 17 years old.

Simon Blevins, Richard Roberts, and Richard Loizou. Sentenced to over a year for fighting fracking.

Tim DeChristopher. 21 months for fighting oil and gas pipelines.

Stella Nyanzi. The raunchy Ugandan poetess who cannot be tamed, no matter how many times prison beckons.

This list is basically endless.
It is saturated in blood that drips from the corners of the page,
Soaked in the rage of brave men and women, living in a cage.

Depression. Exhaustion. Numbness.
Oppression and a lack of caution,
Leading us to this dumb mess.
This can no longer be the norm.
We can no longer conform,
Nor can we compromise or haggle;
We must reverse our own demise,
For this is our generation’s battle.
The pain of our extinction.
jobeth Apr 2017
i am one to talk
in my head i rule galaxies
glitter glimmer shimmer
carrying tonnes to spare the time

i pardon the satchel of hopes
like a pendulum
swinging and swaying
waltzing back and forth

tick tock tick tock
mimics the hourglass,
its contemptuous spine of granules
are close to burying
a hole on the ground

oh crystal skies
you were once so blue

now i face the darkened hall
air filled of hunger for time
and i take the final cup
of orange, purple
and blue.
Josh Morter May 2013
Eyes feel heavy
Lids weigh tonnes
Counting sheep by the dozens

Pillows not soft
Beds not warm
Quilt lies rigid
Curtains not drawn

Of course at first when I layed down
It was for the purpose of sleep
Yet it has not come to take me
So at midnight I'll a creep

Make my way to kitchen
For a late night snack
Open up the Milk
Take a swig from the carton, then put it straight back.

Creep back quite slowly,
licking my lips
I do love a good midnight milk trip
Treading careful over creaky floorboards beneath
After all I don't want to reveal that
*I'm the milk thief
Written on 01/05/13 by Josh Morter ©

Another night of failing to sleep, atleast I found something worthwhile to do with these forgotten hours
Deyer Mar 2016
My landlord is renovating the neighboring room.
I inhale, eyes closed, and I'm faced with God. Unable to speak, I listen as he tells me that life is worth living and that love is worth loving. He says that I'm doing pretty well despite the circumstances and that often an ounce of a smile is worth ten tonnes of agony.
I inhale, bleach and other cleaning solutions siphoning reality from my extremities, replacing it with a calming alternative.
JAC Sep 2017
I like to call you
when I'm not really awake.
I only leave you messages, of course.
For I only let myself call
(I only allow myself
that poisonous release)
when I'm alone on the subway,
which happens very rarely.
So whatever I say gets lost
between forty-three thousand tonnes
of the strongest, sturdiest concrete
and the sky.
Seema Jul 2017
If you rock me down from a mile,
I'll still be smiling like a crazy fool
It might hurt me for a while
Coz I am not made of sheep wool

The hatred you flare from your gaze
Shows your inner most reflection
The invisible flames that blaze
Has burnt all my forward affection

There,
Chuckles a voice, only eyes could read
From behind the screen
Someone has planted a poisonous seed

I can feel the evil smiky grin, hissing
And your eyes fixed reading the fake
I purely feel your emotions, missing
For you've been long awake

The delicious words spoken in tongues
Seems,
More like a ******, pretending to be God
The enmity loads darkness in tonnes
And slithers you, with a lizard tongue sword

I've never seen you in such a state
It's now visible whose behind it all
You're just one of its bait
It's just fishing, from the otherside of the wall

The attraction is quite magnetic
As the devil now, sounds more like God
Making lives his slaves as pathetic
It doesn't seem, like it's bored...



©sim

— The End —