"winger" poems
I have a heavy taste in my mouth.
cinnamon sticks and sage
broken wisdom in sound words
I have the earth on my tongue.
cloves and winger squash
thirsty for sweetened rain
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
i loved you in the rain,
by the time the weather cleared,
i had forgotten you.
that's not kind,
but look at my state, darling.
the left winger's and right winger's
want my head.
i'd clip all the same,
but they'd fall all around me.
pity.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
He sang the people's songs
and faught the people's causes.
Others heard and blacked his name.
That was for him no badge of shame.
A five string banjo man,
folk singer, left winger,
he sang brave words in trying times,
striving to strengthen basic rights.
Pete Seeger died aged ninety-four
and left a heritage for man.
Asking us to Turn! Turn! Turn!
Urging us to overcome.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
**"Trump not a legitimate president..."
This is how we help presidency "grow,"
"Reasonable" for trying to build a silly wall
Between the US and Mexico,
"Realistic" for even trying to appear
To have a solution to anyone's problem,
While he does "catch up work" in politics.
"Responsible" even his supporters telling people
His radical concepts are better, not just the extreme
Form of right to the Democratic, Liberal opposite.**
Someone please save us from this extreme right winger!
Oh yea, that's "great!"
It's already too late...
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
Nuala sat watching the TV
with her husband Brian,
Saturday afternoon,
football on, loud,
he talking of his team,
beer can in his hand,
cigarette in an ashtray
on the table,
she thinking of Una,
of what they'd done
the Saturday before
at her place in Dublin,
the winger's a bit of a prat
Brian said,
Nuala felt his thigh touch hers,
thought of Una's thigh,
wishing it was hers,
but the fecking goalie's
the best we've had in awhile,
Brian went on,
she lifted her glass
of ***** and sipped
and wanted to feel
Una's fingers along
her thigh again,
my Da always said the team
will make it one day but still
they've not done so,
Brian said eyeing her
a sparkle in his eyes,
she smiled at him,
but inwardly Una was there
touching her,
poor Brian she shouldn't
be thinking of anyone else
but him but Una's there,
he sipped his beer
his eyes on the screen
large as life,
**** me, Brian said,
a near goal that if ever
there was one,
Una met her
at the company do
and Una said
how about a drink?
Nuala had said
yes why not?
and one thing lead
to another thing,
when I played football
I'd not have missed
like that idjit
Brian said,
Ireland is master
he added,
Nuala gazed at her husband,
at his lips, his nose,
she loved him,
had since they were kids
at school, but Una
had lit up something in her,
stirred her in a way
she'd not known before,
drink up Nuala
once the game's done
we can have a bit of a ****
Brian said smiling,
she looked away,
sipped her drink,
thought of how Una
had undressed her
and had kissed her,
Brian gulped down the last
of his beer and reached
for another and undone
the can and sipped,
she gazed at him
his eyes glued to the TV
one hand holding
the beer can his other hand
on her thigh,
Una had touched her
an electric rush
went through her
and nigh on wet her wide,
GOAL Brian shouted
standing up
his hand off her thigh
reached to the sky.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
to come back to this, after much
a long minute, feels like a *****
returned to brothel; perhaps the
harshness of the analogy is hype-
rbole. won't let a Crowley
********* me; sun's
too bright for that.
should shower,
but drink wine,
and this is perhaps a poor
reactionary response; ironic;
the ironned-iconic. pressed to be
pre-dressed, and no need to cut
a styled up-do;
the hair isn't quite real,
anyhow. all-quite polyeurathane,
or polysylvester, or
never too keen for poly-
anything. now hold up.
nah, keep on the
struttin' along, there's a better
one than you follows a
winger's lead.
smoking cigarettes at the window
while she sleeps; thine own eyes
never stop in faltering-rest,
then restless-hoping that
pen-scrawls, window
scraping sides when opened,
smoking a cigarette at the window;
rattle-restless, hope
is a beggar, but we are manifest;
choosers can't be beggars.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
Bruce this Bruce that now everyone’s a Jenner
Well next time you yap I’m going to bruise you with my Benson burner
My darling lass always liked it rough
Until one day she came back home sounding tenor
I trembled and shook in disbelief then realized,
Oh this happened sooner
How she liked to use the rear entry and always walked in my drawers
And **** I know I’m straight but she still is a looker
If she wasn’t my **** wife I would make her my winger
Or maybe introduce her as my foreign half brother
But she not only rid herself of ******* but of me her lover
Threw me out of my hard earned manor and
Even took my side girl and sneered, that’s my pleasure.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
*Dark puffs under my eyes
Begs me to sleep tonight
But there are so many whys
That keeps me awake every night
My mind cannot rest
As the reasoning of whys linger
I tried to divert first
But somehow it kicks back like a winger
The past and present haunts
The so called journey till to date
Has been full of sadness and taunts
And the mistreatment full of hate
There is no love, no forgiveness
No understanding, no care
Just devilish acts and forgetfulness
The relationship was so unfair
I tried to chase away the culprit
Residing in my own dark heart
Yet, my attempts failed to forget him
Who initially broke me apart...*
©sim
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Overt over a ***** gusty lake
Soaring high in clear day light sky
Gliding on its wild and wide wings
An eagle forlorn pried for its prey
Fish was its dish in depth to dash
Flawless claws splashed n' clasped
As it veered its virulent eye,
Plunged, pierced n’ plucked its prey
Over to the ground far afield, the stinger
Out for a grand grout of its hunger
Alas, en-route way-laid a high fly vulture ,
Pounced on platter of prey true to its culture
Swarmed n’ hunted the lonely hunter
Till the hapless winger left its hopeless prey
Hunger, the harbinger fluttered its wings
Pulling the strings of life in full swing
What it matters is all that matters
So mean is the means of might to fight
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
When you say this, you speak as if you reduced your own mental capacity to an ape sitting naked on the grass looking up on the sky marveling at the coming and going of the seasons.
Granted that you are somewhat stupid, but you aren't an ape. You heard this phrase from someone, and you have no idea how dangerous that person is. You parroted this phrase over and over again, and I could not give you a sufficient answer at the time.
You argue that climate science cannot predict the future, but at the same time you eat all fruits of the industrial revolution and science.
I have bad news for you.
Climate science cannot only predict the future. It can predict the future with brutally exact precision.
The climate is driven by four factors:
1. Insulation. This is the sun, the earth orbit around the sun, the configuration of the continents, etc.
2. Greenhouse gasses. Water vapor, Carbon Dioxide, and Methane.
3. Particles and aerosols. Pollutions etc.
4. Amplifications. The runaway climate change.
This is it. It is proven. You do not need to sit naked on that grass tortured by the sun. You do not need to look upon the sky marveling of the coming and going of the seasons and feel the smell of the approaching wildfire.
You can stop insinuate that you are an ape because you are no ape. You are a living person, and you have an unnecessary huge carbon footprint. For that, you should be ashamed.
Inform yourself. Learn about the changes ahead. Make use of your intelligence that you actually have. Go to YouTube and view all the videos of Potholer54, especially video five in the playlist "climate change explained, and the myths debunked".
You can be a right winger or leftist. It does not matter. You can be poor or rich. You can be afraid of Islam or terrorists. Brexit can fill you with fear. All that is meaningless. All refugees from Syria and all suffering of humanity up until now is meaningless small compared to the future predicted by science.
Embrace science.
When that is done, then we can talk about the climate again.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 9:43 PM UTC
Free birds aren't meant to be caged
Their freebirds,
They deserveth to fly...
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC