"wogs" poems
*This poem is dedicated to the memory of Admiral Albert ***** Potter who displayed amazing bravery by wearing full drag through several major sea battles. He was cashiered for insisting the Admiralty rename his ship HMS Butch instead of HMS Fearless. In fact the vessel was eventually renamed HMS Damp **** because it was full of ******
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When England's ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
The Captain stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
The bosun went to the main gunroom,
**** Deadeye at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For little midshipman Freddy.
"Strap him o'er that cannon, lads!"
Roared the hirsute fellow,
"Gag his mouth securely, lads,
In case he tries to bellow!"
The sailors did as he had bid -
Refused and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
After the bosun had finished.
The bosun went up the poor young lad
And soon was going strong;
Midshipman Fred looked rather pained -
The Bosun was THICK and LONG.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they set to with a will;
Little Fred could not say no
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our sailors had then,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And cabin boys wore silk *******
A life on the ocean wave, **
With the rolling sea and the spray.
Sinking the Frogs and murdering Wogs
Kept England's sailors so gay.
OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
The Italian coast is a dangerous place for an American
Its full of sharks, so I’ve heard.
Englishmen consider the wogs chums
Americans more as the singular
With a hat from Chile,
pants assembled in Mexico,
and bananas grown in Venezuela,
The whole seems to be lesser than its parts.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Go on, young soldier
Go where we say and die.
Take this gun and shoot,
Don’t bother to ask why.
Carry on this war we wage
Though it doesn’t make sense.
We invade anyone we want
And then call it all defense.
Go on, airmen and women.
Climb into expensive planes.
Fly over countries, drop bombs.
Don’t expect anyone to explain.
Line up ground targets well
In your high-power sights.
We have declared them enemies
And they don’t have rights.
Sail on, you navy people.
Turn their seas into ours.
Help our country reduce them
To rubble and dead in mere hours.
Transport equipment and personnel
And help them change things,
Then go to free ports on R and R
And buy your sweethearts rings.
Tromp on, military machine.
Make the world into the USA.
After all, they’re just wogs
And don’t have a thing to say.
If they were worthwhile people
They would be from back home.
Places like Akron, L.A. and Nome.
But they are not real people or
They would not get in our way
And try to stop our holy advance
To be the only people to stay.
When this endless war is done
We will be all that remains.
Be part of the American way, and
**** or get killed for your pains.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
Cyrious.
My own Spelling.
Polly Wogs and Knick Knacks.
Goldfish and Brac-A-Brac
I remember you. I’d love for you.
If it makes any sense
My Thoughts Where Have They Gone?
Tell you know I’D.
It’s just a bridge, there is nothing here.
The perfect is the biggest imperfection.
I MISS THE OLD DAYS,
Times of pure nostalgia
It was Laughing and play all day
Till we left and went our own ways.
You remember it
I tell you, I miss it too
The fun times,
When everything seemed okay everything was right.
Always tell, we put each other up in a fight.
I can remember when there were many
AND.
We had our loved ones close by.
Carpool and late night swims
Neighbors knocking at our door
Making too much noise stomping on the floor
But now, It’s gone, It’s all too quiet.
Neighbors, they wonder, if I’m even here.
I question, what ever happened.
Life. No matter.
If we’re standing still.
It will go on,
Without us here
Little impact makes it clear.
If there’s a point
Please take me to it.
I disappear as the last match is lit. .
Silver Bands on your finger
Are we the same in one?
Perhaps it is no one à perhaps everything is undone.
The thoughts the Thoughts.
They swarm in our minds.
Are they confusing?
Listen to them all at once.
They say Practice Makes perfect,
But no one is perfect, so there is no need to Practice.
Pretty Girls and Silent Boys, they all cry.
The good, the bad, the inanimate, they all die.
We like to think we all have our part.
That when we die there is a torn up heart.
But that’s not true.
There is nothing to lose.
For no matter how hard we try.
Un-Important and Fleeting is our story,
And there is nothing we can do.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC