"yarra" poems
When Rome fell down,
Don Newton with his flashing blade
Took over.
He marched the corridors of Table Tennis power
For more than fifty years.
And graced a multitude of committees with his
Presence.
As Mister NALGO, Don constructed
A glorious empire
Of countless teams
At many a venue:
Down Pasture Street,
In Weelsby, Yarra, Knoll,
Electric Club,
Saint James...
To name a few.
Amassing titles and cups
From every division
Of the Grimsby League:
A roll of honour too long to recall,
Now stretching to the horizon.
No fancy sponge, reversed rubber,
Or long-pimples for our Don.
Give him a plain old Barna bat,
Devoid of sponge, short-pimples out,
To give that ball a mighty clout.
The simple things in life
Were all he wished:
A pint of mild,
Or game of chess,
Would always go down well.
This table tennis granddad knows the score,
And takes his leisure now,
Contented as
The sun goes down.
Paul Butters
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
Oklahoma City cop charged with sexually assaulting eight women
Gang of men sexually assault Vic women
Woman assaulted by five men in South Yarra lane
*Suspect arrested in ****** assault of 9-year-old Surrey girl*
These are just four headlines that pop up on Google out of ca. 95.300.000 results. Search and you will find endless proof of how when men hunt, women are always in season.
To men, women don't seem to register as human beings or as people but as prey,
as something to be
consumed
claimed
forced
butchered
and sold like meat.
Treated as objects.
like animals by the men they cried their hearts out to,
by the men who have sworn to serve and to protect,
by the men they granted the privilege of their love
by the men whom they call fatherbrotherunclecousin
Sometimes, you might wonder how the perpetrators of such savage, cold-blooded and downright ******* actions could ever claim to be human beings.
Human [adj] - sympathetic, benevolent, humane
I say bring these inhuman degenerates before a court of women.
Bring them forth, and let their victims gain satisfaction.
Let them pay the blood debts they owe, and let the women collect what they are due
Let women grin at them with mouths full of razors,
let them corrode the savage flesh of men with acid claws.
Let them swallow men whole.
Women are dragons, unknowingly
but when they learn of their nature - fire will erupt from their chests like cataclysms and men will be dragged into this century kicking and screaming, or they will learn not to meddle in the affairs of dragons, because thou art crunchy and good with ketchup.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
and there we sat, on top of the hill, on top of the world
and there I found a secret language;
when you hold my hand,
run your fingers through my hair,
when I stare into your eyes,
the sound of your heartbeat rushing through my head.
words unspoken have never been so clear.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 5:39 AM UTC
Shallow Victoryprose for enmities
Where were you when I was tied to a tight right fright fight flight- out of site- bed of nails?
Where were you as I climbed the river’s apex- onto the bridge to jump into the grubby gray filthy foul nubilous turbid Yarra River during afternoon peak hour?
A couple of years later I found a path that led me to solid ground.
The floor of leaves: ashen brown- dried from the autumn skies that frighten the forest walls lived my torso and mind.
Decision plus: chambering up the tree-big burly branches to hang on to or to just hang: whatever you please- I swung backwards and jumped down only to feel fervently frighted and let down by myself.
Bad reasoning is the corner stone of every neuro-domapine- lacking- serotonin- high- chemical- affected-aneurysm-apocolptic-trip-of- nine- inch holes- cranium-madness
Am I supposed to weep at a funeral every other time?
Or cry at birthdays?
I don’t know anymore.
Lost the music in the ears.
Loud as London buses.
To Camden Town or Finsbury Park
Back North where we lunch in Hampstead Heath.
Meeting with the dead-turning life into sugar- was my soul brain fed properly.
Nice to hear the dream come truly alive.
Ears are made of wax.
Eyes to peer in.
Tax merchants visiting their wards.
I exist as a soiled tar glum stolen by a grub ancient times ago.It’s about the whole rage. Ripping into your sick mind and gut stripped out of you like a lamb slaughtered.
Another organic area of bile.
Living with a sin or kin.
Blabber- bub-drums-it into a ball
Dearth path laugh quark
Dim- win-din-pinned and high on smack
Hot tot rot amaze me with your scream number 1
Bella- we all been one sometime
Jun 21, 2024
Jun 21, 2024 at 5:51 AM UTC
MY STREAM OF LIFE
Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye~ The GreatQuill🖋️
Beside this beautiful river I sat,
Its gentle, cooling breeze
A treasure cherished within my heart.
Like the flowing Yarra,
Constant is thy course,
And along thy banks
The emerald leaves flourish.
Upon thy surface,
Water bugs dance in delight,
While by thy side
The ***** leap with joy.
Narrow is the path thou takest,
Shallow the channel thou makest;
Yet within thy waters,
Little fingerlings rejoice in happiness.
Amazed was I
When I dipped my feet into thee,
For thy soothing touch
Brought calm to my soul.
Thy endless flow
Makes my heart glad,
And thy graceful meanders
Curve like the thigh of a fair maiden.
Bubbling, thou movest
With spontaneous radiance,
Yet the colour of thine eyes
I cannot truly tell.
But thou arrivest
With the lovely face of Katherine Gorge,
Majestic and serene.
And thus I call thee,
My Stream of Life.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC