Mocking poetry about tony blair - poetry
Is your infirmary full of aliens, in spite of new cleaning firms,
Your child has only 15 A+ levels, and is knowledge how to write,
Is your car in receipt of very wobbly, as if weak at the knees,
If youre looking for an interview, with He Who Never Says The Same,
And beams over to law and order, onto ad lib live TV,
What happened to my hardly dustbin, its now got wheels and blue,
Or is it a good war you're after, or an end to inclusive strife,
Are you cowering and shaking, just as apprehensive as a mouse,
Smiley smiley grin will save us all
But the smile is of a con man,
He often counters with an old chestnut,
Malcolm Pugh March 5th 2005.
Smiley Smiley Grin has been tried by people
http://www. stiffsteiffs. pwp. blueyonder. co. uk/smileysmileygrintonyblair. htm
About the Author
Passion and Poetry, and Life
Ironically, the passion that can deactivate the repugnance for difficulties depends on the attempt to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this assumption - which applies to all areas of activity, counting poetry: One must make the crack to overcome difficulties to do achievement and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and affection to have a passion for assembly this effort.
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tight Against her skeleton- Rose no more, just draped Loosely over unpadded flesh; Un-tightened muscles, and tissue, Lost its courage, no-fortitude-, Gone are the days and years That stood anti the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmark Hidden under flesh and blood Guts and moral fiber, backbone? Collapsed from drudgery Time, time: cascading inside-. Bones now leave-taking impressions Accepting fate Like flecked silver!.
Opposites Do Be a focus for Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when fair dealing fails and the above suspicion is escorted off to jail?What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized, caged and abandoned and ostracized?What's a prisoner to do there's no one to trust; the classification fails and the outcome unjust?What's a prisoner to do when children decide the punishment is acceptable and justified?What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell; the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is dead and his life has been ruined as of what a big shot said?What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed, though he's effective the truth, he's accepted wisdom to deceive?What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone, no one seems to care; ex- contacts all gone?What's a prisoner to do session lost and idle and most of one's belief develop into suicidal?What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken away and the will to live diminishes each day?What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife; with no break possible; no ability for a new life?What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer see the beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel, nor the breeze of bound for the reason that his fate is sealed?What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despair but still praying to break the emotional chair?Tell me, what's a prisoner to do?Rev. Saundra L.
Like a cat I slumber, supremely unencumbered, Through eighty per cent of my fixed span, Occasionally awoken, when balk is spoken, And I contrive a new cunning five year plan, Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned, So I rented from the French and Robespierre, Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw, And let my all equal Citizens appear, Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime, For there is a further appointment looming, I have to act sincere, for part of this appearance year, And confirm each that all is booming, Never mind austere quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters, And told them which party let them stay, Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed each one of note, You never know what might crop up on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride, And allow my citizens to hear my consecrated voice, And roll out the charade, put on the facade, And even make deem they have a choice, Next time about the crown, will be compacted underground, House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history, With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on, Yes, then there will only ever be me, Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do, And fill positions with those that oil my palm, As for civil unrest, there is all the time house arrest, Or cloak-and-dagger caging for those that mean me harm.
Have you ever qualified craze with a big name you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an appealing affiliation that roots itself deep in your memory..
Ode To Quetzalcoatal [Now in Spanish and English]
Ode to QuetzalcˇatlQuetzalcˇatl the GreatNo one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcˇatl-feather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, metaphors of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 ADHe was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Some say red: some don't say? But they called him priest, Lord, king Amongst many things: god!.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and broad-spectrum conversations with the public,one of the most challenging questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my answer to three items.
Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author]
Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh diminutive Darfur woman For your sister Janjaweed- [in Sudan's hardhearted region-who was raped to death); Where rape and death run ramped;And Asha prays the Arabs don't' hear Here bawling hardly black tears? ?in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justice Of the Arabs, who run ramped?Ah, yes! In Darfur you've guessed, It is not a crime to raped and arrested; By the very one who raped, and terrorizedYou; it is the conquest?Satan's ribs!..
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe crack of dawn mist, insists there is a God. The earth ashes faithful to its orbit.
The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English]
The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw none. nothing.
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps Ride by house and farm City and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, on tenterhooks to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their big legs are dirty From emotive dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like heartrending clouds caught In the plant life of the woods? They never slow down a ting They have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live- In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Communal Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Do˝a Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Do˝a Leonor'sWhen she arrived In Lima, Peru; To taste revengeFor the beheading Of her husband. And so the plot?was now played out (in an alleyway) As she grief-stricken her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de do˝a Leonor (1627 despuÚs de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De do˝a Leonor.
As I selected up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the shingle looked like already they were polished. The store had quite a few rocks on exhibit presentation the beforehand and after and I realized that if not you knew what you were looking for, you could by a long way pass by a costly gemstone.
Catherine Daly reviews Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King Antidotes for an Alibi BlazeVox Books ISBN 0-9759227-5-0 2005These poems read to me like poetry versions of flash fiction. Now, I like flash fiction very much, but I like the more fabulistic kind.
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice confidential my head it makes me think of you every lone day as I fight back tears of desolation and awe if you're okayMy life is empty not including you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my down-to-earth hopes seem in vainI achieve how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and anticipate you not to hateI don't deserve a back attempt to show you how much I care when you considered necessary me the most I know I botched to be thereNow your trust in me is gone eternally and I will never have the accidental to say I exceedingly hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give just about something in life if I could go back to that day and erase the lot I said and did to make your distress go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the lack of these words haunt me each and every day..
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the deep-set city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a drawn out ghost) Within this county of Huancayo--Peru; Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago: During the rising of the full moon The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears And to the adjoining towns folks, she echoes.
Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Copy Poetry
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, conclusion gist in few words. A song of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet articulate the inner most belief and feelings of those who read the words.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked exclusive my head And found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
Five Poems from Home [And a view on the globe vs. the poet]
Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess]Let it be said, Dorothy Parker lies dead, cremated to ash and poetry; thus, she died at the ripe old age of seventy-three-.The tiny woman with a big mouth, who got immovable in the rain and couldn't get out: continued to play the game, all the same, like drops of rain upon a pane.
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