Ballad Retirement Poems | Ballad Poems About Retirement
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Farewell, then, AUKN boss,
The next this year makes three.
By the time they find a substitute,
Slovenes will be at sea.
He tried to cover his behind;
AUKN boss of bosses,
As every week, balances grew bleak:
He weighed merits and losses.
With all this he'd no time to eat,
And round and round he flew.
And now he's split in a hissy-fit;
So helmsman, too-de-loo!
Day after day, day after day,
He drifted on the ocean;
Guano-vernment rained on his ship
Their suggestions for promotion.
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Corporate boards crosslink;
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Let's take you for a drink.
Accountants talking rot: O Christ!
Missions, visions - oh please!
Yea, slimy characters need legs
And slimy policies.
So has he done an hellish thing?
Not hired who? We dunno:
Was it absurd, to have a separate curd
From the whey Slovenia owes?
This wretch won't play, after 60 days;
Pissflaps, he'll have to go!
God help ya, gospod Bencina
From the fiends, that plague us thus! -
It's time to go — shot like cross-bow,
The AUKN boss.
Ah! walk-out day! what evil looks
Had I from Ernst and Young!
Who's at a loss? AUKN's boss
Wouldn't take a bung?
"You'll be" quoth one, "abolished - no
Stigma to double-cross."
He chose to go - why? We don't know:
Harmless AUKN boss.
Re-reading the original gave me a great idea for dinner until I realised all the storks have all flapped off to Africa for the winter. Pity, as I have some ancient marinade from Tuš. Like the subject of the poem, I didn't have the stamina for a Coleridge-length effort.
The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. www.maria.si
Copyright © Julian Bohan | Year Posted 2013
Here comes the stormy fire,
Burned out my desire,
Racing against my chest, my hearts pacing,
Beating the pulse to a pulp, draining me dry,
Now’s the time to let go of this tandem rope,
Crash through this masquerade, there is no hope
Nobodies to blame, but myself,
It was all coming lose at the seams, piece by piece
The music was just too loud; the symphonies were burning my faith in hope
Nothing hurts like you do, walking away never giving me a second glance,
Pompeii, rain down on my parade, burn this farce of a show to cinders,
These ashes of our lives are like pythons underneath my every step,
Each sting a cry from my hearts to live again
Not saying goodbye was the cruelest act.
No words of comfort or embrace to spare my arteries.
So now I am sitting here listening to the dragon that breathed our love,
Its dying a slow death.
With every inhalation of this noxious gas, it only exacerbates the constriction on my lungs
Its evident to me that, love is dead.
Its all burned away, there is nothing left
There is no love left.
Love is dead.
Love is dead..
Is love dead?.....
Copyright © Paul Machintosh | Year Posted 2016