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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Canon Poem | |

Teardrops In Paradise Protest Write II

We`re on our way
Visiting good old friends from Norway
Now living in Turkey
Its the smiling country

We got everything we need..and more so
Romantic evenings with candlelights on the table
Eating out everyday,and watching the perfect sunset
The scenery is beyond spectacular

Not so nice sceneries comes sneaking into my thoughts
TV news shows an infant,shot to death..right through her chest
Another infant penetrated by grenade splints,now laying dead on a table
Her father screams in pure anger,anxiety and endless grief
More than 200 innocent civilians found,sliced to death by the army
Schools..hospitals are being used as canon targets
Civilians being forced to walk infront of tanks..defenceless kids most of them
Just in case resistance groups should make any attempt to stop these heavily armed forces

They are used as living targets
All within the hour from a holiday paradise in Turkey

Tears are shed for you..brothers and sisters
Your life is bleeding out of you..but your spirit will fight `til the bitter end
How cruel..How unfair it all is in this world
My thoughts and prayers are with you Syria

April 4th 2012

Details | Canon Poem | |

The Revolver

Scene 1:

There once was a man
filled with joy
a wife, a home
and a cute infant boy

Everything was grand
with twins on the way.
A spontaneous dog
who liked to play.

One day in the spring
He'd receive a call.
It was about his family.
the phone would suddenly fall.

Scene 2:

The car came out of nowhere
smashing head on the passenger side
Killing the infant son immediately,
in the ambulance his wife would ride.

Para-medics rushed frantically
to relieve the blood draining from her head.
With the severity of the wounds
death was inevitable,
They said!!

At one thirty-four this spring afternoon,
Four citizens were pronounced dead.
Someones wife, someones children
That is what the obituary read.

Scene 3:

A month later in the basement
of his quaint little country home.
He sat for hours thinking.

The thoughts of re-uniting
with the family he once had.
Drunk now thinking suicide,
he knew it would be bad.

Palms sweaty, vision blurred.
Vexed, praying for what comes next.
Reaching for the instrument,
his mind perplexed.

Scene 4:

He lifts the Smith & Wesson revolver
from its resting place.
Thinking of nothing but his family
placing it in the middle of his face.

Pulls the trigger,
at that moment all went black!!

Scene 5:

He wakes up
His puppy licking his eye.
He looks at his dog,
then begins to cry.

When pulling the trigger
of this canon of a gun.
Instead of death he passed out.
As for bullets, there were none..

Jared Pickett

Details | Canon Poem | |

volga 1 - 3

( while taking a tour through those poems readers are requested to keep in their hands,  a
feather from the pea-cock’s tail )

Volga - 1 

there might have been some provocation 
on the part of the  rat’s bible  

it is not known when and how 
every piece of sleep that spatters  
from the oesophagus of the dip-swimming  
has stick to the c-sharp 
of the newly-purchased tooth-brush

the air within the wish-bicycle 
figures nothing less

how much is it necessary now
to murder the blue-hue  with the study 
that can be saved by the depression of the Ganges-basin 
to develop the snap-shot of the garland-exchange with the 
antiseptic cream

would you think it for some moments 
my lord
the lord of the market

before sending any secret e-mail 
to the cyclone 
residing in the room 
behind the stair-case
let the Volga be read once more 
with all its clothes 
and hair-styles 

Volga - 2

the winter of the water-canon 
oxidised by the fireflies
wants to touch every bamboo-flute 
of this soil, it seems

as if it plays
in the body of every cauliflower 
 the total memorising-skill 
of  the blue and yellow pyramid

and if some lines of changes 
in the planet be added
the birth-day of the bolster 
that goes to the sea
may learn with a lesser effort 
the pollen-efficiency of the nail-marked walls

how much should I scold the squirrels 
who don’t want to swim
in the still-water of the black-board  

Volga – 3

the green-circuit of the fried-almonds
that was submerged 
in the open-hair of the afternoon
the whole-night workshop 
has taught 
the thumb-impression is to be put 
how far below it 

if the autobiographies are planted 
into the drawer of nature 
the solubility of the river-reed 
gets it done too late at night 

all the plus-signs around
from their etiquettes
come down   

so many foot-notes
caused by the season-changes

so before planting life 
to the address of the wall-lamps
it seems the cotton-flower
written by the oceans 
began yawning

Details | Canon Poem | |

Beautiful Oblivion

Sit and watch the thin, blank dawn
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wrestle with memories that don't want to be suppressed,
and repress the urge to canon-ball into the ocean. 
(sinking: sinking slowly, because you never learned how to swim.)

Listen to rainbows churning in oil-spill puddles,
and wait for the beautiful oblivion to take its toll.
Somewhere inside you know things will never be the same again,
but that's okay with you, sickening as it seems.
(you want to float away into seaweed forests and play fetch with the big, bad wolf.)

Dream of living a full, happy life
while you tear your world apart.
Sell your body to those dark, dank demons in your cerebrum,
whimpering and wondering deep into the night. 
(praying for a chance to show your worth while you still exist.)

Sink low beneath the foaming sea,
wring out your hands and paint your thighs with scarlet letters.
Let the wolves lap the salmonella from your fingertips
and wrap yourself in red - lay face down in the snow, don't breathe too deeply:
(someone dances in snowflakes nearby.)

Watch the thin, blank dusk
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wish for brazen arms and a warm crook of the neck to rest in.
Hug yourself beneath the covers and silently cry; you know now...
(no one wants to comfort a girl who craves suffering.)

You will never be what anyone wants. 

Details | Canon Poem | |

Symphony in the Desert

Ragged notes of unsung sorrow
stretch toward the heavens
in undefined

trails of symphony
aching for forgiveness
follow in pristine  pitch

night sky alive with 
unearthly splendor, eclipsing
moons, stars and planets
in its utter

A canon in perfect D
floods my heart
in answer

I return ragged notes
in gratitude.

Details | Canon Poem | |


Silence captured words in your cold eyes,
And passion snuggled to last feeble ties,
And optimism clung to a heart about to die,
O, patience allow me time for a loyal lie.
O, my sweet soul; look at me once more,
Look at me tenderly in peace as before,

Then lie where thou once walked following the turtle to the plain,
While I was watching you waving in the warm rain,
The meadow loved the way you followed the tortoise to the field,
And I loved thy roaming about when it disappeared,
While thou laughed ,and chuckled the green reed,
Then you withdrew your hands and head into thy shell coat,
And lively danced in the pasture of wild oat.

O, my love, the canon was quieted for unpredictable reason,
And the rifles breathed a last fatal treason,
Which bloomed with red flowers on thy warm chest,
See, in the place, thy spring's beauty shone upon the rest;
Me, the anemones, the damp rocks and the merciful death,
And seized my soul and obliterated our life's myth. 

Details | Canon Poem | |

The Tigers Eye

My Canon SLR, is set, night light on, but it’s only still dusk
Positioned waiting hoping for the promised elephant with tusk
Crouching low a rustling in the hot scrub grass close by
I turn slowly hoping, but look straight into a tigers golden eye…

An overpowering smell my nostrils do detect
A deathly smell of blood, on my life I do reflect
The eye of the tiger with its golden hue
He seems so neat, almost manicured too…

The white stripes round his wide open eyes
The crackle of dry grass, the buzz of the flies
The sweat does drip, down my nose
My heart beats fast, the shutter won’t close.

His small ears on such a large head do mesmerise me
The long, long whiskers twitch, so I believe it is a he.
Do I move? Do I breathe? What am I to do?
A tiger with black pupils, why didn't I bring a crew.

Looking through my lens, I see his nose twitch a little bit
I am on his menu it was then the shutter did click
I’m drenched in sweat; he lowers to pounce, this will be goodbye
My prayers are said, my life relived, I know it’s time to die…

Straight through the lens, but what I really did not see
He’s looking to my side, my prayers are answered it isn't me
A sigh escapes, I dare to breathe, I turn as slowly as I dare…
That’s when I spot a flock of gazelle; one of them will be his fare

© 26/11/2012 ~GG~

  Contest Entry for: Viewing Life Through A Lens

Details | Canon Poem | |

Karate Chicken

The girls in vain tried his sad soul to sweeten;
(why art thou laughing at his blackened eye?)
Malign and radioactive chicken,
you never loved or watered his bonsai!

Thou spaced-out sill maiden of delusion,
and frivolous, counterfeit struthio,
thy cackling leave gave tongue to contusion,
eloped with Foghorn Leghorn unto Rio.

Beloved of his aphotic thought's wit,
deserted cot due to thine abandon,
dawns sullen, chickenless, dolour permit,
- old taken snaps of you with his Canon.

Incomprehensible, soulless chicken
His saddened eye is karate stricken.

© 03-23-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved

Details | Canon Poem | |


That an oral tradition has had such a lasting impact on humanity is astonishing.
Since they first came out of the mouths of people, 
they have shot forth like an ever expanding bullet. 
Through the barrel of time, always changing; morphing into other languages,
distorting and splattering themselves onto pages with God as the culprit.
1455: Gutenberg disassembles that power at the pulpit, and with his machine made it safe to handle the story, and for it to continue--fully automatic in the hands of the people.  
Loaded onto ships, cocked back, bound in leather, and overseen by sages they became
canon fodder for vast bodies of people.  Left to ponder this; the power of the old English word, and if all the dead had heard.

Details | Canon Poem | |


The mild Cape Town winter weather triggers blooming of the Heather. The Erica shines their lanterns among the Foxtail Ferns. The white clouds overhead feather. The Silver Trees create a foil against which the flora toil. The King Proteas are gearing up to supply a feast for birds to sup. The Cape Cobras in slumber coil. The Aloes have many a use and can withstand much abuse. The fiery red Cape Honeysuckle led the cultivated hedges to buckle. Mountain fires lit by the obtuse. Our proud heritage was in full bloom - a rambling pathway the only room. Scorched earth, naked and black; sustenance of the soil now sadly lack. The canon on Signal Hill booms.
Official New7Wonders Inauguration of Table Mountain in Cape Town: 2 December 2012 Picture of the King Protea, the national flower of South Africa:

Details | Canon Poem | |

The Legend Of Alfred Packer 'Cannibal Extraordinarie'

In the winter of 1873, Alfred Packer was hired to guide a prospectin' trek.
In the San Juans of Colorady they'd heard of gold that they wanted to check.
Alfred claimed that in Colorady minin' camps he'd driven wagons of ore.
He guaranteed he'd show 'em the valuable stuff that they were lookin' for!

They visited sage old Chief Ouray and he warned 'em to wait 'til spring,
To cross those rugged tors, but no, they wanted to press on and do their thing!
So foolish Albert and five of the group decided to trudge on through the snow!
Of the blindin' snow, lack of grub and perilous paths, little did they know!

A few months later Packer appeared at an Indian Agency lookin' fit and well!
He said he'd been left behind due to injuries, one of many tales he was to tell!
His story changed several times sayin' one man went berserk and killed the rest!
There was evidence that cannibalism was involved but old Albert never confessed!

Packer was jailed in Saguache but later made his escape to Wyoming state!
He was nabbed and returned to Salt Lake City for a trial and sentencin' date.
"They was seven Dimmycrats in the county", pronounced the judge from the bench,
"But yah man-eatin' sunuvab**ch, yah et five of 'em, fer that yer neck'll wrench!"

Later the sentence was reduced to manslaughter and he was given forty years,
To be served at the pen in Canon City, Colorady, but no one shed any tears!
He was paroled in 1901 and moved to Denver where he hung around.
Now his molderin' bones rest in peace 'neath a grassy burial mound!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 7 in Carolyn Devonshire's "Legend" Contest - April 2011

Details | Canon Poem | |


Johnathan, Innsley, Marie, and Paul ---
Tom, Trish, Bea, and Jack:  all of them.
Black, white, asian; Jew, gentile, zen...
Sex, art, love, mores revolved,
entering ever-shallower circles of discovery.
Clear ice cubes clanked on glass;
religion, sex, quality imported Scotch
and Cuba made the rounds.
Conversation calmed, each with his own idea:
the ultimate word.
Fake furs, donned, drifted into oblivion.
Feeling alone, J. C. cleaned up.
From the dulled Johnson's Wax luster
on a genuine Duncan Phyfe table,
his distorted rumpled reflection
stared up at itself.
J. C. looked away, noticed four new white rings,
picked up a soiled Canon towel,
and wiped away three beads of water,
a few ashes, and himself.

Details | Canon Poem | |

A Pirate Drinking Song

A Pirate Drinking Song

Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum
Pirates sing to the pipe and drum
North wind blows with a Gale's horn
Snapping the canvas with a deafening mourn

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

We ride the waves seeking adventure and plunder
It is Neptune’s wrath we curse, by thunder
The sea, she bares a woman’s desire
To set each sailors heart a fire

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

Canon and cutlass, powder and gun
We cut down are foes, one by one
To Davy Jones locker our souls will sleep
A funeral of apathy in the briny deep

Battles are fought, plunder is sought
To ports abound, it is Rum that is bought

With a hardy crew and an open sea
It’s a pirating life I want for me
Till then we will sing of the scallywag scum
Yo-Ho-Ho, Another bottle of Rum

Details | Canon Poem | |

Once upon a time

-Once upon a time-

In the faraway cloud
Where listening lies,
Where river smiles,
When words speak
And meant to be,
Where wants and needs
Aren’t misconstrue,
Where lizards and gizzards
Wet, calm, hunt and meet and prey.
Tis by this extreme realm
That this goal is set.

One dream
One night
In all nights
Is what’s in need,
That the mission 
And vision
World awaits
Will emerge.

Sacred, odd
And silence
Are night themes.
This one night
Comes a fright-
Fire outbreaks,
Catches homes 
And fences.
And the news
Reaches the Mighty helm.
“I’m your lord
And is my duty 
To protect,
While your right 
Is to serve, me- lord”.

This leader leads
The fire extinguishers
To bring an end
To the inferno-
Where canopies
Are eating
And where sapiens
Are sentenced to death
By abrupt blaze.
Canon night meets morning
When the darkness runs
And leaves the heavens
With puffs of smoke
And burn- to-ash
In the arena 
Of both half and fully
Baked human skins
And open skulls
And myriad of 
Closed facial identities.

The King sobs, 
For the Kingdom.
Calming by his chiefs
And calmly walk 
To the palace;
Where his ancestors 
Roam and home.
And there
He speaks and pleads
With his ancestors
On the causal of this
Unforgotten night visitor.
Then and there they
Weep while saying
For this they do not know.

Silence the king,
Paces and shivers.
At this moment
His ancestors 
Turn phantoms
And stay hidden
Behind the walls.

His mother, 
Thanks destiny,
Is alive-
Hale and healthy
“Do see my mother 
To my Chamber now”.
For his mother 
She comes and
The mother he tells.
Her one reply is
"For this, my son
I honestly don't know"……


Details | Canon Poem | |

Nuff Said

A blue whale's tongue weighs more than an elephant Now aren't you really glad you tuned in? There are two hundred million insects for every human Wouldn't have gone camping if I knowed that! We weigh slightly less when the moon is directly overhead Due to the gravitational effect Too bad the moon isn't shining all day long 100 lightning strikes occur worldwide every second Stay indoors!!! Humans grow about 8mm every night while asleep But revert back to their normal height the next day Oh so glad, otherwise we'd spend a fortune on new clothes 250 people have fallen off the Leaning Tower of Pisa Guess they leaned a little bit too much 1 in 28 American school-aged children Have a parent in either state or federal prison Holy crap! A really great example to follow A single healthy human male produces enough sperm In two weeks to impregnate every fertile woman on the planet Uh! I volunteer my services... no charge! Although gold is a heavy dense metal It is generally considered non-toxic Gold flakes may even be ingested in foods or drinks No wonder restaurant meals are so high Pope Francis once worked as a bouncer in a Buenos Aires bar “Doing God's work?” Mozart wrote a canon entitled “Leck mich im Arsch” Which literally translated means “Lick me in the arse” Nuff said!!! © Jack Ellison 2014

Details | Canon Poem | |


If I lived to be 101,
Could I still be able have some fun?
Or would I feel too old to play,
Just like a kid for one more day?

I’d want to jump rope to a rhyming song,
But my knees would creak as I skipped along.
And I couldn’t pop wheelies on my bike
Or eat all the junk food that I like.

I’d love to climb an apple tree
But I’d wrench my back out, probably!
And turning cartwheels in the grass,
Might land me down on my fat head!

Surely I’d be out of my gourd
If I flipped off a diving board-
A splash from my great canon ball,
Would fling my teeth right past the wall!

And playing tricks on Mischief Night
By giving neighbors quite a fright
Would leave me not only out of breath,
But scare me nearly half to death!

Sitting alone in my rocking chair
As children’s laughter filled the air
Would drive me nuts and make me crazy.
If all I’d be was wrinkled and lazy!

Yes, 101 is too old for me
‘Cause I’d want to feel young and live care free.
So I think that it would be just fine
If I only live to be 99!

By Sue Burd

Details | Canon Poem | |

59th Minute

Its the last minute of the 11th hour
I have seen a demon wondering searching for a soul
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Convince people you have a speed dial to God's Kingdom
And they will take any theological theories given to them
They worship sophisticated stone deities. 
Emmanuel TV, electromagnetic Gods in static images
Composers of the reverse version of the Holy grail
Cursing God, misquoting scriptures and reversing verses
Misleading women like Hershey's Kisses and forbidden pleasures
The fabric of our species is a loose canon
The revelations post-predicted by the real Mayans
The apocalypse.

Its the last minute of the 11th hour
This poem is not against the church
It speaks for Rhodes, Selassie and Robert Moffat
New disciples that walked the deserts of Africa
The founders and architects of God's synagogues
Scribers that wrote covenants in caves at Timbuktu
Puthadikobo, Livingstone, and Thabanchu
Monasteries with no Automated Teller Machices on their walls
This poem is not against Anglicans, Catholics or  Apostles
Its an allegory against those that spit on the chapel alters
The bishops and priests with their filthy  urethrae
Their genitalia submerged in the oral cavities of alter boys
Seeking head in return for blessings, deliverance and confessions
Fake Joshuas who plant placebo demons and exorcise them for fame
The same devils that preach at the podium of cathedral portals
Dangerous men, listened and  worshiped  by millions

I m not against the church.
I believe in Muhammad and Jesus all the same
And the sacred message they bring supreme
From Judah through Jordan and the rivers of Ethiopia
I stand firm against Lucifer's devices.
In the face of damnation an entire nation has succumbed
The devil puts in more work than Jehovah's witnesses
Such a beautiful genus undone at the seams by its own beliefs
Victims of natural selection and ever-upgrading IQs
Each generation figures they can be better than their creator
Separationists led by confused evangelists
I m not against the church. I m against religion 
I have seen a demon at church searching for lost ones
A priest coveting the ass of another man's woman at church
Its the last seconds of  revelation's  last moments.

Details | Canon Poem | |



He harks the orologio ticks that count
the cosmic seconds that relentless fade
the iron peal of bells and rhythmic sound
expands the utterance his verses prayed.

A silken antimins - her blooming scent
where consecrated scriptures lay
perceived the liturgy and soul's descent
the antiphon of Corpus' Christi sway.

Denomination of the astral halls
his fervid coursing and her mystic stance
dismissal nightly voice to skyward calls
ascension of his soul's her stare askance.

Devoid 's the night that takes his life and past 
she harks his voice the sovereign woods contrast.

© 06-08-2013 G. Venetopoulos

Canon = Rule
antimins ( )
orologio = clock
antiphon = ( )

Details | Canon Poem | |

Wedding Bells in Neverland

The Lost Boys wear our worn-out ties
As we give our man away
The man of the hour  wipes his hands
On his sleeves
And has one last pep talk with his old man
He watches her as she walks 
Down the aisle
Someone brought their violin
He kisses her cheek and shakes hands with her
She whispers, “I love you, Dad” before the
Wedding bells ring

His bride, she is beautiful, radiant in white
She hands her flowers to the 
Maid of honor
When the last note of the canon dies
The whole place smells like roses, and the 
Preacher starts to speak
No one dares utter a single sound to 
Challenge their eternal peace
The doves cry out in happiness;
They fill the air
With joyful song
The fish in the sea found his one true love
And today she’ll take his

Then it’s time to say their vows. They look
Into each other’s eyes
He vows to never leave her, and to always
Treat her right
She’s asked to love him always, and to this
She says, “I do”
Then a cheer rises high to meet
The man and his bride
And the Lost Boys blow our kazoos

The two ride away late into the night
After hours of dancing 
And fun
With a salute to our captain, and a bow 
To our queen
Our sparklers light up the sky
We bid them farewell with cake on our faces
As the newlyweds tell us

Details | Canon Poem | |


If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even 
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies, 
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess, 
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"

Details | Canon Poem | |

grandpa's last wish

I wished that your last moments
were to be the best that you had saved for the last
you were barely old but the gold in you kept streaming
you liked to dress in suits like the gentleness that trailed before you
it would take a miracle to see your smile fade
but just as firm the monument so was the canon
I watched dad neel besides you
his feet afixed to the cemented floor
the door to the room slightly opened
 my emty eyes creeping between the wooden fissures
a mute cry, a melting ice
you opened your mouth only that words had died long before
I could tell it was a goodbye entangled within the 'g' sounds
and I new that the time had come
the concrete roofs couldn't keep off the angel of death
who abreastly trailed unoticed

I ran to your death bed and hugged you

fulfiling your final wishes

and I felt your skin cold
- See more at:

Details | Canon Poem | |


Death is nothing at all,i have only slipped into the next room.I am me and you are you. Whatever we were to eachother,that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name,speak to me in the easy way you always used to. Put no differance in your tone,wear no forced air of soleminty or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we always shared together. Play,smile,think of me,pray for me.Let my name be the household word it that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort,without ghost of a shadow in it. Life means all that it`s ever meant.It is the same as it ever was; there is absolute unbroken continuity.What is death but a neglible accident? Why should i be out of mind because i am out of sight? I am waiting for you an interval somewhere very near,just around the corner. All is well.Nothing is past;nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of partying again when we meet.
Canon Henry Scott- Holland. Script on Richys condolance book table.

Details | Canon Poem | |


In the several centuries 
Before the coming of Christ
The Jews in Palestine re-examined 
Eliminated some of the books 

From existing collection
As not in harmony with the Law of Moses as 
Of doubtful inspiration
The Pharisees set up four criteria 

Which their sacred 
Books had to pass 
In order to be included 
In the revised Jewish Canon

(1)	They had to be in harmony with the Pentateuch (Torah or Law)

(2)	They had to be written before the time of Ezra

(3)	They had to be written in Hebrew

(4)	They had to have been written in Palestine

Details | Canon Poem | |


What is in the garment of arrogance?
At the hem of the heart
The queen and a dance.

A build of the mind in part
Proud rape of honour
The buttocks and a little fart.

Oh! What a deface of colour
A riot...a great blemish
Circles of evils harbour.

Respect gradual diminish
A state of suicidal shame
Just started is the finish.

What great reward in submission
A canon shot for a vast elevation.  

Details | Canon Poem | |

Marlboroughs and Doubloons

Captain Lamas and four other men ascend towards the sky 
Took off from their base a Florida trace of ship being lost on first sight
In Leather Neck brace and skyward race marlboroughs men alight 
This journey austere triangle of fear Bumuda beyond so bright 

Droning on out no sight or a vouch for wreckage or of a crew
Calls from the bay Captain I say a Galleon with canon a brute
Mist then accrues upon their strange views Spanish and decks all a bare
Lower us down to view near the ground of sea level if you dare  

Photography done believeable none we swoop around all the mist
The Galleon a bow to stern disallow in a turn is gone in a twist  
Return to the base U turn from this place an accident gravely of late
No sooner a turn wreckage does burn of Captain Lamas and four mates 

No sign on the waves of bomber remains poor souls unknown of their fate
But those who just knew dined winely and drew meat on a pewter of plate
A pirate so coarse of cutlet and gorse sat down to feast in a tomb
Doubloons on a tray with Malboroughs they say together in A locker room