Best Briggs Poems
Mrs Briggs' cat.
There's plenty to do in our neighborhood,
with games and places to explore.
But you really should run,
'cause the trouble's begun,
when you hear that "meow" at your door.
A cute little tabby cat sits on the step,
all fluffy and gentle as can be.
Just try not to be dim,
as you pet it, on a whim,
It'll eat you alive for its tea!
"Tiddles" belongs to old Mrs Briggs,
who lives up the end of my street.
She thinks it's a breeze,
but there're no guarantees,
that this pussy will ever be sweet.
Our local vicar thinks the damn thing's possessed,
and I'd say that he's right on the nail.
Surprised I would be,
If I wasn't to see,
Satan's head poking out of its tail!
So if you see that tabby cat coming your way,
I beg you, don't stand there and wait,
Don't stroke it, don't pet it,
look, sunshine, FORGET IT,
Or that moggy will seal your fate!
Categories:
briggs, cat, child, children, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Dunblane
A senseless waste
These young live lost
Let's all stop to count the cost
Melissa, Charlotte,
Kevin and Ross
All over the world they will mourn your loss
A town United
In grief and pain
We all share the sadness of Dunblane
Victoria, Emma,
Mhairi and Dave
All the world will weep at your grave
When at the gates
They waved you goodbye
No-one could have known that you would die
Abigail,Emily,
Sophie and John
Once bright young and lively now all of you gone
Your whole lives before you
Still left to live
So much time remaining so much left to give
Hannah, Megan,
Joanna and Brett
In all of our hearts you are living yet
Spare a thought for Gwen Mayor
Their teacher so brave
Who gave up her life her pupils to save
So let’s learn the lesson
And maybe then
We can ensure it won’t happen again
That's the best tribute
To the kids of Dunblane
That their innocent blood was not shed in vain
By Denis Briggs
(On 13th march 1996 at 9:30 am Thomas Hamilton broke into a primary school in Dunblane Scotland and shot 16 children and one teacher dead. The whole world was shocked and it was dubbed the Dunblane Massacre)
Categories:
briggs, dark, death, emotions, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
West Gorton
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
Billy Briggs, he lived in Gorton, West Gorton to be precise
now the kids from West Gorton, were not very nice
they had the toughest gangs down there, so you had to know
if you were going to West Gorton, have your own gang in tow
Be careful just which street you walk, some you would not tread
you’re walking someone else’s ground, don’t look up just hang your head
you’re not here for trouble, there’s an errand to be done
so fix it, and then head home, your outnumbered here my son.
Then you hear the Robert Street Gang, know that your around
would like to know what you are doing, walking round their town
then there they are in front of you, young Billy and his crew
You can stare them down or fight them, run’s the other thing to do
Wat’cha doing here said Billy, a sneer upon his face
my granny’s sick we want to help, so we’re going to her place
Ok said Bill, we’ll help you through, just this once though mind
we’ll make sure you get there safe, you lads fall in behind
We fixed our Gran the best we could, and then, was time to go
we’ll keep an eye on her, said Billy, if she needs ya, we’ll let you know
they walked us back to the border line, Billy shook my hand and then
“ you Gorton lads are nancy boys, so don’t come back ag’en”
The pride came back, and then as one, we stepped back across the line
SHOW US WHAT YOU GOT THEN
Categories:
briggs, childhood, conflict, england,
Form:
Rhyme
He came with murderous intent
To the Manchester Arena he went
His heart full of vitriol and hate
With a bomb to seal their fate
I wonder if he thought at all
About the kids that there would fall
I don't believe in his hate filled brain
He thought about the grief and pain
They came to laugh and dance and sing
To see their idol was their thing
When young you have no fear of death
No thought of taking your last breath
That mindless man took their lives
Left grieving parents, husbands, wives
He took their lives but not our hope
Because we have learned to cope
We aren't beaten we aren't cowed
We are unbroken we wont be bowed
He made us determined strengthened too
We wont give up we will pull through
May the spirit of Manchester live in us all
We will stand firm we will stand tall
So send your bombs we aren't afraid
We aren't beat down we aren't dismayed
We will not hear your futile threats
You will not leave us with regrets
So bring it on let the war begin
Its already lost you will not win
Now they've come to London town
On London Bridge they mowed them down
Seven more innocent lives they shed
Eight minutes later they too were dead
Lets not forget the Westminster one
Lets not forget what he has done
Though he inflicted grief and pain
He died for nothing he died in vain
Manchester, Paris, London too
We stand together to defy you
One day you'll realise its too late
You wont infect us with your hate
Denis Briggs May 2017
Categories:
briggs, anger, bereavement,
Form:
Verse
Please tell me where the music hides
Said the boy to the old man
I swear that I will seek it out
I'll find it if I can
Then the old man smiled at him
Slowly he replied
I'll tell you where to find it
Though it doesn’t really hide
There's music in the mountains
There's music in the sea
Music lives in you my boy
Music lives in me
There's music in the gentle wind
Blowing softly in the trees
There's music in the songs of birds
In the buzzing of the bees
There's music in the sweet soft words
Of a mothers lullaby
There's music in a rippling stream
And in a lover's sigh
Music does not hide my boy
It is everywhere
So just stand still and listen
You'll hear it in the air
So the child stood still and listened
Then his face lit up with joy
Now I know where music lives
I'm happy said the boy
Denis Briggs
Categories:
briggs, age, childhood, innocence, music,
Form:
Lyric
In his head he saw the rising of the moon
In his head he heard the piper's tune
In his head all this was seen and heard
But with his mouth he never said a word
In his head he heard the thunder roar
In his head he saw the eagle sore
Inside his head the thunder and the bird
But with his mouth he never said a word
The people thought his mind was dead
But they could not see inside his head
Though he was deaf and dumb and blind
He was alive inside his mind
In his head were rainbow colours bright
In his head the soft cool breeze of night
Though all these things were seen and felt and heard
With his mouth he never said a word
By Denis Briggs
Categories:
briggs, crazy, deep, introspection, judgement,
Form:
Rhyme
Raymond Briggs’ Snowman
shown each year on Christmas Eve
still as magical
Categories:
briggs, art
Form:
Haiku
You've to live up so never give up!
-----------------------
Ted Talk by Kevin Briggs: The bridge between suicide and life
http://on.ted.com/q02cv
-----------------------
You may say I can do whatever to myself but your life is not all your own!
You belong to so many others, some known to you and mostly unknown!
Remember those who did you favors you can't repay if for eons you live!
And every moment of that existence, what you owe you continue to give!
Then you can't even guess how many are touched by what you say or do!
You will have to see each living being in the whole world to get some clue!
You were born for a purpose, which your soul cannot rest without fulfilling!
If you give life up midway, you may never be in peace after your own killing!
When you're in a dark despair and feel there's nothing left for you to live for!
Give yourself one day to serve a person who has more sufferings than your!
At the end of the day ask how that mortal is bearing that much burden of life!
You'll choose to go on even if you have to live walking on the edge of a knife!
-------------------------
Poetry by Dr. Asghar Nazeer (LinkedIn profile http://sa.linkedin.com/in/drasgharnazeerlinkedinprofile)
Kindly read this poem with a touching matching photo on LinkedIn pulse at https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/article/20140812215457-167523528-you-ve-to-live-up-so-never-give-up and my other 28 poems with similarly captivating pics at LinkedIn main author's page at https://www.linkedin.com/today/author/167523528?_mSplash=1
All my posts are shared through my Facebook community page "Hear those pics Say what clicks" https://www.facebook.com/PicsAndPoets You are most welcome to visit this page as all my posts are public and everyone may tag, share, comment on and like them.
The same posts are also shared publicly and are accessible to everyone through my Google+ page https://plus.google.com/+AsgharNazeer/posts
Categories:
briggs, death, emotions, encouraging, faith,
Form:
Free verse
The Little Match Girl
She sits all alone
On the pavement so cold
Selling her matches
At just eight years old
The snowflakes fall
And cover her head
She's so hungry its days
Since she was properly fed
She holds out her wares
To each passer by
“Sir please by my matches”
Is her small plaintive cry
But many ignore her
This poor urchin there
They'll go home to their fires
They don't really care
But she can't go home
Till she's sold them all
Or her Cruel father
Will beat her and bawl
As she sits and shivers
A match she does light
For a small piece of warmth
On this cold new years night
With each match she strikes
She sees wondrous things
Like clowns and a circus
Princesses and Kings
But alas these are just pictures
Made up in her mind
As the light and warmth fades
No joy she can find
She is lost and alone
She starts to weep
As on the cold pavement
She lies down to sleep
On New Years morning
She's still lying there
Still stiff and cold
No more she'll know care
She died all alone
Frozen and cold
Her young life cut short
At just eight years old
Though her story is sad
It still happens today
Children still starving
And wasting away
Sleeping on pavements
Lost and alone
Crying and dying
As cold as stone
So just think of them
As you watch your TV
And maybe
The Little match girl you will see
Denis Briggs 2016
Categories:
briggs, child, courage, death, poverty,
Form:
Lyric
Ghost Ship
Benjamin Briggs a master, with three previous commands
Took over the ill fated ship, which was to prove to be his last stand.
The ship originally named the Amazon, was 103 feet long
She was listed as a half-brig, and everything seemed to go wrong.
She had a lot of accidents and passed through many owners hands,
Eventually she turned up in New York, for sale and a new command.
She was sold and refitted; the owners bought her for a song.
Then they had her re-registered, to maybe help right the wrongs.
Captain Briggs his wife and child, in eighteen seventy two
Set sail on November the seventh, plus an extra seven man crew.
The cargo was seventeen thousand barrels, of raw American alcohol
They set off for Genoa Italy, not forgetting his daughters’ toys and doll.
On December the fifth half way between the Azores and Portugal
The Dei Gratia spied a brigantine, but it didn’t look right at all.
He watched it for two hours because he recognised the ship
The brig, that he had been in dock with, and he knew Ben commanded it.
It was sailing all wrong, it was yawing on the sea.
Captain Moorhouse knew Captain Briggs, was the captain he should see,
They took a boat out to the ship, and boarded her when they could,
On climbing aboard they found the ship to be empty, but all sound and good.
There was plenty of food and drink, but all the ships papers were gone
The ships clock was not functioning, but of the compliment*, there was none.
There should have been a lifeboat, but that was not there now
Just a frayed rope hanging in the sea and they didn’t know why or how.
Captain Moorhouse was perturbed knowing his friend Briggs to be in distress
He took the ship into to tow, it was named the “Mary Celeste.”
~GG~ 2011©
Compliment The number of crew on board a ship*
Categories:
briggs, history,
Form:
Couplet
Today I walked in fields of green
I wondered at the sight
I saw rabbits playing in the grass
I saw birds high in flight
The sun was bright I felt its warmth
It filled my every part
Clean clear air filled my lungs
And peace filled up my heart
I paused a while to take it in
This tapestry so fine
And as I sat and gazed around
This whole world was mine
By Denis Briggs
Categories:
briggs, nature,
Form:
Verse
A vociferous yowl came down to earth and slaughtered my soul
I was in deep sleep, lids were lead, and dreams were wavering spool
My problem sat on groove, heavy-hearted like slushy interference
Passage of time was very slow but that had drawn all the inference
But I had to settle my score with her sore to keep my cranium cool
A porous body, full of neutral pricks, is amenable to insidious freaks
You may call the buccaneers on bouncing waves or to Tortuga Creeks
They will say yes we should send Mister Briggs to teach you mathematical tricks.
It makes no difference and I am bowled on the crease, life is not at all sums
Its base is neither you nor any substratum pandering to keekwulee doldrums
I know you are not a frump who kicks up the stinks with three no trumps.
I may be a tramp
Play solitaire
With invisible Dodo.
I have seen the dull grayish faces caught in Arachne’s spins,
The fangs of spiders, teeth of snakes, and Las Vegas scorpion stings,
The emotional binges, the splurge of spending and old caddy’s sins.
I have seen them all, but how am I full of beans?
I am a nut playing a fool. Let the water run over her
Deigning a nutcracker’s rule.
Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
14th October,2014 20:44:00 (IST)
Categories:
briggs, identity, image, loss, symbolism,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I once was a farmer
I worked the land
I reaped the corn
With a scythe in my hand
I ploughed my furrow
I sowed my seed
I grew my crops
My family to feed
One day hot and thirsty
With the sun going down
I went for to drink
At the alehouse in town
As I was a drinking
There at the Inn
Without any warning
The press gang came in
So I was taken
I was taken so fast
And told that my future
Was before the mast
So in my fields
I no longer plough
Instead the wide ocean
I must plough now
From hauling on ropes
My hands are all torn
Sometimes I wish
I had never been born
Our captains a hard man
If one of us fails
He'll have us flogged
With a cat o' nine tails
When I climb the rigging
I oft times will find
I think of the family
That I left behind
One day I'll jump ship
And I'll stay on shore
I'll serve the Kings navy
Never no more
I'll return to my loved ones
I'll go back to the land
Once more I will reap
With my scythe in my hand
I've sailed the wide oceans
Seen Paris and Rome
But nothing compares
With my humble home
Denis Briggs
Categories:
briggs, history, military, ocean, voyage,
Form:
Lyric
Get the barby firing, put on the ready meat
have the odour wafting through houses in the street;
someone half a mile away, puts his nose in the air,
goes hell-bent on a bloodhound scent to get over there.
He'd place a snag between some bread, then half the salads gone.
He'd buzz around the esky, take a drink … then before too long
his eyes would begin to wander, when a whispered voice was heard
that Bert has got to be between - a blowfly and a bowerbird.
Now that's why we call him Bert the blowfly.
Whenever there is food about, Bert'll wander on inside;
his mouth goes 'round your snags. His eyes go 'round your yard,
his hands go 'round your treasures so you better stay on guard.
His mower frame is Rover with a Briggs and Stratton motor.
His cutting blades and base came off an old Victa.
He disregards the pulling rope that on most mowers are
for a battery key and starter motor, off an old Holden car.
His old shack has roofing iron; different lengths and different form.
Half the wall is weatherboard; the rest is timber that's rough sawn.
Every door he hung is different; no width nor length the same.
There's not two similar panes of glass; each window has a different frame.
Everyone can see Bert coming when he's driving on the track.
Looks like a rainbow on the road, colored red, white, blue and black.
Coughs and spits and blows out smoke does this multi-cultural car
built from over twenty wrecks, lying' round his yard.
Now that's why we call him Bert the bowerbird.
If you feel you want something removed, just put out the word,
'cause if your trailers all tied down, ready for the tip
Bert will come and take a look saving you the trip.
“I see yer pulling down yer shed …
er, maybe yer need a hand to get rid of it;
ah, I see yer ‘gotcha’ barby on …
and boy am I hungry you can bet.”
We call him blowfly Bert the bowerbird.
On donated food and throw a way’s, Berts’ an expert.
Rusty iron, mower parts, heading for land fill …
what we can't find a use for - Bert he surely will.
Categories:
briggs, character, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
The Hunted Fox by Denis Briggs
Why do they chase me?
What have I done?
I hear their hounds baying
I know I must run
Their horse’s hooves thunder
Their wild cries I hear
I'm frightened they'll catch me
And they'll smell my fear
If they do catch me
They'll tear me apart
And their children they'll smear
With the blood from my heart
What did I do?
To warrant this hate
But feed my children
And protect my mate?
They've killed my father
My brother my friend
Now they will chase me
Till my life they end
We don’t kill their children
We never chase them
So why is it us
That they chose to condemn?
So now I must run
And let them give chase
Though stones rip my feet
And thorns tear my face
If I survive
I hope in the end
One day I shall find
Just one human friend
Categories:
briggs, innocence, nature,
Form:
Lyric