Best Crusher Poems
I’d love to say that ‘Crusher’ Webb is one good mate of mine,
but old ‘Crusher’s’ temperamental and can act more like a swine,
and it don’t take much to set him off; that’s when we all show fear,
so we don’t know how to take him, ‘specially when he’s on the beer.
I’ve been there when he’s lost the plot and really gone to town,
and it’s taken more or less four blokes to try and hold him down,
when the trigger’s been so trivial, that most would put aside,
but not old ‘Crusher’, he goes mad, so the berth he’s given’s wide.
I hate to think how many nights that ‘Crusher’s’ spent in gaol,
from throttling blokes and busting pubs when he fell off the rail,
but the fear we have means nothing for he’s just part of our life,
so what must Deb be going through - his darling homely wife.
She’s just the nicest person, so it’s a bit like chalk and cheese,
the schizophrenic husband and his wife, who looks ill at ease.
It must be a living nightmare when old ‘Crusher’s’ at his best,
storming ‘round the family home with dirty water on his chest.
Thank God they don’t have children for this brute to terrorize.
It’s bad enough when he’s around to see the terror in our eyes,
but it was on a brief occasion when I spoke to Deb alone,
that I was shocked with what she said in quite a sombre tone.
Deb’s voice shivered lowly “These days I must be so alert,
that I don’t become child bearing” and my answer is quite pert,
“But didn’t ‘Crusher’ have the ‘snip’, so no ‘hiccup’ would apply?”
and Deb replied, “Oh yes he did, and that’s exactly why”.
I used to be a dreamer
until I fell for a dream crusher
I used to be very optimistic
until I met miss negative
I used to have beautiful wings
until I ran into a shearer
I used to be a lovely garden
until someone planted weeds
I used to see vibrant colors
until I came across mr.dull
Beware of such folk.
They bring destruction,
everywhere they go.
2-27-2020
Alexis Y.
Inspired by the “Warning”
contest
Vehicles, muscled cars were built, to be fast;
creatures of iron and steel;
the wildest beasts.
In the day of manufactured power, Lynx and Jaguar raced; thunderbirds flew low to ground with wings,
as fast as, a road runner.
The mighty Chevy of “57” dreams;
leant compassions ear to young Edsel,
when he failed his popularity test.
Lightening swift, these darts did fly;
racing down, route “66” back then,
the pride supported its own.
Metal, mega-mammals, like all others;
live and die their last wheeze and cough,
recorded by the crusher.
Those who signed away body parts;
the donors left a re-built legacy.
Beautiful and powerful, as their ancestors;
legacy lives on but, route “66” is a much milder path.
In Heaven’s showroom;
lion and lamb lie, side-by-side;
these are the souls of the metal mammals.
This old car written by a parky ,
I have a friend Denitia
A lovely lady she is
I rang her up one morning
To see if she was in
We decided to have some fun
In an old reck of a car
So off we went
With tools in hand to find this old car.
This car was for the crusher
It had no seats or wheels
But we put our heads together
And started to build
We worked on this old car all day
And found some good old wheels
We sorted out the puncher
And polished up the steel
They all come up such a treat
All sparkling with a gleam
And then when we looked with in the car
There was no seats to be seen
So of we went to have a fined
And there to our amaze
Was an old pink push chair
That will do as a seat
We needed a front seat
So that we could drive
She put it in excitedly
And decided she would drive
We realised it need a battery
And found one on the ground,
We checked it out
and to our surprise
It started up the car
We both jumped in, And of we went
Not knowing we're to go
And this old car went chugging along
And never let us down
The radio was blaring
The music so much fun
We sang along in rhythm
To the 70 s songs
We followed along the rd
And vagus did we find
It was all lit up and all aglow
With beautiful fairy lights
We parked the car,And wondered around
We had so much fun that night
There were saloons and bars
And dancing to ,all through the night
We had so much fun,We wanted to stop
But had to get on our way
We wondered back to the car
But we had lost our way
We both could not remember ,
were we parked the car
This poor old cars gone missing
It's a jaguar
It's blue and brown ,
it has got lots of rust
And has a beautiful pink drivers seat,
It sing all the songs that you can sing
All from the 70s
So if you find a car , that's blue and brown
And lots of rust you see
And that it's a jaguar
That sing along to the 70s
Please look after this old car
It's to good to be crushed
It won't never let you down
Even though it's full of rust
But we have never found it
It's gone from our minds
We just hope that one day
We will hear it coming by
We listen out for the 70s
The songs we so enjoyed
And prohaps one day we will remember
We're we left the car
Sue gage
Cuba…Mamma Mia…like most of the Caribbean; part of the 1492 slam…
Slavery, sugar plantations… invasions, upheaval, independence…
Then the American kisses; with a slight twist…who initiated the ’disses’…?
Was it Blaine…is he insane…?
Was it Marti…the heart of the party…?
Or Teller…many say he was the real speller…
Or Estrada Palma…could he have been the calmer…?
Was it San Martin…any questions of his parting…?
Or was it Batista…is he the real twister…?
With his interwove of expansion…then stagnation and dissatisfaction…
Coupled with his increased economic regulation plan…
Was this the spike for the revolution…?
Enter Castro; was he the real maestro…his thoughts, his plans; communize the land…?
Centralize, non-democratize…ostracize, reorganize…
The politics…were they laden in tricks…?
The CIA; not here to stay… but what role did they play…?
When they realize the RAF size…what will they emphasize…?
With great plans to defeat…did they end in retreat…?
Now with Eisenhower…speculations of a great shower…
But after only months…fixation shift to ouster hunts…
Severed diplomatic relations…the new sensation…
Impositions of trade embargo…the ‘Fargo’ in my cargo…?
The ‘Bay of Pigs’…will you understand the gigs…?
The ‘Cuban Missile Crisis’…what was this Tri-fit…?
The military games…were these substances in flames…?
For a superpower war…or the everlasting scars…?
Of suppression, political persecution…migration, and interventions…
In Angola, and Ethiopia…from Nicaragua to North Africa…
To the Congo…to some say; ‘Jah Mek Yah’…?
Cooperation with Russia…was this the real crusher…?
The mid-eighties…the beginning of their ending gaiety’s…?
The dissolving of the Soviet Union…continuation of the country’s isolations…
Reduced rations…the new fashion…
Unpainted buildings…now the in-thing…
Old vehicles with limited repairs…any scares…?
Lack of electricity…did it colour the ethnicity…?
A country on the verge…is there a new urge…?
Tourist attraction…one logical concoction…
Amidst the flow…of system many Cubans know…
The US now attests…it is in the country’s interest…
Cuba has withstood the test…put the embargo to rest…?
Cancer, you're a real tough cookie with a long history.
You've been breaking hearts of loved ones for an eternity,
but that's okay cancer, because you just blew it,
so put up your dukes, Let's Get Down To It!
Hit her with your best shot,
go on cancer, hit Samara with your best shot.
Hit Samara with your best shot,
you'll never blow her away.
You come on strong and you don't fight fair
but that's okay cancer, see if she cares.
You can knock her down but it's all in vain,
she gets right back up on her feet again,
so hit her with your best shot,
go on cancer, hit Samara with your best shot.
Hit her with your best shot,
Fire away.
You'll never add this notch to your cancer case,
because Samara's going to put you in your place.
Cancer should have done it's homework before messing with her,
because Samara's the Samonster, The Cancer Crusher,
so hit her with your best shot,
go on cancer, hit Samara with your best shot.
You can hit her with your best shot,
but she'll blow you away.
So hit her with your best shot,
that's right cancer, hit Samara with your best shot.
Hit Samara with all that you've got,
She's Here To Stay!
*
Dedicated to my Friend,
Samara Kimiko
catcher of random ideas
crusher of artistic hindrance
creator of new manias
creature of creative deliverance
definitely mischievous
dark and witchy
dramatically mysterious
daring to be bitchy
effective yet unconventional
eccentrically unique
evasive and emotional
ecstatically I seek
to blatantly awaken
something lovely and spiritual
a vibrant inspiration
true and beautiful
can you guess my name?
no one can forget
the nature of my game
for, I am Poet!
We bid farewell to our eldest daughter
In her marriage ceremony with full honour
The traditional farewell by a brother
To his sister that morn was an emotional crusher
The following morning we had a visitor
A talking parrot found our home cosier
He fluttered around and called out 'Father'
We adored our little addition, my husband's admirer
March 20, 2016
Contest :It Was One Of Those Mornings
Sponsor : Sara Kendrick
If I wrote her name upon the shores
Of Popo Beach in New Kru Town
The envious sea wave will wash it away
If I engraved it on a stone
Along the road of Forteville
Rock crusher will split to pieces
To use for the contraction of roads, bridges and the buildings
If I melt it on a plate of gold from Gold Creek
And display for the eyes of man to see and appreciate
Warlords and con men will loot away
And violate the rights of the unborn to read
So I will write the name of this love upon here
Time after time, death after death
That posterity may read and appreciate
This love of a tender hand.
A grain of rice,
seeds of a vegetable,
lights in a decoration,
a bride.
A bottle of old wine
infected by abnormal wishes.
Crawling into fake
carvings on a stone......
of an old love.
Stones broken by a stone crusher,
fighting back for emptiness
still a grain of rice.
Flew among the clouds,
a scarlet horse,
a prince, seeds of a vegetable,
a bride.
Her son had died upon the cross
As she wept all seemed lost
The sky turned black, He cried out
Now her emotions tossed
His body swiftly placed in the tomb
No time to anoint Him
As the proper burial rites should
All her hope now quite dim
The women who loved Him came
Early to the sepulcher
To anoint the body of their Lord
Found open tomb a crusher
An angel appeared to explain
He's not here but risen
Oh! The joy within their hearts
Sadness not their prison
How could Mary know that the child
Whom once she carried within
Would soon come into her small heart
To live once again
Mary who had carried The Lord Jesus within her womb knew
that it was Jesus that came into her heart when the Holy Spirit entered
the believers in the upper room at Pentecost..
Knocking on the door, can your mate come out to play?,
or is she grounded for yet another sunny day?.
Meeting up with your mates, hanging around the park,
getting up to no good, until way after dark.
Listening to music, all night party's, having a dance,
Fitti over there giving me a glance.
he was 16, i weren't a teenager yet,
oh yes my dad would hate him, you can bet on that.
Then me mum mug's me off, 'Max get down the shop'
'all this mucking around girl, it's gonna blimmin' stop!'
Shut away in my room, put on me headphones,
bit of Shalamar? maybe some Stones?.
Sharing a bedroom with 3 boys was proper manic,
everything of mine broken, me mum in a panic.
Tower block by the Thames, 2 bedroom flat,
not enough room to swing a skinny cat.
Dad was a car crusher, worked every hour god sent,
put food on the table, no money was ever lent.
mum was too proud, to sign on the dole,
working class family, full of heart and plenty of soul.
School was fun, all me mates were there,
but instead of learning, I would just sit and stare.
Dolly daydreamer by name, scatty ann by nature,
destined to be nothing but a council girl waster.
Just a little look into my life as a child growing up on a council estate in South London x
Maxine xx
Put me through the crusher –
Break me down to ashes, to dust,
To the inconsequential crumbs on your plate...
I have become less than nothing,
A speck on your windscreen, a ghost
Tangled in gossamer flesh, with a broken heart
Clutched between her fingers...
You broke that poor weeping heart,
You broke my spine -
You mangled my soul into bleeding ribbons
And then you simply forgot...
I was thrown on your pyre and burned,
Melted down to fragmented memories,
To a tawdry reflection you maybe glance at now and then
I was never a person, never alive...
To you I was an empty vase with no voice to call my own
I had no life ‘til you appeared, isn’t that right –
You were my angel, my epiphany,
My brief moment of heady transcendence...
You brought my wooden soul to life
Isn’t that what you believe...?
You, the man with hollow eyes,
The vacuous rock star wavering on his pedestal of cracked glass –
You are radiant with brittle self-importance
And though you tore me to shreds, idly,
And though I may lie here in this graveyard of shattered hearts,
I am more alive than you –
I blaze with vital incandescent grief
And with my ripped wings I am more an angel,
Fallen, than you could ever be
So though you soar above me on your tawdry Icarus wings –
The sun is burning bright,
And your halo has but a tarnished gleam...
My beauty, your final fall awaits...
To the city of gold
It brings me great pleasure
To inform you that your application to grab hold
Of my attention has been successful.
Your name is self explanatory
Your status is unquestionable
Your record speaks for itself
You are remarkable indeed.
You have made the dreams of the dreamers come true
You moreover led promising men from the rural astray
In the hopes of hitting the jackpot
Your beauty is of course a bonus
However , I owe you an apology dear great white
For being prejudice
I believe the name is heavy
And the expectations heavier
You too were wronged by us
We named you "the city of gold "
to make sucking you dry excusable
We used you and are still for
Our own personal gain
You were beautiful now your beauty is limited
You were free now violence and barriers surround you
You were clean
Now your trees bear drugs
You were a God fairy
Now you're a dream crusher
People resent you
You were fair
Now you only favour all those that are on the right side
Those that have the right connections
You used to be home
Now you're shelter to the highest bidder
We made you like this
We interfered with mother nature
We we we
We are to blame
We are to be prosecuted
We divided you
And gave the other half capital punishment
We demonised you
We made ourselves God to you
And our sin is bigger than you
And our apology is as tiny as Satan's mercy
From a sorry and regretful being
Embittered lime slices, that were cut abrasively-
making cutting knife rasp with pain endlessly,
is left of a heart wrung in dry and high on the shores
of love sea that is still tossing in lunar ecstacy,
wound had bled tears acidic and abyss sad.
Unsate and childlike at the dry cherries of a mother bosom
hungry me was on a chase like a bird shot
eyes forlorn in anticipation and heart thudding
at the slightest driblet of a look and hook of warmth sweet
I found you looking in from drify soul's door ajar.
Coincidence and confluence made us what we are
pals and smiling ghosts of the grievous green amour scars
fulfilling and filling like nectar in cookie you held me afar
brought scarily near and left those wispy soft marks
the soul was no forlorn sole but paired without a mar.
treasures I do treasure as I tread the treachery mare
all care, that is adequate, is spent in keeping it frame bare
as we build the palace slow,low and aglow with emotions and slight passion
caressing the hurts that still hurt painlessly deep down in core bastion
I vow and stow and grow to keep you in my stride,style and stashin'.
Guess you would not be bud crusher!