Best Digger Poems
Well, now that I am registered officially,
into the ranks of those who search and dig,
for gold, and paper that's done and serialized,
or plastic that buys the pleasures on high,
I might as well sit down and think hard,
about all that I will buy with gold and paper,
serialized and plastic that shines,
First a bouquet for mama to say 'thank you'.
and wish her sunshine and rainbows too,
and not sun to scorch her chocolate skin,
but rainbows to herald goodwill and peace.
Then I might try to buy a voice, as loud as,
can be to join all the others that sound,
and call for what a child needs to grow and sing,
the time to play, learn and be loved, more time.
Most of all, I'll ask not to buy this one, it is priceless,
true friends to love now, forever and always, eternally
not perfect because I am far from the best,
but whose love, like mine, does not need justification.
So you see, what I want needs just a penny to buy,
and what I need wants no money to purchase,
so why the hassle to wear a veil and deceit,
to go down the vents, with spade and pans.
And now I will pay the price it will take
to be unregistered officially from the ranks,
of those who dig and search, for gold and paper,
maybe plastic that shines and buys,
and if you want and care, here I offer,
my friendship with no charge, no price tag.
(A true story)
Now i grow older, and beauteous memories turn to weeds,
this blood in my veins turn to water, like a river cold desolute
in the valley bleeds. Yet still on the hill rise i see
"Aunt Mary" Her hair more golden by the day, when my memory returns
and i think of september, and how she succumb like the freshness
of new mowed hay, her passing beautiful and she would have approved.
Alas here in "Back Beck Cemetery" In december the rushing waters
hum a hollow song, the wailing tune of midwinter,
to an unconcerned yet obedient audience.
the chilled musty air
agonize the aging stone...
deep waters rush by.
The tombstones glisten in the pale unloving sunlight,
my spade and i rendezvous there five and half days a week,
just to dig a little for the human race, just to carefully lay some of them here,
some holding on to their earthly hand me down attributes, some rightly earned,
others a relief from the eroding sentiment of life.
Oh! Then there are the infirmed, and the joy of knowing I,
here in this their final resting place, knowing this their very last winter of discontent!
© Harry J Horsman 2013
You go to work,
toil hard all day.
Works for me,
keeps you out of my way.
At the end of the month
you get your salary,
then you can buy me gifts,
with which to lavish me.
Wine and dine me
a few times a week,
then another I wont seek.
I need my hair done,
you can pay
but don't hang around,
you don't have to stay.
I'll even let you cook for me,
I'll have Lobster Frittata for my tea.
Dom Perignon is the drink I choose
but no plonk please,
no cheap booze.
We can go to Paris for the weekend,
I'm sure you wont mind if I bring a friend.
Then we'll go shopping and you can come too.
There'll be bags to carry,
there'll be quite a few.
If you get tired,
I suppose you can stop
but I'll carry on to the next shop.
I test drove a sports car,
that was really nice,
I said you'd buy it,
didn't notice the price.
I'll sleep in the bed,
you can stay in that chair.
You can get a blanket,
you'll be comfy there.
What's all that?
Is that my stuff?
What do you mean,
you've had enough?
Why are my bags by the door?
What do you mean,
you don't love me anymore?
When you see her face
bucks are written all over
waiting to find her victim
Drinking your own blood
until you are fully drained
hah all the way to the bank..
half his age
and nearly twice his
height
pretty as a picture
but none too bright
he loves her open
arms (and legs) –
his “tart”
spread-eagled on his
sports-car’s bonnet
she likes him for
his open mind and
open heart
but most of all –
his open wallet
she intends to stick
with him through
thick and thicker
and is most
“concerned” about
his dodgy ticker
you can see my
illustration &
original poem on my
blog here -
http://tap-p.com/2014/08/22/gold-digger/
Gold Digger
now I'm not saying she's a gold digger
but her hands are in my pants pants pants
and I'm thinking as far as I can figure
she's not asking me to dance dance dance
cause the only tune I can hear playing
is the one that's in my head head head
and she's not skinny but she keeps saying
honey I need some bread bread bread
only last week she was begging me
she's needing cash for her sister sister sister
in my pocket once again you see
surprised her hand isn't one blister blister blister
I tell her go away you fool
you're not coning me this time time time
then she cries saying I'm not cool
the way you treat me is a crime crime crime
that's a lie and you know it honey
I give you everything you need need need
but all you seem to want is my money
I'm not a turnip and I bleed bleed bleed
so I'm not saying she's a gold digger
but her hands are always in my pants pants pants
and I'm thinking as far as I can figure
she's still not asking me to dance dance dance
Gomer LePoet....
Gold Digger
My teacher says...
Me study everyday...
Me will be smart...
Life will be a lark..
Me no study,
Me no care,
Me go marry
A millionaire..
Me no beauty...
Me no need worry...
Me get money...
Go get plastic surgery...
Me a ravishing beauty...
Me ready to marry...
Me snare a rich man...
A millionaire the better man.
Me will have money...
Me money so plenty....
Me travel round the world..
Cos got a rich hubby...
When he dies,
Me no cry...
Me go marry...
Another guy...
Me have money...
Me get new hubby...
Me let go the past...
Get another man to last...
Me no worry ...
Me got plenty money...
Me PM says it clearly....
I believe wholeheartedly....
Cash is King...
Me live like a queen...
Me no need to study...
Rich man I can marry....
Hohoho...
Note.. 2nd n 6th from What's app message...
Credit to the originator of that message...
GOLD DIGGER
Once, a gold digger I met.
With passion, the goldmine all night long she dug .
What a way to discover a talent
A grave digger she became.
For, her grave she dug, whilst for gold she dug.
A wealthy old man in his fifties,
Loved a young girl he thought was just nifty.
His friends didn't like her.
They called her a piker.
But the old man said she was just spiffy.
He wished to marry the fraulein.
Asked his friends, "Do you think she'll be mine?"
I have plenty of money,
And she's such a honey.
Oh sure! Tell her you're 99.
killing for love? we should out grow it
unless it's for deceivers and you know it
those less fortunate charity recievers
those pretty eye's and nails
masscara that never fails
those that are witty for a reason
allways dressed up for the season
when you speak their eye's are wide open
tabulating the latest slogan
until something better comes along
then swoops the shadow of lonliness
what happened to that pressence
what happened to that smile
why so suddenly anothers child
a shared togetherness for a short while
feeling so used like a rung on a ladder
the dirt from your shoes on my face
my pursuit of you a public disgrace
and when i finally see, like the prodicals son
my first thought about a gun
who? what for the reader may ask
the world cannot keep the both of us
Hyper as anything
Our Golden Cocker Spaniel
Digger is his name
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php
She's the type of girl,
Whose name everybody knows.
Because of all the guys she's been with.
That's just the way it goes.
Long lashed baby blues,
Her hair, a honey gold.
Her body, every mans desire,
But her empty heart is cold.
She promises forever,
Then leaves you without shame.
After she's gotten what she wanted,
You are nothing but a game.
How much can she take you for,
How much will you buy,
She tells you that she loves you.
What a perfect lie
The neverending torrent of bodies
The people whose relatives passed
The piles and piles of bodybags
That only recently amassed
‘Tis my job as a grave digger
To hide them away in the ground
To keep them from the people
Since they spread the virus around
This young and just made graveyard
Is already getting quite full
I take my shovel for digging
And dig another hole
Spit fire and spin honey,
the target-a wealthy man and his money.
She has no other talent that qualifies,
just the sum of what quantifies.
She's got cause and family ties,
under the guise of friendship and lies.
Depending on time to line her pockets,
she waits like a spider to sign the dockets.
The honey it dries,
the old man dies.
It evokes such pain and indifference,
targets of especial sentimental significance".
Digger from Oyster Bay
There once was a digger from old Oyster Bay
Who did the right thing on a very wrong day
While taking a hike down a long winding trail
Saw his daughter and mailman delivering mail
Surprisingly on take your daughter to work day