Best Diggers Poems
Sookie said (as she stood at the tee),
"Though this golfing is boring to me,
Its odds can't be beat.
Of golfers I meet,
for each woman, the males number three!!"
For the Limerick Contest of Carolyn Devonshire
*Note: Female golfers number fewer than 23% in this sport.
With the many doctors and lawyers that seem to enjoy this
activity, I can't help but think it would be a great place for a
single lady to meet rich men!
Beneath the full moon's illumination, two darkly dressed
Figures are quietly digging, gentlemen collectors, of the
Cadavers of the undead, desecration's henchmen of
Greed’s loosened purse strings, murders of the dead flesh
Trade.
Grave diggers for hire, the fresher the body, the more
Coin is made, Burke, and Hare always say, cash only on delivery!
What will it be Sir Professor of medicine, or science, large or
Small we provided it all, young or old, care we not, just tell us
Your preference, money does the talking here, sir!
So what will it be than, what's your pleasure governor,
Say these the body snatchers, of Edinburgh Scotland!
Shadow hunters with clubs of diversions in hand,
Tempting the male with passions of the evening,
Alluring co-horsts, walk their living dead victims,
Into deaths pleasure zone, then flee as the fatal
Blow is struck, by their gentlemen companions!
The Doctor you see, pays better coin, if the corpses
Cadaver is still warm, smothered, bashed, or strangled,
It’s all for the betterment of Science and medicine.
These sadistic serial killers of the past, rightly
Believe, and joking laugh, in the cold evening air,
Of this city’s seeder side of the tracks,
We’re doing this for the just cause, of
Humanity’s sake, ha ha!
Criminals after all my good man, is a harsh
Word to use, is it not for the future medical
Professional’s must be taught with the best
And freshest material possible after all, right governor!
Times are hard for the working man, we have
To fed are own after all, Burke and Hare
Relate, so if one unmissed individual puts
The spoils into our cooking pot, what the ####,
Simply does it really matter!
Let the gallows swing high on their reckoning day,
For sixteen lives will these guilty men pay for,
In their dearest bloods shedding, but in an
Eerie twist of fate itself, their bodies will
Go to the same medical professional,
So you see the joke is really on them in the end!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
This is a true story, it happened in England, and these men were
Were eventually found out and hung, there bodies were than sent
To a university for the betterment of medical research!
LETS NOT CRY FOR THOSE WHO ARE DEAD
AS EMOTIONS ARE BURIED IN THE GRAVEYARD
LONGING FOR LOVE IS FUTILE
PALE AND FRAGILE
I WISH THOSE BLUE EYES
TO BE MINE FOREVER
ALAS ! DREAMS ARE THE ENEMIES OF DAYLIGHT
MOONLIGHT IS CONCEALING MY THOUGHTS
INSOMNIA IS GRIPPING MY VISION
WAYWARD THOUGHTS CULMINATES AS
MY LOVE POEMS ARE CHAINED IN PRISON…
Redfiery
2011
There was a young man who Size
Caused dames to tremble their Thighs
Swoon-- their names when he called It
and syncopate at the sight of his.... Wallet!
I saw two gold diggers chasing by dangerous dogs.
Hidden behind the hindu golden statues of gods.
Screaming for help, some people came to help them,
One dog caught one gold digger and bitten her bottom
Dogs' owner blamed by one driver who carried goods.
April 21/2023
Written for Bite size contest No.62
poetry contest Sponsored by Line Gautier
They
unjust
no mercy
nary mercy
a mercenary
no loyalty but gold
hidden soldier of fortune
different kind of payment recieved.....
Should I see whats in his pants or check out his size.
Does he appeal to my eyes.
Can i tell how much money he
makes from the kind of car that he drives.
If I give him the puss and leave would he
break down and cry. I'm just an angel in disguise.
Do i feel the rhythm do i feel the rhyme. Does he only
date dimes. Should I date men one at a time. Is he the
type to buy Mckiddies apple pies. I don't want to lead
him on and feed him pure lies. I'm just a gold digger
a gold digger in disguise to whom shall I lie.
They gathered together thinking it’s not right
To charge for mining permits with gold in sight
So they gathered together at the Eureka Stockade
And armed themselves in their righteous crusade
Each digger stood by the Southern Cross flying true
And gave the oath vowing to defend each other too
“We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other and fight to defend our rights and liberties”
As free settlers in a free land standing together bravely
And some died defending these words sacred to them
When they stood side by side and were done in
The idea of being strong and free
Was forged in these words for all Australians to see
Since those days their sons and daughters have answered the call
When their blood was spilled so that freedom wouldn’t fall
So when there are challenges meted out to us
Remember those standing with us
honouring the Southern Cross.
© Paul Warren Poetry
A collaboration with Alfonso II Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris - Permission to do so kindly granted.
*+*+*+*
Gold Diggers in Danger
When gold digging beware of those wild dogs
Who hide behind Hindu statues of Gods
If you look away, I’m sorry to say
You’ll be jumping around like leaping frogs.
Beware of those dogs also hogs and bees
Bees will sting you when and where’er they please
When gold you hunt, dogs will bark, hogs will grunt
If it’s croaks on breeze it’s frogs I believe.
*+*+*+*
I saw two gold diggers chasing by dangerous dogs.
Hidden behind the hindu golden statues of gods.
Screaming for help, some people came to help them,
One dog caught one gold digger and bitten her bottom
Dogs' owner blamed by one driver who carried goods.
Written by: Alfonso 21st April 2023
*+*+*+*
24th April 2023
Find Your PS Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Grave Diggers
Bury me
bury me deep
deep in a hole
a hole with sides so steep
leave me there
there in the dank and dark
to ponder darkly on the sadness
besetting all those who’s home
and only window
is the light rimmed edge
of a hole
Leave me as you have left me
toss me your crusts of pity
stand by the brink with your sermons
to help me shrink even further
bury me
bury me here
deep in a hole
smooth the sheer and slippery sides
with self righteous attestations
to my unworthiness
to my uselessness
as a human
Bury me deep my friends
deep in a hole
a hole so deep
with steep and trickery sides
and there I will keep
all your arrogant pretensions
safe
in the dark
safe and sound
from the light of day
bury me
bury me deep
Death makes its appearance regularly. They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough, keep away from the mourners.
Always shovel ready. Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew solemnly do. The best are swift, professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole, hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
All that loved you
want you now be gone.
Ours the cold beer
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long”.
The warrior stands on one leg in the sun
And watches the British fleet drop anchor
These strange white men raise their flag
And the warrior’s land is stolen from him
Over the years they say the warrior is lost
But when Australia marched to war
The warrior stands tall again standing tall
As a Digger wearing the rising sun.
© Paul Warren Poetry
They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough,
keep away from the mourners,
always shovel ready.
Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew are.
Swift, and professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until the work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole,
hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
Ours the cold beer.
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long.”
Outside my office window, is a field with a canal running through it,
Today people have turned up with diggers and dumper trucks and are digging the field up bit by little bit.
Oftern barges slowly and gently go with the flow and casually moor there,
But now with all that equipment just to go ashore they have to really beware.
Don't know why they are doing this, no one is really sure,
It's probably to build new houses, everyone knows we need more housing stock,
But you jst can't help feeling they are taking the countryside apart rock by rock.
The diggers looked around
As they marched over the ground
Of the Menin Gate at Ieper town
And their chiseled names shone brightly down
When they passed through the arch of glory
As the nightly bugle sung their story
They were laying across the battlefields
Still holding ground they refused to yield
And will be forever with their mates
As they stand together while they wait
And we will honour them too
Knowing their deeds and daring-do.
© Paul Warren Poetry