Best Ernest Poems

Born in Ireland in eighteen seventy four
He was a remarkably brave explorer
Three times to Antartica he did go
To that barren wilderness of ice and snow.

Once with Captain Scott and twice on his own
And it was on his third visit that his bravery became known
The expedition...

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A bright young fellow named Ernest
Went to med school to be an internist.
  But the sight of insides
  Gave him really bad vibes,
So he took up accounting in earnest.

A shifty young lawyer named Stan
Came up with a devious plan
   To avoid...

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With loaded gun...he gave up!...

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Dust never settles on my back
Nor does rain on my nose
As the demands of the day persevere
The quietness of the night strengthens my soul

Pain is a stimulus of sorts
A constant reminder of my work still to be done
Time has indeed served as a mirror of...

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(Poetry Form: Divine - not included in list of selections)

The clock stood still in shock, refused to chime;
an old alarm designed to warn,
as sneak thief scrambled through
the window frame.

He thought he'd planned a perfect flawless crime;
they caught him in the early morn
when armored men in...

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I am the master 
        of my fate,
I am the captain 
        of my soul,
Shackled and bound
        naught pensive mood,
Errant thy mind
  ...

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In Nashville, all those tourists visit Broadway every day;
They buy those Dolly Parton posters there;
But the record shop of Ernest Tubb won’t seem the same no more—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb—he used to walk that floor.

Inside there’re old brown photographs displayed upon the wall
Of Jimmie...

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Papa ...

Why build your walls so thick?
          Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
               Find you as vulnerable...

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Await them in town, to arrive from sea
Those who glow amidst war misery
With minds like mine, sure there are more
Yet honest tongues are few

Mocked once for passion, ridiculed
What's insane to you, to me is true
Born too soon, attract anger from many
They act like they don't...

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Hirsute's been my inclination, 
beard, and mustache too, 
I've never liked to shave my face 
since I was twenty-two. 

Call me vain, I love my visage, 
even though I'm turning grey, 
Hemingway had nothing on me, 
even though he paved the way 

to be a...

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This is a story of a man I didn't know;
I just bore his last name so;
He was my fathers' father and he looked of African;
When I first saw my paternal grand father;
was the summer of 1969 ( I believe I was around 14 years old)
Never...

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Mirrors don't lie about frank and ernest portrayal...

Especially when giving cheeky badass
blemished physiognomic reflection
tricking me seeing displeasing likeness
Matthew Scott Harris, a grown lad brandishing
his treasured invisible cutlass
poised to strike, (where spiderlines
instantaneously provoked, webbed,
and frankly zapped shattering experience),
whereby yours truly 

rendered unconscious to any pass
hubble gratefully...

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we go to great lengths to win ~ and in the end find that we've won nothing...

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Hirsute's been my inclination, 
beard, and mustache too, 
I've never liked to shave my face 
since I was twenty-two. 

Call me vain, I love my visage, 
even though I'm turning grey, 
Hemingway had nothing on me, 
even though he paved the way 

to be a...

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the stillborn baby, gone- then mother too;
      wrapped arms 'round my unborn child.
...

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