Best George Poems
EPITAPH - A LETHAL WIND
Here lies George, the sad deceased
Victim of flatulence released
The result: he would expire
Stood before an open fire
Geoffrey Brewer
15 Sept 2018
Dear Lord Byron
Please don't be upset
I wish to call you George
With affection and respect
The "Destruction of Sennacherib"
I was introduced to your poem
I learned it word for word
As I sat home all alone
You see George the meaning
Is much more than you know
In school I had no success
I was considered quite slow
Empowered by your words
Assyrians coming down
I spoke with true emotion
For once I wasn't a clown
When I spoke of your steed
With his nostrils all wide
Within the deep of me
I experienced pride
Like the leaves in your forest
When summer is green
You provided inspiration
I now travel where you've been
With a pen held in my hand
My destruction I escape
Within my troubled mind
New ideas take their shape
I'm gifted with freedom
Words of power do supply
Whether reading or writing
They provide me with my high
So George, I humbly thank you
You're truly the reason why
I travel within the words
They're the gift that help me fly
With anticipation
I know one day we'll meet
Beyond the gates of heaven
Please reserve for me a seat
The Father of all poets
Will speak in splendid tones
We'll marvel at his spirit
We will feel it in our bones
For poets are connected
In very intricate ways
Time is not of consequence
Our words are a form of praise
As a child when I committed Lord Byrons poem to memory,
I had no idea it was a story from the Bible. Being he was a
believer I wanted to honor both him and our God. Thanks
Monterey, I think this is a great topic for a poem. I also
chose to write in the same form as he had for "The Destruction
of Sennacherib". This was the first and only form I wrote in
prior to coming to the soup. I thank all the poets here who have
helped me grow, yourself included Monterey.
I’m a young boy
A single mother’s son
I’m a young beach beaten by a tsunami
Sent by an undersea earthquake delivering ripples of death
Carrying my mother and hers out to sea
Ravaged sands asking the sunset to reveal the secrets of the sunrise
I’m a father to a wonderful child
A beautiful wife’s husband
I’m the love in each rain drop of a gentle rain
Nurturing arid hearts with the moisture of my words
Watering seeds of the future with hope
The catalyst for the magic of spring
I’m a teacher
A Painter
I’m the strike of a snake
My fang: a pen’s nib full of black venom
Poisoning compressed cellulose pulp;
The anti-venom: beautiful words
Administered through the ink gracing the surface
A student of verse
~ I am a poet ~
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I was tagged by raul to write a poem that ends with
"I am a poet"
now I'm tagging Elaine George
I’m from the piano in my living room,
from the music and melody.
I’m from the old, shabby couches,
(Placed proportionally,
opposite side from the TV)
I’m from the mirror,
the clear reflection
whose face I remember
staring at in the morning.
I’m from the mud under the cemented ground in the yard,
(Brown, lumpy
filled with the elements of Earth)
I am from the fruits grown in my garden,
delicious when freshly picked.
I’m from the swing set,
run-down and tattered,
yet bringing back sweet
and wistful memories of the past.
I’m from the neighborhood mailbox,
beaten down and ragged.
I’m from the local Starbucks,
freshly brewed coffee.
From the dental clinic my father
worked hard to build.
I’m from my Uncle Benajir’s love,
an unconditional and spoiling love.
I’m from Aunt Helena’s
big mouthed personality,
causing trouble and anger amongst many.
I’m from the love and support from my cousins,
Rahat and Tasfia,
whose love has affected me greatly
throughout my life.
I’m from the judgmentals
and the backdated,
from the close minded and ignorant.
I’m from the Islam is the one true religion
and a Quran I have learned to read
throughout my childhood.
I’m from the Dates eaten
during Ramadan.
I’m from the fuchkas
brought from Artesia,
the Indian market of California.
I’m from the biryanis,
the cultural grain
of my ethnic group,
made especially for get-togethers.
In my closet are family albums,
filled with old pictures,
an array of familiar and unfamiliar faces
bringing about stories from the past.
I am from those memories --
stories about my long distant cousins
to my maternal grandparents --
I am from those memories.
George Bernard Shaw,
A critic with a vein of comedy and language, quite raw;
He wrote in a movable shack, he liked photography now and then,
Ladies man, died at 94, cremated and planted in his garden.
________________________________
May 27, 2015
Poetry/Clerihew/George Bernard Shaw
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-690-27
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Cleri-who?,
sponsor, Kim Merryman, Judged 2015
8th Place
This man was affectionately nicknamed “The Stork”.
He played only two seasons with the Mets from New York.
George was a native of Salt Lake City.
His major league baseball statistics were not pretty.
When interviewed, he would often deliver a vintage quip.
He would have played longer if he didn’t dislocate his hip.
After the 1974 campaign, George walked away.
He is a youth baseball coach and school counselor today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
I heard it on the news today
All my dreams have been blown away
I’m sitting here now in my bra and knickers
With a bottle of gin and family pack of Snickers
Oh no it’s such a sad depressing day
George Clooney’s getting wed today
Oh those eyes so dark brown and sultry
And with his hair turning grey mmmmmmmmmmmmm
Guess lots of ladies are in mourning
They missed their chance now reality is dawning…
All across the land ladies are wishing
It was with him that they were kissing
Now if only I was ten years younger - twenty is nearer the mark
If I plaster myself in make up and went somewhere that’s dark
If only I was tall and slim
I could have had a chance with him
So guys if its chocolate your lady is craving
Buy her the biggest box it will stop her raving
Make sure you give her lots of attention
And George Clooney’s name you must NEVER mention
Jan Allison
27th September 2014
*** THE CATS DREAM ***
The cats snuggling dream
Of turning through the music between stars…
Of their fur transformed to feathers…
Of a time past when
Brought to ballet class
They danced for the great George Balanchine —
As living models
Jumping high, high to
The peaking of their
Seeming so easily springing leaps…
To tap noses to his fingers
Then hang as if landed there… In
A pause overhead of any descent…
A stay of all motion
— even of time —
Where
Felines go
To dream
And dance
———————————————————————————————————-
(c) Art & Poem sally young eslinger 5/14/22
Thanks be to God
GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
George Bernard Shaw, born in 1856,
Wrote plays and novels,
But for me the most
Important was he wrote many a poem
A quote of his “Write your sad times
In Sand, write your good times in stone”.
My poem ‘From Humble Beginnings’
Just the title mind you, is exactly from
Where Mr Shaw heralded, Dublin
Ireland, his fame was renown, no
University background, yet Literature
For Bernard was just thrilling,
And his quotes, plays and poems,
Always fulfilling.
“A life spent making mistakes is not only
Honorable, but more useful than a
life spent doing nothing”.
His winnings
Were numerous among which,
The Nobel Prize, and even an Oscar.
His quote “Life isn’t about finding
Yourself, Life is about creating
Yourself”. And, as such to be convincing.
His interest in politics was avid, he was
A true Socialist and joined the Fabian
Society, he became popular and
Enjoyed doing theater critics.
Started writing his own plays,
In so many different themes, the class
System, religion and the inequalities
In life. The public responded to his natural
Humor, Shaw's quote “The longer I live,
The more convinced am I that this planet
Is used by other planets as a lunatic asylum”.
For, said this wise poet,
“Progress is impossible without change, and
Those who cannot change their minds cannot
Change anything” and furthermore,
"We don’t stop playing because we grow old,
We grow old because we stop playing”
This famous Literary man George Bernard Shaw,
Was 94 years of age,
When he died in 1950
He wrote famous novels, poems
And plays for the stage,
But I will leave you with one other quote
Of his “Happy is the man who can
Make a living by his hobby”.
Valsa is a fairly new poet to PS! I am enjoying getting to know her through her poetry. The limerick is her funny side but she also writes quite seriously.
In lim’rick-land, Valsa digs food.
Those eating and drinking - not good.
The glutton gets fat.
The drunk acrobats.
In fairytale end, they all pooed.
4/7/2022
Paean on Poets
Margarita Lillico
See Valsa’s limericks:
Embarrassment
Drunken Driving
A Christmas Mishap
A Glutton’s Plight
Celebration
When Filey's rebel rousing rats,
Were terrorising local cats,
Who would not engage in rodent wars
Refusing even, to go outdoors.
No match for rats, that scavenge scraps,
Instead they sat on old maids laps.
While alley cats who acted tough,
Those rabid rats ignored their bluff.
Until George Burton's name, became folklore
When he destroyed those vermin, by the score.
And with his most aggressive stance,
Those rodents simply, never had a chance.
Then he would say, when quite certain.
Another one's down, it's gone for a Burton.
1/ 10/ 2022.
This is a rather whimsical tribute to the pest controller
George Burton. Who helped the town of Filey North Yorkshire
to maintain health and safety. As a request from his granddaughter.
Farewell George
No warm wishes here
Gone is your reign of feeding on fear
No more incompetent good 'ol boy antics
So long to your off-base far-right fanatics
Actually... unfortunately...they're still here
But gone is your non-sensical ethics to cheer
Time now to mend global relation
You made breaking those ties a vocation
Stomping through conquering with elation
Overpowering nation, all while on vacation
Farewell George
Enjoy the robbed riches
Like I said, with no well wishes
Choke on the oil soaked cash you made
Retire on what defense contracts paid
We'll pay for the pile of weapons "needed"
To see a race of peaceful people depleted
Using the villiany of one man we enabled
trained, and armed him...then turned the tables
Using weapon of mass destruction deceit
knowing they're there because we have the receipt
Farewell George
No, don't even say Jeb
Two times are enough in the Bush family web
It actually goes further than you and your Dad
Should I mention the ties Gramps and the binLadens had?
Should I say he did well with investing Nazi money?
Your family is so evil...its no where near funny
Farewell George...If you were curious...I'm not your biggest fan.
Did you tire of one President's lecturing and preaching?
Do you cringe at another's tweets, his lechery and "leechering?"
Then as George W Bush Jr's term fades from the annals of recency
Let us recall the stirring words of this man of abiding decency
"Junior" as the USA's President was a bit of an anomaly
As he observed: "I know how hard it is to put food on your family." (Jan, 2000)
It was rather hard to take his Presidency all too seriously
After this: "I know the human being and fish can coexist." (Sept., 2000)
For education, he and Laura shared a passion, a yearning
To wit: "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?" (Jan, 2000)
Of course, Bush could also be sharp as a tack, downright uncanny
Like the time he bragged, "They misunderestimated me!" (Nov, 2000)
And after eight years in office, "W" had become quite the orator
As seen in this reflection: "I think I was unprepared for war, --er." (Dec, 2008)
So there you have it, a smattering of evidence
~ That speaking the King's English is not required of a President
Hi Winter, how we feel your icy touch!
The earth remains under your freezing clutch.
All trees stand sleeping in the biting cold.
And the sun has lost its bright sheen of gold.
From nowhere comes the song of any bird.
On slopes, one cannot sight the grazing herd.
Piles of snow lie heaped on the barren ground.
The whole Earth lies in a sea of ice drowned!
Snow swirls down in flurries of soft whispers.
The winter wind wails, whistles and whimpers.
All creatures for warmer climes are yearning.
In our houses, fires are warmly burning.
Skiing and sledding and building snowmen,
Winter's time to become children again.
Thank you for reminding us with hue white,
Sometimes we too need, from work, a respite.
28th March 2023
She is faithful to poetry
( Yours and mine)
In the rankings
She has not sold her mind
When readers disappear
As I get near
Or their comments do
Year after year
Valsa George is there
Reading, encouraging
Not fretting, fearing
Ranking in a universe
Of billions of suns
Like our little star, so strong