Best Kane Poems
War after war in the name of his sovereign king
A seventeenth century fury, devoid of all shame
Through pistol, cutlass and rapier, the world knew his name
So too does the Reaper, and beckons to Solomon Kane
.
A time to fight evil with evil, purge wickedness far from the land
Anger, murder and hatred, the cost of the toll
On the brink of destruction he falters, unsure of his stand
No riches, nor rapture enough to replenish his soul
.
A scream from the Devils Reaper
Cuts deep through the ice in your soul
“I have come for you, Solomon Kane”
“To claim back the Time, that you stole”
.
You wake from your world of dreams
The dreams that do haunt you, still
Renounced your evil ways, it seems
No - more you will live, to Kill
.
In penance here, behind these walls of virtue
“Oh! Father, do not make me beg, I pray
Cast from Heavens favour, crowned unholy
Let loose the Devils Children, for to play
.
The corpses piling high, upon the pyre
His bounty just a book and some stale bread
From regal and the noblest of beginnings
Alone there on the road, he’s left for dead
.
Dispense now with the boy you gutter demon
The daggers kiss then stole his life away
“If I kill you, demon, then I am bound for Hell”
“But that’s a price, that I will gladly pay”
.
Adorned by a broad-rimmed hat and a flowing cape
His journey’s long, his homeland’s where he’ll start
His task laid out before him, Merediths escape
No love, nor needless pity, in his heart
.
The preachers flock have changed now for the worse
They clamber for to tear the flesh, from bone
As MalachI bestowed on each, his curse
The Chapel cellar walls, their only home
.
The fate of defiance is fixing
The Hapless aloft, on the cross
Rain softens a cruel crucifixion
Sweet Meredith’s … not yet lost
.
A Priest sold his soul, to the Devil
At the castle, of Solomons birth
Welcome home, Solomon Kane
His friends, cut to bits in the dirt
.
“Forsake me not, Heavenly Father”
“Do I call on your Mercy, in vain”
Redemption lies there, at Your Alter
“RETURN TO ME” ….. Solomon Kane
.
There once was a time, full of burden
A time without hope, for a Saviour
When no-one would stand against Evil
“THAT TIME, MY LORD.... NOW IT IS OVER”
Recent tournaments, alas, indeed,
have not gone quite as planned, we must concede.
Now Southgate’s got the tactics that we need,
and we are going to succeed, succeed.
Together let’s unite and all desire,
the English rose to bloom that little higher,
which should ensure the team goes to inspire,
and give the lion’s roar more fire, fire.
?Pre-Chorus
I think that we can win this year’s World Cup.
I hope it’s not a dream where I wake up.
For if we go and get some better luck,
we can make our rivals come unstuck,
and we can be the best team,
we could be the best team
of them all, all, all, all, all..
Chorus
We’re England, England,
Hawking, Pankhurst
and Bobby Moore.
England, England,
Harry Kane is bound to score.
We’re England, England,
Hawking, Pankhurst
and Bobby Moore.
England, England,
Jamie Vardy or
Harry Kane will score.
?
Everyone behave, on, off the pitch,
and make sure that the plans do not all glitch.
Show some pride, but also show respect,
and don’t do anything you will regret.
Pre-Chorus
I think that we can win this year’s World Cup.
I hope it's not a dream where I wake up.
For if we go and get some better luck,
We can make our rivals come unstuck,
and we can be the best team,
we could be the best team of them all, all, all, all, all..
Chorus
We’re England, England,
Daley Thompson
and Bobby Moore.
England, England,
Harry Kane is bound to score.
We’re England, England,
Southgate’s heroes
and Bobby Moore.
England, England,
Jamie Vardy
or Harry Kane will score.
?
Upon making
the treacherous
undertaking optimal
poetic theme to write
dangerous, and
arduous foray into
spooky catacomb, I in vite,
where fear doth
dill liver worst
trek to our mailbox tonight
risking life and limb
at very right
angled turn
summoning em mon ent
mettle pluck quite
for quotidian plight,
asper hiding unseen creatures
sealed in dark shadows
along the edge of night
way after deep
into nighttime hours,
I cautiously slink
with steely might
thru barely adequate light
even for this healthy
as an ox good knight
relying on a Jack o'lantern
designed jacklight
with superb vision,
and supreme insight
steadily held above
mine five feet and
ten inches average height
espy spilling thru underneath
securely eye
booked deal lee shut tight
locked heavy metal doors,
a faint glimmer
sans gaslight
possibly from blaring,
flashing, and placating
television screen se
essentially keeping curmudgeonly
aged residents company,
while reminiscent nostalgic
"FAKE" memories take flight
as such wistful
foregone reflections
upon the gift of
a watermelon pickle excite,
viz the cobwebbed
whirled wide
give "tearful", though
pained years gone by
blinkered back teary delight
a hermetically sealed story,
one will never
get ghost written, nor
affixed with a copyright
depressingly clamped
down inescapable
emotionally stagnating
autobiographical blight.
Abby comes from Largs in Scotland,
And is visually impaired by Stargardt,
The progressive vision disease panned,
By some of the other Paralympians.
Born on the 4th day of August 2003,
She’s a student at Largs Academy,
She trains hard in the backstroke,
At N. Ayrshire Amateur Swim Club.
So because she’s only thirteen,
Rio was her first Paralympic games,
But for the backstroke 100m S13,
She took silver in a time of 1:09.09.
When she was very young her family,
Holidayed in Australia, and, sad,
That she couldn’t swim, like the rest,
She learnt afterwards with desire.
("FAKE") King Harry Kane...
also unknown as (D. Lucian Null)
Sprung from the best
over active imagination damnedest
confection of this fictitious
writer of fiction earnest
and frankly hoof
avers zealous zest
(with sud'n soap er
ream conviction, undressed
compunction, and
especially divine collusion),
who proudly didst wrest
(however wrung er...
right), the presidency, (you guessed
correctly) from the ghostly
buster of Honoré d Balzac
("FAKE alias Hillary Clinton),
and bankrolled by Univest
in coordination with
Ham R. Sickle, lest
who didst hack private emails
of said Democratic contender
(during the 2016 presidential election)
successfully, and sufficiently
(amidst sudden unrest)
did (ill) legally
nominally sought after
highest stakes political con test
the dub bait hubble,
and admits rigged
a satisfactory farrago,
which predictably suppressed
any fat (or slim)
chance (Hill's Billy) more unlikely
getting struck by lightening,
while climbing Mount Everest),
which non barren smugness
of mine brought elation, messed
up supposedly clinched Clinton win,
whence foretold by gerrymandered
Oracle of Delphi, which
prophetess imp pressed
particularly how nefarious nest
of thieves spearheaded, schemed,
and sabotaged visa vis
ex post facto American government
didst discover sinister, sly, and
"NON FAKE"
surreptitious shenanigans
which laughably vaunted
I accord to Trump
"stupid, weak, lightweight"
Central Intelligence Agency.
Rich farmer had such a sweet son
Teig O'Kane was handsome lad's name
Seems like his work was never done
Loved splendid girls and sporting game.
Father O'Kane himself never did know
How much his son had gambled away
And as he started sinking far below
Debt became big growing night and day.
Teig started making love to a girl
And had heard that her purity he broke
While his father's wrath would unfurl
Teig told to himself another joke.
Down a long road he started to tramp
Then many little people he just saw
Carryin corpse which was still damp
Teig on his shoulder felt an icy paw.
Collapsed corpse clamped on Teig real tight
And said, "My friend bury me you must
In Orus or Dimus this very night
Or in or near Fada or Breedya's dust.
Teig went to these places each and all
In Breedya he found a formed grave
Deep into it the dead corpse did fall
Completely covered body with long stave.
Teig rested and quickly home he ran
Next week happily married now was he
Was free from debt and a changed man
And all his many sins no longer would be.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Red wellies and no pants!
you were such a funny child
hard to keep you safe from harm
as you were running wild
An easier kid there could not be
your childhood felt just fine
an adult's what you thought you were
when you were only nine
you always ran before you walked
an urge to grow up fast
your teacher's said you answered them
before the questions asked
now of you go ,the army life
I'm proud as I can be
I love you more than words can say
until eternity.
BLAME KANE
King Coman didn't win the League title,
Having lost, to Leverkusen, the battle.
Coman, for the ?????????? time in his career,
Aged 27, welcomed Kane who's a trophy barrier.4
Blame Harry Kane.
The trophy-thirsty hierarchy looks on with disdain.
The Spurs' cursed man came with one aim,
Bayern's bundesliga run became so lame,8
Leverkusen flogged 'em with cane,
Now....no trophy rain,
Kane tainted Coman's record with a stain.
2013 to '23, Coman's luck was never in vain¹²
Until 2024 when trophy gain turns to pain.
Now, the dice is casted & reality becomes plain,
Blame Harry Kane!¹5
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?15th April 2024.
Ah King Kane.. you’ve done it again
Heavenly humility hums on a simply higher plane..
Angelic ability strums..curious necks studious crane
Classical charms forever waver but won’t wistfully wane
Professorial textbook tutorials..clever rhapsodies of restrain
Classy but never brassy..balletic lullabies of lyrical refrain
Dizzying dedication..insane..education.. epiphanies explain how to train
Eureka seeker...aurora explorer..yielded iconic pedagogic logic..
Willow wielded wonders sprinkled with sparkle…
Heroic champagne campaign shielded possible debacle..
Kane stoic no pretence…venerates poetic defence…purringly prophetic
Guiles..wiles.. bewitch…bamboozling composure..silky smooth aesthetic
Was it just a jest…Smithy did suggest …Kane’s last ever test
No more communions…timber timbre tickles..more highlights than Bucks Fizz reunions
Elan fans wish…our Lord of the Rings on the pitch across the ditch.. baggy green disdain
Stratospheric.. slayed & flayed by a Sorcerer’s blade
Precision magician…traditional technician
Mesmeric mercurial master…history made
The last post gong sounds like a love song
Ah Captain Kane you’ve only gone and done it again