Best Mick Poems
love the game
play with my balls all the time
top man on the green
MY WIFE
*************
my love, my wife; first met at work, my love.
we would meet each day, kiss, then go our way,
her on the line, me, my office above.
for ten months that way it had, it did stay!
however, topman, me, had perks, tea breaks,
daytime dates true love will find a way; true!
oft we sneak out time our own true love, mates!
my heart, it beats, waits to hear, 'i love you'
i love you, will you be my wife, for life?
let us, now two, let us become as one.
when love, much joy, goodwill, happy times, rife!
where eye's talk and smiles drift, no need to run.
forty-eight years now as one, tears? yes of joy!
for our firstborn, a redhead, yes, a boy!
Abandoned
I have read and told little white lies to bring smiles to faces of old folk, abandoned! I have reared lambs and calves and piglets too, not knowing why they were abandoned? I have seen left wrapped up warm, with a note, which gives a name of the babe abandoned! I've rescued and successfully reared carrion crow chicks when a farmer shot the mum and dad, which left them abandoned! Been tempted to pick up tawny owl chicks, which whilst on the ground looked abandoned; did pick them up and placed them safely where mum and dad could find them. A long time ago fell out with religion, even to this day I look around and see the poor souls it has abandoned. Oh yes, I do have faith, in one, Mother Nature, it so breaks my heart to find that in all she has done for us, she too, is now being, yes, abandoned!
Abandon 2 Poetry Contest, sponsored by Brenda Chiri
07/14/18
AT ONE WITH NATURE
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun shines, brightly lights my day. My garden verdant many hues of green. Greater speedwell, resilient, blooms no matter the season. Late spring, early summer it explodes. Late Jack Frost, it copes beyond my imagination. A host to many invertebrates sadly made conspicuous by their absence. All misguided by a warming sun. The jet stream meanders too far south making for freezing nights. Most flora copes albeit momentarily set back, however,
most insects' don't survive. The daytime warmth encourages insect eggs', pupae, to hatch, doomed, instincts confounded.
~~~~~~~
a garden
one word... paradise
once our world
~
The day moves on, observed bird life failing, softbills take seed to feed their young. They are faced with a catch twenty-two situation. Feed themselves or feed their young. Aphids on the day abundant, some well sheltered will, and do survive the relentless nights. False security for others, how many would it take to keep a blackbird alive
~~~~~~~
gardens'
where one can cultivate
a love for nature
~
Sun still shining yet the wind chill felt. Summer, I think what
are you doing, but realisation sets in, it is not nature faulting it's us humans treating it as though it is a garbage bin. I know I do, and, maybe you do too. That is to help nature as we always have, sadly we are just a few. We try our best to draw attention to the devastation world pollution is creating. To much time spent by governments debating, if at all? Cos I reckon for centuries they have been faking. Take a good look at your garden where are all the pollinators, Thanks to winds, well at least for some, for no doubt there is flora that will succumb.
~~~~~~~
one heart
a garden to cultivate
truelove
~
My day in my garden nearly done. Koi carp fed, some photography done, Garden sorted, grass cut, hedge begging to be clipped. I look agreeing, but it will keep till the morrow, come what may. Check the feeders, all is fine. Time now for a cuppa, to sit with my beloved, make sure she's comfy and make her smile, for sadly she been poorly for some time.
~~~~~~~
at one with nature
how a garden should be
a passion nurtured
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulga Mick
The ice was thick round Mulga Mick,
His thoughts were in disorder,
Shiela had gone off with another chick,
Got the “Raw Prawn” bloody sort of,
His car had died when a Roo he tried,
To eat the old cars number plate,
Death slapped down, upon the Roo applied,
Destroyed the water radiator,
So staggering through the ice an snow,
Was poor ole Mulga Mick,
He wore the Roo hide, wrapped you know,
Pocket knife had skinned it quick.
Roo tail soup for Mulga Mick,
Before he walked away,
He staggered back to the township,
Catch a new lady is the only way.
Don Johnson
John, when your girl runs off with another girl,
you feel like you've been given a raw prawn. aussie slang ...
Tony, like mcguyver you have to use what's available to survive....
Crazy Mick the Irishman, with trademark bike and overcoat,
wheeling his way back into town, classed as a tarnished silly goat.
His hair was long and curly; spoken words barely understood.
His manner gave impression he's up to no flamin’ good.
Shopkeepers grew an extra eye toward their advertised outside,
watching Mick out on the street as up and down he'd ride.
This man was on outcast; different to the folks they know,
a little dirty; is a vagrant, and he acts a little slow.
Mick’s first stop the butchers shop; bargained for a ‘snag’ or two.
The butcher he felt pity, so threw in an extra few.
This pleased Mick no end as he left the butchers door.
His feast was quick and final; ate the meat been given raw.
The pub through past experience had little time for Mick,
for beer became his nemesis; urged forward his fighting trick.
Too many times Mick’s antics had forced him to the street,
with bloodied nose, blackened eye; always getting beat.
Compromising was the bottle sale - take half a dozen and then go.
Sit over by the railway line and then drink them nice and slow.
Young kids without feelings teased Mick in his toxic state,
laughing as he chased them, for he'd stagger and gyrate.
When Mick disappeared, our town wondered where he went.
Had he found a home! Had he died! Where has his time been spent!
It seems in potato season when the pickers were required,
Mick was slogging in the paddocks where potato tops had died.
The 'swampy' people honoured Mick, for he had no fear of sweat.
He'd bend his back the furthest; earnt the spud farmer’s respect.
They saw a different person than the townie’s man un-trusted.
Hard working in the hot sun; not the drunk so often busted.
Mick perished one cold winter, alone inside a pickers shack.
Long after picking season ended, so what had brought him back?
He must have known his life was ebbing; left for where he felt no shame.
Spud farmers heads bowed 'round his grave - but not one townie came.
******************
I write of true love.
For you, you have been my life,
forty-eight years of friendship,
openness, true bliss.
With words, I have worshipped you!
No doubt in my mind, love you!
As each year went by,
our love grew strong, our bond tight.
Moonlight oft led to rapture,
many stary nights.
We rolled in snow, ducked and dived.
Our first two now four and five.
Me working, missing
you, the kids too, weekends new,
like the first time, we met, joy!
A love fest, the best!
Grateful kids were good sleepers.
Sunday, park day, kids loved it!
How years fly, such fun,
her mum, me dad, finding time,
for making love, yes, of course
its what lovers do.
Our life together such bliss!
We smile kisses, blow them too.
Now forty-eight years!
Would we do it all again?
Her with me and me with you?
Joking, I've never
strayed, my heartbeats for my wife,
now and in another life.
************
A rhopalic verse:
Inspired
by
and
DEDICATED
to
TOM CUNNINGHAM
**********
Tom enjoys poetry dedicated,
to others talented endeavourings.
A master following, dedicating!
Your's Thomas, heartfully dedicated!
Plastics, yes, a bane on all life,
A bane on, bane on, bane on life!
All our pollution causing strife!
All our world, in peril!
All our denials, will it kill?
So will it, will it, will it kill?
It does and who pays? Pays the bill?
Nature, its hands forced!
Nature, seasons gone, all done, sourced!
Yes all done, all done, all done, sourced!
We are too late it's now divorced!
Why do we still use it?
Plastics, yes, a bane on all life,
Why do we still use it?
Winter
Winter glows, it's drifts, it's plains, soft and white.
It's cold belies a threat to all, fear it!
It's there come night or day death don't forget!
Wrap up warm, keeps death at bay, heed, now play!
Spring
If it sticks to form, new life created.
Greedy winter lingers Jack Frost fickle.
Climate change is causing all life to stress!
But she, Mother Nature forced, her plight doomed!
Summer
The best for a very long time, warning,
Presents problematic drought, hosepipe bans!
Use it wisely, enjoy, have loads of fun.
Summer, time for laughter, seaside picnics.
Autumn
The end results of spring, summer, their plight!
For most flora, respite and autumn hues,
Orange, yellow and red and gold, enjoy!
Eyesights, banquets, behold the joy of death!
Climate Change
The cause, planet earth has tilted, a fact!
Nothing to do with pollution but heed
Don't be complacent pollution must stop!
It does affect and help climate warming!
One stormy night in Magalluf, it rained and rained it rained all day
By half past ten we'd had enough, time to call it all a day
Then we heard some music playing, the sweet sound of a violin
So our footsteps started straying, to the magic bar that he played in.
As we stumbled through the doorway, he clocked us with a cheerful grin
As we walked across the floorway, the strangest thing was happening
For our feet then started tapping, we didn't know quite what to think
And then our hands just started clapping before we settled down to drink
Glory Glory Hallelujah, sha la la la la la la lay
Doobee doobee doobee dooya, ole ole ole ole
Glory Glory Hallelujah, sha la la la la la lay
Doobee doobee doobee dooya, ole ole ole ole
He played fast then played it faster as people twirled around the floor
Louder than a ghetto blaster, the crowd all hollered out for more
So we got up and started dancing, we thought we'd dance the night away
The rhythms there were so entrancing, when we saw Mick the Fiddler play.
He's going wild, he's up there jumping, his fiddling fast with Irish fire
So we're up our hearts a -pumping as the tempo rises higher
He sang of joy he sang of sorrow this quite extraordinary man
He said don't think about tomorrow enjoy your pleasures while you can
Glory glory Hallelujah, shalla lalla lalla lay
Doobee doobee doobee dooya Ole ole ole ole
Glory glory Hallelujah, shalla lalla lalla lay
Doobee doobee doobee dooya, Ole ole ole ole.
TO HEAR ME SING THIS.
GO ON TO YOUTUBE.
MICK THE FIDDLER, LOUIS SPENCE
THANK YOU.
Remembering the days way back when
Baseball was what made life tick
Lived and breathed that wonderful game
With the Babe, Ted Williams, and the Mick
Jackie Robinson breaking the colour barrier
Sweet memories inhabit my brain
Jackie was the absolute first hero of mine
Brought equality to this time honoured game
Stan Musial, Bob Feller, and Joe DiMaggio
From a much simpler era, these names
When salaries hadn't yet become astronomical
They played for the love of the game
How many remember the powerhouse Yankees
Every year the cream of the crop
They were always a perpetual Series contender
Seemed like the Yanks were always on top
Those days are gone but sure not forgotten
In the recesses of this old mind
Can still see Ted hitting one over the fence
In my mind, it's nineteen-forty nine
© Jack Ellison 2013
haikai
******
the buddleia
a diurnal kingdom...
butterfly courts
a coronation
the orb brightest of orange...
painted lady crowned
bees flowerflies wasps
most grateful to their host...
the gardener
nocturnal bats moths
hedgehogs if lucky a fox...
a hidden frog croaks
dusk a blackbird claims
no doubt a choral master...
may bugs abundant
the Scots pine maypole
cockchafer fly... encircle...
black headed gulls dine
sun rays horizons
belies wonder starlit night...
late rooks kark their way
slight cooling breeze
female mosquitos' biting...
still the blackbird sings
I called him a Southern Jessie,
He called me a Northern Git.
We met at work years ago,
Our friendship an instant hit.
He went to the Lord on Friday,
Leaving Marion and the Boys.
He also left a friend behind,
Guess he didn't have a choice.
He leaves me with a Mick shaped hole,
That no one will ever fill
He encouraged me with his criticism,
And respected mine of his.
I looked forward to reading his work,
His mind took twists and turns.
He never had a bad word to say,
I'll miss him from this day.
Mick, you were a good friend,
You will always be a good memory.
Rest in Peace.
© Dave Timperley June 2012
"What we've got here is a very serious language barrier, not mine!
Let me introduce myself, I'm Tricky, a Doberman Pinscher and a thoroughbred.
My Dad Mick, clever, thinks he can talk to his pets, whatever!
He has two, yes, me and a cat called, grruf, T. C.!
Oops, he is coming, he mustn't know I write and talk too."
"Tricky, good boy, were off walkies", "Dangling my lead in my face.
A few happy barks, bark, bark. plus I wag my stumpy tail,
were on our way, so happy, I was hoping to the park,
the only place Mick lets me off my short lead, great fun.
I try to indicate my desire but no, the river, head down.
Saw a duck, made a lunge in the river plunged, cool water!
Could not believe my luck, no, didn't get the duck, Mick flew"!
Put Yourself In the Doberman Pinscher's Paws Poetry Contest, Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
07/18/18
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Link A https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cB9pVJ3mYcE