Best Roland Poems
Mr MacPherson, a mathematician
Was married to Sally,a keen statistician.
With little division to trigger vexation
Their conjugal lives led to multiplication.
First Roland, then Harry and then the addition
Of first daughter Jenny, a gifted logician.
The one common factor of great satisfaction
Engendering fervour and strong interaction
Was love of arithmetic, logic and theories
Together with quantum and harmonic series.
In sum, they endeavoured on every occasion
To bring mathematics within the equation!
24.03.20
I’ve placed it in the most visible place
This old photo of black and white
Taken in 1943, the edges worn and frayed
Papa, Mama, and Winnie, eyes so bright
Though one by one they’ve all gone
Each leaving a legacy of love and faith
And while sweet memories linger on
This beautiful photo transmits still
When I gaze at beautiful eyes so soft
Rare warmth and gentleness reside
Dressed in their best, wearing subtle smiles
Beauty forever captured survives!
~*~
3/03/13
Roland Carey+
Ayeko Carey+
Winnifred Carey-Valentine+
Inspired by a beautiful photo of my parents and eldest sister...R.I.P.
My Name Is Roland, Do You Want To Go Bowling
chosen to relate to Richard Lamoureaux's Poem
Best Pickup Line
Best Pick Up Line
You are so beautiful forgive me for staring
It might woo me if I thought he was sincerely caring
However, my first thought, he has used this line before
Although, flattered, I would head for the door
Hi Shirley, my name is Roland,
do you want to go bowling
Best pickup line I ever had
outside the washeteria by an Italian lad
Popping a willy, his bike on one wheel
I couldn't help but laugh, he is too funny I feel
So who told you my name
The clerk at the drugstore was to blame
Well not today, I don't think so
Maybe another day, I will let you know
Then one day I was walking home
He was sitting in his truck with silver chrome
Suddenly, he jumped in front of me offering me a ride
I loved his sense of humor, I have to confide
Only three blocks to my home
In his fancy truck with chrome
He grabbed and kissed me and I could see how this was gonna go
I laughed and pushed him away and said, “ I don't believe so.”
So no Roland, no bowling, just my favorite pickup line
A smile and laugh I can't hold back at this funny memory of mine
The cold wind north, fate took its course
As fate is fain to do
For kings fall down, that bloody crown!
And still the eagle flew.
The time had come, to cross the chasm
To stop the king untrue.
From France to Wales, through storms and gales,
And still the eagle flew.
They manned the sails ere sun grew pale
For twas a hardy crew
With thousand score of men aboard
And still the eagle flew.
Men grew weary, sea was dreary
Til land was within view
They were ready, swords a - steady
And still the eagle flew.
In days of yore, upon the shore,
Both silent and subdued
For who says aught afore they fought
And still the eagle flew.
The marched o’er peaks til days were weeks
The Normans, they all knew
It would be soon, before next moon
And still the eagle flew.
In foreign land they must withstand,
With death to pay their due.
From the forest, the battle crest!
And still the eagle flew.
To conquer all, Harold will fall!
The Normans marched on through,
Ready to kill on Senlac Hill
And still the eagle flew.
While juggling swords, he sang the words
Of Roland brave and true.
Twas Taillefer, the jester fair
And still the eagle flew.
Dead soldier there by Taillefer
Then Harold’s soldiers slew
The jester’s head, first Norman dead
And still the eagle flew.
Then time seemed froze, no swords nor blows
But blood would fall anew,
As fights broke out, with gore throughout
And still the eagle flew.
Then time resumed, all men were doomed
For such is war I knew.
Swords were flashing, knights were clashing
And still the eagle flew.
The Normans won, the battle done,
The mighty King they slew,
That great Harold, that king so bold.
And still the eagle flew.
The conqueror, the saviour
Twas William, king anew,
Upon the throne, Britain his own
For now his eagle flew.
The eagle flew with doves unto
That field of gore wasting
For thus ended that “noble” deed,
The Battle of Hastings.
Dr. Ronald is a well known sadist.
He hardly laughs to say the least.
He read poem by Hinshaw
And broke his mouth lower jaw
Laughing about with eyes veiled with mist.
20/11/15
For the contest: Funny poet.
My funny poet being Robert L. Hinshaw.
There once was a man named Roland,
Mr Noland went off to Poland,
He lost all his stuff
And that was enough,
Let's feel bad for Roland Noland.
Limericks croises : Once a Rigolo Tennisman
won Wimbledon
Once a Tennisman won Roland Garros
Made a speech drowned in tears of rose
Said : « Of all Tournaments
Love this best – Compliments ! »
Nation enveloped his heart with applause.
Then he won the US tough Masters
Made a speech that sounded like tweezers
Said : « Of all Tournaments
Love this best – Compliments ! »
Nation loved watching twitching whiskers.
Then the Ladies Man won Aussie Open
Made a speech without keeping mouth open
Said : « Of all Tournaments
Love this best – Compliments ! »
Nation kept its Heart all stripped open.
Then Rigolo Tennisman won Wimbledon
Made a speech on Central Court of London
Said : « Of all Tournaments
Love this best – Compliments ! »
Nation rose as ONE : « Git the Hell…Ye Con ! »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Young Jesi Naomi channeling Trish Roland
incarnate professedly. Hour: you dead now?
Tuba bongo blues like a freight train serenade
in the American night. You slammed life against
the wall, slammed it. Drank it down
with booze stained splinters and mop handle blues.
Guitar licks and microphone screams,
taste like swill and Lysol. If nausea
Permeates your pours, belt it out
From the reaches of your bosom. You
Never played the possum.
I can’t wait for summer or autumn.
Winter though
REMEMBER RUBEN
Sons of peasants
Insolent and craving
For Grandeur, nay for
Moneys
Trampling to death,
Proud, oh! Too proud
To see death beside
Just waiting the
Hour.
Sons of
Officers and officials
Pale, empty, worldly
Certificates at shaky hand
Oubliettes, wine and whores
They prefer to our flags
And behind they lag, rank
Commandoes
Devouring and
Devoured
Forgetting the killing
Diseases
Aids!
Senegalese riflemen
Chadians of early sacrifices
Heroes of the resistance
Past warriors
Who for freedom died
Here or there
Remember Ruben,
Ouandié Ernest
Manga Bell
Martin Paul Samba
Félix Roland Moumié
Njoya
Ahidjo
Who said that these
Were not brave?
Let new heroes emerge
From the North
In Fotokol
And Kolofata
Let heroes come home
Singing our national anthem
O thou land of our fathers!
Rose Meadow, an outcast woman,
portrayed by Fertie Fields.
The film chronicles her Pagan beliefs.
A supporting cast boasts
Roland (Rollie) Hills and Hayden Hayfield.
Cameos by Misty Marsh and Lily Lake.
Marquee brags of Nature’s spiritual mysteries
comprising the life of Rose Meadow.
I am one woman band
With a white Roland brand
Grandiose though not grand
Attuned to my command
Performs under my hand
So here is where I stand
Music - my passion and
Piano - my wonderland
January 23, 2022
St. Patrick's Day
My cousin went joyfully to Ireland,
A first trip with her best friend, Tim Roland;
Joining fares on Paddy’s Day,
He viewed all green the whole day,
She shouted joyfully, “I love Greenland!”
There was a gunslinger, Roland Deschain, by name
From Gilead, in the barony of New Canaan, he came.
He won his guns at the tender age of fourteen
Aye, even Cort said twas the youngest he'd seen.
His hawk, named David, was the weapon he used
Released in the face of the man who'd abused
Him and his ka-mates throughout the years;
Becomin' a gunslinger takes blood, sweat, and tears.
His ka-mates buried the hawk, this is known for sure
As the new gunslinger rode into town to bed with a whore.
Roland grew old and went on a quest
While students who failed were sent out west.
The world moved on, time started to slide
Off for the tower, Roland started his ride.
D H Loewen
on weekends, Mondays, and maybe Fridays too/
across the Bebop time zones/
people be digging at flea markets 4 Bebop jazz gold/
walkin', talkin', lookin' workin' the price/
on a table way in the back/
I dug into a crate of LPS and found jazz vinyl alongside a vacuum cleaner/
It was Mark Murphy singing vocalese/
and the young Roland Kirk before Rahsaan was in there too/
both in mint condition for a buck and a blunt/
we all smoked a few/
as I looked out over the galaxy of tables and booths/
I saw the knot of people selling their unwanted stuff/
Man, what a ride to shuck-N-jive about the vintage jazz LPS you can't find/
Miles, Base, Stanley Turrentine, Hampton Haws, and Annie Ross/
are there for the taking' in a jazz flea market vinyl heaven/
come early before the sun up with a flashlight in hand/
to dig deep into the tables and crates to find a record of Cliff Jordan with sax in hand/
You can dig all day at record stores, flea markets, and online vintage jazz sites/
and not find one 1950s jazz vinyl LP you are looking to buy by choice/
Man, that's such a drag on the jazz-diggin' society/
my time is up walking through the dusty aisles and tables filled with junk/
so dig, all is not lost/
I bargained for and got Cozy Cole's Topsy Part One
now I'm on my way to a garage sale I got hip to the other day/
to were back in the day/
Blue Note jazz vinyl covers had a whole lot to say
That Genius Warren Zevon
By Roy Merritt
I was born to be dictator
but I got no place to go
I got no government nearby
that I could possibly overthrow
And doing it here in America
Isn’t possible at this time
The crooks already are in charge
Ain’t gonna let you muscle in on their crime
So what else might be my option
What more can be done
Other than sittin' here and complainin’
Like that genius Warren Zevon
I could see problems ahead for me
I’m on the whole benign
And you cain’t be no true dictator
If most times you’re kind
I could be ruthless maybe
Could call my enemies names
But somehow that ain’t like killin’ folks
They ain’t both the same
So what else might be my option
What more can be done
Other than sittin' here and complainin’
Like that genius Warren Zevon
If I could only be like some of those fellows
From the distant and near past
I’m sure I could be president for life
Have a regime that could last
But it’s tough doing it here in America
We like rulers with pretense
Who talk about making us great again
And building a border fence
So what else might be my option
What more can be done
Other than sittin' here and complainin’
Like that genius Warren Zevon
I’d have to have some gunmen
Like Zevon wrote about
A killer like that headless Roland
Who sought his enemies out
And they could dispatch my rivals
Like Roland did Van Owen in that song
Blow them from Mumbasa to Johannesburg
And everyone could get alone
So what else might be my options
What more can be done
Other than sittin' here and complainin’
like that genius Warren Zevon
But in lieu of joining my army
Of mercenaries in the night
Just send some cash money
To help set things right
There’s no need for lawyers or guns
I don’t need no legal advice
No need for firearms right now
The money should suffice
So what else might be my options
What more can be done
Other than sittin' here and complainin’
Like that genius Warren Zevon
That departed genius Warren Zevon