Best Rookies Poems
FRED THE PERV.
Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue said that red pair were mine.
LARS.
A young astronaut from NASA called Lars
Blasted off from Cape Kennedy to Mars
But then there was a glitch
When he pressed the wrong switch
Last seen heading at warp speed to the stars.
PETE.
A young pianist from New York called Pete
Could play William Tell using his feet
But he fell of his chair
And he started to swear
Was booed off and thrown into the street.
JOHNNY GABLE.
A mean old waiter called Johnny Gable
Saw a man choke to death on a bagel
He then shifted his body
To the side of the lobby
Said forgive me but we need the table .
O'TOOLE.
A forgetful pilot Johnny O'Toole
Was over the north sea flying to Bule
Then both engines spluttered
Under his breath muttered
Looked at his gauge and screamed no ruddy fuel.
OLD GANGSTER.
An old gangster rose from rags to riches
Got rid of all his traitors and snitches
They'd find in their bed
A racehorses head
Or find themselves sleeping with the fishes.
THE BAKER.
An unwashed old baker from Idaho
Had filthy fingers when kneeding the dough
Folk choked on his paella
Some died from salmonella
Got closed down and ended up on skid row.
O'KEEFE.
A fella by the name of O'Keefe
Was the long serving town's police chief
Someone stole the mess cookies
Everyone blamed the rookies
But it turned out O'Keefe was the thief.
AMOUROUS MICHAEL.
Amourous young Michael from Mayo
At a girls house he tried to stayo
She started to shouto
And then kicked him outo
Said she" you're not staying no wayo."
NIGERIAN POEM THIEF.
A sly poem thief from Nigeria
On the soup caused a mass hysteria
He stole soupers work
Soupers went beserk
On the run now cos he's in fear of ya.
Written 18th august 2019.
Sometimes life's a competition of how far we can throw,
Or simply having the greatest mind to win an intelligence show.
Certainly, there is still one thing to know,
Even the toughest or smartest of man contains a piece of his heart that is soft as dough.
The variety of flavors and sizes we come in are wide and plentiful.
Underneath our regenerating skin is one pretty tough skull,
As we are all created from a genetic code that was once considered a solid whole.
Now remember each and every one of us contains a different life goal,
And even the craziest of extremes can seem like someone else's version of dull.
Even if we are children for the first time learning the ABC's,
Or possibly someone who has spent a lifetime beating up their knees.
Somewhere there is an expert teaching the up and coming rookies,
As the fact will always remain that we are all just a bunch of tough cookies.
Book: Perspective is the Objective
>>1111>>THE AWAKENING SPIRIT<<1111<<
My analyzing subconscious telling me I have minor confidence in our people,
Full of resistance as high as church steeples,
Heads in the sand uneducated sheeple lost their ability,
Try this with consonance, question our existence,
Get it together and try it this very instance!
Neglected, Infected which brings great drama,
Buddhist monks call this negative karma,
Equip your mind with true armor,
Receive the weapon of writing stamina,
This isn't imaginary fiction,
This is an awakening conviction,
I'm trusting inner guidance for direction,
Taking my hand, introducing me to my pineal gland,
Connected to my tribal land,
I have found expressed to me internally in a sound,
Never contemplating turning around.
Find your way,
Stop listening to what government leaders say,
We need unity instead of broken community,
Unite and open up your vault,
Lets start a revolt,
But in an era of fear,
The average man inferior,
Never looking at their own interior,
Let me explain, in this society of personal gain,
It will make a human go insane,
Wealthy flying around in a private plane,
They have turned down the wrong symbolic lane,
You thinking i'm insane? Your thoughts are coming out in total vain!!!
I'm just a brother with a live spark,
With an inner vision destroying everything lurking in the dark!
A half cast mixed identity given the European surname Clark,
But I don't care, I have nothing to fear,
As I steer my life consciously aware I see clear,
Always near a book, that’s another place you gotta look!
Rookies thinking they're awake, but most cant find the time,
In psychological denial with excuse's saying its validly fine,
Working class living,
Resulting in limited self education receiving,
Which is the highest level of sinning,
In the beginning the universal consciousness was bringing,
What today I am seeking,
Connecting conscious thought together, Forever,
But individualism causing a crash of disconnection,
A world wide collapse bringing stagnation,
This is an invitation to break this current way of civilization,
Go back in time within the mind to make the connection,
Then you will receive true knowledge in a healthy neuron collection,
Listen to what the awakening spirit is saying!
They call me the BBQ slinger
Well known for my back to back ringers
My aim is dead true
When I'm tossin' them shoes
I could wrap round' a bumble bee stinger.
My skill with the irons well known
These rookies all covet my throne
I'm the king of the pit
They best deal with it
Cause these beers put me right in the zone
I'll conquer till' no one remains
And brag of ice water filled veins
Not even a test
to prove I'm the best
And poised to continue my reign.
Why is the pitcher in for only two innings or three?
Spring training is going on right now, you see.
From a long winter, veterans scrape off the rust.
Rookies trying to make the team hope it’s not a bust.
They work hard to earn the manager's trust.
You will see players with an unfamiliar name.
Everybody only gets one or two at bats in a game.
On the field for a few innings, then into the dugout they go.
Who is going to make the team? The managers want to know.
Why all of this fuss? There is a very good reason.
The teams are getting ready for a 162 game season.
Opening day is finally here
fans will be drinking most of the beer
Red Sox and Yankees will meet
that game should be a real treat
you’ll see how rookies deal with the fear
Looking forward all winter for my vacation
A three-day excursion put on by We Are One Nation
We parked our RV’S near the foothill,
then hiked and climbed top of the cliff and met Will
When the sign appeared Reggae Pon the Mountain,
we were quickly escorted to the water fountain
Come and jam to the tunes of the Marleys
Hanga-langa and check out the Harleys
The Jamaican food—colorful, soulful—sublime
One look and I knew right away I would need more time
to enjoy Reggae 'Pon The Mountain
We bought masks, jewelry and tasted the cookies
Ingredients pure, strong, overwhelmed—we felt like rookies
C’mon stay mon, enjoy the music all day, sangalanga on Topanga
You know the Canyon known for the rock-stars?
Three days of festive delight, tonight be romantic, sleep in your cars!
Our host thanked us and said Jah be with you, Rastafari
We waved as he drove off in his Ferrari
We’ll be back tomorrow for the Caribbean callaloo
where we’ll stay all day and enjoy the hullaballoo
A music festival up on the mountain
Welcome sports fans to the Twenty Sixteen Presidential Race,
Spring Training is full upon us as the candidates align.
Two strong teams build their ranks for the coming season,
determination and earnest intent electrify the stadium air.
Rookies run ‘round the field in fresh unsoiled uniform,
energetically casting balls about in new mown green grass.
Pros stride their bases in condescending confidence,
swinging freshly tarred bats with vicious strokes intent.
Umpires roam about the field enforcing rules of conduct,
giving guidance and clarity to calls on the field of play.
Sportscasters view and rank, in statistic, with hungry eye;
great enthusiasm erupts at dropped ball and stolen base.
Coach’s posture in offered encouragement to their team,
knowing clearly the strength and weakness held afield.
The masses buy the tickets that fuel the sporting fires,
pouring dollars into team coffers to support the dream.
Hear them chant and respond to prompt, alike in program,
see the placards of message held high in confident display.
Teams tour the lands honing their competitive skills,
watch as the weak fade and are culled from the herd.
See the superstars stand and strike the ball out of the park,
running bases to cheers of the growing, maddening crowd.
Points are scored, wins are accolades of coming success,
Presidential Spring Training is but a short lived campaign,
The true grand season political will begin in earnest soon,
rise and select your team, buy your ticket, the game is on.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
3/3/16
Last season that ended in October
is now past, and something to remember.
The players are called the “boys of summer”
Here they reassemble in February’s winter.
Some of them report to training in Florida.
The others are on the fields in Arizona.
Why are they here? What is the reason?
They are getting ready for another baseball season.
The veterans are scraping the off season rust.
Rookies want to make the club hoping it’s not a bust.
Hitting and fielding; it’s time to get loose.
Muscles ache after they have not been in use.
It is cold now, but it will soon be hot.
Now is the time to show what the players have got.
The old guy is rugged, determined, fearless
He has fond memories of the game he still worships
He still hears the roars of the crowd
Can even now taste the fresh turf on his lips
He visualizes the impressive stadium
Feels the rough pigskin in his hands
Hears the wind howl against his helmet
Ohh...the hopes…the dreams…the plans
Ungrudgingly, he follows the young rookies
Able to relive his very first season
Recounting his first play…first score…first victory
There is nothing more left to reason
Throughout life, he perseveres
Thinking about the fame…the glory
The wins…the opulent lifestyle
His story
He most dotingly looks back
Proudly certain his watch he would not rewind
He earnestly recalls the true game
The same game that left him blind
SKipping Rocks
dreams are for rookies
image pounders like thunder
unsuitable rocks
**Phil J.
His day began with "Reveille" blaring from within the bowels of the ship.
Sergeants yelled, "Up and at 'em lads! We're takin' a little trip!"
He wearily arose from his bunk to don the accoutrements of war.
He'd survived Guadalcanal, now he faced Iwo Jima's fearsome shore.
They fed him steak and eggs - rookies joked that it may be their final meal.
But the battle-weary Marine was very grim - to him it seemed so surreal.
The chaplain gathered them around and offered a fervent prayer,
Pleading for God's protection and committing them to His care.
The grizzled old "Gunny" yelled, "First platoon over the side!"
"Down those lovely cargo nets, boys! Semper Fi!" he cried!
Bobbing Higgins boats waited below to take him to that perilous strand.
The engines roared as the boat wallowed and rolled t'ward that ebon sand!
He hunkered down with the others, his helmet beating upon his nose.
Others used their helmets to receive bits of breakfast as the boat sank and rose!
Adding to the din of battle so familiar to his ears were shells flying overhead.
As his boat with its precious cargo neared the beach it was hit by zinging lead!
The boat struck a coral reef so they had to wade in water up to their hips.
He struggled with his heavy pack and rifle with a prayer upon his lips.
Brave men fell under withering fire that day as they tried to force a breach.
Brave men forever lost their innocence that day on that hallowed beach!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
They rode to matches in an old school bus.
The rookies at the front, old players in back,
the coach, by the driver, "she's one of us!".
Wore team colors out, came home wearing black.
An ice hockey team, the pride of Humbolt,
met a 40 ton semi that just didn't break.
Sixteen young players' futures bought to a halt
by a worn out driver, barely awake.
Six thousand people in that prairie town,
a whole nation cried for their sons that night,
but not enough tears the sorrow to drown,
of a mother sobbing, eyes wet, throat tight.
Think on your kids, playing sport, feeling fine,
then think on the loss at lonely stop sign.
When I was just a just a child...innocent and pure,
We would always stop after church.
In doing so it always left me in a lurch,
Because I would never know what to choose at the bakery store.
I would lose myself in the smell of the fresh bread,
Knowing it was doughnuts I would get,
Yet each time we went I would fret,
Because the smells of the bakery would get in my head.
Then, when I got older, I got the chance you see,
To have those sweet smells enjoyed each day.
When they asked what else but, "Yes", could I say.
I went to work in the bakery.
Learning by observation as the professionals would make
The delicious treats...bread, pies, cookies,
These guys were no rookies!
So began my passion to bake.
Now, am I known for the "Chocalate Chinaman" cake,
Just ask anyone who has been sated by its flavor.
I only make them for others as a favor.
Because of my passion, nurtured long ago, to learn to bake.
Under the Broom
Listen to my screwy code
No thief may download:
To conceal from rookies
Under brooms I keep keys;
Knowing, the slovenly lot
Will never touch the rot!
JM
04th March 2014