Best Ross Poems
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job
It is said the first flag maker was Ms. Betsy Ross
Was also said she could do well with some dental floss
As one can imagine twas because she ran out of thread
She forgot to order it because she didn't take her meds
Battle Of The Clerihew---Contest Of P.D.
Written By: Carol Brown
6th Place Winner
Betsy Ross of Colonial days
Could never imagine the ways
Our United States flag would be blessed
To fly on the Moon and Mount Everest.
CHORUS
No man stands alone
in the street, the ring or the combat zone
some lay in the gutter
some sit on a throne
but no man stands alone
At the age of fourteen
he had a dream
to become a rabbi
Chicago 1924
then his dad was killed by men
who tried to rob the family store
his brothers and sisters were sent away
to an orphanage where they would stay
and though his faith was blown away
he vowed to bring them home someday
To God and man revenge he swore
he walked with gamblers,
hoods and whores
he fit right in
then on a whim
he walked into a boxing gym
he fought Canzoneri in ‘33
for the lightweight title victory
he made up with God
and finally
he could reclaim his family
Those McLarnon fights
were the stuff of lore
the only man
to ever put him on the floor
he won two out of three,
then in the Armstrong bout
he nearly died
but was never knocked out
then in 1941
the Japanese pulled a sneaky one
so he joined the marines
and he got a gun
and he sailed into the rising sun
On Guadalcanal,
he fought so brave
overmatched like old King Dave
he put twenty attackers
in an early grave
for the one marine
whose life he saved
in a hospital bed
for months and days
they kept him in a morphine haze
then sent him home
strung out and beat
to the pushers on the mean, mean street
Hollywood was very keen
to put his story on the silver screen
but they focused on the drug abuse
he tried to sue
but what’s the use?
Barney Ross was brave and strong
they couldn’t keep him down for long
his rabbi said that he must try
to be a model Jew in the public eye
but from the public eye he slipped
like a phantom radar blip
they say he hunted Nazi criminals
and he ran some guns to Israel
Barney Ross was brave and strong
I thought that he deserved a song
he did some bad
he did some good
and he saved the world
the best he could
Painting tapestries in awesome colors,
Beautiful mountains and skies of blues,
Such unique and wonderful painter that
He was
Painting was his whole world
And shared it he wanted it, and did it
All with you and me
Loving nature and flowers too,
Nursing little creatures back to
Life,
But especially he loved and cared,
I know he did,
For people just like... me and you,
Motivated everybody how to paint,
With his very rich and soft
Voice,
Always the believer, in his kinded
Heart,
That anyone believing and trying
Could also learn how to paint
And that everything that you create,
It is your own world as you see it and paint
It you can as you perceive it with your heart
And eyes
For me his shinning spirit,
Will always live and move on,
Gracing and warming every single heart
And every home,
Indeed for me he's here to stay,
With his big heartwarming smile and
Endearing passion and inspiration,
To be forever cherished and treasured
And as the majestic sea that he liked
So much to also paint,
His wonderful legacy will live on and
Continue to ever grow,
And as the sands upon warm beaches
Also his wonderful painter's spirit
All over the earth
Will move all the waves
At sea forever and ever
On!
Ross holidayed as a kid once at Center Parcs,
Where he first played the sport of table tennis,
And he loved it so much ‘cos he was so good,
That a member of staff remarked on his ability.
He was successful, ranking in the world top ten,
But later, in 2011 he was genetically diagnosed,
With multiple epiphyseal dysplasia of the bones,
And was glad to be welcome in disability sport.
He was the youngest table tennis team member,
At the London Paralympics where he came fourth,
In the singles, so he did well considering his age,
‘Cos his inexperience didn't hinder or scare him.
In the team contests at these joyous 2012 Games,
Ross and Aaron McKibbin won the bronze medal,
Which ranked him as No. 2 on the worldwide scale,
But he then got a shoulder injury which he nursed.
2014 and Ross took the gold in the International,
At the Cote d’Azur, so 2015 saw him take silvers,
In Hungary and Italy, but then he was injured again,
In his knee, elbow and he strained back muscles.
However, at the Lignano Master Open in Italy, 2016,
Ross won with teammates a bronze, so in Rio grand,
He took another bronze with the team. He’s a fighter,
Born on 5th June 1995 in Minster and trains Sheffield.
To the Redcoats Betsy Ross lied.
“It is not a flag!” she decried.
“I'm due at a wedding
and all of this threading
will be a new gown for the bride!”
“But it isn't just one little dress,”
with nose growing she had to confess,
“A collection I've planned--
t'will sell big in the land--
at my discount stores, Ross Dress for Less”!
I just started reading
or should I say re-reading
a book by the late, great poet
Kenneth Koch.
It's called "I Never Told Anybody"
and it's all about teaching poetry
in a nursing home.
It's really good.
One of the poets who really shone
at the American Nursing Home
was a man named William Ross.
The first time I read the book, I assumed
he was old - in his eighties or nineties.
So imagine my shock when I read it again
and found out that he was fifty-nine.
Fifty- nine! Well, dagnabit, folks,
I'm going to be fifty-eight this year.
And I know damn well that fifty-eight
is not "OLD"! And certainly Mr. Ross
must have had a very clear, strong mind.
At least, based on his wonderful work.
And his poems still speak to me
And they still make me smile and wish
that I had the courage to just sit down
and write.
and write.
and write.
Hey, wait just a minute ...
I’m doing just that!
So thank you, thank you,
Thank you, William Ross!
Phoebe Buffay
Plays her guitar every day
She often sings ‘Smelly cat’
Sadly her voice is very flat
Ross Geller
Is quite a nerdy feller
He said Rachel’s name when he got wed
His bride Emily probably wished him dead!
Ross and Pheobe starred in Friends
Clerihew 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
09/30/21
My favorite hat says, “Air Force Mom”
Pink words printed on tan.
I wear it proudly, with aplomb.
Ross is my son; I am his fan.
He serves our country as a U.S. Airman.
War is no joke, not a sitcom.
Preserving our freedom a serious plan.
He does his job without a qualm.
Courageously risking his lifespan.
Protecting everyone, not just our clan.
Men like him deserve praise and psalm.
They burn in the heat while we get a suntan.
Whether sitting at desks or dropping a bomb,
Obeying orders, doing the best that they can.
I pray God preserves each serving airman.
I love my son with his demeanor calm.
Memories of his childhood I often scan.
Yes, I am a very proud “Air Force Mom.”
It wasn’t imagined in my life’s preplan.
My favorite hat, I wear for my son…a very good man.
© March 29, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Melissa
Outgoing, Passionate, Insane, Friend
Adoptive daughter of Carol and James
Lover of Pittsburgh, poetry, and music
Who feels pain, depression, and occasional joy
Who fears stars, death, and heights
Who would like to see Italy, Greece, and success
Resident of Warrington, Pennsylvania
Ross
There is a little cemetery in Oklahoma,
by a town, Tahlequah, it is named.
Chief John Ross is buried there.
Of the “Trail Of Tears” he was famed.
Just a little sign on the left of the road,
painted on a piece of wood.
It’s been a while since I’ve been there,
and find it? I don’t think I could.
There are no big gates to pass through,
when you’re there visiting a grave site.
It’s hard to find in the daytime.
Wouldn’t want to go there at night.
The headstones are badly in need of repair,
and a lot of the trees there are dead.
Most of them been there over a hundred years.
Just bare branches you see overhead.
But when standing on these sacred grounds,
the spirits you can’t help but feel.
The stories of all of the Cherokees buried there
suddenly become very real.
The reason that I know about this great place, is,
this is where my husband was laid to rest.
Thirteenth generation from the great Chief,
with the Ross name he was blessed.
So now I wear this name proudly.
In my heart his heritage will stay.
And when my body is turned to ashes,
in that ground with my husband, I’ll lay.
--Two spirits will become one--
MY Son Ross
My son has a special purpose in life. I am sure of it. His life was spared thrice.
Yesterday, he was a babe in arms; the days and years have passed way too fast.
Somehow, without permission (lol) the boy turned into a man, a good man.
Only yesterday, he went off to school…we vacationed and camped. Everywhere!
Next thing I knew, he was graduating from high school and started working.
Ross, the baby in the family, is going to join the Air Force in ten days…far away.
My son has optimism and has set career goals; I love Ross and shall miss him terribly.
Soon, his life will change. I can see him in my minds eye: exercise and more exercise.
Strong and honorable, my son shall go forth and do some good in the world…love, peace.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 13, 2010
Poetic form: Acrostic
To see my son, Ross, use the following link to go to my Poetry Soup Photo Gallery: http://
poetrysoup.com/poetry_blog/blog_detail.aspx?BlogID=4830&PoetID=14403
COLIN ROSS
Colin Ross the squatter man
He wore a suit of black
He carried a pistol on his hip
And a cross of gold hung slack
Deadfox Dancy looked up from his sheep ...
(so called for raffling a dead fox in the pub)
His shearing interrupted
was it god from the devils deep
and almost spoke but stuttered
Yyyyyyesssirrr no fiddling in the shed
Got ..if you do...I'll do to you
What cannot be now uttered
I'll jerk your chain and cook your brain
And have your gall bladder buttered
Old Sam McEwan had the uniform on
His bayonet fixed and ready
Charge said Colin his sabre drawn
And the wild pigs trotted steady
Old Bill got work with Colin Ross
And met the bosses wife
He was caught right soon
Beneath the moon
His pants around his ankles
She looked for a bite
Of a snake or mite
And Colin sure was thankful
Bill was 65 just then and she was twenty seven
A child arrived , Colin often smiled and said it's the will of heaven
3 years went by and Bill was spry, 3 children in the house
till someone spoke , said Bills the bloke
and Colin flogged the louse
Bill climbed aboard his old racehorse
His stock whip hanging coiled
Colin came to the gate no pistol mate
And lash of the whip did force
A run and a chase to the common gate
And Bill got no divorce
Of happenings in the 60s about 400 miles west of here......Brisbane.Queensland Australia
Don Johnson
Grief;
Stages 1 & 2:
“Bargaining and Denial”
Maybe I should offer up a sacrificial lamb
Or simply look the other way and just not give a damn.
Perhaps it’s best to squeeze the odds; trust luck will turn the game
And wager that a bargain with the Devil ends the same.
What I do or do not do provides me no relief
When charting the dimensions of
The symmetry of
Grief.
Grief;
Stages 3 & 4:
“Anger and Depression”
Take the vial from the shelf and hold it to the light;
Poison gleams translucent with the chemistry of night.
But should I drain the thing myself, or spike my lover’s drink?
Perhaps the wisest thing to do is pour it down the sink.
Let it out or hold it in; a double-edged motif
That slices through the fabric of
The symmetry of
Grief.
Grief;
Stages 5 & 6:
“Acceptance and Forgiveness”
When hatred’s been exhausted, hostilities will cease.
Cross that river, deep and wide; we’ll celebrate the peace.
We’ll meet somewhere on neutral ground and talk about the war.
We’ll share a laugh to think of how we battled years before.
Fortunes can be stolen, but we subdue the thief
When what we’ve lost is balanced by
The symmetry of
Grief.