Best Strike Poems
Santa was in his sleigh waiting to go
But the elf loading team was a no show
A strike had been called
Santa was appalled
The elves taunted him saying ho ho ho...
Santa muttered and swore under his breath
Warned the strikers they ain't seen nothing yet
Called his friend Bill Gates
They were golfing mates
Bill said " don't worry we'll beat them you bet"...
He sent Santa four hundred giant drones
And an army of robotic elf clones
Who sorted the toys
For good girls and boys
And from the elves you could hear moans and groans...
Santa didn't need to leave the North Pole
Sent the drones off by means of a console
All drones delivered
The poor elves dithered
Santa laughed he was now back in control...
The elves were fuming and they all saw red
They were so angry and wanted him dead
A bomb they did place
In Santa's fireplace
He defused it he was one step ahead...
He came after the elves who all turned pale
Disappointed that the bomb was a fail
Santa aimed his gun
Elves started to run
But the Fed's caught them and threw them in jail...
The next day they went up against Judge Dread
Who listened to what was done, what was said
It ended in tears
All got twenty years
And told don't mess with the man dressed in red...
Written on 6th December 2020.
Upon shy reach,
His fingers touch mine—
Quickly though, they move away from me…
I bite his lips,
Crushing his coiling coy
And snatch his hands back onto me
I am a cobra…
I dance to the beat of his anxious worship
His grandfather attacked mine
to remove him from land that grandpa had bought
Oozing hatred from deep in his gut
he'd force grandpa off of land that he sought
Then his father attacked mine
with molotov cocktails, homemade bombs
I asked my father, why not strike back
my dad was silent, a good answer he lacked
Now the grandson attacks me, ever more viciously
Yet the world shrugs it off, doesn't seem to see...
But when my family's attacked, when I strike back at terror
~ Why is it I, the Israeli, who's always in error?!
Strike!
O strike thy wisdom
and thy freedom;
strike!
While picket signs aren't weapons,
they arouse violent hymns
and bayonet dreams;
o strike!
Where authoritarian presidents,
governors and dictators
all think alike,
strike;
and strike thee common good.
Strike,
O visionaries
with karma on their side,
where echoes fly like angels
and their halos shine so bright;
strike!
Where slavery's not an option
and poverty no life,
no liberty
or happiness;
strike!
Where no act of violence,
aimed at stifling true justice
ever won.
True justice
always voices it's complaints,
always finds some other means,
never ends with the moon
but starts with the sun,
strike!
Fore there's no future otherwise.
Obsidian velvet
Parts the leaves;
Silent paws impress
The land and in
Moonlit shadows;
A great specter hides.
In one swift flash
Of light and shadow-play,
Panther takes his prey.
MY ONE LINERS WILL is to STRIKE
T S U N A M I
Jazzy flamboyant boogie wave climax, a disaster show.
D E C E P T I O N
Sugar-apple are the smiles yet to her eyes, I see lemons.
D I R T Y D A N C I N G
Dauntless dazzling dainty dolls dirtily dancing disfigures dignity.
S U C C E S S
I bit the metals but I didn't break, only I became marshmallows after.
B A T T L E of the S E X E S
Hundred men can build a bridge yet with one woman there's a home.
_________________________________________________________________
9:57 PM; December 17, 2015
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the workers' cry,
Who'd rather earn their bread each day
And plan their lives and save their pay,
Than lie and steal and die.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the bosses' song,
Who'd rather teach the willing man
To shape the world with his own hand,
Than 'plain of social wrong.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Consumers lively shout,
When they can buy what greets their eye---
A sovereign wing that sweeps them high---
Than trudge along and pout.
"O Industrial Revolution,"
Great poets glad declaim,
"You've put man into motion,
You've moved him up to fame,
And Poetry is happier
With lightbulb than with flame."
"The Industrial Revolution!"
The politicians chime,
"Makes honesty a virtue now,
No kings around to hurt you now;
In fact, a king's a crime!"
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Proud businessmen declare,
"Means longer health and greater wealth,
And finer chance of high romance,
Than only low-life 'share'."
The Industrial revolution
Made industry a smile,
That men who think and do their best,
And send their thoughts on long-range quest,
May wear a long long while.
The Industrial revolution!
Now, everybody, cheer!
Strike fires in you for all things new!
Strike truth to where you're going to!
Strike! for your life is here!
ALL OF SANTAS
REINDEER WENT ON STRIKE
NEEDING MORE THAN JUST HAY
& KIBBLES, NO MATTER
IF THEY BE BUCK OR DOE THEY CAN
not fly too far on Just nibbles.
Rudolph of course is the spokesdeer, he so much, wants to
right this disgrace, with special concessions for himself since
he gets the most snow in his face! Rudolph shouted, "Who is
with me now?" Even backup deer,
Jane and Matt excitedly raised, their
hooves having to get on their backs for
that! Charles, the deer, that cleans up
the joint raised three, for he's mis-
sing a hoof. Taking the place of
Donner one night, He slipped
and fell off a high roof!
Santa admitted it was
about time. He said,
"I'm doubling kibbles
and hay!" they all
clapped their
hooves in
Delight, for the reindeer it was a great day! Santa said, "If you want overtime, you can work in my garden for dough", One deer in the back asked, " Doing What?" Well, of course he said, "HOE, HOE, HOE!"
Look at me now, sitting below darkening skies
Cast out from our Highland home
The Clans now is spiteful despise
To the Glens we shall head, us the fortunate to roam
Away from the Jacobite scum, for us they'll continue to comb
These clearances they declare to be right
What gives them this credence this crime
In the name of their false King, once again we'll stand and fight
Soon the loyal to Alba, shall await their very time
To infiltrate, retaliate, in silence we'll strike so primed
The days pass into weeks, nowhere can we be found
On our peripheral they search and seek us
The clever in us, disappear deep underground
You can hear their English voices searching in our lush
Foul mouthed tirades of sectarianism, voiced in hatred cuss
It's now twenty eleven, to this day it beggars belief
That I read about my fellow past Clansmen
And their greed to betray, for ripened grief
Our day is not so far away, when the true Clans men
Shall vote for total autonomy, it's just a matter of when
.
It's not easy becoming a Legendary
Major League Baseball pitcher.
It never was and will never be.
You get put through the wringer
and hung out to dry.
From time to time you'll get little or no
run support.
You may have to face Legendary Icons
of the game 2 and 3 times in a game.
Come face to face with undisguised
Batting Champions.
Silver Slugger Award Winners.
Members and potential Members of the
500 Home Run Club.
Members and potential Members
of the 3000 Hits Club
A few Future Members of
Baseballs Hall of Fame
as well as Iconic MLB ALL STARS.
You will face monumental challenges.
You'll get worn down and roughed up
being on the road 82 games a season.
As a Major League Baseball Starting Pitcher
you suck it up, go out on the mound
and challenge history.
You bring your "A" game
You bring your best fastball
your best curve ball
and your best change up.
When you average 33 starts a season.
Average 10 complete games per season.
Average 3 shut outs per season.
Throw a No Hitter every 3.857 seasons.
Face an average 972 batters per season.
Average 232 innings per season
Through hot , cold , humid and sticky weather.
Give up an average 169 hits per season.
Average 232 innings per season.
Average 82 earned runs per season.
Give up an average 14 home runs in 33 games
over 232 innings per season.
When you average 120 walks per season
Strike out an average 246 batters per season
for a career total of 5714.
It kinda looks like this.
6.6 hits per 9 innings
4.7 walks per 9 innings
9.5 strike outs per 9 innings
Over 27 seasons.
When you do that for a total of 27 seasons
The critics will call you the next
Nolan Ryan.
The Legendary Strike Out King
Member of Major League Baseballs
Hall of Fame.
Michael E. Harris
02202022
The mountains are covered by violet mist
No one knows they even exist
Yet the legend will persist
In old ballads reminisced
As mountains are high golden eagle flies above
He is pure power but also pure love
With talons that can pierce steel glove
And mouth that can shout a high octave
Beyond a mist bridge appears formed by nonlinear soul
The eagles’ force it will extol
Eagle strike lifts the soul
And great power becomes permaximum of all
lightning
sets the power transformer
on fire
counts the seconds he lives
before the machine breathes
I pondered the dandelion and its dazzling deed.
Some folks think this fluffy flower is a worthless weed.
But deep down inside its transparent fluff,
a thousand tassels hide in a sphere of spiracle stuff.
Embryonic umbrellas cuddle in cocoons,
until April’s sunshine tells us a miracle is coming soon.
Mystified and wondering, I was shaken from my dream,
and abruptly stopped my pondering when I heard a scream,
As my wife descended like an Afghan bomb!
“Go out and mow the weeds,” she said, “which last year you called lawn!”
What can we expect from a government denying God's plan
that which speaks in parseltongue the language of snakes
this which is a skill that converses through black magic
Pretending to care it focuses on taboo subject matter
how blind has become the darkness surrounding these souls
They start shedding when the light illuminates their heart's desire
working tirelessly bending the will of many to comply and submit
Let's thread the needle and pinpoint the words
fear where the fruits of this deception grows
without roots rotten apples trying to spread an agenda removing choice
there is only one Law I obey these days and it sure as hell is not man made
Proud parents gathered for the fifth grade band presentation.
The kids labored long and hard to enhance their musical education.
'Twas the band's first concert since its recent organization.
The harried teacher approached it with a sense of trepidation!
Moms and dads endured the commotion at home for many weeks,
As their blossoming prodigies practiced and honed their techniques.
Suffering through the blare of trumpets, the bleat of saxaphones,
The wail of clarinets and oboes, the atonal pitch of trombones!
The girls were dressed in white blouses and black, slinky skirts.
Boys wore dark trousers, black bow ties and snow-white shirts.
Each of the girls had a pretty ribbon adorning her hair.
Boys had even combed their hair - which was very rare!
Teacher apprehensively grasped her baton and waved the downbeat.
The program began with a simple rendition of "Bonaparte's Retreat."
At the end of the concert a heartwarming thing occurred.
The audience rose exclaiming, "Twas the sweetest music ever heard!"
Though at times they were not in tune and the tempo somewhat slow,
They proudly gave it their best and put on a wonderful show!
Was a spark in a child's soul that night fanned into a flame,
Boosting his or her enthusiasm to strive for musical acclaim?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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