Best Wagner Poems
A year ago, the Russian state launched an unprovoked attack
Seizing land from Ukraine but they've bravely fighting back
If Russia can't have it, they operate a policy of scorched earth
And turn many towns and villages into mounds of rubble and dirt.
Russia then weaponised their gas and shipments of grain
And tried to inflict on the civilian people unbearable pain
His criminal army targets hospitals, schools, homes and utilities
He thought the Ukrainians would surrender, rather than freeze.
He tells the Russian people lies and many believe every word
And he tells them he's protecting Russia ;I find that absurd
We've seen evidence of his atrocities against women and men
And it's heart-breaking to see pictures of murdered children.
Ukraine was never a bold threat to that rogue terrorist state
Putin thought the west would leave the Ukrainians to their fate
How wrong was he to think the western world would look away
They're helping Ukraine defend itself and NATO leads the way.
Russia's ancient equipment and army are no match for the west
And to help Ukraine defend itself it is supplying weapon's the best
The Russian dead pile up on battlefields but Putin doesn't care
And hides away in the safety and comfort of his underground lair.
Wagner mercenaries recruited from jails to increase Russian might
Told their sentences will be lengthened if they don't go and fight
The dregs of Russian humanity are now sent to the eastern front
Together with inexperienced conscripts who now bear the brunt.
Russia is asking for weapons from North Korea, China and Iran
If China supplies them weapon's then their trade we should ban
People say Ukraine should concede land so that the war will end
But Russia has shown its evil dark side and will never be a friend.
Putin keeps threatening to use weapons of mass destruction
And has now backed out of treaties and increased production
Does he honestly think that the western world will stand by
If he launches just one, then you can be sure the west will reply.
Vladimar Putin started this war and there is no one else to blame
He is a disgrace to humanity and should hang his head in shame
Decent Russians and there are many should topple him for his crime
And his war criminal army arrested and either hung or serve time.
Yesterday, I soared with the wind
Today, death and I dance entwined in a slow waltz
Somber mood as bright lights shine above
Wagner in the background of semi-consciousness
Looking up at tubes, needles, wires and the reaper
Faces staring down, heads shaking in doubtful sadness
Onwards we roll, battle of the bacterium
Ensuring, I, wake only in hazy delirium
I reach out into emptiness
Grasping for the significance of it all
Falling into an existential black hole
Loveless, alone, is this to be my last stroll
Illusions and dreams creeping back into my soul
Hearing songbirds, will life have another go?
The winds roar once more inside my head
I stand up, with a smile, I am alive! Not dead!
Life has infected me with a fresh kiss
I have attempted to capture my favorite major league baseball players in this little shape poem of home plate. Included are (in no particular order):
Say Hey Willie Mays Walter Johnson (Big Train)
Randy Johnson (The Big Unit) Babe Ruth (The Sultan Of Swat)
Tony Gwynn Jimmie Foxx
Ted Williams Maury Wills
Stan “The Man” Musial Johnny Bench
Ken Griffey Jr Greg Maddox
Henry Aaron Lou Gehrig
Roberto Clemente Ty Cobb
Satchell Paige Ernie Banks
Rickey Henderson Carl Yastrzemski (Yaz)
Trevor Hoffman Albert Pujols
Gibson (Bob and Josh) Honus Wagner
Rogers Hornsby Cal Ripken
Robinson (Jackie, Frank and Brooks)
Some favorites I had to leave out…
Christy Mathewson Warren Spahn
Sandy Koufax Tom Seaver
Mickey Mantle Rod Carew
Joe Morgan Ozzie Smith
Mariano Rivera Miguel Cabrera
Pedro Martinez Ichiro Suzuki
David Ortiz Jose Altuve
I’d love to see your faves mentioned in the comments section!
written 24 Aug 2020
Going through a closet,
I was quite surprised to find
Several shopping bags of t-shirts
That my son had left behind.
While looking at them, one by one,
I realized they portrayed
His entire growing up, through college,
Starting in first grade.
The school shirts featured P.S. 6,
Then Wagner Junior High,
With a special few from Stuyvesant,
Where high school years flew by.
Another group had characters
From movies or TV –
Pee Wee Herman, Austin Powers
And the Simpsons’ family tree.
There was Beavis, there was Butthead
And the South Park kids, as well
As World Series shirts and Yankees;
(We’re New Yorkers, you can tell).
Favor shirts from his Bar Mitzvah
Nestled near the travel trove –
Shirts from Scotland and from Israel,
Plus some places where we drove.
Then the final category,
From his favorite billiards hall,
Where the hours spent resulted
In those plaques upon his wall.
As a grown-up and a parent,
His collection’s surely grown,
But I love these sweet reminders
Of his younger self I’ve known.
Every morning upon rising
Routinely searching my vital signs
As a poverty stricken person
Searches pockets for spare change.
The grim news reports,
The skyrocketing death tolls,
Mausoleums more populated
Than the emptied churches,
Many desperately seeking God
From the confines of their dwellings.
I remember the time, early in life,
When I use to peer from my window
Into the darkness outside
For the headless Dullahan at the reins
Of the Cóiste Bodhar (coach-a-bower),
Its four black black horses
Powerfully pulling the death coach
Up to my front door, as I ruminate
On the words of Yeats, casting
A cold eye on life, on death.
Life, death, such separate entities,
Or so it seems, on the surface.
Yet, forty-two years of lessons
By grieving families have only
Taught me the oneing of life, of death.
As the beloved Anchoress of Norwich
Gazed out the window of her cell
Upon her nation devastated by
The Black Death and war,
So I gaze out my window on a world
As broken by plague and political violence,
And am comforted by the word of Christ
To this simple Middle Age mystic,
“All shall be well, and all shall be well,
And all manner of thing shall be well.”
(c) 2020, Robert Charles Wagner.
Ludwig ii
A Bavarian King with no bone bad
A Bavarian King introverted not mad
A king who lived life by night
A king who stayed out of sight
The Swan king was his given name
from Bavarian bloodstock he came Maximilians Death took away his youth
On throne pomp splendoured and couth
Peer pressure never kneel
Twas Opera Ludwig did feel
Richard Wagner was his one true love
Ludwig fitted Wagner hand in glove
A queen, A queen the Bavarians did wish
Lovestruck Elsa dry eyes diminish
Conformity died during Ludwigs reign
His sexuality showed no shame
Lake Starnberg scene of demise
Mystery death .Murder or boat capsize
The King ,The King long live the King
Life lived how he chose leaving no offspring
thank you
no more ringing
in my ears always
being Quasimodo
screaming about
the bells
i set my house
phone ring tone
to play a MIDI
Wagner Ride
of the Valkyries
and my cellphone
wake up alarm tone
is Bach's cello
bourree which
peacefully draws
me from my sleep
but the machines
at work later take
over so yelling
becomes
the norm for
speaking so
now i adorn
headphones
after work
to muffle
the rapid
discharge
of shots
at the shooting
range
This Thing Called Love – 4 Lines
After feasting on this amazing THING called love all through the NIGHT,
we sweetly sip from silver goblets, aged wine rich, red, warm, and mellow,
wistfully wishing to delay the threatening dawn that breaks golden, pale yellow.
In Wonderland, we woozily waltz - wildly, wantonly, to wondrous Wagner.
12-17-2015
Contest: 4 Lines
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 2nd
Round and round and round we all go
Musical notes defining destiny
Who shall we love?
Who lives and who shall die
Whimsical chords linger softly
As we sing our way along in life
The notes of the universe sing true
The music lives through out all time
Tears fall from my face
Onto musical notes in black
The ink becomes smeared and blurry
Emotions kill the waltz of life
Dance of the Knights, bring me to somber moods
Love and death I know shall embrace
The conductor for this is assured
As round and round we all go
On and on, we dance and twirl
Infinity entwined within our musical scores
Musical sheets, explain lust filled nights
Yet the notes fall flat, upon the floor
The serenade has come to an end
The theorist is laid to rest
Love has died, and thus the musical silence
Wagner told you so
Beauty and the Evil Ones
A poet weaves such wondrous words
flowing of milk and honey
of enchanting places
soothing moments
filled with love invoked memories
Majestic symphonies of wonder
cadenza's weaving the imagination
Wagner, a musical genius sayeth so
softly painting beauty in musical tones
Overtures of compassion permeate away
such artistic brilliance buries the mind
of those whose insides are maliciously dark
pure evil pervades their bone
The painter of valleys
rivers and mountains in pastels
simple yet provocative in their tranquility
Hitler of the rose gardens
evil through and through
QUIRKS
I once had a friend long time past
Who was wont to always break his fast
On cornflakes not with honey and milk
But pickled onions, gherkins and their ilk
Now if that’s not a quirk I’ll eat my hat
But when I do I must specify that
The brim must have ketchup, and then the crown
Will need Mulligatawny soup to wash it down
I have penchants predilections and preferences
For which others give tolerance and deferences
Like playing Wagner while eating beef jerky
And some other things that are just as quirky
I can ride a bike when not too far
Sitting backwards perched on handle bar
And though not Welsh, but from English stock
I can pronounce Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
In choosing twixt the Burgundies and Bordeaux’s
I adjudicate by colour and by nose
But if the menu’s fish and chips with mushy pea
I’ll settle for a nice cup of tea
So live and let live and we’ll get along
With our whims each singing a different song
These fancies, whether from Venus Mars or Saturn
All add to life’s rich quirky pattern
Pride and Prejudice A Dog’s Tale
Simply scratching is really not fair
said King Kong to the mut in his lair
you’ve laid down with me’s
and I’m covered with fleas
Now, Fay Wray will end our affair!
Oh well, said the pink Pomeranian
Find a pet, a bit, more pedestrian
Let sleeping dogs lie
too near to your thigh
or go for a prize more Wagnerian!
Brunhilda you see cares not if you’ve fleas
for horned helmets has she’s for releases
She’ll scratch your back
when fleas attack
That Fay Wray lacks tact and she sneezes!
~Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas
~~Let sleeping dogs lie
*The 1933 original version of King Kong
stared actist Faye Wray as the apes girlfriend.
**A pomeranian is a long haired German dog.
***Wagner is a German composer who wrote The Ride of the Valkyries
Brünnhilde is one of the eight valkyrie sisters, commonly seen
in horned helmets who bring souls to Valhala.
“Go west young man”, the neighbors said; but they wisely stayed at home.
From pianoforte to pianoforte, saloon to saloon, town to town I roam.
Surrounded by Phillistines, “soiled doves”, cowpokes, and dullards,
Gamblers, dealers, dance hall girls, and other assorted drunkards.
If a fellow’s feeling generous, he might leave something in my jar,
Or even offer me a drink of the “good stuff” behind the bar.
I guess my fortune can be made where folks are hot, dry, and thirsty,
Playing sad songs on old pianofortes that are musty, dusty, and rusty.
I grew up playing Beethoven, Chopin, Bach and Wagner.
The only songs these cretins know are all by Stephen Foster.
A gambler in a pink silk shirt once asked for a Franz Lizt tune.
I was so surprised, I fell off my chair, to the amusement of the room.
The “faded rose” smells like a horse, and looks the worse for wear.
But if a few more drovers buy me beers, I probably will not care.
If I should wake up next to her, I won’t know what to say.
But she’ll just pretend to be asleep as I quietly slip away.
Through hazes I might recognize a face; or maybe they all look the same.
But in town’s like Rotgut, last night’s best friend won’t remember your name.
I hope someday, somewhere I’ll find a good pianoforte in tune--
But that’s something I’ll probably never find in a one-street town saloon.
If they don’t happen to catch my name, “Eighty-Eight Fingers” will usually do;
That’s all any of them remembers anyway, after they’ve had a few.
I freely admit I love classical music,
And please don't think me a snob
If I keep my composure
When I mention composers
As Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Schumann,
And not Ludie, or Wolfie,
Or Petie, or Bob.
And a symphony simply cannot be enjoyed
At just any old time of the day.
I can't listen to them
Prior to seven p.m.,
And I don't mean to brag, but I couldn't be dragged
To a Wednesday or Saturday matinee
Of a ballet by Bizet or Massenet.
My taste in classical music, you see,
Is eclectic, but not meant to shock.
I choose Strauss for the schmaltz
Of a polka or waltz,
And Chopin is my dude when I crave an etude,
But I do tend to doze in my seat in the loge
Through an opera by Wagner…
Or more Offenbach.
"Such mighty music from a single soul!
Ah, Wagner, you were superman until
Religion made your song effeminate.
Who can forgive your cowering 'Parsifal'!"
The old man's hands fell on piano keys,
But not into a chord. He saw the book
And touched it gently as he would a child,
And said, " You know I, too wrote good books once."
A worm of youth was gnawing in his brain,
Was eating up his passion's time and form,
Was spreading through his vision's final space
Its poisonous rest, its waste--oblivion.