Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius are not divine as one slumped over heathen often stressed, nor are they wicked as they have been deemed, under that same heathen who often cracks seeds which are eggs which are buried in the summery earth, the beast of the earth has failed here first, and so we see now that we have left his lie to die, and he injured, morally, spiritually and physically must soon lie, and so his original serpent-eating lie from which the loop so familiar is real, that serpent feeding on itself, was part of his zeal.
~ Were you born in the wrong century? ~
Would you have fit in at King Arthur’s table
been a blood-stained Crusader if able
In Rome, been a patrician or plebe
or like Cassius, have a plot up your sleeve
Would you have pondered with Galileo the night sky
or been a ‘flat-earther’ who never asked why
Would you, like Washington, have forded the Delaware
even if you had but moth-eaten rags to wear
Would you have bad-mouthed cars for the sake of your horse
sabotaged phone lines to preserve Samuel Morse…
Well, let me tell you, as for me,
I would have joined Fred and Barney Flintstone
for a ride on a pterodactyl built for three
“Et tu, Brute?”
“Who me? "No! Never! Nay!"
’Tis yon Cassius’ gig.
I didn't wanna any part of it, you dig?
Now, please ~
kindly turn your head ~
the other way."
after taking classes
to make pancakes with molasses
we must move our asses
(while making advances)
(we were all aghast)
(were burned to ashes)
(against head bashes)
(have been on branches)
(cooked in clay by Cassius)
(we made mad dashes)
(elegant and enhances)
(eaten by Erasmus)
(received from a Fascist)
(found by Pope Francis)
(get to see the gashes)
(stuck with long lances)
(on them all passes)
(head against smashes)
(seen flying through sashes)
(they left you in long trances)
(found in famous people's trashes)
(when talking trashes)
(terrible thrown in trashes)
Cassius Marcellus Coolridge
'twixt canines& art made a bridge
With caricature so comique
he personalised the anthropomorphic
Cassius Clay became Ali
Lew Alcindor, Abdul-Jabbar
What will become of Ilhan Omar
~ She’ll outlaw taverns and bars
The calendar said Boxing Day
But not to honor Cassius Clay
Or who he then became, Ali,
Or any boxer there might be.
And so I Googled to find out
Exactly what the day’s about.
In England, servants had to work
On Christmas Day, so as a perk
The next day they had off to rest,
Their own festivities suppressed.
Their masters, though, gave each some gifts,
Within a box, for spirit lifts.
The servants went to visit kin;
Their holiday could then begin
For most of them were very poor
And needed what the boxes bore.
Thus Boxing Day attained its place
As something that the Brits embrace
Although through time, traditions drop
And folks now use this day to shop.
"3Hearts" 1ST NOVEL IN PROGRESS
AKS was unaware of her three personalities
Alexis is sociopath
Katya is psychopath
Susan is normal
Cassius a Psychopath in love with AKS, marries her. AKS turns Cassius into a Sociopath, to a normal citizen.
After thousands of murdering and killing Cassius was guilty of.Love changed him. For some reason AKS cured Cassius. He had no control over himself dealing with AKS, depending on which one came out to change him.Cassius didn't know what he got himself into ,UNTIL he met his match. AKS a born psychopath as well, only differently.He found out, UNTIL......I STAND AS WE all RISE in one corpse
2nd INSERT TO "3 HEARTS"
Written by APRIL LADAWN BELIN
Muhammad Ali
Taunting with poetry,
His opponents he'd zing
As he danced 'round the ring.
There once was a boy Cassius Clay
Who dreamt to be greatest some day
When then in a bout
One punch in the mouth
On the canvas poor Liston would lay
Worse than Liston's performance that day
Were the lyrics by Robert Goulet
"Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early night"
Was as much of a flop as the fight!
Aug. 25, 2019
Clerimerick Couplets Contest
Mark Toney Sponsor
Cassius Clay, a slave wouldn't be
Renamed himself Muhammed Ali
Became a proud African-American male
~ Then was sentenced to five years in jail
Truly History In the Making
Remember when some sweaters we wove
Was while we were sitting in a pretty grove
Birds started singing and others flew by
Certainly a delightful day cannot deny.
Trees were tall and much shade they made
And there on lovely lawn we often laid
Exchanging things that we did discuss
About having to ride in back of the bus.
Even had to go to school of our very own
Booker T. Washington until fully grown
We saw Cassius Clay fighting in the ring
Who all of us loved more than anything.
One day he turned out to be a dear old dad
Died just before Father's Day and are said
For him to a far better place he has gone
No longer any big crowds will ever be drawn.
Made peace with master; put away each glove
Was thriller from Louisville we so do love
Wanted one last thing done which was sweet
Be sure to have Hearst driven down a street.
Mohammad Ali in private place was buried
After to see him last time everyone hurried
Events he did in his life were breath-taking
He had truly been history in the making.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
SUNSET
ODD TO SEE IT HAPPENED ,
UNEXPECTED ,NATURAL A PHENOMENON ,
THE SILENT BREEZE BLEW ,HOVERING ,
AROUND THE RING WITH IT A LEGEND ,
GLOVES IN HAND ,IMAGES OF HIS FIGHTS ,
CLEAR LIKE YESTERDAY.
BOXERS STOOD ,AS IF PINED DOWN BY
AN INVISIBLE FORCE , THE RING IS DARK ,
YES THE SUNSET WAS UNEXPECTED ,
SLOWLY IN A MELODIOUS RHYTHM
THE BREEZE COVERED .
AS IT CAME DOWN WITH NOTHING ,
IT LEFT THE RING WITH FOOTPRINTS ,
WHICH CAN NEVER BE WIPED ,
BOXERS LOOKED AT THE STEPS ,
DIFFICULT TO FOLLOW OR EMMULATE ,
THE MOVES COMPLEX ,
BUT MOVES OF VICTORY .
THE LEGEND OF THESE MOVES
WRAPPED IN THE BREEZE ,
WAVED WITH A SMILE. THE LEGEND IS GONE ,GONE FOREVER.
ADIEU MOHAMED ALI ,
WHERE THE LAST WORDS OF THE BOXERS ,
AS THEY LEAVE THE RING ,
ROSES IN HAND ,NODDING THEIR
HEADS IN APPROVAL, YES HE IS THE GREATEST EVER
TO HAVE WALKED IN TO THE RING.
R.I.P , R.I.P
CASSIUS CLAY
OH MO HAMMED ALI
Mohammed Ali
Cassius Clay
The Legend
He was not a humble man
Everything he did, was big and grand
He taunted and barbed with poetic flair
His opponents he angered
Entertainment in the air
He was a legend, bigger than man
A champion in the ring
He often took a heroic stand
Breaking barriers of narrow minds
He defined his style in his own time
His greatest feats were not title wins
Nor his taunts and bragging sins
Inside there was a more humble man
Who stood for the downtrodden in troubled lands
Full of humility he still could sting like a bee
In the end he floats away
A softer man, of a fighter’s heart
So shed a tear, for this complex legend
Whose humble beginnings’
The butterfly brought home to his roots
God brought him back to his beginning
Cassius Clay he was… and now lives in eternity
Freed not by name
But by convictions... of his
Good deeds
---Dear ALLAH,
We do not talk a lot,
Maybe we should,
just maybe we should.
In the mean time,
and until we learn how
to talk to you, Allah
as well as God,
we would like to allow
you the company of one
of our own,
he may introduce himself
as Cassius Clay,
but in case you do not
recognize who he is,
let me tell you now,
that he is The Greatest.
Well, maybe not greater than you, Allah
but he is none-the-less
The Greatest
and maybe you will
recognize him as
Muhammed Ali
yep, that Greatest.
You will right away see him
fighting again,
fighting for what is right
and good and just.
He will not rest in Peace,
He will constantly fight for Peace.
He is our Greatest.
And he will be your greatest,
in short order.
And he just might introduce us
to an Allah
we have failed to see.
Wouldn't it be great
if we and God and Allah
had a real heart to heart conversation?
I bet he can arrange that.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet.
I knew him first as Cassius Clay,
“The Greatest,” as he claimed.
His many titles proved that he
Was accurately named.
He “floated like a butterfly”
Yet he was brash and bold.
He stung opponents “like a bee”
And left a few out cold.
Although a boxer through and through,
You might say to the core,
The one place he refused to fight
Was in the Viet Nam War.
He lost his license for that stand,
Excluded from the ring
For several years, but then returned
Triumphant as a king.
His years of taking endless hits
Led sadly to disease,
For even as “the greatest”
Life provides no guarantees.
I’m not a fan of fighting sport
In any form, but yet
I’ll mourn Ali, the fearless champ
The world will not forget.
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