DICK, you think yourself fearless
Protected by your screen
Shaming and blaming ,being hurtful
So brave and bold when unseen
Now DICK ,its obvious you don’t refrain
From spewing out uneducated remarks
Maybe that’s all you know
And ignorance is embedded in your brain
Your behaviour presents in a few ways
Via comments , poems and one liners
Abundant with insults and sarcasm
Lacking compassion or praise
DICK ,it’s apparent you think you are clever
Viewing the rest of us as quite thick
But the truth is really quite simple
You are no clever DICK!
No doubt you consider yourself special
Unique , one of a kind
However, there are so many other DICKS like you
Simply Ignorant and blind
DICK ,I do not understand you
I will never know your reasons why
Why not step out of your comfort zone
And give compassion a try
DICK, there is something important I need to say
Regarding your vicious remarks
Can you please stop doing handstands?
And talking out your a..e!!!
A midget made a Rumblebean
Whilst lying in the sun.
It was the greenest he had seen,
‘That’s green,’ he said, ‘bar none.’
He picked it up and spected it,
Implying to and fro.
He felt it like some clever dick
And knew what he did know.
‘I’ll plant it!’ came his voice in sound,
Familiar as his face.
‘I’ll plant it in the earthy ground,
And leave no digging trace.’
The midget, with a knowing look
Dug deep and secret down.
And using only half a hook,
A conker and a frown.
‘This Rumblebean is wrapped in mud!’
He bellied on ascending.
‘The kind that turns things into wood,
And letters ripe for sending.’
Then with a little stake he stuck
Upon the very spot,
A note made out of hope and luck,
Tied with a safety knot.
‘Grow well my little Rumblebean,’
The midget shed in tears.
‘Grow up onto a might av been,
And prosper through your ears.’
The Author
A man was coming to stay with us at our little farm, this was years
ago when someone who could read the papers was an intellectual
or if not a clever dick too smart for his own good.
The writer was supposed to work too, as to get the feel of farm life.
But he was weedy didn’t want to help with mucking out in
the barn in the morning, he had to go back to his typewriter.
Finally, his manuscript was done he left a big eater he was not missed.
Two years later when the book came out it has little to do with us
but how hard he had suffered pretending he was a child slave and
much was written about this, but no one came to our farm asking us
about the man. Time has changed today people would have asked
questions and not taking printed words for granted