TO CROCODILE TRIALS AND ALLIGATOR CHILDREN
(Apropos Of Mine And My Fostered Ones)
It has been revealed
That there is much
I will not live to see.
Yet, I praise God’s will
And His graceful healings
For allowing me to be here;
Engaged in His mission purpose:
Me in daily labors of love,
For the welfare, justice,
And equality, for me and us all:-
And now, as my time here wanes,
And I slowly sojourn homeward
To that house not made by hands,
I know that in my keloid footsteps,
You all shall indeed journey onward
In securing democracy for us all:-
Beloveth children, mourn me not in pain,
But in tears of joy, and living love.
Always be aware that I shall be
Watching from that house above.
Do not wallow in despair;
Rejoice and not be sad:-
Many never got waxed
And waning time to spend
With a happy old grey head, Dad:-.
Crocodile lady to some seemed shady
I did not know her well, this Victorian lady
She dresses in satin and ribbons and lace
Trying to divert us from her crocodile face
I cannot get around it, it’s the first thing I see
and the teeth which are enormous, in no way wee
Her fashion sense is admirable, her teeth are in align
But I am nervous around her said my neighbor, Line.
Let’s listen to songs in the language of play
From the Harts of our inner children
As Miranda’s dear reader chums.
The joy is in colouring in a crocodile,
Not whether you make a crocodile
Look like an accurate crocodile.
When you’re blue, colour a crocodile
Blue, too.
Twit twoo if you want to.
Who says you have to colour in a crocodile?
What about stamping little Harts onto the picture
Or picking stamp letters of your favourite words,
Spelling them haueva u onet oo.
Crocodile doesn’t seem like a word anymore -
I’ve been writing it so much.
her parents were hard of hearing but refused to wear aids
making Miss Polly the loudest croc in the everglade
we swamp people knew she was coming every single time
not only was she unusually loud, but she tended to wheeze and whine.
There is boredom, there is pain,
both slip through me like a paper knife –
then there is the keen foil of love.
The partly serrated edge
of a butter knife is for cutting toast,
yet such an innocuous edge
can slowly saw through blood.
I walk into a Thrift Shop,
see a memory painted over porcelain,
it catches my eye; take it home,
while wiping off the dust,
it slips through my fingers.
Sweeping up the wreckage,
like an old crocodile
I shed a few muddy tears,
now too bored with pain
to write another love poem.
I open a blunt pocketknife
one she gave me, probably knowing
I would need to scratch at my wounds
from time to time.
artistic crocodile refused to wear clothes right away
I will paint a camouflage instead, he used to say
his mother gave up, but his dad pouted a bit.
Thinking his son looked kind of like a nitwit.
Someone new to the Everglades made Artistic a movie star.
He was given a standing ovation, and that was just in the car.
His parents were given their own huge swamp in which to live.
His artistic soul and lovely talents continued to give.
With grandpa on the Thames to fish,
Our boat sailed north like a Croc,
Meandering brackish waters,
Waiting for a feast of catfish.
Pike, perch, and zander were grandpa's wish;
Barbel, carp, chub, and bream his catch.
Halibut and cod were my desire,
Their flavours always buttering my palate.
The fun was full,
Until a Croc rose for our catch,
Its eyes fixed on my shiny leg,
As if one bite could sate its hunger.
I trembled at its timid stare,
Unaware it was hypnotizing me.
I tapped grandpa and whispered, "See a Croc…"
His fearful shout sent it fleeing.
Then I realized how poor grandpa’s eyes were;
My youthful sight saved us from the Croc—
Grandpa might have filled its appetite,
While I became its appetizer instead.
Paul Hogan now..A battler thats true' tall tails and long days,
The crocks could tell you.. Also' painter on the bridge
Over Sydney town, tested and tried.' Yet still not bested.' The taxman wanted to make him
Pay up' yet in the end?? Houges; just shot 'em down.'!
The crocodile smile is such a pretty sight
as the Egyptian Plover keeps his teeth
pearly white and shiny bright
"Open wide," are words heard from the bird
his dental hygienist who picks and pecks
then eats the meaty spicks and specks
and as the crocodile sheds old choppers
(no tears)
so the avian's not unemployed or at a loss
the croc constantly grows new gnashers
for his new-found feathered friend to floss
My heart leapt with all joy, still does, with doe eyes.
Back in that day, before I knew Elton’s face, the sighs
of my sister and I, as we lie in our parents bed,
hours of tuning in to the sounds we were fed.
My heart leapt with all joy, as this Middlesex man
belted out this timebomb tune. Pop rock began.
Begins with innocence, new releases rocks repress,
with the leer of a crocodile on “Suzie’s tight dress.”
A young mind doesn’t fixate on innuendoes; doe eyes
recklessly leap and dance; with time, lyrics synthesize.
The moment I hear this tune, I’m back in time, inside
my Haviland skin, “hopping and bopping” amplified.
nose above water
we think hes a floating log
green crocodile
he is seventy
surviving in saltwater
largest ones alive
ROBERT SHERRIFF - AUSTRALIAN - POET -AUTHOR - SINGER - ACTOR - AMERICAN HISTORIAN – PHOTOGRAPHER
He who feeds the crocodile will always get eaten last
a cross between
a crocodile and a washing machine
a cross between
a poorly snowman and a pot of cream
a cross between
a flamboyant preacher and a magazine
a cross between
an athlete and a runner bean
a cross between
a walrus and a beauty queen
a cross between
a sleeping sloth and a figurine
a cross between
a peculiar day and a funny dream
a cross between
the Hulk with jaundice and a sickly green
a cross between
doctor’s receptionists and a rugby team
Politics has swallowed his laughter and smile.
He's become deaf to any other point of view.
Head-banging like a heavy-metal crocodile.
While stroking a harp from his pristine pew.
His bitterness is like a pissed-off tarantula.
Fangs raised high above star-spangled heads.
Of those with a different colored mantra.
He labels all of them "the living dead".
In another time and circumstance,
we could have become best friends.
But his demon has always been politics.
That head demon never-never rests.
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