The story of a Criminal Grandma
Not a good one
A crime spree old lady
One that is witty, Grandma Dynamite
An Old lady who robs and steals
She uses dynamite to explode
Stealing from banks
Never saying thanks
Even Police warrants her arrest
Grandma Dynamite has a way to contest
It’s all about steal
She doesn’t conceal
Grandma Dynamite follows through on her robbing desire
It’s dynamite acting like fire
Her voice always says,” STAND BACK”
She has a spreadsheet having a numerous criminal track
Grandma Dynamite might capture one’s heart from the start
Take it from Police, she knows how to make her mark
She gets what she steals
Dynamite becomes the Police ordeal
Grandma Dynamite is known around the world
Grandma Dynamite being a criminal celebrity
Explosions in the aftermath.
Dynamite comes in
Small packages; but it
Blows a whole village.
And the last they said belonged to the best.
From the light reflecting on a diamond.
I mean when it separates into directions.
Just like my neurons bursting.
Like beautiful forms of colours
changing every vision, every taste, every smell, every feel.
Shouting sensations from a broken heart
freedom bursting right where you put that touch
Just like freedom, true happiness...
Is everyone getting what I mean.
Here lie the few remains of John M. Kyte
He lit a cigarette with a stick of dynamite
[His body was blown to smithereens]
Parts of him were scattered over the county
For which retrieval insured a hefty bounty.
Written November 29, 2022
If I could climb in to a song it'd be one that you sing
Your voice, it soothes like morning dew on fresh new grass in Spring
Its fragrance is of lilacs that bathe my sense of smell
In beautiful aromas, pure bliss under its spell
An aural sonic palette of colors that delight
If I could climb in to your song I'd live there day and night
I'd weave within its melody, unhindered and unbound
I'd place an orange orchid on the cords that make its sound
If I could climb into a song it'd be one that you sing
And never would I leave again, content in everything
two islands and dynamite
There are two islands in the stream, one is big
and called the new island the other is small and
called the old island, the pair is linked to a bridge.
I crossed the bond to see my girlfriend, who lived
on the old island, in a shack, all houses were shacks
the fishermen lived there in suitable poverty.
I knocked on the door that cracked, letting out
a light which was good, the steps to the house were
made off rough unfriendly stones.
Her mother opened I didn’t like her smelling of beer
she had three teeth left and spoke like a whistle.
She hated me for being a cook at a tourist hotel
work she thought was for skulkers men with soft
hands incapable to do a proper job, like fishing
mackerel for a living.
She has gone with her new boyfriend on his boat
he is a skipper, to Denmark, and with that,
she slammed the door shut.
On the news, a bridge crossing Crimea to Russia
has been blown up; when I crossed the bridge to get
to the new island, I thought of doing something
in that vein, but having no knowledge of dynamite
I let it pass.
I have just read a mail from Deb M,
to say that I'm a Viking,
A warrior me? that sounds exciting.
Warriors like Vikings are very hard to beat,
Especially when they are fighting
About what is best to eat.
The Vikings love Vegemite,
Their opponents favour Marmite,
Both have similar flavours,
But Vegemite has more bite.
It hits the tongue,
With a wham,
It has a unique taste,
Not sweet like jam
Or Marmite,
Marmite is more subtle,
It lacks that Ozzie bite
I suppose if you are not a Viking
Marmite would taste alright.
It's a shame my fellow warrior,
Surname begins with M,
She could be Goddess D Marmite,
That would please them,
Oh dear, that would cut us to the core.
The only way to solve that,
Is to start another war
Vikings and Vegemite evermore!
The Leader of the gang
Fought his door with a bang,
From the all –metal forcing out a clang
That his impatience duly sang,
Now smiling and choosing to hang,
Every tooth of his a ready fang…
Then, Dave’s rescuing phone rang
To great risk exposing the gang!
Pitted against a metallic door,
Whose forcible opening isn’t sure
Save with dynamites not in noise poor
Or human strength, completely raw
Would the leader now run for it,first
Or the door still attack a bit?
The limericks are flowing like water o'er a damn
Better close the flood gates and sound the alarm
Haven't gone poopsies
Since a week ago Tuesday
Dynamite may be needed but can cause bodily harm
Fishing with Dynamite
Boom! goes the dynamite as we fish for fish
No line, net or hook needed
Just a few sticks of dynamite and a Zippo
Light the stick and toss it in
Wait a few seconds and Boom!
There’s a dozen fish ready for the pot
Try not to use fast burn sticks
You’ll end up in heaven or hell
And make sure you throw it far
You don’t want splash backs
Or to sink your boat if afloat
I’ve caught sticklebacks and great whales
And a U-boat and dozen other types besides
Ate my fill in twenty nations
While dynamite fishing
It’s no good for the reefs
But we pay off the officials
No permits needed
You know how it is cash talks
So I’m allowed to fish where I want
And am off to France soon
Followed by Spain and Italy
To do some illegal Boom! fishing...
from Side of the Hill – Varied Poems... Nick Armbrister
Bruce Jenner makers a good enough woman
in his condition lukewarm paretaker
diamond of violerts lerft his circumstance
wait by the sofa a lurk on the rollercoaster
dead weight
talk to me cookie
flatternerd on the gas heap
Dynamite
for some it pays to live by sight
fore some living through strife,
bus deiiver curerd in every direction
at lunch wer pick up mats to quench oure thirst
quail in discomfored
these are ther days when anything goes,
stawberry pie
keerp cool as you dial
surefacer kill Leroy Brown
J.J. Walker...,
added slogan takes things higher
She walks like thunder and laughs like a child
Cries like the rain and smiles like the sun
Loves like diamond and breaks like glass
Talks line an angel and thinks like a war veteran
Lives like forever and dies like never
She is an ocean, with depth and intensity
She is a valley
With a bare soul and open heart
Where rivers of hope run through
She is a statue that carries strength on her shoulders
And undefiled beauty in the stare of her eyes
She is life in the flicker of her voice
Honesty in the patch of her fear
Longevity in the scent of her innocence
She is dynamite
I love you so much such explosions wen we touch
It feels so right when we hold each other tight
In each others arms all cosy and tight.
Holding you so close until it's light.
The warmth of your touch as it thrills me so much.
Such radiant heat seeps from our skin as we begin
To cuddle on in, watching you as you drift of to sleep.
I cuddle my baby and hold them so tight makes me feel it's ooh so right and he always treats me right he's my little stick of xploding dynamite.
Info lock and load
The key does require a code
Unique to each one
These atoms that do collide
In mind is where it resides
For the chance to learn in plain English
Be afforded equal opportunity to accomplish
For a father to dream better for his son, how I wish
For a people to destroy another’s culture,
how selfish
When the world summarily defeated Nazi Germany
Blinded by a new world order to the suffering of so many
Post WWII, evil scientists still propagated falsification
Manipulated evolution to justify oppression?
Raised on air filled with teargas and gunshots
The land soaking with exploited labour’s sweat;
The tears of exasperation and the blood of molestation
We never lost our belief in Mandela’s religion
Generational poverty tightening its vicious circle
The enemy breeding an army of youth trained to kill
16 million sticks of dynamite liberated a nation
Literally paving the way for the ’94 Elections
**************************************************************
Born in the ‘80s, I was spared the torment of the birth of democratic South Africa.
But so many suffered unspeakable evils to make our freedom possible, on (Youth Day) 16 June, 1976.
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