Hard not to love Dylan Thomas’s tall tales
Each gloomy day may just tip those scales
Sends you off the rails when all else fails
Dilly dally schoolboys get cat of nine tails
Go doolally rally in the valley hard as nails
Don't cuss no faff or fuss for us Taff males
Knew along with a fair few Cymru crew's hue
Shared view that no where else has in spades
Cascades of so many gloriously grey shades
Dylan boozy villain mutters hip hop hooray
Gusts bluster beneath his sails on his travails
Trooping way this colour can't be kept at bay
Muster bulbous tinted voluptuous glinted bales
Proudly ride loudly in the night on his coattails
Very fond of merry vagabond's beyond the pales
Hail the true Withnail's escapades made in Wales
Don't harangue pang for meringue gang at play
Not a gimmick pray clouds don't go away hold sway
Rollick then frolic & fossick.. a limerick for any day
Outdoor foray adore bucolic score kaleidoscopic GREY
Meghan and Harry
So, Meghan and Harry appeared on the unelected
queen of America´s Oprah, last night.
Banality swam in a sea of phoney weeping.
Harry, the prince, when not feeding, the chickens
had to listen to them and nodding his head.
He cut a pathetic figure.
The gutter press goes after all young royals coloured
or not, Harry´s mother was white as the driven snow
yet she was hounded, one can say, to death.
There is one winner here that is hard-as-nails
Meghan got her prince, and she has been
elevated to schmaltz, the upper class of triviality.
Seasons are changing so they say
And there’s a storm outside making it’s play
It’s really causing quite a fright
Because it is the middle of the night
The wind is blowing from the South
But it just won’t shut up its mouth
Rain is falling hard as nails
What a luxury for the snails
We had a really hot summer this year
But now winter is making us shiver
So do I look back on what we had
Or look forward to the ice pack
Another year another season
For our weather there’s no reason
Why have we had the weather we have had
I maybe need to talk to my Dad
He might know, or at least where to go
As we all leave footprints in the snow
DAMO
I am a teacher
Eager beaver
Full of beans
I build bridges
And burn the candle at both ends
I am a teacher
Cap in hand
Full of the milk of human kindness
I fight tooth and nail
To make my pupils see reason
I am a teacher
As hard as nails
Face like thunder
I resent cheap shots
And the breaking of every rule in the book
I am a teacher
With a carrot and a stick
I bring my pupils to heel
I reward who reach for the moon
I clip pupils’ wings
If they go far and off the rails
I am a teacher
Not a mouse potato
And not behind the times either
I am all ears
I bare my soul to my pupils
I make them explore all avenues
And go the extra mile
I am a teacher
I have my heart set on giving
It is a long row to hoe
I will make headway
Pull out all the stops
And hang in there
That’s what I have on the brain.
December 17th, 2015
For those of us who have lost your hair
And feel embarrassed as a mudguard up there
The truth of the matter is simple to see
Just shave it off and grow a goatee
And you will look tough and hard as nails
Where when measuring up you wouldn’t fail
So cheer up you can look cool
By shaving it off and growing a goatee as the rule.
© Paul Warren Poetry
From a video I saw recently
10/3/17
IMAGE ME A POEM
In the night, dark and cold,
There gallops a stallion, strong and bold.
His beautiful coat, brown and sleek,
Slim and shiny, like polished teak.
His black mane and sloshing tail,
His sturdy hooves, hard as nails.
His bulging muscles and burly legs,
Harder than a wooden peg.
His tossing mane, in the wind,
His legs and muzzle, black and singed.
His shiny, reflective, rippled skin,
His hoofs on the ground and their vibrant din.
His smooth strong gallop, beautiful,
His daring brown eyes, purposeful.
And still he gallops, gallops on,
And gallop he will, until the dawn.
an atypical poet
an atypical poet
a little of this
a little of that
a dab of daring
a dash of do
super sensitively
hard as nails
the softened heart
of calloused pain
the gentleness
of granite’s grain
worn warrior
of windmill fame
lamplighter
of the darkened mind
the hide and seek
of look and find
the implication
of tongue in cheek
the “I dare you” of
“come take a peek”
follow twisted pen
down crooked lane
from serious
to quite inane
embed within
the common phrase
forever’s passion
still ablaze
torching lover’s
broken dreams
exposing liars
convoluted schemes
the black and white
of ancient crust
cold weathered face
of tarnished bust
writing poetry
in the dust
John G. Lawless
©7/7/2017
She's just an old lady with a slow walk
There's a little pain where a smile once was
She's not chatty, just a little small talk
Her left eye don't see what her right one does
But,ah my friend, she once was hell on wheels
She sat the saddle like a cowboy might
Preferred hard ridin' to automobiles
Didn't much matter whether day or night
She is a lot of what this country needs
As hard as nails and then soft as a fawn
I'm dying now and I've sown my seeds
Someone be gentle to her when I'm gone
She was a hardcase and all that covers
And she was one of the world's great lovers
September 1, 2016
The best fire wood to be found
If dried it cannot be split
Extremely dense and heavy
And as hard as nails
Leathery evergreen leaves
Red bark peeling from the trunk
Whitish flowers, red berries
Growing from a cliff
It’s known as the Ironwood tree
But that’s not its actual name
A Pacific Coast native
The Madrona tree
Trees Everywhere Contest
Entry by Charles Sides
Where I grew up there’s a unique creature
Has Horns everywhere, a unique feature
Six inches in length and dinosaur like
The horns on his head stick out like a spike
They call him a “Horned Toad” where I was raised
“Horney Toad” or “Horned Frog” he’s also phrased
Actually he’s neither a frog nor toad
A “Horned Lizard” is the proper name bestowed
The horns on his body are actually scales
But on his head they’re bone and hard as nails
When he runs, he lifts high up off the ground
A wibble-wobble run to where he’s bound
We took some to a Boy Scout jamboree
Traded them as pets or sold for a fee
We also painted some large cockleburs
Traded as porcupine eggs as it were
There’re all kinds of legends about these guys
Like eating hot coals, and spitting in your eyes
There are fifteen species in the US
The Texas Horned Lizard’s biggest and best
He’s tender and caring in his own way,
From moving cattle to bucking hay;
He’s stubborn but gentle and hard as nails,
As he deals with all that his job entails;
He may seem distant but he’s filled with pride;
From the cattle he tends to the horse that he rides;
He’s defender of the small and weak,
And protector of the sick and meek;
He keeps the code of the cowboy way,
Standing steadfast from day to day;
Watching over and protecting from harm,
All of the beings that reside on his farm;
He’s sometimes reserved and far-away,
And he never really has too much to say;
Laugh lines cover his weathered face,
Something even time can’t erase;
He is a cowboy, born and bred,
From the boots on his feet to the hat on his head.
You once said I'm hard as nails
no heart inside of me
since you passed I seem to wear
my heart upon my sleeve
my sweet Brother you'd often say
look at that poor man there
I'd turn around and say to you
what the hell, why should I care
you've left me with an open wound
with new eyes I now see
my cold blood has now been replaced
with tea and sympathy
there is no whinge, there is no moan
for others I feel their pain
I understand how much they hurt
I've just been through the same
not able to keep my emotions inside
I'd like a little control right now
I bet your up there smiling at me
no longer that bitter old cow
Sun shines through, see my translucent hands
Skin that looks like wax by candle light.
Delicate, the palms of these here hands
Testament to toil, by my night light.
Harder men have bunions on their palms
Skin that’s worn and dirty finger nails.
Strong is, the history of their palms
Testament to toil, as hard as nails.
Down in Alabam where big sweet taters grow
lives great aunt Cyndi diggin dirt with a hoe.
Up in the morn bout the crack o’ dawn
see for miles where she’s dug up the lawn.
Hard as nails with hair sweet- tater- red
she could set a table, make you feel fed.
Wave you down and ask you to stop by
have a piece o’ her sweet tater pie.
Smash sweet taters and hickory smoked pork
a chilled bottle o’ wine with a stuck cork.
Cornbread in the oven ready to take out
Slap your mama silly, lip smackin no doubt.
Dawg’s patiently waitin on the back stoop
for the cornbread mush and sweet tater soup.
With tongue a hangin and tail a waggin
shortly his tummy will be a draggin.
Sweet tater pie with whipped cream on top
you’ll eat so much you’ll think you’ll pop.
Sweet tater pie my sweet love from the south
more o’ sweet tater pie, well shut my mouth.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
My daddy was born
in Arkansas.
Momma wore a tight fitt-in bikini bra.
Daddy worked real hard he had us to feed.
We never had alot but had what we need.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
I got a little brother and his names Eugene.
When he drinks whiskey he gets real mean.
My sister she is as hard as nails.
They say she knows how to give-em hell.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
Our daddy taught us to work;nothin came free.
Momma was in the kitchen fixin ice tea.
We were poor but we knew how to have a good time.
Playing poker and drinking homemade wine.
I wish there was somethin I could say bout me.
But a squirrel don't fall far from the tree.
Wrote by Buddy&Teresa Skyles
7/27/08
This song was wrote for Buddy my 1st.born but with Michelle&Eugene in mind.
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