Horse Trainer Frank Hayes
lived a mere eight thousand days.
Though he won the race,
Death’s Sweet Kiss was ‘pon his face.
Watched the steeplechase races at Cheltenham
At the haywall a jockey fell off
His horse though continued to ride
And came first – what a great finish that was.
The name of the horse is Fiddlerontheroof
But the victory was awarded to Monkfish,
Who came second, with a jockey on the back.
At my comprehension, Fiddlerontheroof won.
He did the job greatly, with no commands required
He rode freely and gracefully, knowing how to make it
Showed splendidly what a horse ride must be like
Without the torment of whips and this stupid rush.
'Twas pouring, and the thoroughbreds
Did gallop and thunder in the rain.
All muddy were the jockeys' silks,
And the weather quite insane.
"Beware the Kentucky Derby, Son!
Fame and fortune the trainers haunt.
Beware the length of the Preakness run,
And the exhausting Belmont."
He took the leather reins in hand.
Long time the winning horse he sought.
So mounted he on the saddle tree
And rode awhile in thought.
And as in dreaming thought he rode,
Secretariat, with eyes of brown,
Came sprinting through the tiring pack
Searching for renown.
One, two! One, two! and through and through-
The other jocks did frown-
He crossed the line by thirty-one lengths
And won the Triple Crown!
"And did we win the Triple Crown?
To the winner's circle, my wonder horse."
O fantastic day. Hurrah! Hooray!
The multitude did discourse.
'Twas pouring, and the thoroughbreds
Did gallop and thunder in the rain.
All muddy were the jockeys' silks,
And the weather quite insane.
There once was a Highlander Jockey
Like his stallion, brazen and cocky
Sorry for being coarse
I am hung like my horse
So boastful, and all walkie talkie
* Written 20/05/14 *
some or good
there music have stood
tall they play
has lots to say
some or bad
there music make you mad
and sad
some talk trash there music a bash
some just lockey
them fancy
DIS JOCKEY
music what they play
music has ;lot to say
in the studio they stay
theyer odd on the jod
with a mixs kit
they do this
for love music there theme
and its mean get down mean
its a
DISKS JOCKEY DREAMS
he stood over the mare
a braising sable dancing
throughout the fields
of arlington heights a harness racing
thee annual competition
his eyes grazed the stallion
apon entering the arena
silence aboded
as pete climbed aboard
his frail bones clanged harshly
breathless painful panting occurred
while the crowd roared
the brown mare
had galantly won the race
and dropped to the floor
while her soft brown eyes
turned a bright shade of red
why to her surprise the jockey was dead
every night,
in bed talking to my cushion,
my immaginary male friend,
i dream about a village,
where to live in forever,
in bed wearing a pair of white pants,
groaming my next of kin,
Mario
Screen of invasion
Chaffing on my thumb’s webbing
My scores about to roll
By Robb A. Kopp
It's a good day to die - aren't they all?
planted this evil seed;
scrawled the note on a Get Well Soon greeting;
ink or blood?
Doesn't matter, suppose it
should...really.
One magpie is all that's
ever been seen;
years wasted scoping
barren terrain
for one more for joy.
For a sign of hope...humanity
Only bad omens beat
lonely wings;
it's cold, man, cold
and really old really quick.
No more dreams of cabbages
and kings and...tender things.
No afterlife, please,
no backwater channel resurrection re-run;
no off-peak reincarnated repeat
of what has gone before.
Once was enough;
how could that hell be endured...anymore?
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