I’m like, “Yo!”,
and he’s like, “Woh!”,
and I’m like, “Good to meet,”
and he’s like, “Yeah, real neat,”
and I’m like, “Jungle sucks,”
and he’s like, “It’s big bucks,”
and I’m like, “It’s the pits,”
and he’s like, “What a ditz!”,
and I’m like, “Where’s the beer?”,
and he’s like, “Why you here?”,
and I’m like, “I got sent,”
and he’s like, “Excellent!”,
and I’m like, “Let’s shoot pool,”
and he’s like, “That’s way cool,”
and he’s like, “You from Alaska?”,
and I’m like, “Nah – Nebraska”,
and he’s like, “Go Huskers!”,
and I’m like, “No tuskers?”
and he’s like, “Had a cull, for food”,
and I’m like, “Radical, dude
When Livingstone got back to quarters
It was time to pay off his porters
His account was in London, no branch was nearer
So each man got a check made out to bearer
What a stunning body
More pleasing on the eye than you’ll ever know
A selection of voluptuous curves and pleasing undulations
So scintillating and gorgeous like an alpine pass
If you were a national park you’d truly be a site of natural interest
Please call me David Livingstone
And allow me the pleasure in exploring
Enjoying the breast of both worlds with the mounds of your bosom
Sliding down over your lovely belly bump
Before splashing down in your crystal ocean
Now I may be bum tired after all the excitement
But just remember I love your body
I do I do I do
I’m like, “Yo!”,
and he’s like, “Woh!”,
and I’m like, “Good to meet,”
and he’s like, “Real neat,”
and I’m like, “Jungle sucks,”
and he’s like, “It’s big bucks,”
and I’m like, “It’s the pits,”
and he’s like, “What a ditz!”,
and I’m like, “Where’s the beer?”,
and he’s like, “Why you here?”,
and I’m like, “I got sent,”
and he’s like, “Excellent!”,
and I’m like, “let’s shoot pool,”
and he’s like, “Way cool,”
and he’s like, “You from Alaska?”,
and I’m like, “Nah – Nebraska”,
and he’s like, “Go Huskers!”,
and I’m like, “No tuskers?”
and he’s like, “Had a cull – food”,
and I’m like, “Radical, dude.”
When Coventry was cowed, it got Godiva.
The French were frantic, so God sent them Joan,
and Stanley showed up just when Livingstone
required him. Enter left, a doughty diver!
What wasn’t needed was a fancy talker,
back-slapping, banter-cracking, glib buffoon.
This called for someone steady, silent, hewn
from granite And his name was William Walker.
The work was not too tricky, in itself.
One man alone could cut away the wood
(but under water, mind you). Not for pelf
(the word exists – go look it up!), nor yet
for fame, but just because somebody should,
bold Walker took it on. We’re in his debt.
A teapot clapping is a fish bowl clucking and an irrespective thought can be as cloudy as a drop of ink on a page. Beware the trotting dusty bowl on trusted legs. Moving. Daring darning dancing dogs. And a monumental beak ironing. Oh well movies moaning. Meaning an explosion of fish darting around in the sky. Livingstone line linking lavishness. And a thrown fork is not a heifer toe nor is it a pointed leaf. Hahaha milking an egg. Hahaha ministerial mincemeat. Xxxxx aero sciences Z z z z
David scored the only, first goal,
In the first match against Brazil,
The host nation of Paralympics,
All his guts and grit he did spill.
From Livingstone in Scotland,
David played for Hibs juniors,
But he then moved to Preston,
Now is in Musselburgh seniors.
He works for RBS and he says,
Rio was “the best experience
of my life…[and] the Paralympics
has opened a [new experience].“
The Lone Seagull
Lone Seagull flying
gliding in the gentle wind
on a lonely night
With only the moon
to light his path as he flies
in search of the truth
How piteous life is
to quarrel for a morsel
when there's other way
In his solitude
he discovered his purpose
there is more to life
It's a lonely path
but one he chose to take risk
to test his limits
Gulls are born to fly
to soar high and touch heaven
where real freedom lies
This poem was inspired by the Novel of Richard Bach "Jonathan Livingstone Seagull"
You are an African Queen.
Let your roots be the glow over your brazen soul.
You are peculiar to the soil.
Peculiar to a continent that holds history worth abiding.
A history that tell tales of hope.Hope unfathomable.
You are an African Queen.
Hold your head up high towards the horizon.
See where wisdom meets knowledge.Wisdom unfathomable.
You are an African Queen.
Swing your hips as you dance to a song unsung.
Move to the rhythm of pain,
As you break into a dance of Potency.A dance unfathomable.
You are an African Queen.
Just like the Livingstone Lourie,
Wear your crown with pride.
Wear your color without remorse.
Show it off to inspire.
Wear it high and might to appease the subdued.
You are an African Queen.
So do what we do best;
And dance towards an indistinct pulse.
Dance towards the drums of doom.
Dance towards the mountain’s reefs.
Dance towards the troubled waters.
Dance African Queen.
Dance for the power of the soil,
The power of the crown,
The power of many words unspoken.
Dance African Queen, Dance.
DANCE TO THE RHYTHM OF LIFE.
entered in the one of your best contest.
Doctor Maya Angelou the writer
Maya Angelou the actor
Maya Angelou the poet
The singer that was Maya Angelou
That Black lady
With silk smooth voice
Like silk smiling under the finger’s touch
She is dead
Maya Angelou is dead
How does that sound?
Do not let questions go to your head
For thoughts abound
With things that have no answer for themselves
Against the contest of death we never wins
I have memory on shelves
Of those who died and left me all their sins.
Maya Angelou is dead
Not the singer, or poet, or writer
The doctor is dead
Do I hear laughter
Or the sound of ice in glass
Before they pour bourbon, scotch or gin
And say I am only like grass
Why struggle if you never win?
The caged bird is it set free at last
Will freedom mute its tongue
What happens to the sorrow of the past
And the souls of people hung
Where there was neither cross or reason
Beyond the color of my skin
It is man alone that last a season
Thinking and believing was Maya’s sin.
D. Livingstone Smalling
For Achilles it was his wounded heel
For Sampson his cut off hair
For me I would loss my inner strength
If you were no longer there
Like Stanley looking for Livingstone
Like Ponce de Leon searching for youth
I would scour the world looking for love
If you were gone – and that’s the truth
Brutus was the end for Caesar
Waterloo for Napoleon
If ever you were to go away
I would cease to carry on
Throughout the pages of history
Are stories with which I relate
But as long as you stay here with me
I won’t suffer a similar fate
Long, long ago and longer
When I was but a child
I read of Doctor Livingstone
Who ventured in the wild.
Dr. David had no fear
He went where few had gone.
This missionary and explorer
To Africa was drawn.
The unsophisticated natives
Didn’t know the wealth they had
Allowed Livingstone to name their falls
When he shouted out “Egad.
I’ve found what no white man has seen
I name it ‘Victoria Falls’”.
When back in England he was touted.
But lack of adventure palls.
He was sent back to Africa
To find source of the Nile.
He traveled around that continent
And became lost for a while.
Henry Morton Stanley when he found him, said
“Mr Livingstone I presume?”
He died in the heart of Africa.
Westminster Abbey holds his tomb.
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