Long Die hard Poems
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THE DALLAS COWBOYS
Can you not hear the rumblings of that distant herd coming,
The loud thundering of destiny’s champions crossing, the NFL
Field of dreams, beware the rampaging lightening team known
As the Dallas Cowboys, for they are the hail storms victorous
Breed, the eye of the hurricane riders, searching for their
Well-deserved trophy of fortunes honor!
Remove your cowboy’s hats of respect unto them, ladies
Curtsy with reverences motion, for these athletes are
Endurance’s best, and they shall overcome against
Any opposing finest challengers, these rangers of the
Old western traditions, that carry this country’s time
Honored name of the cowboy to the ultimate extreme,
Of skill and strength’s dexterity!
Dallas all plain drifters of purity’s valor, head to head
No bull horns about it, these are the champions of the
Gladiatorial games in the world of sportsmanship!
Yielding unto no oppositions combatants, these warriors
Hold their ground with distinctions sheer magnificence!
Let those world famous cheerleaders scream with every
Field goal achieved, for these beauties know that no
Other team in footballs annals will score, to the level
Of these good old boys, named by fame's hall of records,
The famous Dallas Cowboys, heehaw and God bless hum!
Now listen you city slicking team of sports hall of fameing
Seekers, you’d better go back to your home fields of
Advantages, for hear in this lone star state, we take no
Prisoners, and show no mercy to out lander's!
Here in the ALAMO state of freedoms calling,
We remember our heritage standing tall and
Proud against all odds, blazoned in bullets
Historical legends, our grand team barres
The name of fore-barriers proudly, those
Pioneer’s men known, as the all American
Cowboys!
These six-shooters whom rode the die hard tails,
Across a new world creating a country of freedom,
Where only the tumble-weeds rolled, and desert dust,
Coached a man’s thirst almost to madness!
Now in traditions sport of men, a new team of desperado’s,
Threatens this lone star state, but have no fear my fellow
Texans for our Dallas Cowboys will send them packing,
With a good old boy’s field goals smacking, so I’ll cheer
Them on, waving my hat in the evening air, yelling heehaw,
Go get hum boys!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE DESTROYER
ROCK ON SISTER POET
Learning when/how to close seat then...
flush... the toilet with good frisson!
(alternately titled long windedly
using lower case letters:
no matter tidily bowled over based
upon real events, perhaps subject devoid
of literary merit and/or taste
no embarrassment, cuz
I got nothing to cover
despite precious time going to waste).
Analogous to constipation,
constitutes full term pregnancy,
perhaps umpteenth or first,
which former offal bodily function I durst
mention, said subject doth stink,
yet... exercising bowel
applicative, constrictive, effective,
exhaustive, gesticulative, instinctive,
massive, oppressive, qualitative,
quantitative, significative and unitive
(beg to differ if ye think me perverse)
both scenarios prone to stress and strain,
difficulties can arise evacuating bowels
gluteus maximus muscles severely pursed,
radiating sharp stabbing sensations
behind junk in trunk quarters felt
until bulging temple veins ready to burst,
where piles of hemorrhoids
foul rectum tortured and accursed
necessitating Judas Priest well versed
to issue last rites while
appropriate official dull livers worst
news to missus, whose
inconsolable sympathies nursed,
nevertheless bit torrent of sorrow
honor alone time with grateful dead
subsequently finds medical personnel disbursed,
privately newly minted widow mourning
tears for fears immersed
bemoaning sudden permanent absence
gone fore e'er foremost farter figure first
instance obliterated, when posterior
uproariously (actually not funny)
inflicted hemorrhage emergency,
die hard ludicrous poet (me) experienced
all expense chauffeured ride in hearst
aforementioned purportedly roughly comparable,
courtesy hearsay, when
hypothetical woman with child,
(here, I metaphorically paraphrase)
as maven ready to take aim giving birth
(nine months after satiating
hankering call of the wild
buzzfeeding miracle worker whipped thirst,
and temporarily appeased
inherent maternal yearning
to beget offspring, then... off to races
sprinting at greased lightning speed
amazingly enough slightly protruded womb,
(among other fledgling
and/or practiced moms avid runners
all touted as winners relay race crossing
finish line simultaneously
comprising distance measuring more'n verst.
Cover this stained façade with my tears
Streaking in rust down this immortal skin
I see the ravens fire rise rocket into the dark sky
Thunder resounds at its dark core
Rusted as feudal lords hide
Hot as the rusted iron worms bore
Winged machines of iron and glass
Thoughts seep into the sleep of gods
Winged shadows perform sacred rites
Bullet the frosty wind of desolation‘s boulevard
Greedy for the seeds of a bitter dry hell
Infernal white, brimstone burn
Bone marrow n stone
This eternal sorrow, of this immortal soul
Deep at the break of dawn
Taste the ashen flesh of sinner and savors
A song of a Golden Heaven resounds, high
This immaculate sky by creation flies, nigh
Tingling of touch, searing of thought,
Blazing in brilliant sight, born deep in sleep
I am wings spread in rudy hue
I feel shadows covering this strange façade
Cling fast from the fading Light
The dying of the Day
The dying of the Last,
Dawn covers forevermore
The currents of an idle mind, void
The moments of judgment to come
The nuclear fire lights
A city full of desire, destroyed
Cry for the troubled waters of creation
The essence of life, wars die hard
In the mouth of the lambs
The lambs to the slaughter
The slaughter of innocence
Spill the tears of an immortal soul
The seeds of an immaculate ejaculate
Cry for the hated deeds done
By some unknown
Known by none, see how they run
The run of rusted tears down a ruined trails
Feel the rotting of these iron hells
See the fading grand empire
Of broken glass
Twisted crosses
Iron wings cover this machine made flesh
A fragile fractal facade
A face so delicately sable
Intricate fingers flex, contract, interweaving
Made of fire, traceing the light of dawn
Made of strings, springs
Some dark strange things
Somethings sit here at the door
Where my shadows dare
Somewhere someone has flown
Under a cold moon running from the sun
Grim passing in the world outside
Iron wings cover me forevermore as pyers, rises
A man’s honor, n pride dies
In these minions of chaos
On the legions of Eternal Watch
Fly these iron wings spread
Their glory, rise flying high
Into a red ragged raging, sky
Into the demise of the glorious
Rays breaking from Valhalla’s Holocaust
i saw you standing next to a wall
keen i've seen you
collected dark shy
wiry tall
so i picked you up
took you home
you just wanted someone to hold
that's what you told me
so i was onto you from the start
knew right away
you'd pull and pick me apart
i've got a cast iron around my heart
from days before i knew so well
guys like you
they made life hell
and tears of sorrow
in my eyes swell
and oh i know it's just as well
you'll get yours someday
this is getting old
outsold again and again old
just temporary
ordinary me
i can't make you hang around
i'll throw myself away
just look at me
my misery
a non-stop flow
since infancy
temporary
ordinary me
one night
ruined everything that's al right
i did not request a ring
anyway
not much left to say
it's all over and done with
should've been
could've been
would've been
more prepared
this time a little harder to read
your wants and my needs
you were a catch but i don't care
you only wanted someone to have fun with
then run away
flashing your dashing
doting, taunting, grin
i quit playing this impossible game
no stakes to claim
they're just too high
and i never win
just temporary
ordinary me
i can't make you hang around
i'll throw myself away
just look at me this tragedy
it started with your flattery
just temporary
ordinary me
i found it's better i'm alone
i got a grip
handle it
no waiting for the phone
to say your name
i keep on i write words
that speak my regret and my shame
there is nothing good
guys like you bring
girls like me
just deprive me
drive me kicking and screaming back to square one in a self-medicating
therapy it's over me
and under me i'm done with writing poetry
to get on forget
get over it and let
it roll on and just be gone
because you don't suffer
like i do
half my fault for trusting in
you
just temporary
ordinary me
i can't make you hang around
or stop you when you stray
just look at me
miss fancy free
you smooth talked it
right from under me
and held me close
and kissed me right
with eyes glued shut
i closed mine tight
but now i quit
put my foot down
i swear to it
i'm passionate
i'm not temporary
far from ordinary
you're deaf and dumb
and lost if you can't see
this new a little wiser version
of me.
Form:
Long ago, before my earth was round, the light of my room made me feel even more depressed than I already was, a low flickering of the lamp unbetraying me, my mother's bed reminding me of my shortened childhood, having to grow old at the age of eight.
The crunch of the sour apples from the apple tree in my backyard and the stench of my angry ideas about making the world fair while my hope slowly shone, deadly in the broken bottom of my kiddie pool. I loved being different.
I don’t really want to be different anymore.
I would stay silent to protect myself instead of speaking up, speaking out in order to...In order to do nothing.
I cried over the little things but stayed silent over the big ones.
In the broken bottom of my kiddie pool, I pretended to be sick in order to go home because I was scared of what people would think, and hating myself for such a long time and what can I say? Old habits die hard.
I don’t really want to be different anymore.
Because cancer can be lethal but the doctors don't tell you that words can be lethal too, and they don't tell you that broken people break other people so they don't feel lonely.
They don't tell you that even though your friends pity you, they won't do anything when the panic attacks get so bad that you can't control your screaming mind anymore and it isn't even mind over matter anymore, its blood over water. They don't tell you that when your mom is sick and dying of this lethal mix of radiation, cancer and pneumonia, you can't do anything except feed her chicken noodle soup and pray to a god that you don't even believe in. They don't tell you that when you're adopted and your second mother is dying that you feel even more worthless than before and all you can do is scream and hate the people around you even though they had done nothing.
Why did you love me even after I told you I hated you and why did my eyes burn with unforgiven possibilities and why did my chest feel as if it were empty when you were not there and why did I deserve this?
I don’t really want to be different anymore.
Because in the broken bottom of my kiddie pool, sometimes I loved you, but mostly I loved the idea of you.
And why did you leave one of your daughters' to her own thoughts?
I am your consequence.
Form:
Dear Lady Liberty get down with the modern times,
Are we not the land of freedom, let the new rheum
Fill your scents, and let us all rock on!
The world is spinning with a harder edge beat, and
We as Americans thrive on its high power over drive,
The bigger the challenge the smoother the rolling stone!
These times here are rough they say, but a nation born
From this tough working class, just grins deeper, and sings
Louder our praise for the red, white and blues!
Toils tears are soaked within our Levi grains, as we play,
Born in the U.S.A. on those sacred radio waves!
Give me Liberty or give me death, is a history phrase,
We still believe in today, as the rocks blare and burst
Against the nights sky on the fourth of July, and in the
Back ground sound it’s not just noise, but it’s us American’s
Getting it down!
Blaze forever onwards slamming it ever onwards, the rhythm
Of the people, for the people of this nation of Rock and Rollers,
Die hard individuals that make this land worth living for, working for,
And believing in, the message lives on in our words of lyrical pride!
Sun down you better take care, for foreign invader better beware,
For we are the generation of Mr. Lightfoot, and here we don’t
Play fair!
Brothers and sisters gather beneath our flag of honor,
Blessed by God, in fortunes favor, let the golden eagle
Soar forever free above this nation Gathered together
In liberty, and justice for all!
Let the storms rage be as a thundering bolts reckoning,
We are the strong, the people of pioneering generations,
The enduring, the surviving, so just bring it on we’re
Ready for the fight, as we rock the night with our
Torches lit bright, for we are the Americans, standing
Tall and proud!
So let us rock forever, join in the hard core beat,
Can’t you feel those good vibrations, chiming from
That cracked bell, it echoes down those majestic mountains,
Across those amber waves of grain, behold the ties that
Bind us together in a timeless rheum, of humanities
Brotherhood!
Dear Lady Liberty get down with the modern times,
Are we not the land of freedom, let the new rheum
Fill your scents, and let us all rock on!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
This poem was submitted for a work competition at CEX
Twas the first day of CeXmas, and all through the land
The taverns were a buzz as grog was in hand,
Participants were giddy about the quests they would face
All vying to be top, in the coveted first place
The gems are the goal and need to be hoarded
For these will determine your position and what prizes you’re awarded
But before you go forth and slay your way through
Let's meet the teams and see what each are upto
The Blizzard wizards are getting people whipped into a flurry
Their ice cold talons grabbing any dropped gems in a hurry
There were poems, songs and even a russian dance
All being used to put their rivals in a trance
In the cold outside the Pine Fresh Paladins are lingering
You can hear their swords clash, and their frozen bells jingling!
They have too much honour for tricks like the wizards
They would rather a battle to rip out your gizzards.
Some were stealthier in their approach, despite being upto no good
Robyn’s raiders were silent, all was good in their hood
Their archers were poised and ready to shoot
If anyone even thought about raiding their loot
If you’re caught by Jurassic bards, the damage is unrepairable
They could bust an ear drum with a song, they are genuinely quite pterrible
Their hunter will stalk you, don't risk your bag being empty
For you must toss a gem to their witcher, in the tavern of plenty
Now if you want to steal gems, you wont get them from this lot
They are locked in a chest, in the legendary Tenacious G spot
Some say it can only be uncovered whilst playing a song on a flute
The greatest guild in the world? Or are they just a tribute?
Last but not least, Nakotomi nightmares hide in the mist
(its still being debated if they should be on a christmas guild list)
Why should you fear them more than a wizard, paladin or bard?
Because they have a machine gun, be prepared to die hard.
You have met the six guilds, pick your team and get ready
But don't forget the rules, after all there aren't many
Visit the tavern each day, and gems you will gain
Gather as many as you can, then make it rain!
easy access and proliferation of firearms,
now begs a serious hard question
presenting daunting task,
quite aware that passionate
stalwart supporters of the NRA,
embrace weaponry likened
to garnering an Aboriginal trophy mask
(particularly in light of violent mass killings)
immediately forces people
of all stripes comprising this nation ask
quite aware of diametrically,
jarringly, and politically
doggedly entrenched fierce position
each polarized stance challenges,
especially when pitted
against die hard proponents
of the Second Amendment,
who would sooner burn to ash,
and/or adopt a siege mentality
glowering akin to red hot metal
regaling opportunity asper Liberal heads to bash,
than relinquish (lock, stock and barrel)
prized, coveted, and cherished cache
amassed collection of firearms
permissible in accordance
with (literal interpretation
of Second Amendment
of the United States Constitution)
to mean no deterrent preclude
(birth right to equip bare arms),
deprivation against amassing a stockpile,
would trigger an immediate saber flash
and instantaneously, another Civil War, would
(with gnash of clenched jaws violently
opposing manumission
to release obedient snap, crackle
pop in je nais sais quois booty), the provocation
rendering revision, sans sacred covenant
would sting whip lash
snuffing out any first and last hope to reconcile
divisive national issue
with cool collected talking heads,
cuz shoot at the hip diplomacy
be loved American style,
that indomitable fighting
esprit de corps tis fire in belly trial
though this skeptical and devout atheist,
would welcome being proved wrong
generating the better angels to render obsolete strong
arm of the law as plucked harps evoke swan song
witnessing unbelievable savoir faire
(forcing me to retract pessimism
and willingly swallow my pride), minus long
time overdue, and negotiation
celebrated with tolling from a gong.
Again, I’ve screwed up,
I’m almost amazed that I could actually think I’d quit that,
Old habits die hard though,
And someone I really care about is going to get hurt because of it;
I know his love is genuine,
And that’s the problem,
Because no matter how much I care for him,
I can never be with him,
Not only because my heart belongs to someone else,
But also because he scares me more than anything,
I know with him I’ll get hurt,
I know he’ll hurt himself,
And there will be nothing I can do about it;
What’s worse is the fact that he doesn’t even know me,
Or I, him for that matter,
And he fell in love with me anyways,
Taking me down with him,
I had no choice but to feel something,
I do love him and want to save him,
But I could never be his wife;
The letters and pictures just did me damage,
They scared me but prevented me from letting go,
With every letter there came new hope,
Maybe false hope,
But hope none the less,
Every sentence of his made my heart sink though,
And I soon realized that I could not change him;
The hardest thing is knowing that he won’t understand,
All he knows is that he loves me and I love him,
And that’s good enough,
He’s got thoughts of our future,
While I quietly listen to him,
Knowing that he’ll never see me again;
Losing him is going to be painful,
Knowing that I hurt him so much is even worse than losing him,
But not being true to my heart will drive both of us to the point of no return,
And I simply can not do that to either one of us;
I feel guilty knowing that I’ll have someone to go home to,
Someone to love me and make me feel better,
Because I’m going to rip someone’s heart out their chest,
And he’ll be alone and heartbroken,
While I’m sleeping peacefully with the love of my life,
I don’t want to cause him so much heartache,
But there’s no way around it,
And no way I can ease the pain;
I just have to put his fragile heart back in his hands,
I have to say goodbye and not look back,
I have to remember what I have and love,
And everything will be okay,
Everything will end the way it’s supposed to.
GTF
Wizened skin like burnished leather
Thin, grey and long, disheveled hair
Clear, sharp blue eyes that seem to stare
Through sun scorched face, alert, aware
A ‘lived-In’ face that’s so expressive
Tales he tells read like a missive
His arms and hands he flails about
To all he jests, he seems to shout
Belying age with youthful vigour
He starts his day with seeming rigour
But, easy going, he always jokes
With folk at whom, light fun, he pokes
He’s up each morning before the dawn
Striding, planning, never forlorn
Before sunrise you’ll hear with luck
His famous catch-phrase, “Get Tae F***!”
He’s worked on rigs for oh, so long
With everyone he gets along
On the “fine old lady” Stena Clyde
No deference – ALL he does deride
From owner, manager and high paid “suits”
To lowly boys who clean the boots
The tone the same, The grin, the look,
The cheeky laugh, the “Get Tae F***!”
Sub zero frost or tropical heat
His ardour you will find hard to beat
Old habits die hard they say
Not his – he does them anyway!
Does a place exist he’s never been?
That has a port that’s never seen
This tall slim figure filled with pluck
Or heard his raucous, “Get Tae F***!”
They say he’s always been a sailor
From Antarctic wastes upon an ancient whaler
15 years old in the South Atlantic
A hardy life, forget romantic!
Steam driven ships before motor’s advent
He sailed near and far. Came and went.
A story true with each port of call
His audience he holds in thrall
But all through this, both feet aground
Though invitations still abound
To high profile golf tournaments
The best hospitality at these events
He mixes with the best of them
The rich and famous golfing men
Yet on the course when he mis-hits his ball
Not “fore” but G.T.F. to all
And so it seems his time has come
To rest upon his laurels some
He’ll sure be missed – God Speed, Good Luck
It’s been a pleasure Jimmy, “Get Tae F***!”
No dismissive snort from any here
From us, a greeting, a hearty cheer
Received with grace, a smile - a look.
You grin then tell us, “Get Tae F***!”