Long Goose is cooked Poems
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Smoke a little weed, drink a little drink, there's nothing to it are so you think, but before you keep going you need to take a good look because underneath there lies a hook. So you do a little here, you do a little there the high is real good and you just don't care, but before you know it your goose is cooked, the jonez is on cause you've been Hooked. Now you're a child of the night and you know this is not right but the hook within controls your body and mind and will lead you the wrong way every time.
So you try to resist but to no avail because that hook has got you hooked and it's taking you through pure hell. You see that hook is very deep and this is so true, but that's what you get when you deal get the Devil's brew. Now the doctor's will tell you that it's a disease, but it's that hook that's bringing you to your knees. Look how the hook is designed, and it has a one track mind. It don't know up, only down and it will take your crown. Then it will make you give up the fight and that's when it will turn out the light.
You know it has to be removed, only if you could, but you can't do it and it will start to even make death look good. Yes that hook is a very bad thing and this is no lie, take it for a joke and it will hang your ass out to dry. It will flopping around like a fish out of water, while bringing and making life harder and harder. There is a way out if you would like to know, God is good and He's the way to go. God will remove the hook and not just break the line, while leaving the hook within and still driving you out of your mind.
You see leaving the hook in and just breaking the line, will having you going to meeting ever day, while praying to God, you don't slip and loose your way. For Jesus died for us on the cross He gave His life so we wouldn't be lost. So you can turn to Lord Jesus when your life is in shambles or when somethings on you that you can't handle. So think before you do your next drug or take your next drink. STOP, take a good look because underneath, there lies a HOOK.
Form:
The King looked down upon the land,
Saw Earth in great distress.
This place that He has loved so much,
The things He loved and blessed;
Saw cruelty of every kind,
Sickness, death, decay.
He knew that something must be done,
Set forth without delay.
He knew how He would be received,
Who would and who would not;
But He made sure that those who would,
Would not be just forgot;
For we are His and His alone,
For by His hand we're made,
And now we're His twice over,
Because the price He paid.
He could have simply turned His head,
And looked the other way,
Could have made another place,
And left uf to our fate.
It's nothing less than we deserve,
You'd think by now we'd learn.
Without His Grace our goose is cooked.
Without His care we'd burn.
God The Father gave His All.
The Best That Heaven Had,
And all we gave Him in return,
At best could be called bad;
But that's just not the way love works.
It's just not His way.
What He made in love and joy,
Won't be destroyed that way.
The King was filled with anger,
To see His Own attacked;
For He's a loving Father,
The Enemy feels His wrath.
The King returned unto the land,
Back to |His dwindling fold.
He called to His remaining sheep,
Bought back with purest gold.
All who woud return to Him,
Now have no need to fear.
He paid the price and bought us back,
Because He holds us dear.
He suffered and He died for us.
He strode right through Hell's gate,
And took back what belongs to Him.
Now Hell is not our fate.
Satan longed to rule it all.
He's filed with evil schemes.
This is no fairy tale, it's real.
It is no silly dream.
He was cast out of Heaven,
For trying to take God's place,
And so he was cast into Hell,
Where he lives in disgrace.
Now he thinks and plots and schemes,
Filled with greed and lust.
He knows that God is only hurt,
Whenever he gets to us.
Dropped out of whap five, hyperdrive is fried and so am I. Cruised through
a seven eleven, picked up some goodies for me mates. Bottle of Jack Daniels
Black for me British mate Paul Beadnall, lovely coconuts for me Aussie
mate Don Johnson nutter on planet forty two. Hit the atmoshpere of
planet forty two, things gettin hot my fantasy ship is falling apart. I'm in trouble
need a rescue before my goose is cooked and I become cosmic dust.
Sent out an SOS ...---... on all frequencies to me mates. This is old Jack
cobber, I'm in trouble pick me up please on the double. All systems off line, I
was about to panic, when they came into view. Don's trusty old Sunderland
so thrilled to see. Beamed me on board, and I said thank ya me maties!
Handed Paul his bottle of black Jack, and Don his lovely coconuts.
I said pour me a stiff one Paul to calm me nerves please. I said Don
if you don't mind, keep your Coconuts in your pants please. I was just relaxin
when a giant Mother ship from planet forty two popped into view
Don said that thar be a big mother nutter old cobber Jack, and me
and Paul agreed. Don said bring er around Paul, We're gonna crack this
mother nutter. I looked at him with panic written on my face, he said no
worries mate. I've made some modifications you'll see they're great. He popped
up a puter screen, had a red and blue button. He pushed the the red one
and the puter said launching all torpedos brace yourselves please. Torpedos
lit up the inky dark space, Don chuckled and said take that you alien
buggers. His aim was true, huge flash mother ship cracked like a rotten nutter.
Paul laughed and said switch to auto pilot to his purter, let's drink a toast to
victory maties,we should be back to the Soup in a light year or two.
Would that our love were constant as the Sun,
Who though He needs his daily rest too,
And slips under the cover of earth’s horizon
To find such bliss as He can without us
Always in his sight, still rises to greet us,
With each new dawn, as warm as ever.
And if He did not, in fact, miss us in slumber,
Never has He seemed piqued by our absence,
Always ready to embrace us fully,
Nothing between our shared warmth,
(Though we hardly measure up to His),
But imagination, light, and, of course,
Ninety three million miles of void.
For this gift though I am grateful,
For otherwise, I fear, His ardor,
Would fully cook my goose! (1)
As always though, He is a lover,
Who I can count on to pay attention
To the smallest detail and who would
Always 'love my dog' (2) too, if I had one.
In comparison with such light, love,
I fear we both fare quite badly,
As more passive reflectors of His love, at best,
We both have our phases like the moon,
Whose light, though welcome in Sun’s absence
Scarcely measures up in its generosity or warmth
To that which the Sun gives all.
Let us aspire more then to His largess,
And if we never measure up fully
To His example, still let us share our warmth,
Our abundance with others, as Grace allows,
Living always in the spirit of His Love.
Brian Johnston
Sept. 6, 2014
Poet's Notes:
(1) 'your goose is cooked' means that you are 'shot down' (like a bird in flight), that you are the same as dead in someone's eyes, that you are a terrible failure in some way.
(2) 'Love me, Love my dog' means that if you really love me your love must include all those I love as well.
Hope is the notion
to swim across the ocean
and pray you won't drown
when it gets thick and brown
Hope is that dope
that get you hooked
when you're goose is cooked
and you’re up against the ropes
Hope things are going well and
Hope we won't panic
I've got my beachfront land
And the best seat on the Titanic!
Hope I get paid
hope I get laid
Hope we get to grope
In the cool grassy shade
Hope I don't mope
If she says nope
Hope for no isotopes
In my cantaloupe
Hope for one, hope for two
hoping is the dopiest thing to do
Hope, I sure hope we don’t get screwed
Mostly I hope there’s hope for you
You hope to God
hope to Hope
Hope the Pope
doesn't rope-a-dope
Hope in one hand, whizz in the other
hope that other hand
ain’t the last strand
of your brother
Hope is what you’re smoking
Hope is what you’re shooting
Hope is what you’re doing
When you should be executing
Hope you have a plan
Hope you follow through
Hope you’re the (wo-)man
Who doesn’t hope in lieu
Hope your slope is up
Hope your time is long
Hope you fill your cup
Hope you finish strong
8/16/16
Nothing But the Truth
The world has gone too far PC
At least to folks the likes of me
I tell it simply like I see it
If that’s upsetting, well so be it
The world’s become so sensitive
Leaving truth no place to live
“Do these pants make my but look fat?”
How am I to answer that
I simply tell the truth I fear
“It’s not the pants, it’s just your rear.
“How does my hair look in the back?”
Again the PC words I lack
I ought to say it looks just fine
But PC words don’t come to mind
“It’s awful bad, you need a brush”
These non-PC words out of me rush
“What’s that smell? What did you do?”
I have to say “I think it’s you.”
“Maybe your shoes, maybe your feet
They’re simply smelling none too sweet.”
“Does this color go with that?”
Again we’re back to pants and fat
I say “You need to change your blouse
Before you venture out the house”
I know I never should have looked
And just like that, my goose is cooked
And so it goes and never ends
It’s worrisome I tell you friends
The world now labels me uncouth
Because I simply tell the truth!
Those at ''The Top'' may have a degree
Whatever you think ''The Top'' to be
Groomed and smart but looking so tense
Because they have no common sense
Common sense is overlooked
Possessors of it ? - Their goose is cooked
This is because the powers that be
Have no common sense you see
The powers that be always say
The subject ''Economy'' won't go away
In fact they give me a pain in the tooth
'Economical' only with the truth !
Where's the next war coming from ?
We need another place to bomb
That is where our money goes
Creating death and a thousand woes
Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan
Look what happened in Vietnam
The ''Politics'' game fills me with frisson
Just one question - why don't they listen....?
The powers that be always say
Creating war is the only way
Making themselves a whole lot of money
On OUR taxes - it ISN'T funny
Then having made mistakes galore
THEIR troubles are brought to YOUR door
As for me ? - MY only fix ?
Stay away from politics....
Metaphor of multi plug
The metaphor of the multi plug
With lines and leads connected lugs,
To keep you on their lead,
Believing all their krappy creed,
from some dirty unwashed thug,
You poor mental as passive weed,
Do you dig the drain I’ve dug
Or has you brain gone off to seed,
The master holds a grudge,
Deceptive television yes do heed,
It’s fool the drongoes, brainwash, drug,
The millions watch and get a feed,
Of Tory bullkrapp every seed,
You are treated like a mug,
The Super rich will tug your weed,
Brainwash, every deed,
Your television it does shrug,
Repetition keeps you up to speed?
Jammed in your brain poor slug?
The unsuspecting brainwash need,
Manilipulated poor, poor dud…
When the Rich control the news media effectively,
You are battered with propaganda,
Television always showing no respect for thee,
Your goose is cooked old Gander,
To the Drongo rich they pander,
Their connection, pull the plug………………
Don Johnson
I was helping a customer with her internet issues,
and remarked that before we’re done, that she will be
like one of our field technicians.
She indicated that she did not want to be a network guru.
"When pigs fly,” she said. I told her that I had read an article of a
farmer that had done just that, he was able to get his pigs to fly.
He had strapped small jet engines and wings to the backs
of his piglets, started them up and away they went.
He had them launch from the barnyard with some geese,
horses, chickens, cows and newsmen looking on.
Lead heading on the local newspaper article said,
"PIGS FLY, GOOSE IS COOKED".
The farmer was sorry that the goose was too close
to the action, but had a great victory meal..
…and the customer was laughing so much that she
didn’t notice that she had accomplished the task at
hand, and was able to get her internet up and running.
merry freakin' Christmas and jingle all the way
I'm really hating this time of year, what more is there to say
except I'd like to sleep past new year, tucked away inside my bed
if it wasn't for all these damned sugar plums that keep dancing in my head
as far as I'm concerned saint nick can stay at his beloved north pole
each time he passes by my house he always pockets my lump of Christmas coal
but if Santa decides to come right down Santa Claus lane
he better look both ways as it will be me laying in wait driving that run away, yule tide freight
train
but you should be good, you know for goodness sake
well if I had Donner or Blitzen in my sights tonight I'd be eating a fat, juicy reindeer steak
so as you throw away the used wrapping paper, searching for that gift you may have
overlooked
don't bother wishing me a happy holiday
this year my Christmas goose is cooked