Long Mcgraw Poems
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Anti Establishmentarian - hashtags himself as antithetical
I stand, (albeit figuratively) athwart
current mainstream popular opinions concluded
(i.e. swirling) within
metaphorical eddies storied Senate high court
case in point constituting acquittal regarding
good and plenti jinxed
high crimes and misdemeanors
purportedly linkedin quid pro quo
president Donald John Trump,
whereby Republican partisan tipping point
ultimately decreed triumph
able, eager, ready, and willing to escort
kickstarting naysayers, rebel rousers,
and woebegone yawping zealots
(think Democrats) courtesy,
a fictional humanoid robot christened Gort
first debut appearance in 1951
20th Century Fox American science
fiction film The Day the Earth Stood Still.
Smug mugshot depicts
victorious commander in chief with jutting jaw
can now figuratively wring his hands
(more resembling puffed wheat bear paw)
whereat he reveals sharp glistening
barbed freighted, galvanized pointed claw
daring any elected official to follow scofflaw
(think Nancy Pelosi, who got hustled off -
her role as speaker of the House
security details immediately did withdraw
faster than greased lightning,
and/or Quick Draw Mcgraw
after she ripped Trump’s
State of the Union speech),
she definitely decreed guilty of fas paux
undoubtedly wincing how she got raw
end concerning high stakes Art of the Deal.
Drama under domed capital suddenly
(hello kitty) meow my
tectonically shifted analogous
to hydrogen bomb that fell out of sky
starring loose cannon shot
supremely above United States government law,
oh my dog I wanna die
versus enduring four more years,
one garden variety generic guy
who doth agonizingly decry
what will become of truth tellers forced to lie
thru their teeth...
er (yours truly) dentures, whereby
that will pose no deterrent for bluetooth to spy
every painstaking action cumulative data
nowhere off limits, yupper even
becoming American as apple pie
plus embedded into skein of ordinary house fly,
thus essentially fomenting grassroots
freedom fighting militia to stave off doom...
analogous as one after another protesters
dangle over the River Kwai.
Only when yours truly busies himself...
Feigning to emulate NON GMO
garden variety English major oh just so
ho-hum, this ousted son and cingular bro
biological byproduct of papa's yoyo
after mama taut Peppy how to grow
big and become vein, her issuing blow
by blow stroke, thence pecker
imitated fountainhead
unleashing at apropos
time outburst analogous when an arrow
loosed from archer's bow
shooting off about hip height mo'
than bajillion microscopic
one celled lil longfellow
(Oh Henry...! wad art thou doing?)
just hmm... giving mutual sin O
Job whelp... subsequently
little squirt begot
sole son this all because sticky clot
hit bullseye right on the dot
nope, no where near size of ergot
spore, yet radiating
burning temperature more hot than...,
liquified gold prior
bitta bing bitta bang forged into ingot,
now just little more about fertilized
ova, I wanna jot
potential pluperfect parasite (me)
acquired, cultivated, fashioned...
one after another deft bon mot
while in utero until umbilical cord
severed than christened newborn tot.
Now fast forward blaw blaw blaw
when I began to clamor and claw
nope, cuz I ne'er learned how to draw,
the least significant genetic flaw,
cue laugh track and prerecorded guffaw
similar to popular nineteen
seventies television hee haw
laughter muted upon meeting
battle axe mother in law
another story... genre mccaw braw,
she excelled spewing vitriol out her maw,
thence I slowly must heard,
mixed metaphors and mastered...pshaw
modesty keeps me from bragging
yea - boot as a non sequitur
non secretor, yukon call me
the word wrangler outlaw
lo never cussing out anybody,
I can more easily whip out pistol
if captive audience
critiques mein arcane saw
jeering (matt speak feeble attempt
at wordplay - i.e. soldiering)
receiving affirmative nod
courtesy none other
than quick draw mcgraw
now ye butter listen (er... read) up
and don't blather and beast not shtupp
to conquer, when ya hear bit ching pup
that maybe be yipping faux ruse
to empty pocket inner empty cup.
The ammunition greased casings pepper skull and cross lovely bones,
lightening speedily deals mortal blow persons unaware,
the final minutes/seconds of lives leased
shorn of existence, and akin to sheared sheep, this case
targeted ambushed ewe mon souls permanently fleeced
instantaneously cut short sealed mortality fate upon Avast group ceased
to exist as happy go lucky men, women and/or children
from most fearsome beast.
Instantaneous re: within the blink and/or flickr survive
er eyed, and former gallivanting live
capitalone progressive pinterest ting human con hive
ving to collide with hulu hooping unwittingly accompanying jive
vin track hewed by quick draw mcgraw holster
sending dead riders to final resting place.
Ribald exhortations and allegiance gifted who usher bereave
ment, where demise of existence experiences a field day,
whence microbes gorge viz Philabundance, while next of kin grieve
incalculable loss forsaken, whence emptiness doles bleakness
upon grim outlook that doth leave tears, brought per spilt blood and sweat
tallying cost, no miracle whipped lifeless ones can survivors retrieve.
Mortal kombat rues unfathomable payless Priceline Bourse
induces adrenaline to course thru melee,
where iron maidens sprint non selfie ish
lee to safer outlook, where moments of pain force
besiege collective asylum seekers indulge gorse
faux Joyus fancyfeast er vanityfair, whence sorrow loosed like a wild horse
diehard fanatic (attired inconspicuously like
dishabille schlepper of an outlier) source
index finger clutch released high-powered voluminous ammunition
murderous mass homicidal rates get worse.
Netzero escape those unfairly killed ceaselessly year after year
undeclared warfare,
whereby killer coolly unleashes fusillade veer
ring out the barrel to tear
whole community fabric, blithely empty lethal munitions truckload to spare.
He sat down with a pen and paper,
to write a letter in the heats vapor.
His wife at home tending to the kids,
fighting a war the UN forbids.
His convoy was ready, about to leave,
survival was low as his heart grieved.
The convoy was attacked, wiped out clean,
his body found holding Kathleen.
The photo was burned within his hands,
the government followed his commands.
“If in the event that I am gone,
deliver this note before next dawn. “
The military kept to this wish,
delivered the note on a silver dish.
When she saw it she broke down and cried,
as she read it her soul just died.
“If this note is delivered to you,
then the end of my life is true.
I will always love you that’s for sure,
As I wait beside heaven’s door.
I won’t go in the city above,
I want to enter with my true love.
So don’t you worry about me,
the difference is my soul is now free.
Tell the kids their daddy loves them,
it’s not your fault please don’t condemn.
For only when the time is right,
will you sprout wings and take flight.
I will be waiting for you to come,
and tell our girl stop sucking her thumb.
Make sure they know who their daddy was,
and watch our dog the small ball of fuzz.
Sorry I didn’t make it back,
I know I promised you and Jack.
He is old enough to understand,
we can’t see the Braves like we planned.
Make sure you take care of them for me,
and take them to our old tree.
I love you baby even now,
I will watch over you that’s my vow.”
By: Nathan Bane Leccese
© All Rights Reserved 05/23/2009
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*Inspired by the song "If You're Reading This" by Tim McGraw
For "Music to Your Pen" Poetry Contest
At 11 am I pulled into their drive
Ashtin and Houston ran out of the door
Screaming and laughing, ready to ride
Going with me wherever we please
First to the bank, for a little cash
Our next step meeting Rodney
Their wonderful dad, my loving son
Shoney's for lunch, still more to come
We headed down the interstate
We sang Tim McGraw songs
We laughed and told jokes
Science Adventure Center, here we come
So much to do, they started to run
Up, down around, again to the top
Houston climbed in to the huge plastic heart
Ashtin kept up, then we lost sight
She went to the left and I went to the right
Houston we found was nowhere in sight
He finally came by with a big wide grin
He said, I found Cooper, one of my friends
So they played and they played
Then we went to the gift shop
Then Mawmaw sat down to watch
The went back and played
Houston won laser tag
They watched as a mirror
Made their faces start to age
They played a piano with their toes
My Tuesday was perfect
God blessed me that day
My grandchildren and I went to play
We stopped at a church, with pumpkins to buy
They were grown by the Navajo
We found six to carve in shapes that we like
Next we went to our favorite store
Dollar General is where we can get good buys
The last stop was Sonic, to get some good food
They played on the playground
Waiting for the roller-skating girl
To deliver the order, then we rode away
We drove in their driveway
Stuff everywhere
Ashtin said, we are so glad
You like to spend time with us
This has been the best day ever
I say sweet girl you said that before
The last time we went and had fun galore
God gave me memories
Worth more than anything
I know I would never change anything
I pray God will bless me again just the same
That Tuesday was a special day!
DR. PHIL*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a furry psychologist named Phil,
A doctor whose wit and wisdom gave many a thrill.
Peering over his glasses, he said with a grin,
"Do not fret! Getting old is a win-win,
For now I can nap anytime, of my own free will!"
With a twinkle in his eyes, he spoke of the years,
And how aging can lessen our worries and fears.
"Though my hair thins and turns gray,
And my muscles ache and joints creak all day,
I’ve got many stories to share over pretzels and beers!"
"Listen! Don’t worry if your memory fades,
Or if you need a nurse or medical aide,
For each wrinkle and laugh line you gain,
Is a story of life well lived, not one of pain,
And the best wine is aged! Remember the Rolaids!"
To his adoring fans, he waved ‘goodbye,’ hands in the air,
He spoke of the joys and burdens we older people bear.
“Age is about relishing your remaining time,
Drink it up like a well-aged liqueur or wine,
Savor old age with happiness whilst sitting on your derriere!”
Note: *Phillip Calvin McGraw, better known as Dr. Phil, is an American television personality and author who is best known for hosting the talk show Dr. Phil. He holds a doctorate in clinical psychology. (Source Wikipedia.com)
I took a stroll through Boot Hill Cemetery the other day,
To take a look at where outlaws and other rabble lay.
Some graves were marked by stones, others by weathered board;
Many covered with cairns of rock, residents known only by the Lord!
As I moseyed through the weeds and brambles from tomb to tomb,
I read interestin' epitaphs on how those fellers met their doom!
"Here lies the mortal shell of bank robber Tim McGraw;
Bad luck for Tim - the bank teller was quicker on the draw!"
"Beneath this turf resides big-time gambler Jedidiah Greeves;
He played Texas hold-em with too many aces up his sleeves!"
"Here dwells 'Hank' Hankston who 'borrowed' the judge's steed;
He was hanged from a lone oak tree for this nefarious deed!"
"Here inhabits Cletus O'Toole who had a run-in with the law;
The high sheriff won the battle on the dusty streets of Wichita!"
"Molding in this lonely grave is Joe Bronson, notorious cattle thief;
Wranglers dealt with Joe in a hail of lead with whom they had a beef!"
"Cody Blanks went on a drunken toot causing mayhem and injury;
The judge sentenced him to be hanged as suggested by the jury!"
These fellers were planted with their boots on accordin' to local lore;
That's why it will be known as Boot Hill Cemetery now and forever more!
The Celestial NAAFI
Well there sits old Buck like he always did,
Waving his pipe and tilting his lid.
There’s Johnny and Ronny and Shep and old Taffy,
And Soapy still doing his impression of Daffy.
Flapper all quiet at the side with McGraw.
Knocker and Geordie, and old Billy Shore.
And over there’s Banjo, spinning his yarns,
And Bod with his girlfriends, trying to dance.
There’s Baggins and Pusser, Slinger and Freddy,
There’s Millie with Googie – they look like they’re ready.
With Annie and Jo-Jo, it looks like old Hutch
Is making sure he hasn’t lost his light touch.
While Jeffers and Benjy are dealing the cards,
Doc still complains that that the games are too hard.
The faces familiar, the uniforms right,
All fitting perfect, none loose and none tight.
Everyone’s happy and looking their best,
From bulled-up toe-caps to the gongs on their chests.
Back by the bar are the older lads too,
Who went long before, whom none of us knew.
Blue suits and red coats, khaki and green,
All badges and headgear that ever were seen.
Ancient or modern, by sea, land or air,
Be sure of a welcome when it’s time to be there.
Raise a hand and smile, shout a cheery Hello!
To the Celestial NAAFI, where Service Folk go.
The Saints be preserved! Begorra! Today Saint Patrick reigns!
An excuse to get the Irish blood a-coursin' through yer veins!
A time for clans with even a tad of Irish in their genes,
To celebrate the holiday with the Wearin' O' The Greens!
O'Sullivans, O'Shaughnessys, O'Reillys and O'Neils,
Will be cavortin' and dancin' to snappy jigs and reels!
Anon, they'll savor corned beef, cabbage and Irish stew,
Toastin' the Auld Sod with hilarious hubbub and ado!
Happy harmonizers will sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'",
Gazin' into the limpid eyes of Irish colleens so beguilin'!
Revelers will belt out "Biddy McGraw" and "McNamara's Band".
Goodwill and fellowship will prevail throughout the land!
Jaunty old-timers sport their shillelaghs in small-town parades.
Sprightly leprechauns and fairies leap about in masquerades.
Saint Patrick must look down upon his flock with some dismay.
What he hoped would be a holy day is now a rowdy holiday!
Hibernia, Eire, The Emerald Isle, Erin - call it what you may,
But ain't we thrilled that the Irish set aside this day?
At least once a year we can shed our usual dour mein,
And joyfully participate in the Wearin' O' The Green!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
The Saints be preserved! Begorra! Today Saint Patrick reigns!
An excuse to get the Irish blood a-coursin' through yer veins!
A time for clans with even a tad of Irish in their genes,
To celebrate the holiday with the Wearin' O' the Greens!
O'Sullivans, O'Shaughnessys, O'Reillys and O'Neils,
Will be cavortin' and dancin' to snappy jigs and reels!
Anon, they'll savor corned beef, cabbage and Irish stew,
Toastin' the Auld Sod with hilarious hubbub and ado!
Happy harmonizers will sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smilin"
Gazin' into the limpid eyes of Irish colleens so beguilin'!
Revelers will belt out "Biddy McGraw" and "McNamara's Band";
Goodwill and fellowship will prevail throughout the land!
Jaunty old-timers will sport their shillelaghs in small-town parades;
Sprightly leprechauns and fairies will leap about in masquerades.
Saint Patrick must look down upon his flock with some dismay;
What he hoped to be a holy day has become a rowdy holiday!
Hibernia, Eire, Emerald Isle, Erin, call it what you may,
Ain't we grateful that the Irish set aside this day!
At least once a year we can shed our usual dour miens,
And joyfully celebrate The Wearin' O' The Greens!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired