Long No offence Poems
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Softly I hear its whimper.
I can only simper.
It doesn't even feel real.
Its intent is my mind to steal.
Clearly I listen to its ofference.
Although I take no offence.
I know its not real.
I'm aware it won't heal.
Defiantly that voice in my head,
becomes something I really dread.
The words tend to distort.
They alter every honest thought.
Loudly the voice expands.
In such need of helping hands.
Ignoring it becomes a strain.
Tears manifest in vain.
Screaming orders for me to back down.
Bewilderment and tears slowly cause a frown.
Its as if I knew,
the voice belongs to you.
It's Thanksgiving Day down in the States
Here's to all my many Yankee friends
Wish all you folks have a wonderful day
All my good wishes I do send
Florida was mostly my destination of choice
The Gulf Coast almost exclusively
Siesta Key is just a little south of Sarasota
Where the theme is semi-nudity
Those vacations are less common nowadays
Money's not flowing like it once did
However before the big man calls me upstairs
Wish to relive my days as a kid
Nostalgia I guess is what you would call it
Actually been there on your Black Friday
No offence but you guys are nutso
“Sorry, didn't mean that!” he said slyly!
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, I'll say it again
Enjoy this day with your families
There's nothing more loving and rewarding
Than to share a day of geniality
Here's to all my many Yankee friends!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Her name is hope...
He came in with a devilish look in his eyes , it was the lust
that separates men from Christ, I am talking doing time
for what crime?
Your skin color got you trapped in the same place, you will not get it
or get there until you look like MJ, no offence Mr "black or white".
We still carry chains thus our wrists are parched for Rolex-es and Tag Huers.
l do not know what I am really saying but you and I we need each other. The synergy , chemistry will not move until your blood touches mine.
Yes life is a drag , a play and clay but it can never be that bad unless
we refuse to never say never , now l am feeling nervous. In dark days who do you trust? Who do we call?
Black loves White as much as White needs Black for Black adores White . Dust your nerds you shall see clearly . Asians , Africans , Americans , Europeans , Australians and the galaxy beyond we need us in order to win together , this life is ours. Earth our sanctuary . Vol-tron the colors of the rainbow Alpha and Omega planted on mother earth , only love can shelter us before Mountains speak.
It ends the same , it hurts like hell and hell is for the wicked and lazy. Fight for your right , have sight and shine bright .
I am taking the first step , I am ready for whatever for her name is Hope she shall sustain us until another Bob Marley record speaks for Hope is the only who can save us , heal us and comfort us.
Her name is Hope...
We are commonly predisposed
To lack of common sense - case closed!
We seem to have it all and more and some,
Well nourished and beyond, stern doctors say.
Internet mis/informed by rule of thumb,
Well travelled, read, yet so dumb in a way.
So we still spit against the wind, chagrin!
Try to impart wisdom to callow youth,
Apply sunscreen to sunburned blistered skin,
And prefer sweet lie to a bitter truth.
We grocery shop hungry, total waste,
As chips and cookies trump the shopping list,
Tea mug left on the car roof in a haste,
While car keys left inside, you got the gist.
All through our younger years we binge and splash,
Despite moms’ futile efforts to instil,
By golden age we grasp it in a flash -
A smidge too late but of our own free will.
We analyse too oft what others think,
Dissembling deftly that we barely care -
Just keep your common sense and wit in sync -
The rest will fall into place, fair and square.
Last not least, togetherness is our strength,
The rationale we stridently strive for,
The rallying cry to our common wealth -
Bad peace is by far better than good war.
Humanity’s greatest lack, no offence,
Is of much more and some of common sense.
In the ultimate heaven true peace you'll find, when things of
This world are left behind, no lying tounge will you there
Bind, no false teaching, or drunkeness, unless; of Gods
Spirit in kind' no more theiving or idolatry or hate; no rage
No letchery at this improved life state.' Vistas of beauty
All around.' A place of no discord where love abounds.'
Now on hell, I'll cast some thought to you, its heavily populated
If what I hear is true?? Its incedibly hot.' Theres sulphur gas
And demonic wails to top the lot.' There can be no lying
Once your in.' And words are useless with all the din.' So
You'll find no false teaching..Well whats the sense? No idol
Can save you..Now no offence!! You can't get drunk in this
Punishment place' There can be no letchery, and you're held in
Place, your chains are darkness..Your thirst intense it
Will get you screaming..' So in a sense? There are similaritys with
Heaven and hell, he's a copier 'old satan.I i often hear tell.'
So its up to choice; from what i see, I think I'll call on Jesus
Oh yes.' its that boring Heaven for me, may it be!!
Sirens, alarm bells and unscheduled drills
Intended to teach us emergency skills
On land we might jump up and run for the trees
But where does one run in these vast frigid seas
It has to be said that they’ve done their research
I almost felt scared when I felt the ship lurch
And when people ran, was that fear that I smelt
For God’s sake just say where we’ll find a life belt
Even the barman has gone up on deck
But I need a drink to sling down my neck
It’s the friggin Titanic, not some little yacht
And it cannot sink… in case you forgot
So let them all play games of ‘victims at sea’.
These dumb practice sessions mean little to me
I’d soon find the lifeboats through instinct and stealth
So they can all practice while I serve myself
A generous whiskey, poured by my fair hand
Of course I shall pay… you should understand
But I’m gonna write, gonna kick up a stink
For British White Star Line have just spilt my drink
When I get home, gonna rock me some boats
Gonna stand for election and get me some votes
I paid loadsa money to be on this trip
Yet they make it act like an unstable ship
What kind of practice drill needs an orchestra
Is it to impress a White Star investor
But pumping in water is over the top
It may look authentic but it has to stop
Oh, come on, you’re taking this so very far
I’m freezing my bits off, while gripping the bar
Okay, I get it, some people might drown
If they booked a trip on a ship that went down
I mean no offence if their income was meagre
I get that the lowly can sometimes be eager
To act like they’re worthy to be in our midst
But those lower echelons wouldn’t be missed
Those less educated might well have been fooled
And leapt overboard when “Abandon” was called
But now, with the water up over my head
I wish I’d stayed up in my cabin - in bed
You can’t frighten folk by pretending you’re sinking
I’ll find who’s to blame and what they were thinking
Tomorrow, I’ll sue them for feigning my death
For now though, I’m too busy… holding my breath.
[As the proud owner of a tiny lisp - in which my ‘R’s
sometimes come out a little more like ‘W’s - I think I’m safe to post this?
No offence intended.]
______________
He told her he soon would be leaving the army
“So give us a kiss, cos you’re sending me barmy.”
She said, “What’s your name, then I’ll give you a kiss,”
“I’m Fweddy Fweeman,” he said with a lisp
She gave him a kiss which filled him with glee
He said, “Let us go and sit under that twee.”
They sat in the shade and he said, “You’re so pwitty,
I’ll be old and gway before you, more’s the pity,
so would you go out with an old lisping twooper?”
And she said , “I would because you’re fimply fooper.”
When there’s more writers that write
Than readers that read
Does the future seem bright
Or,
Perhaps poetry’s in need?
Was the melody mangled,
when the words lost their beat?
Was the common man strangled,
by the highbrow box seat?
_____________________________
Once weaved upon a well formed path
Before structure fell, in disarray.
Prose a casualty to a hectic world?
Precious time has claimed its prey.
Shall verse be trapped inside a card
Twisted inside an ad campaign
Power of words eternally scarred
Excepting in song, tinged in disdain.
Did amateur poets misuse their voice?
An internet pillage of chance.
Nothing to savour, digest and rejoice
Divide and subtract, but never enhance.
Will mankind once again enjoy,
subtle pleasures of the poem?
Will a modern poet attain celebrity,
as did the greats once held a throne?
*No offence intended. Just a thought piece
“Song for St Patrick 2022”
Find me a four-leaf clover she said
Find me a four-leaf clover
If you do
You’ll get Lucky she said
You’ll get Lucky
I’ll name it a shamrock she said
I’ll name it a shamrock
Find me a Leprechaun she said
Find me a Leprechaun
If you do
I’ll put him in a clasp and
Press him to my breast
I am very lonely and
Will love him very deeply
Find me a Leprechaun she said
Find me a Leprechaun
Please wear green today she said
Please wear green
If you do
I’ll be your queen
And never make a scene
I can get quite mean
If you don’t wear green
Please wear green today she said
Please wear green
Let’s drink some green today she said
Let’s drink some green
If you do
You’ll find much merriment in the brew
It will thrill you through and through
I’ll drive you home in a cab
When you no longer can stand
Let’s drink some green today she said
Let’s drink some green
Sing me a song she said
Sing me a song
Make it happy and gay
When foreplay is the game
If you do
I’ll sing along with you
And kiss you on the cheek
Sing me a song she said
Sing me a song
Come dance with me she said
Come dance with me
If you do
I’ll hold you tight
With all my might
And won’t let go
Until the morning light
Come dance with me she said
Come dance with me
Pinch me she said
Pinch me
If you do
There is no offence
Unless you pinch my behind
That would be mighty unkind
Pinch me she said
Pinch me
I want to know if it was you or me
Or the Leprechaun clasped to my breast
Who got lucky Today
Happy St. Patrick ’s Day
The words of a lone man
The ramblings on a bench under a tree
The ducks and the geese looked on
Fed with his scraps, with all he could give
Murmuring thoughts
Murmuring truths
Murmuring reasons
Murmurings lose
Under the facade of a poor man
A man living on the streets
I saw the eyes of a cold man
I saw scars on his cheeks
I asked him if I could sit beside him
here in the park on his bench.
He acknowledged my presence and
let me feel I had caused no offence.
He showed the ducks his empty
hands and they all looked at him so
quietly.
He said to them he had no more
food or money.
I asked him his name
He asked: why ask that of me?
Silence for some seconds then he
said this to me:
I have no name, my name has
forsaken me.
Under the whiskers and drawn
face I see a much younger man.
I asked if I could help him with
notes of money in my hand.
He said he need not my money
because he could live off the land.
A young veteran sat before me,
someone who had fought for
this land.
He said his family couldn’t cope
with his injuries - his mental scars!
That they feared living with him
in their world, someone who had
killed in their house!
So he pleaded to me to forget him,
to pretend that we’d never met!
As I watched him limp away I
had never felt such despair
and regret.