who's counting bridges in shiny town
the air-cutting sirens sound closer today
and newsmen run to compile their shows
around the sidewalk sleepers
trucks reversing shout their intent
to ear-phoned hoodies and baggy jeans
swinging necklaces of vape machines
these eyeless rats they scurry
shop doors suck and spew their prey
where round white gum stains every step
and windows stack like giants high
sit suits above the gutter
seeming bots are running late
while others dawdle killing time
these faceless fillers with coffee cups
and phones to other worlds
The new boats came to the harbour town
for the harbour had new moorings.
Gently the boats bobbed up and down
upon the gentle water.
The newness sparkled on the boats
and the owners had new jumpers.
"Harbour Days!" the newsmen cried,
the harbour town in clover.
The opening was proud - with prince!
He came there in a hurry,
though slow to congratulate
from his home in London.
"But now he's come", the newsmen said
in advance of morning papers.
"He has come!" they said again.
Those newsmen... full of capers.
The news is bad, the newsmen glad
Talking heads squawking gaily on and on
Daily dispensing skewed views of the news
Expert analysis from partisan fools
They report an event, for a few seconds
Then speculate, commiserate, and try to shape
What all should think about what was said
Time after time the story is not how things went
But how we must all now think on the event
Here is my news, for what it is worth
Spend no more than a few minutes a day
Consuming the news in different ways
The rest is just garbage that gets in the way
Go about your life and say
No, to the talking fools who claim
They are just reporting the news
To stupid to realize, we are wise to the game
Irma and Florida
By Franklin Price
9/10/2017 - 10:07 AM
We're watching several channels
To determine what's for real
Reporters on the outside,
In the wind and rain's ideal
The place now is Miami
Presentation there's the best
Storm surge rising in the streets
Wind and rain are reaching crest
Palm trees show the blowing winds
Waves rock and roll the boats
Around low lying castle homes
Are quickly rising moats
Thousands have lost their power
Many trees are blowing down
The outer bands of Irma
Have come to South Beach town
11:19 AM
Irma won down in the Keys
Has hurricane flags unfurled
The newsmen are reporting
That she's off to Disney World
12:01PM
News flash, Irma's heading for
The greater Tampa Bay
Will keep her eye just off the coast
doing damage all the way
Forgot to pick up cigars
In Cuba 'fore the cay
May pick up some in Ebor
When tomorrow is today
It's reported in Miami
The wind's a hundred miles an hour
Two bikers riding on the street
Pushed by the blowing power
The reporter spies them as they ride
Says how stupid they must be
It astounds me why they're riding
Should be inside, not like me.
5
Should Remember Walter Cronkite
By Franklin Price
12/3/2016
Should remember Walter Cronkite
Most trusted newsman in the land
He told us what was happening
To help determine where to stand
Reported what was happening
Embellishment was not his thing
Reported, did not make the news
By adding his own flash and bling
I'm sure there is a lesson here
For modern media to adhere
Report the news, don't make the news
I hope I've made this message clear
I thought we had a few of them
'Til this election came along
All the newsmen reporting there
Took sides, which was so very wrong
Reporting news no easy job
Research, confirm, and then report
Don't want to hear what you believe
Not a personalized retort
To regain your reputation
At least the one you have with me
Make an effort to be the man
That Walter Cronkite used to be
If you could only do that now
Your reputation you could save
Or maybe Walter Cronkite took
This type reporting to his grave
I'll remember twenty-fifteen
for the atrocities, I've seen.
When ISIS cut a man's head off,
newsmen squealed like pigs at a trough.
The Arab spring was ill-conceived,
democracy wasn't achieved.
And refugees thus forced to flee,
capsized boats, and got drowned at sea.
Religion reared its ugly head,
now we're tasked with counting the dead.
In the name of God, blood ran cold
young girls got kidnapped, raped, and sold.
White cops gunned down unarmed black kids
for minor crimes the law forbids.
Fueling hate that plagued the streets,
bigotry didn't need white sheets.
Global warming was proven real,
it doesn't matter how you feel.
Twenty-fifteen brought mostly pain,
let's pray; its like, won't come again.
(Rhyme)
12/30/2015
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.
The News is Not the News
By Franklin Price
7/18/2015
The news is not the news
until the newsmen put their spin
to increase their ratings;
where oh where do they begin.
They try to make each incident
appear to shake the earth,
go viral on the internet,
give another conflict birth.
They twist the news to move them
to a pro from just a hack.
If caught may say they're sorry,
are mistaken, take it back.
Their income is dependent
on the ratings of the day.
News doesn't have to be the truth;
If you believe in what they say
Believe nothing that they tell you
And only half of what you see.
Verify what they are spouting
before climbing up their tree.
Let them entertain you
as they tell you all they know
Check on their slanted view of things,
before you believe the show.
TV Land won’t be the same
Without Jon Stewart’s face,
For he’s the one man on the air
That no one can replace.
With other newsmen slinking off
Because they’ve lost our trust,
“The Daily Show’s” lead anchor
Leaves all others in the dust.
When even those who’ve winced at jokes
He’s made at their expense
Express remorse at his departure,
Sadness must commence.
They’ll fill his seat and surely
He’ll do something else real soon,
But his announcement stuck a pin
In everyone’s balloon.
(Spenserian Sonnet)
A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter brine
and will his soul the evil one require?
Did in pretense he seek to prove desire
and rise to plant a kiss upon her lips?
He sliced her neck and watched his wife expire,
as blood streamed down and dripped from fingertips.
Yet rumor spread as neighbors came to grips
with horror of a murder in their town,
and newsmen raced to pen details in scripts
while lawmen flocked to chase the villain down.
I held my mother in my arms and cried;
her eyes met mine in sorrow as she died.
At Dalton town where I was born
in Ozark hills of home,
There lived a man named Leamon Brown
who plowed the rich, black loam.
His wife, a sweet and gentle soul,
did not foresee his bent,
she daily worked beside her man
who seemed to be content.
But in his heart a wrath appeared
to poison spirit's peace.
When reason left, his anger grew
and clawed to find release.
He stepped behind her where she sat
and bent to kiss her lips,
withdrew his blade and slit her throat
while blood streamed down her hips.
In panic's grip she fled the house
but stumbled soon and fell.
The children screamed in frozen shock
and dove straight into hell.
One son ran to his mother's side
and held her as she died.
His siblings hid from daddy's blade;
he stood there, glassy eyed.
As gossip spread like raging fire
of murder in our town,
the newsmen raced to pen details
as lawmen dragged him down.
His deed became the hottest news
to ever hit our town
The judge declared the man insane
this man named Leamon Brown
Now he is locked behind closed doors,
his wife lies in the ground.
Though we lament the children's fate,
his kids are sorrow bound.
Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.
In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.
Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.
They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.
Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.
But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.
Single stitch seams in a sensitive place
Can make you look foolish – can make you lose face
Single stitch seams – just what were we thinking
With the strain on the job or material shrinking
Believe it or not when in rough terrain
Parts of the uniform are under some strain
We wiggle and waddle and flop down on the ground
These single stitch seams are a problem we found
Is it rank related? – Well no body knows
But we can’t go around with our privates exposed
We must protect soldiers from their toes to their head
So don’t send them out without needle and thread.
So I sat down at lunch with the General today
Who’s in charge of it all – he had this to say
That story you read – let me just say it’s bogus
They’ve been complaining ‘bout this since the soldiers wore togas
To get wearing like that is all such a farce
Why they must be sliding down mountains sitting just on their ****
Or the uniform is so old or been blasted by sand
I hate when these stories get so out of hand
So don’t listen to those newsmen and the stories that they botch
I tell you we’ve no problem when we're talking 'bout our crotch
Reporting devastation
Even hardened newsmen cry.
We watch in consternation
As the weak among them die.
As each new revelation
Brings more horror to our eyes,
We share the sheer elation
Of brave rescues from the skies.
There are more heroes than villains
In this drama taking place;
In the worst natural disaster
That we’ve ever had to face.
They thought they were alone until
The ripple then the roar
Of help poured in around them
Lifting them to drier shore.
May God look down in favor
At the fortitude of man
As they vow they will reclaim them
Their loved cities and their land.
Survivors will have stories
For grandchildren yet to be
Of beating Mother Nature
Sending her back to the sea.
Though we may be bystanders
To their terror and their pain,
We’ll share the pride of victory
When they build their lives again.
As we tender love and prayers and hope
And all the help we can,
May it be enough to build their trust
In Self and God and Man.
By: Joyce Johnson
For Linda-Marie's contest won 9th place
KNOCKER.B
Yes here we are in the great south land, (Australia)
right amongst the knockers be.
Don't stick your nose up or be grand,
they'll stomp yer like a flea.
In the land of knockers they take joy,
the newsmen shout it loud.
The business people they'll annoy,
if you died they'd steal yer shroud.
These up jumped yokels never were a cut above the rest,
the politicians know and hate the awful bloody pest.
But if you stand a little tall or stand out with the best,
they'll cut you down and paint you black put feathers in your vest.
Perhaps the country'd go ahead with out the knocker be.
if our monied people had the guts to back a prodigy.
Our inventors must go overseas to get a backer, gee?
no one to back the under dog, not cricket, do you see.
by D H Johnson
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