Since the day I first saw light
I was so tough and hard up for the fight
I learnt the hard way as my rule
The school of hard knocks made me no-ones fool
But whats a poor boy to do
Up in the morning before the sun
My workin for the man a life with no fun
The sweat on my back and dirt on my brow
Living each day behind the plough
But whats a poor boy to do
I was always my father’s son
Working each day ‘til the work is done
There was never a time just for me
All I wanted was life as free as can be
But what’s a poor boy to do
I vowed to myself I would not be
A dirt poor farmer working the land not free
I ran away from home at my first chance
Away from the struggle and the daily farmer’s dance
But whats a poor boy to do
I ran with a crowd that was just like me
Robbin and killin on a lawless spree
Until one day in a border town the sheriff won
And our bank robbin and murder was done
But whats a poor boy to do
The judge had a reputation so proud
Hanging was my sentence the judge unbowed
So here I am standing with a noose around my neck
My last day has come so what the heck
But what’s a poor boy to do.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Categories:
robbin, death,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Little red Robin,
You come every day,
Where from I wonder?,
As you look through my window,
Watching you fly away.
Why do you come each day?,
Are you a sign from above?,
Or just a robbin from nearby?,
Red robbin my new friend.
You flew away days ago,
Where did you go?,
Did you not need to come anymore?,
Is it because I'm ok?
Will I see you again?
Categories:
robbin, animal, bird, flying, friend,
Form: Free verse
PARTENZA REPRESA
POETRY
-
THE BIRDS IN MY GARDEN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The birds in my garden, seasons decide.
Seasons decide. Hardened species abide,
Species abide, like sparrows, all seasons.
All seasons why? My alarm, good reasons.
A Robbin, probably more, who can tell?
More, who can tell? Together could be hell!
Could be hell! Well they'll battle, unless mates,
Unless mates, probably death, it equates!
Robins, all year round, Goldfinches late Spring.
Goldfinches late Spring, a pair had a fling.
A pair had a fling, sad, got molested!
Got molested, found by cats, expected!
Blue and Great **** Winter, late Spring, Hedge Sparrow,
late Spring, Hedge Sparrow, long after the snow.
Long after the snow, a Jackdaw or two.
Jackdaw or two, hinterland corvids, nice view.
Blue and Great **** Winter, late Spring, Hedge Sparrow
Black Birds, nesting Collards in pine pollards.
Starlings at a bollards birdbath drinking.
Birdbath drinking, more birds this year singing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
robbin, bird, spring, winter,
Form: I do not know?
The New "Robbin'" Hood
This guy I describe can have many names.
He’s greedy and mean and likes to play games.
I’ll just call him Robbin’ with double-b,
for he is robbin’ from you and from me.
It’s possible he is from a real hood.
A gangster he’d be then, up to no good.
Oh yes, Robbin’ Hood (a fitting name, that),
who hooks kids on drugs. A scumbag, a rat!
A politician Sir “Hood” could be too,
who’s secretly robbin’ from me and from you.
Some rich CEO who plays on his yacht
with money which from the public he got.
He robs from the poor and gives to the rich.
Yes, he is the worst, that son of a *****.
The new Robbin’ Hood who dirties this earth
will find when he dies just what his soul’s worth.
Written Feb. 12, 2016 for
the twisted poem about Robin Hood Poetry Contest of CT
Categories:
robbin, corruption, drug,
Form: Couplet
THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS
By the Poets Listed After the Poem
There's good and bad in ‘most everything.
The same is true of guns! Ping, Ping, PING!!!
Targets as prey, almost any day,
Fun in the sun, clean family stay!
Boomerang, this wrong, right conspires.
We're all targets; guns will backfire.
On the loved throne from early shooting,
Bang! Bang! Huge torpedoes recruiting-
School massacres; what is there to say?
Beers, bullets; kill! American way?
Flash my piece for a piece of the pie.
From my cold dead hands, this gun you'll pry.
Bullet holes piercing loved ones for: Cash
Loot! Silver! Gold! Jewelry! Robbers' stash-
We must have the right to protect…. Broadcast!!!
These rights we must uphold, don't be crass.
Every home surely needs protection.
What! Haven't we learned? Expectation.
Except for prayer, we still have free speech.
How far, I ask, will lost freedoms reach?
CONTRIBUTING POETS:
Dane Smith-Johnsen, Doris Culverhouse, Ruben Ortellao, Charma Chircop, John Robbin,
Yoni Dvokis, Rain Cerdiwin Keetly, Patricia Prescott, Sara Kendrick, and
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Categories:
robbin, life, political, social, sports
Form: Couplet
On April 26th I was born,
In a world more than a hundreds years scorn, No healin' up
They sho' was pealin' up, casted the line and they realin' up,
Pullin me round on a string puppeteerin' us,
Didn't know how to discuss the way that I felt in my mind,
Isolating thoughts of much steer my wheel from time to time,
I thought about the shine only making in worse,
College things, engagement ring Im throwin' in the dirt,
Miseducated young miss in this game, I write, rap, produce, and sang,
Not just for fame, but for talent I was given, tellin my life as it comes,
Wondering why we all is stealin, killin, thizzin, robbin, theivin,
But inside Im greivin, wonderin when a change gone come,
When Imma be leavin? I been in chains for so long,
All the soldiers that went to war, they aint come back home, they aint come back
home.
Categories:
robbin, black african american, loss,
Form: Lyric