Ronald Poems | Examples

Ronald Lee Ermey

Ronald Lee Ermey
definitely showed no mercy
as Gunnery Sgt Hartmann
he delivered his best Marine DI impression

Ronald Reagan building

Busy underground 
food courts overcrowded lines 
visit to DC

I Cannot Subject Your Immortality To My Art

I cannot subject your immortality to my art
For something deathless cannot by death survive,
Nor can I anchor your beauty upon the sun
Which although shines bright, is dead at night;
Summer mornings oft’ become wintry evenings 
And everything that breathes sometime must die;
Music does fade, and poetry ceases to intrigue;
Tales do not amuse, and paintings are oft’ stolen; 
Sculptures once made are tried by the wicked sun 
And spring’d gardens become summer’d deserts.
So, you see, not the burning sun, nor the changing weather
Nor anything as ambitious as my childish craft 
Can I compare your strange beauty to,
Since that which you are eternized by, resides in you!

— Efe Chesterfield

Ronald Regan If You Please

I have no idea why I liked Ronald Regan the best. 
I do not remember or care if he is a Republican or a Democrat.
I possibly admired him because he was in a movie with a monkey.
He seemed like a genuine person, approachable and kind.

If you have guessed I am not into politics big time,
You would be exactly right.  I do not “do” politics, being an independent. 
I do not get crazy about football games either, except for the KC Chiefs. 
I am crazy about Patrick Mahomes because he is adorable. 

I never liked Nancy Regan, or Regan’s first wife, Jane Wyman.
I adored Ronald Regan, always picturing him letting a monkey crawl all over him. 
I guess I like movie stars who become president; it’s my only reason.
Or maybe it is just because he seemed like a really nice guy.

Written 2/03/2021
Contest: Your Favorite President
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins

Beatrix Potter and Ronald Dahl

The ever clever, talented Beatrix Potter was interested in everything
She self-published The Tale of Peter Rabbit; it was met with a zing.
Her scientific interest led us to understand germination of fungus spores
Her journals written in code, deciphered by an engineer, Mr. Dores.

Beatrix was the first person to put clothes on animals in her books.
Until this time, they were much more natural in their illustrative looks.
One of her biggest fans was a young lad named Ronald Dahl.
She encouraged him to write. His books are enormous, world-tall.

Beatrix had Peter Rabbit and Squirrel Nutkin, both of them tales.
Ronald Dahl penned Charlie and the Chocolate Factory near Wales.
They are both vibrant reminders that writers can become immortal.
As I read some of their books like Matilda, I drool and I chortle.

Ronald

Ronald loved to run
Running to him was fun
No-one could keep pace
With Ron in a race
Everything he entered he won
      (Well Done)

Ronald Likes a Nice Bit of Rump

A politician called Ronald Dump
Loves to pat pretty girls on the rump
At a peachy pert tush
All his brains turn to mush
His wife floors him – you should see the lump!

Fictional write for fun

7th June 2016

Ronald Reagan: So Long Cowboy

Fold your tent now
Cowboy, the prairie sunset has come
Pull the hat low
Over the silent brow, let the horse go home
Without saddle,
It's round up time for you, the trail is done.
Bit and bridle;
O let it go free, and feel the weightless
World runs with it,
Put the branding iron down, blow out the sun;
The mind's habit
Shutting out the endless tedium and stress
Now can reclaim
The dignity that future-centered men
Denied; the fame
Past-centered men recalled and softly blend
With their own hopes;
And none but the dead ever realized.
Roll up the ropes
The cowboy no more rides, or seek the prize.
Rustlers die fast
Cowboys live long, lariat looping ferile glory;
Rodeo past,
The poled hat and belt tell all the final story.

Wicked, Sinful By Ronald S Porter

! How I remember you

filled with youth, mischief and lust

We shared wicked, sinful days;

And, (Oh God!) those nights!

A Bit of Whimsy By Ronald S Porter

Here in the land of blind dogs and
screeching pigs, I lay me down to rest.
Where predators prowl and scavengers growl,
We snuggle like baby carrion fowl
in a squalid, rotting, rancid, reeking nest.

Where the death-stench and fat flies
fill greenish yellow bruised sad skies
and, necrophilia is a spectator sport;
We contendly feast on fresh slaughter beast
then wrapped in entrails, we dance and cavort.

Oh lovely stink! Oh delightful decay!
Where air is vile and water is gritty,
we make meery sport with mangled dead
while you cower, at night, in your bed
putting your hope in the walls of your city.

Out here we fantasize your horrified eyes
and agonized cries, as we watch neath the moon.
Lazy and fattened; would your flesh be sweet?
Oh how we could feast on your blood and meat.
We're planning to come visit your city real soon.

I'd wager, the children are quite tender.

Sweating Music, By Ronald S Porter

the music is sweating in the room
strings and reeds bump and grind
slow-dragging dancers entwine
oh the fruit is ripe upon the vine
and the wine of love and laughter
a mingled vintage- joy and tears
now are drunk down to the dregs
then another round is poured

urgency prowls the crowd's periphery
everybody waiting for... nobody knows
but we'll pitch a fit when it gets here
some might even shed some clothes

desire is straining in the room
lust sniffs around like an old hound
trying to catch the scent, 
purposed to pick up the trail
hunting money, hunting magic
hunting comfort, hunting tail
sweaty music sound still coming down

where are soft arms that hold tight
warm lips to lie that it's all right?
night turns like a page in a book
the guitar player throws out a hook
and sweating music command us look
for when the morning shall come

Quench This Fire, a Retourne By Ronald S Porter

Hold me like you'll never let go;
love me, each time, as if the first.
Shake me and quake me, slake my thirst
Quench this fire-My desire.

Love me each time, as if the first;
relearn my flesh, again, anew.
Discover new ways to excite me;
uncover passion's mystery.

Shake me and quake me; slake my thirst.
Give me nectar; let me drink deep-
'til I am filled and satisfied.
I promise I will fill you too.

Quench this fire-My desire;
leave me exhausted, limp, and drained.
Then renew urge, with tender tease.
'til urgency arouse once more!

Hold On To the Best, Forget the Rest By Ronald S Porter

Should auld acquaintance be forgiven?
Seek not dear darling, to be shriven.
With all the sweet torments of love
you once visited on my heart, the same
measure for meaure did I, on you, employ.
Call to mend; healing now the only joy.


The rapture, ripe, that we once shared,
I know (and my hope is that you do too)
with all we were, we truly cared.
The love we gave: me to you; you to me
I will always hold treasured, in memory.
Keep the best, forgive and forget
we'll take a cup of kindness yet...

No Lasting Glories By Ronald S Porter

thunder on the mountains, harken!
there is fire reflected in the sky
cold, hard rain, and the ring of steel
down in the valley, a thousand screams
war horses' iron-shod hooves crush dreams
blood and smoke; lightning flashes,
severed limbs and, trampled bones
in another hundred years, or so
wind blown grass and silent stones
all songs and stories faded away
no lasting glories for those who fell today
and in the night sky, far-off, diamond like stars
care nothing for man, his causes, or his wars

Diary of Desires By Ronald S Porter

Memory of hot summer nights
sweat and sweetness
naked flesh dripping
streets sounds from open window
passion cracked like a whip
and we...
danced to a different beating
of two hearts set afire
and, it was cool

first time we danced
we found....
matching rhythms
we moved across a dance floor
as if we were
one spirit in two bodies
or one body
with two congruent minds

and later,in the room
at the top of the stairs
on a gifted brass bed,
just as on the dance floor
we moved together
as if  my flow was the only
one you'd known
and your body was my own
and sweet jazz music
played on the radio
while you made love to me
as if you were the one who wrote
the diary of my desires

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