Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the judge”
Rapscallion and stallion wrangling with dangling golden medallion
Facing the pacing battalion on our latest sinking Caribbean galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock that won't budge
In that 90’s dungeon Robin our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Truncheon fine dining on a hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Calms alarms and qualms delivers us from harm with stoic heroic psalms
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms those offside charms “the Judge”
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary prime time for our hairy chest fairy
Robin our pace Pontiff willow ace not a whiff or a riff or sniff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff that's the pith of Smith
Not just a county squire but quite possibly the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Calling card hit it so hard earned the fable label of both BATman & Robin
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a complete one off “the Judge”
Damn it the planet’s on fire
Concerning..right down to the wire
Burning on its funeral pyre spire
I’m for turning.. where’s the messiah?
A heavenly choir…so we can aspire
That learning will finally inspire
An endless yearning desire
Of spurning this friendless quagmire
Discerning things are rather dire
Churning of the palaver and ire
Mother nature does surely tire
Should be the crier & trier
Of another returning frequent flyer
Corporate pariah..or so called high flier
Deranged global warming denier
You can tell its hotter...getting dryer
The climate’s changed.. you liar
Mining anything shining..find a buyer
All about earning..will just retire
With their bounty…a comfy county squire
Or dicey fiscal rascal friar
Got devious egregious previous & prior
Pampered dining on pricey lobster & samphire
Us out of luck..stuck in the muck & mire
Tampered temperatures soaring higher
But no ruck ..chuck the entire earth in the fryer
They’ve scampered…we’re hampered in the briar
Does appall …no truck with their gall…yet remain a complier
Insane what they pluck.. yet we all still call them “Sire”
Big Ben chimes again
With Bazball zen
One of those men
From special stock
Shepherd of the flock
Hewn from strewn Volcanic rock
From New Zealand's Southern Isle
But only there for a wee while
Mighty flame haired flair laird
Without doubt more about Blighty's North East
They forged this bellicose beast
Ripsnorting sporting cavorting squire
Glutton & gourmand gorged feast
Test town crier
Puffed buffed chest
Inspire..burning
Proper copper topper
Churning fire..
Endless zest..desire
No dull lull
No bore draw
Simple...aspire
To score more!
It's not arcane
Stokes campaign & reign
Train like you're insane
Always entertain!
Remember us flounder
In the gutter
Trounced...17 on the bounce
Could we have found
Pound for pounder
Better all rounder
Nutter...go getter
Sounder founder
Run rate record setter
Of the evolution
And revolution
Of Test cricket
Toe to toe
Blow by blow
Heave ho
Give us a ticket
In the Baz ball or
Ben buzz grotto
Gung Ho motto
You will never know
Till you give it a go!
Harpsichord in heaven?
Cubic or spherical?
Bread, O baker? Leaven.
Just flicker as you fall...
Dancing lights apace in space?
Watch them in her face.
Ghost, vanish without a trace!
Gold, case, carapace!
Desert floor in winter?
No more than one inch, snow.
Shredder, got a splinter?
Tormented, O my foe.
Panels, dance about the night!
Sparks in porcelain!
Falcon, gather wind in flight!
How we'll meet again...
Yellow eyed priest, bid the feast!
Shepherd, are ye fleeced?
Squire, page, are the wheels a-greased?
Only if they're pieced.
Connect, O my fibers!
Build high the city walls!
If they're born to jibe, sirs;
They're bound for taking falls.
Tyrant of the borderland?
Show them how we stand!
Crush them in thy hardest hand!
Order countermand!
Silence in the place of whole?
Remotely control.
Ye gods, what is mortal soul?
Golden light a-bowl.
The noble lady was full of ire.
Her drunken knight had pissed out her evening fire.
So now she sought warmth by his sleeping horse,
and indulged in some heated intercourse
with the knight's drop-dead handsome squire.
When the prince first stood naked before his new bride,
his disappointed was a little hard to hide.
Had he given all those red rubies
just to get these tiny little boobies?
Squire! Get the horses ready! We're going for a ride!"
When the princess first saw the prince's little wiener,
her pretty face betrayed an instant change in her demeanor.
She thought with a frown,
“This is a big step down.
I saw much bigger dicks when I was a teener.”
Steampunk mouse had a suit of gears and copper to admire
A fine specimen, great soldier, he had been the king’s squire
But now he was a stylish gentle-mouse, dare he attempt to go higher?
I could become general, he thought, the consequences dire.
Not that, said his mother, to her firstborn son, MacIntire.
I want you to be safe, stay home, sit down near the fire.
Mothers are all the same, he thought, they want you to retire.
But his ambitions were enormous, this steampunk mouse MacIntire.
The opportunity sparked a fierce desire
A cunning liar is trying to conspire
Plotting schemes that would require
Causing the masses tears to flood the mire
The choir sang with voices higher
Looking for a bold lady or noble squire
Capable of mending our old attire
Bake these words in an air fryer
The hissing revealed a situation growing dire
Look a devious flyer is soaring above the spire
Falsely proclaiming tales to inspire
Hiding in the quagmire as an actual occupier
Their words thickening the air like a humidifier
The supplier is attempting rewire
All of us who dare to still inquire
An amplifier’s hum drew the self-proclaimed sire
Who foolishly gazed at stars with his heart’s desire
Each promise made proved to be a modifier
The identifier called it out as a testifier
Through it all the proclamations became slier
We need to rise above the snake oil salesmen’s ire
Buckle up and find the strength not to retire
Find the heart to not back down or tire
When you left
you were still a goddess
of love...
You reigned supreme!
You were my hero
passionate heart!
Now that this time
glorious closed,
even without being high
at the idyllic mountain,
You're still a muse...
You can still be adored
for me... your faithful squire...!
You can still, if you want me,
plant next to me
a new and flowery
Garden... I'm trapped
in silence, but still
I think about love,
and in you...!
I am the knight-errant, he sang in a loud excited way.
riding his horse Rocinante, each and every day.
his pot-bellied friend Sancho Panza continued to stay.
even though tricks were played on them here and far away.
my dear Dulcinea will be around the next corner Quixote sang.
his voice was confident, his verses happy, his melody ring rang.
his squire Sancho drummed his donkey’s saddle with a bang.
Dulcinea again, always Ducinea, this made him think “dang!”
she will reside past the windmills, Don Quixote predicted.
his sidekick wanted to believe, but they were both often trickt-ed.
the gentleman from La Mancha and his sidekick did not know
their story was touted as the first novel, and soon made into a show.
Gwyneth the dragon raiser dreamt of slaughtering enemies in an easy way
She shared this with one squire, who created armor that fit her back sway
Healthpal her favorite dragon offered to accompany his trainer to the front.
he could read her mind, and with him, she would not get scared or want.
set out at daybreak the minute her armor was finished, sandwiches in hand.
Enemies were everywherel Healthpal’s fire would fix any loose in a band.
Her father watched them go and sent avid prayers to her mother.
she was being followed covertly by her cousin and older brother.
battle of Armisttooth was in full swing when they reached their destination.
Gwyneth took her place in the fight, and Healthpal showed them his station.
They annihilated much of the enemy’s troops, and soon had them on the run.
Oh my gosh! Said her brother and cousin “This was all kinds of fun!”
Gwyneth was upset, thinking they did not think she could handle herself.
She was not a porcelain doll or a china teapot to be put high up on a shelf.
We just came to watch, they said. Are you ready to go to the new front?
They worked together next time, chasing the enemy home to Van Brunt.
I am liquid moonlight;
The ashes of dreams.
I am the realization of the impossible;
The renunciation of thought, serene.
I am the swimming seasons of time;
The memories yet to come.
I am the flawless equilibrium of the outcaste scavenger;
The infinite equanimity of the illuminate sun.
I am the embodiment of dispelled desire;
The sage.
I am the squire.
In a bar room they boldly contested
Though both were quite fully breasted
On the wall who’d pee higher
The dame or her squire
He lost when "no hands" was requested
John G. Lawless
©3/22/2023
Sancho Panza loaned his trusty donkey to Don Quixote
they had finally reached the village of the gorgeous Dulcinea.
Baskets brimming with excited sunflowers would be delivered.
The squire congratulated himself for getting the knight-errant here.
He sat back to watch the performance, as Quixote began to sing.
They called me a Communist
When only just a teen
Nothing much has changed in
Those Sixty years in between.
My village once had fourteen farms
Now it’s just got one or two
Those employed in the village
Are now very far and few.
It’s commuter land these days
Almost deserted on weekdays
An almost soulless place
With modern village ways.
There was Social Housing then
Now it’s mainly owner occupied
Very few common folk there
Now it’s well and truly gentrified.
The old Falcon Inn once well used
As village meet and social club
Has been renovated and become
A stylish seldom open Gastro Pub.
My dad’s old cottage still stands
Only because it’s been listed
Next door has been knocked through
As though it had never existed.
Two hundred years the family home
Now any trace of us long gone
It’s what these days they call progress
As life ambles and stumbles on.
A place of many required lessons
Which I never did manage to learn.
Only old family graves there now
So I seldom bother to return.
They called me a Communist
Because I wouldn’t doff my cap
To the Johnny-cum-lately Squire
Touring the village by pony and trap.
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