His name is John Albert Cummings,
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.
Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.
Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.
The stars are so clear --- they glitter
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice.
What a stupid situation
Twenty foot above the ground
But when I reach the bottom
I’m nearly half way round
It was Ronnie Hatchard said it
Hey boys lets have some fun
Go back to camp and do
The assault course run
Nobody had the senses
To say stupid idea
Just picked up his glass
And finished off his beer
And now it’s after midnight
And it’s cold and it’s dark
And what seemed like such fun
Now just aint much of a lark
There’s somebody up above me
And I think he feels the same
He’s steadily pouring curses on
Old Ronnie Hatchard’s name
My stomach’s feeling queasy
There’s a pounding in my head
Instead of hanging here
I should be in my bed
But I bet when we finish
There’ll be no beery stagger
Just a walk to the billet
Full of pride and swagger
With Old Ronnie Hatchard
Man of the day
Sure as night is night
Proudly leading the way
His name is John Albert Cummings,
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.
Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.
Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.
The stars are so clear --- they glitter
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice.
My thoughts are caught on a cattle grid
Tractor tyres rumble over my ideas
The farmer's wife's bosom holds all the secrets
To an emporium of scent and voluptuous spheres
The bell rings for dinner and the daylight dimmers
The cows are a lowing and the z's climb for the clouds
It's night time in the Sussex Downs
-Honey go to the Dr
-April I don't know Am I still alive?
-Do it for Us, ours strive
-And the watcher what I should say?
-Tell him the all system was hacked
-The all system was hacked William (Blush)
-we going to do some tests now
"this guy is one in a million"
Two weeks
1000 Doc critiques
indecision
Deliberation: -Not going.
April goes to the office, -so Easy going how is he?
Good so far The CPU is Ok, Keyboard and Screen Alright
The power A-L-W-A-Y-S in save E mode
See this <| ...
He will never again hit the road with full load
Because I have so little time,
I only hope, for what is mine--
in my blood so dark and hot
is a bright and fevered spot--
O let me be, to sing again
without the penalty of pain,
lest I, before my time, be torn
from life, and to the grave be borne--
my nostrils full of soil, my ears
stopp'd by grave and ritual tears--
O let me be, lest they will tread
--my children-- on their mother's head
before my song for them is done,
before my course on earth is run,
before they learn the song I sing:
that love can conquer
everything.
this poem is written in the shape of a funereal urn
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