Hey, never mind the hundred thousand folks
you'd have to keep for decades in the dark -
the sub-contractors, cleaners, office clerks.
Hey, never mind the billions such a hoax
would cost (to really go there works out cheaper!)
Don't give a thought to scammers, media whores,
and all those earnest, honest whistle-blowers,
who gagged to play heroic brother's-keepers
and get on Charlie Rose. Don't tax your wits
by wondering how a monumental lie
could hope to last, or even wonder why
someone would want to try it. Think of this.
In early summer, nineteen sixty-nine,
the Soviet Union hated Uncle Sam.
If there had been a smidgeon of a scam,
the Russians would have formed a clamoring line
of hackers, trackers, eggheads and the rest
to tell the waiting world, "it isn't so!
Our satellites confirm, they didn't go!"
But they said nothing. There's your acid test.
Carrying light as backpackers
fireflies emit sparkles of crackers
and to attract mates,become trackers.
Place : 3rd
Forecoming doom is just a hoax or just real? it can’t be? the Forecoming doom? there are mountains blocking it’s way how is it so? The nightmare of some , the joy of others, storm trackers will be amazed how it go down forecoming doom the state ,the city never thought it would be touch even the grizzly ghouls from every tomb would Shuckin by they’re core see the wind spin around and around like a merry-go-around a black cloud turning the day sky into nighttime this place will go up and down with dust and go out in lust the Forecoming doom please presume to be informed this place is in lost take cover and be strong for those you love hide and run. the forecoming doom this not a drill you will hear screams and yelps see people take cover spot it and seek cover
I miss the me before my hope was stolen in broad day light
Sadness impressed it's will on my mind
Making my mind sick
So, to all the kids "take your vitamins"
My mind doesn't feel like mines
I have a couple of time trackers that I try to race from time to time
Feeling like I just can't find the energy to simply live a normal life
My mind is often moving too fast for my body
I feel like a nobody when I'm around everybody
Knowing it's not true
Mind tricks have me thinking maybe my time is coming to an end
Telling myself you know that's not you
It's your shadow
The dark side trying to finish you
My shadow is my best friend that I never wanted to meet
A constant battle
I wish I could cut my shadow off
But I can't get rid of it without killing myself
You need the dark side, past, and future in order to grow
It may not be a part of the life you want to show
But the show must go on
And then I receive the count down
On in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
Hello vengeance let's kill my depression
p.s. the shadows only cool me down now, I won't let the darkness take over...
This is an age of blood;
an interesting era,
corn and potatoes rot in the fields
or are sold into slavery.
Money walks inside a Viking helmet,
Mars is rising red with anger.
This a time for poetry,
for the old and young
to scribble over burnt stones,
to whisper into hurricanes.
The world spins on
but an axis of madness reigns,
its spin is out of kilter,
drugged by addictive illusions.
Only the wild child
with a charcoal pen
can write down the pain,
can see the fire simmering bright
in the chilling snow.
The path is crazy
it has lost itself in a concrete maze
of insane ideas and frothing words.
It babbles, it has only spears
to shake, as if such weapons' were
as sharp as clear eyes.
The soft neural tentacles of poets
wave in the ash filled air,
gather reasons,
moments to sew together
incautious words
on the edge of a dire dawn.
A pale light feeds them
they report the storming storms
camouflaged as they are
by the in-between;
their small testaments
writ upon scapes of scorched insights
for the readers and trackers
of lost footprints.
Russian Giants were our favourites
they could top ten feet
with flowers to match
and a big broad smile that was designed to catch
undivided attention.
To us, they were
parhelions, sun-trackers who
aspired to be
centres of yellow excellence.
Strong Bonds
Muddy river,
crystal clear,
and sometimes green as grass.
Grains of sand, hot on the pan,
Gifts of pine?, smell all you can…!
Cowboys, Indians, artists
and rodeo, powwows.
Towns gone,
now ghostly kept…
Mines, claim jumpers,
stagecoaches and poker players,
School teachers,
and the right to vote?
Mountain men…
Too many people,
and broken treaties.
Ever paving the way
toward the future…
of a highway.
Scoundrels and sheriffs,
preachers and train trackers,
carpetbaggers, and mayors…
purveyors of law, yet without order.
History remembers…,
Don’t let them forget.
Pioneers, robbers, and slaves,
built OUR country…
Heroes of a past,
we need more today,
than ever before.
Stand up men that put their life on the line.
Western hearts, that carried through time.
Horse and saddle, bronc and buster,
ride again into the sun!
“In God We Trust”
A ruthless pirate called Albert McSheel
Got caught and offered his captors a deal
A framed map of his treasure
His parrot for good measure
And a promise to never again steal.
A month later he was back on the sea
He had lied and was robbing ruthlessly
And while McSheel was asleep
Two hidden trackers did beep
A drone soon put an end to his crime spree.
Written on 10th April 2019
For Pirate Themed Limerick Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin.
Both stanzas 10/10/7/7/10.
Trackers follow the animals,
herd them towards the waiting guns.
Big money paid by lazy hunters
who just want some trophies.
Not for them the slog through bush
they want an easy kill.
A bit or two taken to hang on walls
meat left where they fell.
Uncaring if they are endangered
they drink their beers in the hides.
Not wanting to get dirty or sweaty
they picnic on delicacies and wine.
Bodies of the slain beasts pile up
to be dragged away by scavengers.
While the men toast each other
proud of the day's work.
Tomorrow it will all be repeated
who I ask are the real beasts here?
Byron McGovern (true story 1900)
At Denowan near Goodooga,
lived Mc Govern so they say,
At a Church of England mission,
Aubrey lived there anyway,
now Byron McGovern got arrested,
Black Trackers they said sure,
in jail he was invested,
his tracks came to the door,
the murderer was cunning,
tiptoed to Byrons' camp,
pulled on Byrons' muddy boots,
tiptoe running, in his dance,
Frog Morton he had no chance,
foul murder it was done,
axed to death, the Emus wept,
bad signatures on the cheque book, one,
Byron sidestepped the gallows,
no death for murder him,
the forgers face was sallow,
slip knot got tight and grim,
and the corpse did swing a swing,
and justice came ashore,
some stupid bloody ding a ling ,
got his karma bloody sure....
Don Johnson
TRACKER
A Bushman Tracker knows the way to follow horses here...every hoof is different
He’ll find the track one hoof placed wrong........all have different tracks
And remember it a year!.........If he is an Aussie BushmanTracker
He’d know the colour of the horse
By the hair left on the ground
They roll every day of course
Hair left in the rolling mound
An earmark seen on a beast
Is also logged the same
Remembered on a cow or sheep
If the owner comes to claim
The sun in the down under ……remember if you went south, how far back
The northern sky it sits…….notice when you went west
Watch it never make a blunder…..to find your way, back track
Never lost remember it…..some Trackers pass this test….
Don Johnson
Yes I started out life as a Drover with 1000 head of cattle me and my Dad.
I was 10 when I rode 40 miles to join the herd on the Bollon Stock Route.
Watch the sun and know which way you travel and you will be never lost
Fetchers of slippers, retrievers of sticks.
Anytime nappers, performers of tricks.
Furry lap warmers and guards of our doors.
Muddy paw trackers across our clean floors.
Happy tail waggers whose love never ends.
Constant companions and dearest of friends.
Dedicated to My Tasha Girl.
There will come a time
Maybe today, or tomorrow
Where a soldier of fortune
Will gloat in his sorrow
For his trackers and he
On a mission to tame
Will hunt him down
And leave him in maim
Through the wires of code
In binary bite
This soldier of fortune
Will, with all his might
Where will he start
It's for his prey to guess
When he knocks on his door
Instant distress
Before he is taken
A justice is served
For some times in this world
Some things are deserved
He is handed over to their FBI
In the land of the free, their justice he's tried
For if he was left, with the soldier of fortune
He would remember that day
His day of misfortune
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php
Each day in Tombstone as tourists watch
The OK Corral gunfight plays out
Reenactments staged by the locals
The Earps always prevail in this bout
Saunter down to the Bird Cage Theater
Now a museum in this Old West town
Actors aren’t needed to play roles
The original cast is still around
Sixteen gunfights caused 26 deaths
Poker players who were dealt bad hands
Tourists still hear the shuffling of cards
And music from the piano man
Gunshots, images captured on tape
Dancehall girls still perform on the stage
Scents of old ale cling to dusty walls
And card game losers express their rage
Doc Holliday and Clanton Brothers
Look on as Wyatt holds all the cards
Virgil, Morgan glare at the McLaurys
Lawmen and outlaws send their regards
Spirits may rise from nearby Boot Hill
To visit the Bird Cage for a while
Delighting modern-day visitors
With a taste of history, Tombstone-style
To learn more about the Bird Cage Theater hauntings and see photos, visit http://www.ghost-
trackers.org/birdcage.htm
Guarded by the ant riding dinosaurs and their kind,
From the silver city within the rock mountains,
The princess leaves emerging from the tunnel;
Her rear guard fights every inch with the new foe.
In terror without her royal insignia display,
Can she mix with humans in hiding to vanish?
Escape capture and a life long term of prison?
For the ant dynasty now rules planet earth.
Ruthless the enemy swarms each corner on earth,
Humans must breed fast to resist the enemy,
Pray a virus strike these human trackers with death;
Making this planet fit for humans in freedom:
A muscular body well nourished to survive,
On crumbs and leftover from the cruel ruling race:
Picture Ref:
http://hebuss.free.fr/img/2000/boris_vallejo_00thesilvercity.jpg
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