Simply absurd
Heard the news
Snotty residents
On pedants pews
Clear precedents
Vice do choose
Drive us potty
In arty farty mews
Latte & biscotti
With dotty views
Party always grotty
Spice will lose
A slutty hotty
Putty in her hand
Seedy queues
For smutty totty
Or bit of botty
Plenty of booze
A nutty hinterland
Hear our boos
Us well manned
Against this ruse
So underhand
With their coups
Good times banned
Westminster eschews
In pubs can't stand
Everyone poo poos
That's what's planned
If papers peruse
Chaos canned
Soho's Blues
Come on! Is that the best blast you've got?
Your thunder tantrums don't scare me - Your flash and flare they're half hot!
I love this dunder, blunder, thunder, and underhand rumble-in-the-jungle!
Touché! Olé! We're duellin' again with fork-pronged lightn' sparkling lances.
Clang! Bang! Ker-pow! Ker-plunk! Ker-thump! - Your thunder's late by years!
I flash, bash, smash, crash, gnash — while your Ker-boom goes boom blah, blah, Ahah!
Your quick flashback, claptrap wisecracks come back five seconds late.
Bolt after bolt, your jolts, revolts, cheap-shots and pot-shots hit my ear flaps.
All roar, no score, no gore, no nosebleeds — just air stabs in ionized air.
By then your temper, torage, outrage, out in the garage is binned — You lost!
You ain't learned nothin' from last night's plate-a-smashin' dry run.
Oh No! Don't let the rain come down!
We're both having far far too much fun!
You can't resist, can you — spoiling the perfect row —
By making up, way, way, way ..... too soon!
He throws the ball underhand
The grey muzzled dog slowly searches
They return to an old park bench
To sit with pigeons on their perches
This word has so many prejoratives in the
English Gypsy vocabulary..Here are some
Mark..Them well.' Cagey and darkly so, sly, underhand, nasty, untrustworthy, mockimg, grudging and it
Fits a certain politican exactly.' he seems
Typecast here.'
I have one goal, that is to become whole
Not to be faultless, but a gracious soul
To not become angry, but understand
When folk do the things I find underhand.
Anger does nothing but drive one insane
Those causing it, to them it's just a game
Must learn to let those hurtful words depart
Not to let them sting alike a thrown dart.
With only goodwill and fine deeds to do
A smile to greet all those that I meet too
My heart would then increase millionfold
It would seem my life was made of pure gold.
I must remember to pray day and night
That I can become a beacon of Light
Listening to what the Lord has to say
On how to shine bright, in a godly way.
Hoping it won’t be long for me to reach
The goal I desire, that will gift me peace.
I wish to be remembered, when I’m gone
For a lifetime well lived, by everyone.
I don't want to be here
I just want to sleep
To let the wind blow over me
To never have to think
I don't want to be here
People just don't understand
They think that I am spiteful
Or do things underhand
I don't want to be here
Just slowly slip away
To give the world a rest from me
And live another day
We left our intrepid adventures on the plains of the Serengeti and there we will
re-join them. Pukka has heard word of an evil genie down in the old Rhodesia
He appears to have set up shop taking whatever he wants by magic and other
such underhand means. It is said that he has his eye set on the moon maiden.
Oh no that would be a bad thing for she to have to suffer. Just then a native flung himself before Simba and Pukka masters oh masters he has captured
the moon goddess. We need to rescue her to save night itself can you imaged
a day with out night just endless days too terrible to think about. After a
deep pondering yes said they could not and must rescue her without delay.
Arriving at his court Benjay told them he was in the wrong and released
her without delay. The friends decided to hire troop of guards to protect her
and various other things with these in place they felt safe enough to
take long vacations and left to do their own things
I live in England
My country is not in Google
No one recognises the name
I go under United Kingdom
And no one can explain
I live in the green and pleasant land
Rule Britannia and god save the king
But it’s done underhand
When I look there is nothing
France, Germany, Italy and Spain
Are all allowed to use their name
Mention England the barriers raise
I am as English it’s not a phase
My country is England
I live on my land
I am not Great Britain
Or UK so I say out loud
I live in England
It’s like a swear word
I have never harmed anyone
This name BAN is absurd.
David cox 24/02/23
She was the kind of woman we feared
As much as grim reaper or Blackbeard.
Because we did not listen or understand
We thought her intentions were underhand.
She was suspicious because of her pets
We heard that they slept in her house on safety nets
I cannot imagine sleeping a wink with one wolf in the house
Yet she had a dozen, confided a peeping mouse
Let’s call her Wolf Girl, some idiot suggested.
Oh no, I told him, my patience tested.
She is at least twenty-two if she is a day.
She is Wolf Woman, Jimmie McCray!
Marvelous Minnie had a hissy fit and threw her lamp down the stairs.
It hit an elf, a gargoyle, and four children dressed as Goldilocks and the Bears.
They ran up to see what was going on in the Witch’s crazy old mind.
I am sorry, she said. I did not think ahead, this was truly unkind.
And so they forgave her, but the next thing she decided to do….
Was to throw stuff out the window, and a couch landed on two.
They were shrieking and screaming and wailing to beat the band.
I don’t even care, she said. I thought their motives were underhand.
Come on! Her Auntie Feefife said. Give them a break, they turned into curd.
Transmogrify them into something else please, their squawking is rather absurd.
life, you’ve dealt me blows
left and right
some underhand and outright dirty
come on - don’t pretend it isn’t so
while it’s true
what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger
it never seems so
at the time
but through the years
the many nagging losses
sure do prepare you
for the big ones
whipped into submission
convinced that’s all there is
yes maybe so –
but you can’t take away
from me
my memories
of glory days
between the losses
AP: 1st place 2021
I visited his grave, but the grave was gone!
What? I know spirits travel but this just seems wrong.
There's a big hole where the grave used to be.
I think someone is playing a big prank on me.
On second thought, this is just what he would do
to have a big laugh, all his spirit friends, too.
I rushed home to see if it was in the back yard,
under the pear tree he would loudly disregard.
It's not there, but between the roses, it might squeeze.
Or under the mulberry that he knows makes me sneeze.
Or inside the house, oh please not beside the couch!
or under a table, so I'll have to crouch!
I open the closet expecting to jump,
not there either, but I spy a big lump
sitting in his "couch potato" chair;
yep, that's where he'd put it, if anywhere.
Not there either, now I'm becoming confused.
Raced back to the grave and it's still not being used.
I checked the marker on the grave next to his.
Why he moved it, I can't fathom, but there it is!
(This poem needs some explaining, I understand.
The grave is where it was, nothing done underhand.
A new one will go in next to the one she misplaced.
This woman got confused. Could be she's a tad spaced.)
Where do you want to be and how soon
That you enquire of the shortest routes and fast cars
Always on your way by sun and by moon
Oblivious of whether your skies host guiding stars
The Lord only makes you tarry for readiness.
It's not a passage of time but patience in its perfect work
To purge obscure evils and with righteousness fill your emptiness
That your clean house be without space for which temptation lurks
A man and his wife sold a field.
Gave part to God claiming that they gave all
Must fear more than love be the surest unction for man to yield
Must he fall so far as a finger to write his end on the wall
Your Father in Heaven tells your hearts not to be troubled
Seize moments to do good but sprint not for sorrowful riches
For by faithfulness Job was restored and his wealth doubled
Turn away from the underhand that the world subtly preaches
K. Muitherero.
I'm sick of mean minded people
who prey on the weak and the old.
Who use every rip-off trick in the book
trying to turn crap into gold.
They target the vulnerable in society,
with their scams, cons and sharp practice.
With promises of riches or something for nothing
with underhand 'legal' tactics.
Along with the 'friendly' loan companies,
who charge usurers interest rates.
They're the dregs of the Earth, of questionable birth,
and I doubt if they have any mates.
Why do we have to put up with them?
Hiding behind legalese.
They're morally bankrupt,
leech like, corrupt,
and degrade humankind with their sleaze.
The power is in our hands, to change the world,
but whom do they serve, when the flags unfurled?
It is the bank account, that gets the victory,
The strike of the gavel, be it pine or hickory.
A life of desperate peace, or certain civil war,
how can power lead, when rotten to the core?
Will the world ever be, that promised wonderland,
or just a facade of lies, from an evil underhand?
We are defined by, all that we endure,
The fall to temptation and evils allure.
Only by rising above, can we see the light,
The light that gets us, through the dark night.
Long have they known, musicians flying high,
what we should be doing, just not why.
For in the end, like the whiteness of a dove,
wings are not needed, for the flight of love!
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