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George Mcdougall Poem
I don't feel very good today,
Can you see it in my eyes?
I'm never off the toilet,
No! it wasn't all the pies.
I have probably caught a bug,
You know, the type that's going around.
I must have caught it at the football,
God! I'm hot, I must cool down.
The wife says I must have eaten something,
What the hell does she know?
All ate was a snack at the match.
No way would that cause 'rear end turbulent flow'.
The footie was crap, my team lost again.
I missed lots of the action, and most of the goals.
Ok! I confess I ate a few pies,
But only four 'jumbo' sausage rolls.
Back to the pies, I must have ate twelve,
or mabey just ten.
God! I feel a bit hungry,
I could eat them again.
No! it wasn't the pies and the large sausage rolls.
Or six packs of crisps, which I snacked in between.
I now know the cause of my sickly demise,
It was the worst game of 'footie' that I'd ever seen.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
An African man with family in pain.
An African man whose crops fail again
They work in the field with this miserable crop.
"Please give us some water, and not just a drop."
His children are sick. Wife dying in bed.
Like the crops in the field, they will all be dead.
Please listen dear world, don't leave us behind.
We work so hard for this worthless grind.
The soldiers will come they'll kill one and all.
I fear for my family will someone, please hear my call.
The men in the west with their riches and wealth.
The men in the west care not for our health.
If our country had 'oil' in large fields off-shore
I'm sure we would live with no civil war.
The African skies can't give us our rain.
Our crops cannot grow in this dried up sad plain.
I fear for my daughters should the 'rebels' arrive.
"Will they spare my young family? will they keep us alive?
The sound of the drums call out loud and clear.
Some day we'll be free, alas not this year.
Our country is scorched by the evil we see.
Please help us dear God please set us all free.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
The man with the umbrella up.
Does no one know his name?
The man with the umbrella up.
he walks so slow, could he be lame?
He never talks,seldom shows his face.
He walks the streets, come rain or shine.
The man with the umbrella up.
What's his secret? What's his crime?
The man with the umbrella up.
He is seen a lot near school.
He watches children in their play.
Why oh why? But he breaks no rule.
Some say he's mad and quite insane.
His life is sad, that's for sure.
The man with the umbrella up.
He dresses well, he is not poor.
The more we see him, the more we know.
The man with the umbrella up.
His secret's out, it's time for truth.
Time for suspicions all to go.
The man with the umbrella up.
He is not a monster, he is not insane.
He killed his family, his wife and twins.
It was not his fault, he was not to blame.
This story's sad, he just needs love.
his family gone, somewhere above.
He looks for twins each day at school.
His life is empty without their love.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
Can I get a gun boss?
Can I get a gun?
I can shoot straight boss
I'll kill anyone.
My heart beats so fast boss
I'm ready to go
Can I get a gun boss?
I want in this show.
I'll kill for you boss
I have no fear
Can I get a gun boss?
Life is so dear.
Your life is gone boss
You are now dead
Can I get a gun boss?
To blow off my head.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
The rustle of a leaf
And a smiling mouse.
The rustle of a leaf
And the cold cold chill.
The winter's sun looks sad.
Flowers cease to bloom.
My love for winter, is beyond the sun
My love for winter is gone.
You killed the trees
And the rustling leaves.
The tiny mouse ran from you.
Did you ask the mouse, why?
The rustle of the leaf is gone.
My empty heart is dead.
The rustle of the leaves,
My rodent friend is dead.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
The snow mountain past the plain,
Brings memories of a lasting fight.
Glaciers shine, like glass in a silver frame.
Shadows cast ,by the fading light.
Snows move, on this mountain slope,
As shadows dissapear and pass.
Distant plain light, may offer hope.
While ice descends like frosted glass.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
Why the deaths?
Why the killing?
Ask the soldier
Is he willing.
If he dies
On this day
Who will take
The pain away?
Who will tell
The soldier's wife
It's only just
An other life?
In the field
The fight goes on
A grieving mother
Mourns a son.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
I cry for the child
Not the man with the gun
I cry for the child
Who must never own one.
I cry for the child
who may never feel love
I cry for the child
A child without love.
I cry for the child
So young and so pure
I cry for the child
Who's dying with no cure.
I cry for the child
For the hatred he sees
I cry for the child
Who will never see trees
I cry for the child
Not for the first time
I cry for the child
Who must witness this crime.
I cry for the child
whose life comes to an end
I cry for the child
A child, who was my good friend.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
There are those who cry, but never care.
And those who's only hope is prayer.
They pray for life, they beg for food.
The tattered families of this sad brood.
Tsunami's gone, Tsunami's went,
Our only hope is a makeshift tent.
The world looks on, and some do care.
We will survive, but please don't stare.
The bodies float and some do rot.
The smell is bad, and so dam hot.
The looters come in dead of night,
They steal from us, we are to weak to fight.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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George Mcdougall Poem
By the side of the loch,
The wind blows a gale.
The man who is wild,
runs following a trail.
He howls and he shouts,
With a club in his hand.
He cries in the night
In this Nothern land.
The cottage is near
No windows or door.
In this shell of a house,
Dogs growl on the floor.
The man who is wild,
approaches the scene.
Both dogs run for cover.
This master is mean.
Joe sits on a chair.
He is naked and cold.
The man from the loch,growls.
As things now unfold.
What has he done,
To be tortured today?
And who is this man,
Who treats him this way?
"Who are you? Who are you"?
The man shouts to Joe.
"If you tell me the truth
I may let you go".
With car leads in hand,
The man now strikes out.
The sparks fly around.
He ignores Joe's loud shout.
Joe's 'private's are grabbed,
By the electrical fields.
"I'll ask you no more"
Joe stares, then just squeals.
Joe wakens up,
It's just been a dream.
His eyes open slowly
To a terrible scene.
A gun by his head,
His wife looking down.
"You will cheat me no more"
She said with a frown.
The last thing Joe sees,
Is the barrel of a gun.
His last word was "No"
It was to late to run.
Copyright © George Mcdougall | Year Posted 2008
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