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Indiana Shaw Poem
There once was a farmer called Mr Brown
Who with his duck in tow went off to town
The duck panicked and quacked all the way
The farmer had his fill and left the duck in the dray
Then disappeared into the Rose & Crown
There once was a duck left in the dray
Who settled down nicely in the hay
Then farmer Brown he did returned
To the noisy duck he had spurned
The duck had three golden eggs lay
The now inebriated farmer Brown was elated
On his newly found wealth he then debated
The duck was relieved in more ways than one
Otherwise off to the market she was gone
Thinking of her fate had he not waited
There once was a farmer Brown and his duck
Who both could not believe their newfound luck
Farmer Brown on himself a new tractor did spend
And the amazing duck got herself a brand new pen
Not strung up with her feathers ready to pluck
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2017
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Indiana Shaw Poem
As wandering down onto the sunny, seashore one day
My grandfather and I, on the water’s edge, we stayed
The gentle ebb of the waters flowed in and out it goes
Lapping with delightful sensation in between, my toes
Just at the water’s edge, very faintly you could just see
A very flat sole fish just wavering and looking up at me
Grandfather said, of this fish we should always respect
For inside this sole fish, a dead departed soul was kept
I looked at the fish and the sole fish looked back at me
Within its eyes, the soul of the departed, looking at me
Now my Grandfather has now departed and I’m bereft
For a heartfelt message which just for me he never left
Now with each day, it is down to the water’s edge I go
As waiting, for my beloved Grandfather’s, soul to show
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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Indiana Shaw Poem
Once I was thinking of building a shopping plaza, just along the Gaza strip
But those Israeli's being what they are I thought my sales could take a dip
So, I thought I'd build a set of tunnels, starting from just beneath my feet
The guy from Hamas came and thought my tunnel plans looked quite neat
I employed a load of freeloading Egyptian labourers I got 'em on the cheap
I paid ‘em with unwanted skull caps and a load of knocked off kosher meat
We built a cafe' serving up falafel and played loud music to cover up the din
And, it must have worked as the locals never seemed to have heard a thing
Took us over 3 months to reach the darn Israelis wall of concrete and steel
Damn; if they were not waiting for us, shouting, are you lot for flippin’ real
They sent all of us back to Gaza; with a rocket launcher up everyone's ass
Shouting; you ain't getting in here sunshine’s, not without a flaming’ pass
The Egyptians were not very happy, but hey that's not so unusual for them
Thinking of employing us to build another tunnel, well, you can think again
We then all arrived back at the Syed café; just to find, it had shut up sharp
Apparently; there had been a 100% sale on down at the bazaar super mart
The Egyptians; looking a ghostly white from months of working in the dust
Suddenly disappeared; they had all absconded outta here, on the local bus
Sitting on a dusty chair down at the Syed cafe; I watched as Gaza did burn
While totting up the jukebox to the sounds of, The House of the Rising Sun
O' a Palestinians’ lot, is not a happy lot, of this, you can be more than sure
Just ask anyone from Farah to Beit Hanoun, they all know the bloody score
The guy from Hamas reappeared, saying those tunnel plans looked quite neat
Have a thousand unwanted skull caps, and a load of knocked off kosher meat
Well, the Palestinians’ lot, is not a happy lot, but in the end we will not be beat
So I opened a local vendor stall, just a stone's throw at the bottom of my street
Selling a thousand unwanted skull caps and a load of knocked off kosher meat
Lulling the days when a guy from Hamas thought my tunnel plans looked neat
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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Indiana Shaw Poem
O' Forgive me Lord; for I have so sinned
I put my rubbish; in my neighbours' bin
It wasn’t like there wasn’t, enough room
But did she have to hit me with a broom
With the neighbours gathered for a laugh
In fact; in the end there was quite a cast
After that whack I was amazed I survived
It was not long; before the police arrived
As police took statements, in their scores
Delving through the rubbish; is this yours
Holding high a plastic bag, knotted neatly
Yes, I am afraid it is, I replied; so sweetly
With evidence bagged, I then taken away
Charged; up in court that making my day
I was named and shamed with a £100 fine
Where community service, I was assigned
Alas, I'm picking rubbish, up off the street
And never again my sins will I ever repeat
So after that, I was clever, knew the score
With no one looking, shat outside her door
I heard her screams and smiled in content
Lessons learned, revenge was heaven sent
O Yeah, revenge was heaven sent . . .
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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Indiana Shaw Poem
KING CYRUS THE GREAT
So; here comes the story of that King Cyrus the Great
Whose history for some of us is still well up for debate
But; it’s such a darn good story, it well deserves a rate
King Cyrus born 601 BC, to give us all a historical date
Under some weird strange circumstances, one may say
Because; his grandpa had a prediction one strange day
Where he sees, the now King Cyrus, rise up against him
Poor old Cyrus, a child yet to be born, was now bad jinn
So the old grandpa; Astyages, in fear hatches up a plan
And orders Mandane' his pregnant daughter off his land
And gives Harpagus instructions to kill the child at birth
Who in his distaste, or laziness, was not, to full of mirth
So passing the task onto shepherd Mithradates, no less
Who passes, his own stillborn, onto Astyages in distress
Mithradates; then rears, the young Cyrus up as his own
As to everyone else; the secret kept to others unknown
That was until a King is King no matter what Cyrus rose
10 years old, a nobleman son, in a game did he oppose
This was just unknown for a mere shepherd’s son to do
Cyrus Dad, Mithradates, was called, with no further ado
Who as confesses; to the changeover, of Cyrus at birth
Which rages King Astyages into doing something worse
Young Cyrus was sent home to be with his true parents
Whilst on poor Harpagus; revenge was as now hell sent
King Astyages had Harpagus son killed and then cooked
Then; unknowing to Harpagus fed, to bring him to book
The only good thing this story is supposed to be a myth
Revenge is sort later, as with Astyages’s last deadly kiss
So Astyahes; had Harpagus lead against Cyrus's troops
Harpagus as defected, another of Astyahes, little boops
Cyrus; as predicted, rose up against Astyages, and won
But being a strange one, King Cyrus was yet to be done
Spares his old grandpa and shook hands than slaughter
We are friends, and then promptly married his daughter
Which means in effect; he married, one of his own aunts
By doing so the King Cyrus, is more than a smarty pants
With all kingdoms owned, Cyrus, owned some prime lots
But was King Cyrus, ever really happy with all he has got
As Babylonia here really deserves a well worthy mention
As to religious divides were never his malicious intention
Even allowed the Jews to go home and build their temple
Then showing religious intolerance with his own example
If there was ever a myth, then this had to be the greatest
Those Jews surely deserved a BAFTA, as I heard the latest
As didn’t they turn up with a scroll, & say Cyrus look here
Was written 170 years ago, and look, your name appears
After all you have done, it was all by our God’s command
You were nuffin’, but his tool, I hope you can understand
Anything that took acknowledgement from Cyrus, himself
Who built his empire on his own credit, as his own stealth
Cyrus in his worth had created as something on this earth
That far excessed God, than his jumped up plans of mirth
He created the as garden of Paradise in his own backyard
Did well by all accounts, it on God it must have been hard
As his Garden of Eden fell apart before it even got started
It must have left God, a mere more than down heartened
Decided to put a claim on Pasargadae, as if, his own work
By getting it added into his storyline by some Jewish clerk
Cyrus. ruled the biggest empire, ever known in the world
And to all religions under his rule were happy to preserve
He also wanted control of Egypt, but we will never know
As Cyrus died, so his quest for Egypt, became a no show
Indiana Shaw . . . : )
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2020
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Indiana Shaw Poem
Story has it you used your power to run amuck
Putting fear into the people, and brides in Uruk
So the people of Unuk pray to the sky God Anu
To sort out Gilgamesh, without any further ado
Send us something, to sort out that raging mutt
Who just wants our brides and likes to kick butt
Enters; poor, Enkidu, who was, a man of nature
Created; by the Goddess Aruru, for their favour
A man of innocence, who ate grass with gazelles
That in itself should have been ringing your bells
News of Enikdu; reached Gilgamesh who swore
What Enikdu needed, is no better than a whore
To calm his beastly nature & make Enikdu a man
Such a shame really, it’s here his downfall began
Because once Enikdu laid his soul to this woman
His pet gazelles were no longer to him a coming
Enikdu really had no choice but to leave for Uruk
Where after, the rest of his life, became unstuck
News; was out Gilgamesh wanted the next bride
But: what Gilgamesh needed was some bromide
Qualm his bad urge for other men’s, to be wives
Enikdu, on hearing this his temper began to rise
He sets off to challenge Gilgamesh bring to book
A man; whose women’s virginity, so, rudely took
Enikdu met Gilgamesh; at the bride's, to be door
Fights with Gilgamesh ‘til he could fight no more
Gilgamesh; tosses him, liken to a young bull calf
With this Enikdu became, Gilgamesh’s other half
Gilgamesh had many visions on his own destiny
To overthrow, the King of the cedar trees legacy
To place his name; in the hall of fame, then gain
To knock Humbaba off his throne, he was a pain
Humbaba was going to be no easy task for sure
A huge brute of a man whom as knew the score
But Gilgamesh, and sidekick Enikdu, were ready
Taking Gilgamesh sisters so as to act as bevvies
Then just for good measure prayed to Shamash
Who owned; the lands, of the cedar trees catch
Weapons weighted; they’re hilted, up to galore
Entering into the cedar forest, via its back door
With strength and wisdom, Humbaba was felled
But to tell his sad tale, Humbaba was compelled
Gilgamesh; could not help, but, feel compassion
Poor Humbaba; who had taken such a thrashing
For reasons unknown, Enkidu decided to kill him
Gilgamesh follows without a thought of bad Jinn
Pity as Humbaba was a nice guy underneath it all
More than happy to serve Gilgamesh, as protocol
As the cedars trees shook on hearing of his death
Enlil, God of the mountains was more than bereft
Curses both Gilgamesh and Enikdu as to their err
Though Gilgamesh, and Enikdu not fully as aware
Gilgamesh; returns home, now so more the hero
Ishtar; weird woman, sees him as Robert de Niro
Requests his hand in marriage, but: alas no avail
Gilgamesh refuses her; then, went out on the ale
Tut; there is nowt worse; than a woman scorned
As poor Gilgamesh should have been forewarned
Ishtar as flies up to heaven to give it some groans
Never such an insulting lad, to her Dad she moans
Give me the Bull of heaven; to teach him a lesson
Against that Gilgamesh it will be my best weapon
Ishtar wish was granted, so off with the bull went
And into the city Uruk the daft bull was then sent
That bull in Uruk, it not half, wreaked some havoc
When it erred as on the side, of being a bit savage
Riles Enikdu into action; who as quickly has a plan
Grabs the bull by the tail, as he had a strong hand
Gilgamesh as by its horns then stabs it in the nape
The bull dies on account it had no means of escape
Gilgamesh; hands its heart on a plate to Shamash
Tired from their endeavours both decided to crash
Enikdu awakens from a very bad dream not happy
Everyone wants him dead, and as in pretty snappy
Enikdu laments then curses the harlot as to no end
As to, Enikdu; no real happiness, did she ever send
But: then his curses he did revoke, as feared death
Yet twelve days on, Enikdu breathed his last breath
Gilgamesh lamented as only ones brother could do
Grief-stricken, and for in his heart a cold wind blew
Enters on a journey; to find Utnapishtim, the father
To everlasting life he now as wants to seek a lawyer
The lawyer was a man-scorpion, riled fear in others
Come Gilgamesh; for you are of such a God brother
With 12 miles of darkness travel to get ones answer
And, rid yourself from this Enikdu’s lamented cancer
Gilgamesh in his grief says he was up to the mission
When the man-scorpion lawyer, as gives permission
To enter the gates of Mashu; a range of mountains
In the land of the Gods, who live in their thousands
Shamash; greeting Gilgamesh in somewhat, dismay
For Gilgamesh; prayers to live forever is one of Nay’
Says: seek Siduri, &, Utnapishtim son of Ubara Tutu
Urshanabi, the ferryman, you must stick to like glue
Gilgamesh; meets Utnapishtim now wants the truth
Whom was nothing less of a Noah, back in his youth
Sets Gilgamesh a test no sleep for 6 days or 7 nights
But Gilgamesh; falls asleep on the first-night, alright
Utnapishtim, sends him home, with a flea, in his ear
But; not before departing, with some advice so dear
As to find a plant in deep waters which restores life
With that information, Gilgamesh, was like, O’ right
Finding a plant was one thing, but; losing it another
Gilgamesh; as fell foul, to a wily serpent, O’ brother
His quest up; traveling on with Urshanabi over-land
Arrives, at the city Uruk feeling less than a man can
Gilgamesh continued to live on ‘til his life was spent
Where his godly like soul, was on up to heaven sent
Then his whole life story is engraved onto clay rocks
A story about his life and death, and how it all sucks
O’ yeah poor old Gilgamesh died never to rise again
But: ‘cause of his epic poem, forever he found fame
This Sumerian epic dated back from the early 21st BC
So it’s only fair that Gilgamesh claimed fame you see
As to have given us such an epic poem, we can read
Historians amongst us assure which we can all agree
As from Gilgamesh he had so much in which to lend
Then at last, my own flamin' epic of a poem can end
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2020
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Indiana Shaw Poem
Twisting the dancer spins into the mist of the night, to his very own tune
This unearthly spectra gracefully dances, only lit by the light of the moon
Softly his leather clad shoes play skillfully onto the moisten moss beneath
Night animals, stop to stare at this dancing spectre, to them he bequeath
Their little clicks of approval, seemed only to add, to the body of the tune
This unearthly spectre dances in the mist only lit by the light of the moon
He makes his way through the trees, still dancing, as he reaches the leith
Across the wooden bridge into the mist, he disappears, beyond the heath
Gazing into the mist, you imagine him there, still dancing to his own tune
One of nature’s, own loons, who only dance’s, lit by the light of the moon
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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Indiana Shaw Poem
So for a laugh, I thought I would buy Mo a cockatiel
Even sent it to a speech therapist, to learn the spiel
Soon it arrived in the post, and made itself at home
Where Mo was more than happy to let it freely roam
Days passed and from the cockatiel, not one squeak
Until a day it rustled up and said to Mo, tweet tweet
. . . *o*
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2019
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Indiana Shaw Poem
Looking through the bookshelves, a homemade book, he chose
Found trapped within the pages he came upon a faded red rose
Flatten down with care now faded in colour, more so in its scent
Memories such of a time, so long ago that to himself only it lent
It came from a happy home; a home, cherished made with love
Every crevice packed with loving items, as fitting all like a glove
With a garden full of noises with songbirds they did forever sing
On these evenings roll calls scents from the flowers so often ling
All crafted; by a man to perfection, all made to the one he loved
Not once another person, nor idol to his wife, did ever set above
There was nothing he wouldn’t do; to him it was a toll well spent
To share with his fair maiden; who was to him, truly heaven sent
Their home a range of seductive aromas as a good woman baked
As scents of fresh green grass cut that he meaningful then raked
A garden, and a home once filled with laughter as children galore
With a hollow sadness, wasn't that some sixty-five years or more
Silence befalls this home, now except for, the creaking of the gate
No more idle down songbirds as the evening now draws to its fate
The old man; now restful in his chair, the book between his hands
Memories as forgotten now remembered he now fully understands
His weary sunken eyes slowly closing; are about to open no more
Over the rooftops, and, beyond the chestnut trees his spirit soars
No more idle down songbirds as the evening now draws to its fate
Silence befalls this home, now except for, the creaking of the gate
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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Indiana Shaw Poem
This day is as peaceful to me, as the day has, been so long
As I listen to the birds singing just for me in their last song
Gone the summer’s greens, autumn’s leaves they descend
Critter’s out gathering their winter food, on it they depend
It is only times like this, to which I am at my most content
Memories which I hold within this Kirk yard only to me lent
So within the Kirk yard I get to see death’s glory at its best
As I read all the gravestone epitaphs, of those now, at rest
I can hear all the idle chatter; of those so unearthly ghosts
Saying to me you are welcome, as today we are your hosts
Peacefulness prevails here as only a kirk yard can ever give
As I enter another time frame, and to how folks used to live
Passed before my eyes, images of long ago to me displayed
That then disappear into the walls of the Kirk yard in a haze
Ghostly figures; stop to stare at me, in their own eerily way
Watching me, as I am dressed in clothes of the modern day
Silence, not one word spoken, fear this moment shall break
With every image captured within my own mind I doth take
A sun sets with a sad loneliness, laden under its own weight
With each gravestone whispering until I reach the iron gates
This kirk yard is now dampened with the coming of the night
Only it to flourish once more come tomorrow’s early sunlight
I, a soul so tired, and weary, as seen etched across my face
Passing beneath the gate lamp, it showers me with its grace
Won’t be long, before they as carry me through these gates
Where, I become a part of its wealth that just for me awaits
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016
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