The Reaper in the Bush
He was lyin' on his bunk,
In the hut behind the mill,
Ravin' like a man wild drunk,
Never silent, never still,
'Best go in an' say Good bye,'
Says old Blair. 'He's got to die.'
God! I never want to see
Any face so wrung with pain,
Nor to hear such blasphemy
Ever in my life again.
White he was, an' starey-eyed,
With his hand pressed to his side.
'Now he raves,' says Daddy Pike.
'He ain't wise to what he says
Never have I heard the like
All me wicked livin' days.'
'Raise him up a bit,' says Blair.
'Put that pillow under there.
'Raise him. . . . There now, easy, lad.
Turn a little - gently - so.
You'll not feel it near so bad. . . .
Painin'? Yes, I know, I know.
Yes, old man; it's Blair, your friend. . . .
(Boys, he's very near the end.')
Soon a saner, calmer look
Came in Murray's strainin' eyes.
Though his body heaved an' shook,
He held back his awful cries
Till another wave of pain
Gripped him, an' he shrieked again.
'Christ!' he called. 'O, Christ, the pain!
Boys, you know I ain't a funk.'
Still he took the Name in vain,
Writhin' there upon his bunk.
'Do you call him?' says old Blair.
Pointin' upward. 'He is there.'
'Blair!' he gasps. 'Do you believe?
Such as me! Is there a chance?'
'Easy, Murray. Don't you grieve.
You ain't worth a single glance
Save of pity from His eye.
Laddie, pray before you die.'
'God! I'm frightened, Blair!' says he . . .
'Boys, you know I never whined. . . .
Where's the hope for one like me?
I ain't no hymn-singin' kind.'
There was pleadin' in his glance:
'Blair,' says he, 'is there a chance?'
Old Bob Blair reached for his hand.
'Chance there is, an' certainty.
Try to think an' understand.
Nothin's There to fear,' says he.
'Him, the Merciful, the Mild,
Think ye He would strike a child?
'Think ye that he put you here,
Gave you labour, gave you pain,
So your end should be fear
That you plead to Him in vain?
Nay, dear laddie, while you've breath,
Live in hope, an' smile on death.'
With a hard hand, woman-kind,
He pushed back the sweaty hair.
'Now then, laddie, ease your mind,
Pain will end for you out There. . . .'
An' the smile on Blair's rough face
Was a blessin' an' a grace.
'God!' says Ben, 'You are a friend:
Friend, old man, an' father too.
Hold my hand right to the end
They'll take notice There of you. . . .
Good-bye, Jim, an' Dusty Dick,
Simon, Pike. . . .I'm goin' - quick.'
With his eyes shut tight he lay,
His breath comin' in great sobs.
An' his poor lips seemed to pray,
As his hand held fast to Bob's. . . .
Now his sobs an' prayin' cease.
Says old Blair, 'God give him peace!
'Give him peace!' sighed old Bob Blair,
As he rose beside the dead.
But I caught his wistful stare,
An' the muttered words he said:
'God,' he prayed - 'if one there be -
Give such faith an' peace to me.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I personally hold Blair more responsible for this war than I do George Bush. The reason is, Blair knows better, Blair is not an idiot. What is he doing hanging around this guy?
quote by Michael Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Countdown to Zero
Graham Allison, James Baker III, Bruce Blair, Tony Blair, Zbigniew Brzezinski
from Countdown to Zero (2010)
Submitted by Monica
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The Day I Met Cherie Blair
When you have spent most of your life,
Suffering from panic attacks, Agoraphobia, and strife,
The last thing you need to happen to you,
Is for your glasses to suddenly break in two.
Only an hour before you meet Cherie Blair,
Help, what a total nightmare.
Then on the next table you spot DAVID BLUNKETT,
As you sit there filling your face with junket.
there is always someone Worse off than you,
Especially at this type of do.
Then she comes over, CHERIE BLAIR, and starts to talk to us.
It feels like a dream, we are chatting to the Prime Minister’s wife,
Telling her all about my broken glasses and strife,
Telling her how we can hardly see.
She is so nice, as nice can be.
She’s done her homework, She knows what we were all about,
She impressed us, without a doubt,
I just hope I didn’t stare,
The day we met CHERIE BLAIR.
Old Bob Blair
I got so down to it last night,
With longin' for what could not be,
That nothin' in the world seemed right
Or everything was wrong with me.
My house was just a lonely hole,
An' I had blisters on my soul.
Top of my other worries now
The boys are talkin' strike, an' say
If we put up a sudden row
We're sure of forcin' up our pay.
I'm right enough with what I get;
But some wants more, an' then more yet.
Ben Murray's put it up to me:
He says I got some influence
Amongst them, if I agree
'Which I will do if I have sense'
We'll make the boss cough up a bit.
That's how Ben Murray looks at it.
I don't know that the old boss can.
I've heard he's pushed to make ends meet.
To me he's been a fair, straight man
That pays up well an' works a treat.
But if I don't get in this game,
Well, 'blackleg' ain't a pretty name.
This thing has got me thinkin' hard,
But there is worse upon my mind.
What sort of luck has broke my guard
That I should be the man to find
A girl like that? . . . The whole world's wrong!
Why was I born to live and long?
I get so down to it last night
With broodin' over things like this,
I said 'There's not a thing in sight
Worth havin' but I seem to miss.'
So I go out and get some air
An' have a word with old Bob Blair.
Bob's livin' lonely, same as me;
But he don't take to frettin' so
An' gettin' megrims after tea.
He reads a lot at night, I know;
His hut has books half up the wall
That I don't tumble to at all.
Books all about them ancient blokes
That lived a thousand years ago:
Philosophers an' funny folk
What he sees in them I don't know.
There ain't much fun, when all is said,
In chap that is so awful dead.
He put his book down when I came,
He took his specs off, patient-like.
He's been in Rome; an' who can blame
The old man if he gets the spike
To be jerked back so suddenly
By some glum-lookin' coot like me.
At first he looks at me quite dazed,
As tho' 'twas hard to recognize
The silly fool at which he gazed;
An' then a smile come in his eyes:
'Why, Jim,' he says. 'Still feelin' blue?
Kiss her, an' laugh!' . . . But I says, 'Who?'
'Why, who, if not the widow, lad?'
But I says, 'Widows ain't no go.'
'What woman, then, makes you so sad?'
I coughs a bit an' says, 'Dunno.'
He looked at me, then old Bob Blair
He ran his fingers through his hair.
'God help us, but the case is bad!
An' men below, an; saints above
Look with mixed feelin's, sour an' sad,
Upon a fool in love with love.
Go, find her, lad, an' be again,
Fit to associate with men.
'Don't leave yourself upon the shelf:
It's bad for man to live alone.'
'Hold on,' says I. 'What ails yourself?
What are you doin' on your own?'
Quickly he turned away his head.
'That's neither here nor there,' he said.
I saw I'd made a clumsy break;
An' tied to cover it with talk
Of anything, for old Blair's sake.
He don't reply; but when I'd walk
Outside he says, 'What's this I hear
About the mill boys actin' queer?'
So then we yarns about the strike,
An' old Bob Brown frowns an' shakes his head.
'There's something there I hardly like;
The boss has acted fair,' he said.
'Eight years I've toiled here constantly,
An' boss an' friend he's been to me.
'I know he's up against it bad;
Stintin' himself to pay the men.
Don't listen to this tattle, lad,
An' leave that dirty work to Ben.
He tries to play on others need;
It's partly devil, partly greed.
'Ben's not a reel bad lot at heart,
But ignorant an' dull of sight,
An' crazed by these new creeds that start
An' grow like mushrooms, overnight;
An' this strange greed that's spread the more
Since the great sacrifice of war.
'Greed everywhere!' sighed old man Blair.
'Master an' man have caught the craze;
An' those who yesterday would share
Like brothers, now spend all their days
Snatchin' for gain - the great, the small.
And, of, folly of it all!'
He tapped the small book by his hand.
'Two thousand years ago they knew
That those who think an' understand
Can make their wants but very few.
Two thousand years they taught
That happiness can not be bought.'
'Progress?' he shouted. 'Bah! A Fig!
Where are the things that count or last
In buildin' something very big
Or goin' somewhere very fast?
We put the horse behind the cart;
For where's your progress of the heart?
'Great wisdom lived long years ago,
An' yet we say that we progress.
The paint an' tinsel of our show
Are men more generous, or kind?
Then where's your progress of the mind?'
(I think Bob Blair's a trifle mad;
They say so, too, around these parts;
An' he can be, when he's reel bad,
A holy terror once he starts.
dare say it's readin' books an' such.
Thank God I never read too much!)
I says I'm sure I don't know
Where all this progress gets to now.
He smiles a bit an' answers low,
'Maybe you'll find out, lad, somehow.
But talkin' makes my old head whirl;
So you be off, an' - find that girl.'
I says Good night, an' out I goes;
But I was hardly at the door
When his old specs is on his nose,
An' his book in his hand once more;
An', as I take the track for home,
Bob Blair goes back to Ancient Rome.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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George W. Bush and Tony Blair had to convince the world that Saddam Hussein represented an imminent threat. Tony Blair lied when he claimed that Iraq could launch a chemical or biological attack within 45 minutes.
quote by Bianca Jagger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But let's be clear. We're talking about a country where there's no opposition. As leader he can ignore Parliament and - sorry that's Tony Blair isn't it? Um, so he doesn't even have to ask the country before he goes to war - sorry that's still Tony Blair.
quote by Rory Bremner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im Yours
(words & music by robertson - blair)
My love I offer you now
My heart and all it can give
For just as long as I live Im yours
No arms but yours dear will do
My lips will always be true
My eyes can only see you, Im yours
And as the years roll along
Your joy and tears Ill gladly share
And when things go wrong dear
Just hold out your hand and Ill be there
With every beat of my heart
With every breath that I take
Now and forever, sweetheart, Im yours
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes Of A Stranger
[ page ]: dr. david, telephone please. dr. david
Dr. blair, dr. blair, dr. j. hamilton, dr. j hamilton
All alone now
Except for the memories
Of what we had and what we knew
Everytime I try to leave it behind me
I see something that reminds me of you
Every night the dreams return to haunt me
Your rosary wrapped around your throat
I lie awake and sweat, afraid to fall asleep
I see your face looking back at me
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare
Is this all thats left
Of my life before me
Straight jacket memories, sedative highs
No happy ending like theyve always promised
Theres got to be something left for me
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare [lies behind my stare]
How many times must I live this tragedy
How many more lies will they tell me
All I want is the same as everyone
Why am I here, and for how long
And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger
Ive always known that the mirror never lies
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blair Hand Caught Red Faced In Cookie Jar
George W Bush snake Tony Blair fox trot both asserted
repeatedly Iraq boogeyman Saddam definitely possessed;
Weapons of Mass Destruction WMD’s despite US Iraq...
Survey Group failure to find any weapons quietly closed.
Please focus a spotlight of truth upon false propaganda
fraudulent claim of capitalist politicians in Bush-Blair;
Iraq war of oil arms deals lies smoke screen oily rhetoric...
'I have no doubt that they will find the clearest possible
evidence of Saddam's weapons of mass destruction' Blair
exclaims 4 June 2003, craftily modified into foxy version;
'I have absolutely no doubt at all that we will find evidence
of weapons of mass destruction programmes' was vamped
up declaration of 8 July 2003; degrading into hand caught
red faced in cookie jar, embarrassed, quick pass-the-buck;
get-me-out-of-this-tar-trap-my-litany-of- lies, justified...
'I can only tell you I believed the (prepared phony created
spin) intelligence we had at the time' stated 25 January 2004?
By 2005 Blair colleague Gordon Brown is quoted as saying;
'There is nothing that you could say to me now that I could
ever believe', thus 'Trust me, I'm Tony! ' lost General Election.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr Tony Blair
Like every British Prime Minister he has purpose in his stare
And few are as good at talking tough as Mr Tony Blair
Once the World's greatest Empire to much now does not amount
And lessons that are in the past are never taken into account.
The British Government once took part of Iraq and formed a new State
And re-named Iraq's nineteenth province the Kingdom of Kuwait
And one war leads to another war look at Iraq today
A land ravaged by war where the Brits play a major part along with the U S A.
The winners always write the history in Ireland Cromwell left his trail of shame
But like every other war winner he did not take any blame
For the diplacement and deaths of thousands of innocent people streets signs now honour his ill fame
Yet in England's sister Country his is still a loathed name.
And the old tradition of waging war carried on by Mr Blair
In this wrongful war waged in Iraq he is a major player
And Saddam was the loser his statue was dragged down
If he had won today he'd be the God of Baghdad Town.
Can the likes of Bush and Blair and Johnny Howard bring back to life their war dead?
They only have the power for to take life enough of them is said
They are as bad as Saddam who is deservedly in disgrace
But the winners only write the war history and that always is the case.
Perhaps he will live to a ripe old age and the good life he'll enjoy
And for his victories in war as a hero he will die
And in years from now there will be streets named after Tony Blair
When all is said and all is done doesn't life seem so unfair?
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reconstruction Left Iraq No Electricity
Reconstruction left
Iraq no electricity
no clean water why?
Tony Blair claimed
reconstruction need
not be rushed.
NATO the military
intentionally targeted
Iraq's water system.
Six years of occupation
later 2009 only oil plus pipelines
had been fixed properly?
Why was humane providing
essential water electricity
to Iraqi's not important?
To quote Blair
'they might have blown
up oil production'.
Lawyer Blair
inhumane ad hoc solutions
'I think' were unprofessional.
Ignored potential
Sunni Shia collapse
policy was secure Iraqi oil.
A power vacuum
was created dismantling
Bath Party Iraqi army.
Now truth and tell time
six years post U.S. Iraq invasion
36 percent of Baghdad's
drinking water is unclean unsafe
claims Iraqi Environment Ministry
in a good month most water is bad.
Yes each bad water month is an appalling
90 percent; cholera broke out in summer 2008;
officials fear outbreaks every fat oil year.
Everybody complains about
bad water in Baghdad except
Mubarak's friend Tony Blair.
Few are willing to risk life drinking
water from contaminated tap in Tony Blair's
'we have reconstruction about right'.
Cholera diarrhea but what helps prevent
dysentery infection, not an evil Tony Blair;
anti-diarrhoeal medications, clean water does.
In Baghdad desperate poor who cannot
afford clean bottled water are sick dying
proof is smelt stench of human waste
drinking water in Baghdad is diseased
infant children suffer continuous illnesses
adults suffer nausea constant diarrhea
someone should do something about
bad dirty water which brings disease
but Blair does not care if Iraqi poor get
sick die, Blair in Swiss 2011 interview said
'we have reconstruction about right'
'they might have blown up oil production'
meanwhile away from limelight back in Baghdad
good business is selling drinking water bottled
crates 7 feet high on the sidewalk are neat stacked;
NATO occupation drinking water, would you trust it?
It's like Hurricane Katrina; bomb devastation not repaired?
Legacy Iraq simple quotation. 'We've learned to be afraid.'
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murray's Ride
I seldom get to hatin' men, nor had much cause to hate;
To me, it just a foolish game to play, at any rate.
But it kills the hard thought in you, an' forgiveness is complete,
To see the man you hated once a maimed thing at your feet.
We'd had a meetin' at the mill; the boss had said his say
The good old boss, who stints himself to find the men their pay
He told us, fair an' honest, he was up against the game
Unless he got the timber out before the Winter came.
I'll say this much for decent men - an' decent men they were
They saw the game that Murray played to give the boss a scare.
We saw he'd pay near anything and Ben would do him brown;
But a fair thing is a fair thing; so we truned Ben Murray down.
A truck was waitin' in the yard, full-loaded for the trip.
Just an easin' of the brake-rope was enough to let her rip
For half a mile or more down-hill along atrack, rough-made,
To where the horses wait to haul her up the other grade.
The talk was done, the numbers up, the boss had won the day,
An' we were ready to go back an' earn our bit of pay;
When Murray in a mad black rage, goes on to rave an' shout.
'You're sacked,' the old man tells him plain. 'I've had enough. Get Out!'
For close on half a minute I expected Hell to pay;
But Murray glares around the mill - then turns an' walks away.
He stops beside the loaded truck; an' each man in the mill
Watched Murray with a sidelong look; an' each man wished him ill.
I knew Ben Murray for a gab; I knew him for a fool
A decent man enough at heart when he was calm an' cool
Wild rage had hold on him that day, an', maybe, madness too;
An' scorn in me changed to dismay at what I saw him do.
He sprang behind the timber load an' leaped up to the back;
He loosed the rope to start the truck upon the down-hill track;
An' if he meant to jump or stay no man will ever know.
'If I go out,' Ben Murray yelled, 'this is the way I go!'
'Stop that mad fool!' howled old man Blair. 'He'll wreck the track below!'
But now the truck had gathered way, an', as we watched her go,
Ben Murray, with the brake-rope slack, cursed us with all his might.
She took the curve behind the huts, an' then went out of sight.
. . . . . . . . . .
We found him near the wattle-clump, down in the little creek.
His head was by a coral fern, an' blood was on his cheek,
An' blood was on the wooden rails, an' he lay very still,
The man who half an hour ago had meant to boss the mill!
'He's livin' yet' says old man Blair. 'Boys, we must do our best.
Lay hold there, Jim, an' you, young Dick, an' heave that off his chest.
Man, but he's crushed! The crazy fool! Now treat him gently, lad.'
'The track ain't damaged much,' says Pike; 'but, gosh, he's got it bad!'
. . . . . . . . . .
Red stains were on the wooden track an' on the sunlight ground;
A wagtail twittered by the creek, an' hopped an' fussed around;
The Laughin' Jacks were wild with mirth; but very still he lay,
As we took poor Ben Murray up an' carried him away.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Freak of Spring
At any other time of year
It might have passed, but Spring is queer.
He says somethin' - I dunno
Somethin' nasty. I says, 'Ho!'
'Ho, yourself!' he says, an' glares.
I says nothin' - only stares.
'Coot!' says he . . . Then up she goes!
An' I land him on the nose.
It was Spring, Spring, Spring! Just to hear the thrushes sing
Would make a fellow laugh, or love, or fight like anything.
Which mood called I wasn't carin'; I was feelin' fine an' darin';
So I fetches him a beauty with a lovely left-arm swing.
Ben Murray staggered back a bit an' howled a wicked word
Which gave me feelin's of great joy . . . An' that's how it occurred.
'On the sawdust!' yells old Pike,
Gloatin' and bloodthirsty-like.
'On the sawdust with yeh both!
Truth to tell, I'm nothin' loth.
I peel off my coat an' vest.
Murray, with his rage suppressed,
Comes up eager, pale with spite.
'Glory!' shouts old Pike. 'A fight!'
It was Spring, glad Spring, an' the swallows on the wing
Made a man feel kind an' peaceful with their cheery twittering.
As I watched their graceful wheelin' with a pleasant sort of feelin'
Old man Pike pulled out his ticker, an' the mill-hands made a ring.
There was gold upon the wattle an' the blackwood was in bud,
An' I felt the call for action fairly sizzin' in my blood.
Murray comes on like a bull;
Both his eyes with spleen are full.
Let him have it - left an' right. . . .
Pike is bustin' with delight. . . .
Right eye once and left eye twice
Then he grabs me like a vice. . . .
Down into the dust we go
Bull-dog grip and short-arm blow.
It was Spring! Mad Spring! Just to feel him clutch an' cling
Told me plain that life was pelendid an' my strength a precious thing.
On the sawdust heap we scrambled, while the fellows yelled an' gambled
On the fight; an' Ben loosed curse-words in a never-endin' string.
Oh, I glimpsed the soft sky shinin' and I smelled the fresh-cut wood;
An' as we rolled I pummelled him, an' knew the world was good.
''Tain't a dog-fight!' shouts Bob Blair.
'Stand up straight an' fight it fair.'
I get end-up with a grin.
'Time!' yells Pike, an' bangs a tin.
'Corners, boys. A minute's spell.'
'Good lad, Jim! You're doin' well,'
Says the little Dusty, Dick. . . .
Murray's eye is closin' quick.
It was Spring, sweet Spring, an' a man must have his fling:
Healthy men must be respondin' to the moods the seasons bring.
That sweet air, with scrub scents laden, all my body was invadin',
Till each breath I drew within me made me feel I was king.
'Twas the season to be doin' - fondlin' maids, or fightin' men -
An' I felt my spirit yearnin' for another crack at Ben.
Pike bangs on his tin again.
'Time!' he roars. 'Get to it, men!'
I come eager, fit to dance;
Ben spars cautious for a chance.
With a laugh I flick him light;
Then - like lightin' comes his right
Full an' fair upon the jaw
Lord, the purple stars I saw!
It was Spring, wild Spring! When I felt the sudden sting
Of a clout all unexpected, I was just a maddened thing -
Just a savage male thing ragin'; battle all my wits engagin'.
Instant I was up an' at him, an' I punched him round the ring.
I forgot the scents an' season; I lost count of time an' place;
An' my only aim an' object was to batter Murray's face.
Pike is dancin' wild with joy;
Dusty Dick howls, 'At him, boy!'
I am at him, fast an' hard.
Then, as Murray drops his guard,
I get in one, strong an' straight,
Full of emnity an' weight.
Down he goes; the fellows shout.
'One!' starts Pike, then. . . 'Ten - an' out!'
It was Spring, gay Spring. Still were swallows on the wing,
An', on a sudden, once again I heard the thrushes sing.
There was gold upon the wattle, an' my recent wish to throttle
Murray, as he lay there groain', was a far-forgotten thing.
In the soft blue sky were sailin' little clouds as fine as fluff.
'Wantin' more?' I asked him gently; but Ben Murray said, 'Enough.'
'Well done, Jim,' says old Bob Blair.
''Tis the brave deserves the fair.'
An' he laughs an' winks at Pike
In a way that I don't like.
Widders,' grins young Dusty Dick,
'Likes a bloke whose hands is quick.
Now poor Ben can take the sack.'
But I frowns, an' turns my back.
It was Spring, the fickle Spring; an' a most amazin' thing
Came upon me sudden-like an' set me marvellin'.
For no longer was I lookin' for a wife to do my cookin',
But for somethin' sweet and tender of the kind that kiss an' cling.
Oh, for such a one I'd battle, an' I'd win by hook or crook;
But it did seem sort of foolish to go fightin' for a cook.
Standin' on the sawdust heap
I feel mean an' rather cheap,
Widows? Let the widow go!
What we fought for I don't know.
Murray offers me his hand:
'Jim, you've won; so understand,
I don't mean to block your road . . .'
But I answer, 'That be blowed!'
'Why, it's Spring, man, Spring!' (An' I gave his fist a wring)
'If you reckoned me your rival, give up thinkin' such a thing.
I just fought for fun an' frolic, so don't you get melancholic;
An', if you have notions yonder, why, buck up an' buy the ring!
Put some beefsteak on your eye, lad, an' learn how to keep your guard.'
Then I put my coat an' vest on, an' walked homeward . . . thinkin' hard.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Underhand Working Man
Blair works
for his living?
Terry writes
for his art?
The pay packets
will always be
disproportionate!
Blair Peach
works for money
he lusts after.
Blair grazes
at work upon
prime sweet meats
meant for pies
and pastries
made by Couplands.
Terry the Verse Rag Man
writes for a higher purpose.
Seen in captured word
symbols phrases envisioned.
He buys his cheap pies
cans of baked beans spaghetti.
Living off planned cheap fare
in order to purchase time; time
and money in order to write.
And Blair Peach
he’s the kind of irregular opportunist...
who will abandon friends
disappearing at 4.30 a.m. in a nightclub.
Leaving you a tired penniless
long two hour walk back home.
During time contemplative solitude
echoing; a long night’s journey;
into the dawning of stillborn daylight.
Terry. A poet working part time
in order to write full time.
Racing writing time before financial bind.
Dedicated to inherent values
demeaning denying demonology
craving ever more subjugated money.
Dedicated to inherent values
demeaning demonology demanding
more money grasping monopolies.
While Blair Peach
plots plans knocking off
an acquatience’s dack patch.
Yes Blair moonlights
as a petty thief; is a cheap crim
hood cover version factory worker.
Exhibiting a petty criminal
evil small minded
opportune coveting selfishness.
Waiting for underhand opportunities,
implementing grandiose petty schemes;
to capitalize on delusional title deed,
shortcut social advancement crime?
The persistent false belief that crime pays...
‘held in the face of strong contradictory evidence’
is perhaps a symptom of a psychiatric condition?
Never forget the famous golden rule
‘a thief cannot convey good title’!
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The art of leadership is saying no, not saying yes. It is very easy to say yes.
quote by Tony Blair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The USA Should Invade The USA
Paul Myers tweet
'The USA should
invade the USA
and win the
hearts and minds
of the population
by building
roads, bridges
and putting
locals to work.'
Winning hearts and minds
was favoured military slogan
in US war worn Vietnam
strangely gift airmailed bombs
napalm agent orange campaign
did not win local hearts minds
surviving flesh burnt bodies
did not appreciate high tech death
rained down upon them from skies.
Alas rebuilding roads bridges
televised blown apart in missions
spectacular invasion Iraq was
never high on western oil agenda
oops silly Tony Blair spilt beans
'Reconstruction left Iraq no
electricity no clean water why? '
'NATO the military intentionally
targeted Iraq's water system.'
'Why was providing
essential water electricity
to Iraqi's not important?
To quote Blair
'they might have blown
up oil production'.
Lawyer Blair
inhumane ad hoc solutions
'I think' were unprofessional.'
'Everybody complains about
bad water in Baghdad except
Mubarak's friend Tony Blair.
Few are willing to risk life drinking
water from contaminated tap in Tony Blair's
'we have reconstruction about right'.
Cholera diarrhea but what helps prevent
dysentery infection, not an evil Tony Blair;
anti-diarrhoeal medications, clean water does.'
'drinking water in Baghdad is diseased
infant children suffer continuous illnesses
adults suffer nausea constant diarrhea
someone should do something about
bad dirty water which brings disease
but Blair does not care if Iraqi poor get
sick die, Blair in Swiss 2011 interview said
'we have reconstruction about right'
'they might have blown up oil production''
Yes win hearts minds build bridges
put locals to work in all countries
but resist new world order policy
a global exploitation net conspiracy
'empire' ultra elite national driven
by big bonus international banking
super-corporations list prey countries
harvesting in new age 'empire' plans
anti-capitalism greed anti-globalization
greed pleading have a heart feed clothe
the poor instead of creating new wars
medicate the sick stop inflicting injuries
to amass fortunes at expense miseries
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I haven't done a great deal of it but this was a chance to do more and bring it to that part of the business and even more so, but the fact that it was a black superhero was really the catalyst to me.
quote by Blair Underwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Met Her Today
(words & music by robertson - blair)
I told you that some day
If you kept on being untrue
Somebody else would come along
And release me from you
Youll be glad to know now
Your fickle heart
Can have its own way
For it finally happened
Ive met her today
I used to think I just couldnt live
A day without you
In spite of the thousand doubts and tears
That you put me through
All at once I dont care as much for you
Im sorry to say
For now theres another
I met her today
How I treasured each smile, each kiss
You gave to me now and then
Well, you neednt be kind to me now
Oh no, not ever again
Just when the last bit of pride in me was gone
Someone heard me pray
And sent me my angel
I met her today
I met her today
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now it's a fully realized production but for the fact that we're holding our scripts in our hand and some of us used them, and some of us didn't and you have to by union rules hold the script. You don't have to use them but you gotta hold them.
quote by Blair Underwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't wanna play Karen. I just don't. I've kind of done this.
quote by Selma Blair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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