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I Am A Bit Of A Mongrel

My full name is David Verdun Harris
and I am bit of a mongrel would you believe.
I have a lot of different blood
running through my veins.
My middle name is French
and there is English, Irish, Scots and Canadian
and even a bit of Spanish Gypsy from way back when.
That could account for my love of flamenco music.
I had an uncle who was a gunman
for the IRA in the 1920’s.
I am a distant relative
to one of the most decorated
American soldiers of the Vietnam War
who has 61 medals to his credit.
On the other side of the family
I am informed there are Admirals and a Lord
and not forgetting a famous cricketer
who is in the Guinness Book of Records
and played for the first English cricket team.
Then you come to me
a pretend Preacher and a wannabe writer.
Therefore, when I call myself a mongrel
that’s exactly what I am, a real mixed breed.
They may even enter me into Cruffs next year.
You never know I may even win a blue ribbon
in the mixed breed section.

4 March 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This is America: Better know English

America was once the magnificent place
Where all immigrants wanted to escape
So they illegally come here, as illegal aliens
Hiding in the back of our American vans
Now our schools and jobs require multiple languages
When we’re the Americans, we’re supposed to speak English!
And we do and just because they don’t
Doesn’t mean their language is a demand we should know
Don’t come to America if you don’t know the language
I’m just being realistic, I’m not being racist
Don’t put up store signs if they’re not readable
You’re in America; English is the main language you should know
Then they’re pissed because people won’t help out their business
But their forgetting us Americans don’t speak their language
We don’t go to Mexico demanding English classes
So why should they own the right to demand us Spanish?
I love the language, and everything BUT
THIS IS AMERICA look our history up!
Then tell me if French should be required
Where in the hell in the time line is that desired?
I know this is the land of opportunity, land of the free
But we should be able to communicate as human beings
And if that’s just too hard no one said they had to stay here
They can go back where they came from and speak in harmony there
I’m just a full blood American, as so the rest of my family
And like others, our language should be the first they’re demanding
We're tired of going to our fastfood restaurants to eat
When the orderer of our order can't even speak
And buyers, don't buy our house
If you can't even pronounce our street out
I'm tired of security going through all our private equipment
I'm an American, Bitch, do I look like a terrorist?
Honestly, you can come here if you want to be
Since this is the best place of opportunity
And we don’t care if you speak 20 different languages and love them
But this is AMERICA, ENGLISH better be one of them!

poem by Sugar Bear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Mixed Up

Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
And no I cant find no reason
To explain the way that I feel
I remember things being clearer
At one t ime things were more real
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
Im not lookin for sympathy
Im just frightened by this apathy
Like footsteps way in back of me
On a narrow street of stone
And if time will answer all questions
Then perhaps a film will be shown
Everyone could mail-order tickets
Yeah, you could sell a lot of shirts
For the last picture show
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed u p about you

song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Mongrel Witnessed

From the shores of Danish harbors,
I live my Viking past.
And I hear the words of my father saying...
'You are not pure.
You are a mongrel.
You represent ancestors...
On your blood line that will last.'

And I listen to those speak of their ancestry,
As if they were as pure as they could be.
With most of them wishing they sat on thrones,
Depicting their connection with royalty.
But as for me I'll take being called a mongrel, .
A moor who is black or a more not without that.
It doesn't matter to me.

Since this 'mongrel' witnessed to be observed,
IS going to achieve with a doing done to be believed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Illiteracy

some homes breed love
some homes breed hatred

some homes breed moderation
some homes breed extremes

some homes breed worldliness
some homes breed racism

some homes breed kindness
somehomes breed religious bigotry

throw in illiteracy and any country would be bloom to bits

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Luck Of The Irish

Ok, one, two, three, one two, three
If you had the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
A thousand years of torture and hunger,
Drove the people away from their land.
A land full of beauty and wonder
Was raped by the british brigands!
Goddamned!
Goddamned!
If you could keep voices like flowers,
There's be shamrock all over the world.
If you could drink dreams like irish streams,
Then the world would be as high as the mountain of morn.
In the 'pool they told us the story
How the english divided the land.
Of the pain and the death and the glory
And the poets of auld eireland.
If we could make chains with the morning dew,
The world would be like galway bay.
Let's walk over rainbows like leprechauns,
The world would be one big blarney stone.
Why the hell are the english there anyway?
As they kill with god on their side!
Blame it all on the kids and the i.r.a.
As the bastards commit genocide!
Aye! aye!
Genocide!
Okay!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
One more time!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead,
Hey, yes, you'd wish you were english instead.
- "thank you!

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My parents were French and Irish and our family even has Spanish blood-and I do so love the United States and consider myself part American.

quote by Vivien Leigh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will The Real David Harris Please Stand Up

Will the real David Harris please stand up?
I say that not in vain,
but because I am not, sure which face I wear.
I could be the man with a full beard
and looks like D H Lawrence,
or maybe the man with a slight goatee
who looks as if he has escaped
from a chain gang somewhere,
I am not really sure.
I could be the man
with the moustache and chin beard
we have often seen on old paperback books,
or I could be the man
with the Clark Gable looks.
Then again I could be the man
who is clean-shaven with a playboy look
whom people call Walter.
Therefore when you meet me
who will be the real me?

4 March 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Irish-English

Having stolen all the goods and gone,
The English are back in Ireland
Seeking the good of man
In folksong of the past.
Irish in acadamia
Have left the country behind
Preferring to live where the air comes in,
Leave the stench to the English mind.
It's neither one thing nor another
But a blend that works the best.
But when it comes to English-Irish
The latter think the opposite's blessed.
Living by the nostrils the Irish whiff the past,
'The English they can have it. By the future we are cast.'

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Reflections

As each year begins to close,
we reflect over the passing one
remembering the highlights
along with the year’s woes.
How things made us laugh
and the others that made us cry
the whole mixed bag
that we call a year gone by.
We look forward to the next
with eager expectations
reflecting on how we can
make more dreams come true
and all the time hoping that sadness
will miss our door.
Of making new friends to fill the gaps
where old ones have faded away.
All this we do as we reflect
on the passing of another year.

31 December 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half Breed (Who I Am)

Do not judge or condemn me
for this is who I am
I'm exactly who our Creator
said He wanted me to be
creating me into this man
out of his own image He made me

Through His eye's He made me see
and gave me but only one destiny
one that I know I must journey
it was all part of His plan
to make me just who I am
a half breed Native American

My blood flows of my ancestors
on their path I will walk forever
with my heart pure and strong
and wisdom to know right from wrong
it beats the drum of their song
not as a full blood Indian
but a half breed Native American

poem by Spiritwind Wood
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The Luck Of The Irish

If you had the luck of the irish
Youd be sorry and wish you were dead
You should have the luck of the irish
And youd wish you was english instead!
A thousand years of torture and hunger
Drove the people away from their land
A land full of beauty and wonder
Was raped by the british brigands! goddamn! goddamn!
If you could keep voices like flowers
Thered be shamrock all over the world
If you could drink dreams like irish streams
Then the world would be high as the mountain of morn
In the pool they told us the story
How the english divided the land
Of the pain, the death and the glory
And the poets of auld eireland
If we could make chains with the morning dew
The world would be like galway bay
Lets walk over rainbows like leprechauns
The world would be one big blarney stone
Why the hell are the english there anyway?
As they kill with God on their side
Blame it all on the kids the ira
As the bastards commit genocide! aye! aye! genocide!
If you had the luck of the irish
Youd be sorry and wish you was dead
You should have the luck of the irish
And youd wish you was english instead!
Yes youd wish you was english instead!

song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Hoodie Has His Big Honk

New words pop up everyday
to add in the dictionary.
Now one of the later words is Hoodie
to go with the collection.
Now a Hoodie is someone
who looks a bit like a Monk.
However, what is the first thing that you see
when you spot one of them,
it is their trademark,
and I’m not talking about the hood,
I’m talking about their honk
that stretches out from within.
The bigger the honk,
the bigger the hood
to try to cover it.
Now Mick Jagger has his lips,
but a Hoodie always has his honk.
Everyone one is different,
just like a fingerprint,
even Scotland Yard have started
a new records department
and it is called the Honkers Records Office
with thousands of photographs of Honks
peering out from under hoods.
Soon your Passport photograph
will not be displaying a picture of you,
but just a picture of your honk.
Even the people at the Guinness Book of Records
have started a new section called
Honkers of the world.
The biggest honk is owned by
Eliza Shrinking Violet
with one all of 64 inches long.
Pinocchio came in second place.
He could be first next year
as his honk is still growing.

16 November 2007

poem by David Harris
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Uncle Sam

I wonder how I got to
be who I am?
Your name means nothing to me.
For I am Uncle Sam.
They've dressed me up
in red, white and blue
and made me famous saying
'I want you.'

They took my picture
and placed it in view
so all would know me, not just a few.
I point my finger
and look real stern.
I've encouraged many teens
to enlist and yearn

to listen to my words
and show no fear.
And most of them listen
year after year.
For I've become an icon.
That's what I am.
My name shows up for every war.
You can call me 'Uncle Sam.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Mongrel Too

Here come the mountain, Here come the hill
Here come the valley and the Shoreline still
I know 'em well, know well
Mongrel, on the hard sell
With a ?, hot assed, inkwell
Lord, But I, I can't leave with the blues
Through endless days, and endless nights
Spare my creator, scream for my rights
? in the wishing well
Mongrel on the Hard sell, with a ?,
Hot assed, Inkwell
But I won't leave you with the blues no
Come down to ? (Wah-doo-day)
I'll buy you out
Gonna make you shake it Lord gonna make you shout
Gonna burn you gonna make you swell
Mongrel on a hard sell
with a ? hot assed inkwell Lord
But I can't leave you with the blues no
No no

song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Big Cross

My cross is big and golden
and blinds any gunman
who comes after the preacher
with a gun.
I polish it brightly
so it reflects the sun
and blinds any demons
that might be lurking around.
The big cross is the trademark you see
of Dodgy Dave the vicar - me.

16 April 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Call Him

Call him a tune from English song,
Like a middle-English rhythm
Or a real good melody of stone.
I stole the music from the instrument
To take messages from Heaven.
As of now I have in possession a good gift,
One of laughter and song, of living.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Irish Blood, English Heart

Irish blood, English heart
this I'm made of
there is no one on earth
I'm afraid of
and no regime
can buy or sell me
I've been dreaming of a time when
to be English
is not to be baneful
to be standing by the flag not feeling
shameful, racist or partial
Irish blood, English heart
this I'm made of
there is no one on earth
I'm afraid of
and I will die
with both my hands untied
I've been dreaming of a time when
the English are sick to death of Labour
and Tories
and spit upon the name Oliver Cromwell
and denounce this royal line that still
salute him / and will salute him forever

song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Salute You

We salute you our gallant soldiers
on your call to arms,
off to fight an enemy
whose face you may never know.
You march off to face dangers
to keep your country free.
Some will never come back
and to your homeland see.
Though you may fall
on some distant shore
you will not be forgotten
on the Roll Call.
Your valiant efforts
will be remembered
so long as we are free.

15 May 2008

poem by David Harris
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President Bush gave his first-ever presidential radio address in both English and Spanish. Reaction was mixed, however, as people were trying to figure out which one was which.

quote by Dennis Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clare's Dragoons

When, on Ramillies' bloody field,
The baffled French were forced to yield,
The victor Saxon backward reeled
Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons.
The Flags we conquered in that fray
Look lone in Ypres' choir, they say,
We'll win them company to-day,
Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoons.

CHORUS.

Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!
Viva la, for Ireland's right!
Viva la, in battle throng,
For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright!

The brave old lord died near the fight,
But, for each dropp he lost that night,
A Saxon cavalier shall bite
The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons.
For never, when our spurs were set,
And never, when our sabres met,
Could we the Saxon soldiers get
To stand the shock of Clare's Dragoons.

CHORUS.

Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!

Another Clare is here to lead,
The worthy son of such a breed;
The French expect some famous deed,
When Clare leads on his bold Dragoons.
Our Colonel comes from Brian's race,
His wounds are in his breast and face,
The bearna baoghail[81] is still his place,
The foremost of his bold Dragoons.

CHORUS.

Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!

There's not a man in squadron here
Was ever known to flinch or fear;
Though first in charge and last in rere,
Have ever been Lord Clare's Dragoons;
But see! we'll soon have work to do,
To shame our boasts, or prove them true,
For hither comes the English crew,
To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons.

CHORUS.

Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!
Viva la, for Ireland's right!
Viva la, in battle throng,
For a Spanish steed and sabre bright!

Oh! comrades! think how Ireland pines,
Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines,
Her dearest hope, the ordered lines,
And bursting charge of Clare's Dragoons.
Then fling your Green Flag to the sky.
Be 'Limerick' your battle-cry,
And charge, till blood floats fetlock-high,
Around the track of Clare's Dragoons!

CHORUS.

Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!

song, lyrics by Thomas Davis
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