By CD Richards
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
I'm so excited, I can hardly speak,
I've been anticipating this all week;
and now it's here, this day is really cool—
my long-awaited first day at my school!
Mom's packed my lunch, a sandwich and some fruit.
My pencil case is wooden, and so cute!
And, since she wants her son to look his best,
she's getting me to wear my Kevlar vest.
There's photos that Dad took for show and tell;
a plastic poncho's stuffed in there as well,
and in a special hidden little place
is packed a childrens' Glock, for "just in case".
In just a wee short while I'll board the bus,
to take me to my school with little fuss.
The transport packs a little extra weight,
surrounded by its six-inch armour plate.
It's such a pretty school, there's lots of grass,
with garden beds outside of every class;
and sev'ral large and well-equipped school yards,
each one patrolled by two or three armed guards.
We know the diff'rent sound of each alarm,
so none of us will come to any harm.
If during class we ever hear a "boom",
we follow teacher to the panic room.
Why don't they do these things in other lands?
They told me "Hush child, no one understands.
We're special, we have freedoms to protect,"
but freedom looks like jail, last time I checked.
It seems, to save the things that we hold dear,
we must all learn we have to live in fear.
And so, it's time to bow our heads and pray,
and praise God for the good old NRA.
| Author Notes |
For those who know the little challenge I set myself, I looked at my "word of the day", and thought "Can't do it!" I also had a desire to write something on a topic that didn't suit at all, so I'm taking a break to do that. Normal programming will resume tomorrow - and I'll catch up somewhere along the way.
Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | It might take me a little while to get a certificate for this. Please feel free to skip reviewing until then, I just had to post it in time :) |
By CD Richards
It's time, my friends, to set the record straight;
I feel misunderstood and harshly judged.
Life isn't easy for a chick-magnet;
please stop, before my reputation's smudged.
I've always been a hit with women folk.
The men, they all just sigh and curse their luck;
and cringe within their little Prius cars
while I speed past them in my monster truck.
Not ev'ryone is made for pro football;
it takes a lot of strength and skill you know.
I run the hundred in a sub-ten time,
but I won't criticise you if you're slow.
So what if I'm a fireman? Big deal!
Accountants have a place in this world too;
but as you cook the books for those tax cheats,
I'll bet I've saved more peoples' lives than you.
Now, ladies, I'm a fair and honest man;
please don't be suffering from jealous fits.
There's plenty of me left to go around,
just know I love each one of you to bits.
In closing, let me state it plain as day,
I'll leave not one of you upon the shelf.
Don't feel let down you're not the only one;
and please don't criticise my humble self!
| Author Notes |
Image: By Bbpics (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
For those who have been following my 'potpourri': I decided to take a break from my book today, as I felt inspired to do a particular offering. Maybe I could say I've been "led"? Writing is certainly much quicker when it just comes flowing out (there's an analogy there somewhere). I'll try to post two poems tomorrow to catch up, otherwise I'll get hopelessly lost. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
I'm an alpaca, tall and proud.
Don't call me 'llama', that's not allowed.
If you choose to do so, so be it...
Seems no one warned you we spit!
| Author Notes |
Robyn Corum has challenged FS poets to create their own version of "I'm a little teapot". This is my effort. Thanks, Robyn, for the fun idea.
Photo: Bianca (isn't she gorgeous?) |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Dear happily married folk:
It's just a bit of fun - please don't get bent out of shape :) Image: CC0 licence - no attribution required. |
By CD Richards
Outside the House on Humbug Hill
thankful throngs digest the pill;
applauding democratic choice,
ecstatic to have found their voice.
A flock of fedifragous fools
within the walls have set the rules:
"We must employ our Teflon tricks,
and make damned sure that nothing sticks."
The poker game is underway
and all the best have come to play.
The tactics of these changeling chumps--
"Throw in your hand, and come up Trumps."
The faithful know what they must do--
be trusting of The Chosen Few.
Assimilate alternate facts;
close borders, and then lower tax.
Have faith in Jesus, buy a gun;
keep the sheeples on the run.
Salute the flag, don't bend a knee--
how else to keep the country free?
Alas, what if their new Messiah
is nothing but a bald-faced liar?
He wouldn't be the first or last;
to see the future, know the past.
Why trust the powerful and rich,
or buy their patriotic pitch?
There's one thing that's as clear as day--
the deck is stacked, but who will pay?
The excess of the Moet crew
won't ever trickle down to you.
It's time to really raise the stakes
And cut the av'rage Joe some breaks.
Devise a game where all can win;
compassion is no mortal sin.
My gain does not require your loss-
just who made greed and envy boss?
Is it not time to stop the rot
and form an ever-growing pot?
To recognize there's just one race--
together, all can play the Ace.
| Author Notes |
Today's word:
fedifragous (adj.) Promise-breaking. My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Violence begins with the fork.
-Mohandas Gandhi Photo: CC0 licence, no attribution required. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | After posting a 2-4-2 with a somewhat more sombre tone, I wanted to lighten things up a bit. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
UK English grammar rules applied.
Picture: CC0 licence, no attribution required. Thanks for reading. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Thank you for taking the time to read this work. |
By CD Richards
Let's go down to the track, find a nag we can back;
just maybe we'll make us a killing.
Come sun or come rain we'll be sipping champagne,
for Cup day's not a day for beer swilling.
Check out the wildcats in their cute fancy hats
(I believe the term is "fascinator") —
time to laugh at their jokes and to light up their smokes;
there's a chance we might get lucky later.
It's the thrill our sport brings, makes us all feel like kings,
for it fills up our hearts with elation.
Hear the thunder of hooves and our mood soon improves
on the day when a race stops the nation.
Galloping at a blur, urged by whip and by spur
we can see the joy writ on the faces
of these equine cash-cows, surely good sense allows
our amusement's the reason each races.
As the race nears an end, I remark to my friend,
"Well it seems like his lead has eroded!"
He is now at the back, but the horse is not slack—
it appears that his heart has exploded.
With distress on his face, still he limps out the race,
but his suffering clearly is major;
and as he lies dying, no doubt some are crying
while lamenting the loss of their wager.
On this day I have vowed not to join with the crowd—
I'll not give my support to horse racing.
It's time suffering ends for our four-legged friends;
at the post, it's our conscience we're facing.
There's no way we can know that these stars of the show
(even if they appear to be willing)
think that servitude's fun; let their last race be run—
there's no need to be making a killing.
| Author Notes |
At 3pm on Tuesday November 7, 2017, virtually every workplace in this country will suspend business and every home television will be tuned in to watch the running of the Melbourne Cup - the world's second richest horse race. Office sweepstakes are virtually mandatory.
There is a dark side to all the revelry of which not everyone is aware. Somewhere around 130 horses die every year on racetracks in Australia alone. Thousands more horses bred for racing who don't make the grade are shot for dog food. In 2015, two horses died after the running of the Melbourne Cup. Admire Rakti, an overseas horse, and race favourite, had a massive heart attack during the race, and died immediately after in agony in his stall. This poem tells that story. Another horse, Araldo,was spooked by someone in the crowd waving a banner, and kicked a fence, breaking a leg. Araldo was destroyed later that night. Sometimes you hear the term "collateral damage" or "wastage" applied to animals that lose their lives as a result of being conscripted for our amusement - I think they deserve to be valued more than that. Photo: From pixabay.com, CC0 - no attribution required. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
"Bats in the belfry" - vernacular for not quite right upstairs.
See also: a screw loose not the sharpest tool in the shed a kangaroo loose in the top paddock and, of course, the title phrase. InfoWars: "Brainchild" of Alex Jones, leading conspiracy theorist. Please note: This is not lampooning people with a genuine mental disorder. That is not something I'd ever want to do. It's more poking fun at clinically sane people who choose to believe the most outrageous nonsense. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Image: public domain CC0 (quotation added). |
By CD Richards
Dominion over all that walks or flies
or crawls, or in the ocean deep does swim;
our right from birth, or so we all surmise -
we mete out death according to our whim.
Of life on Earth, we think we wear the crown;
that kings and queens of this blue dot we'd be.
To lack compassion brings a monarch down -
it sealed the fates of Louis and Marie.
Yet quokkas have no need to subjugate;
they've learned to be contented with their lot.
The joy of living seems to them innate;
something which we apparently forgot.
If supplication worked, I think I'd pray:
"Lord, let me be a quokka for a day."
| Author Notes |
Quokka: A small marsupial, related to the kangaroo, that lives mostly on Rottnest Island, off the coast of Western Australia. Because of their propensity to smile and adopt cute poses when in front of tourists' cameras, they have been called "the happiest creatures on Earth". They have little fear of humans, which I guess doesn't make them the smartest creatures on Earth.
Human: An irrational and often ferocious creature, to be approached with caution. Picture: CC0 licence (no attribution required). |
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Image by Edward Valachovic [CC BY-SA 2.0]
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
In response to a couple of review comments, I just wanted to add a couple of explanatory points:
Firstly, "defense" is spelled with an "S" in American English, and a "C" in UK English. I chose the spelling of my ancestors. Also, where I'm from, "yore" and "law" is, in fact, a perfect rhyme. I understand it isn't in some places. We Aussies are a lazy lot, and don't like to take the trouble to roll our Rs ;-) Thanks for checking out my poem. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Love, kindness and compassion. Few believe we should limit them to those of our own race. Should we limit them to those of our own species? |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Image: public domain. |
By CD Richards
The congregation sobbed and wept, on the
day their poor bell-ringer died.
"Old Cedric's a chap who can't be replaced,
the finest of all in Strathclyde."
"We must have a ringer to ring out a tune
whenever the town has a wedding.
If not, I do fear that catastrophe's near —
there'll be masses of unholy bedding!"
The adverts went out the very next day,
to find a replacement bell-ringer;
"To drum up a chime, we must find someone
reliable, prompt, and a swinger."
First on the list, a pert little lass,
whose parents had christened her Hope.
She didn't do well, the girl tripped and fell,
and tangled her foot in the rope.
Young Michael was next, and he tried his best,
But things went quite horribly wrong;
The lad was tone deaf, and more to the point,
did not know his ding from his dong.
The third applicant had the vicar confused,
The man was abundant in charms;
"But how in the name of all that is good,
will you make the bell ring with no arms?"
The chap gave a smile, and slowly paced back,
then ran at full speed to the bell;
his face hit the brass with an almighty "thump",
and the instrument rang out a knell.
He repeated the act, in view of them all,
not once, but three or four times.
Each contact surpassed the previous one,
The town was soon deluged in chimes!
"With one final peal," he thought out aloud,
"I'm certain I'll make the job mine."
The vicar's broad smile soon turned to a frown,
for brashness is not a good sign.
The lad took his run, leapt into the air-—
the bell swung right out of the way.
The poor fellow's eyes grew as wide as two plates
as the onlookers screamed in dismay.
When the ambulance came to take him away
there was little the medics could do,
the constable took out his notepad, then asked
"By what name was this man known to you?"
The vicar was lost for an answer just then
for the man's name, he never did tell;
"I'm sorry sir, I was not privy to that,
but I'm certain his face rang a bell."
| Author Notes |
Image: public domain.
When I published this, it didn't occur to me that taking 5 words from an old joke of unknown origin and turning it into a 400 word poem would be considered 'copying' - however it appears at least one person thinks so, therefore I publish this disclaimer, before voting in the contest opens. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | Picture: public domain |
By CD Richards
The ocean waves crash on the sand
down at the shore.
The bodies, many richly tanned,
will soon be sore.
The salt air hanging in the breeze,
escarpment ringed with tall palm trees—
warm summer days that I adore
down at the shore.
Give me the place where sea meets land—
I long for more.
To be by fresh sea breezes fanned,
it thrills my core.
Do white capped walls, the smell of brine,
raise up your heart? They raise up mine.
Rememb'ring good old days of yore,
down at the shore.
| Author Notes |
Topic for this week: Write an octogram about "At the beach"
Time allowed - 1 hour |
By CD Richards
The stars shine proudly in the sky;
turn off your lights.
Is that a comet sailing by?
This neon bites.
Do not deny my right to reap
the treasures of the heavens deep.
For love of crisp, clear, crystal nights
turn off your lights.
The loss of darkness makes me cry—
gives me the shites.
Each nebula I bid goodbye
my wrath ignites.
Your wicked incandescent glare
obscures my view, but do you care?
Restore my wondrous dark sky sights;
turn off your lights.
| Author Notes |
The octogram is a form created by Fanstorian, Sally Yokom. There are two stanzas. Syllable sequence per line is 84848884 84848884. Rhyme scheme is aBabccbB ababddbB. Capital B indicates an exact repeated line.
|
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
The M42 nebula is the middle "star" in Orion's sword. It is actually a stellar nursery, where astronomers have observed around 700 new stars in various stages of formation. Hubble has also discovered "protoplanet" material that could be the beginnings of solar systems just like our own.
The strong force is one of the four fundamental forces in nature; the other three are gravity, electromagnetism and the weak force. It is responsible for binding together the fundamental particles of matter to form larger particles. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | This week's challenge: Write a set of 5-7-5 about "fire". |
By CD Richards
We must not in this poem see
the letter which, preceding "B",
we choose to shun, reject, omit—
it's evil, so we'll not use it.
Now "D" is fine, "X" is superb;
but every single noun or verb
within our verse, for worse or better
will not, nohow, enclose this letter.
The vowels, we're quite free to use
but one, so you must wisely choose.
Try E or I or O or U,
just let the other scoundrel stew.
Begin with "Z", then work to front;
we find the end, then stop the hunt.
The letter we term "number one"
won't be there— see, the job is done!
By CD Richards
Authors who think their writing's so good
Readers should actually read it?
Reviewing takes time, and time's money you know—
One line is enough, just concede it.
Gotta run, it's been fun... hope your piece of crap won.
Anyone else think their stuff is worth time,
Not brilliant, but worth more than nothing?
Cash flow is the go, though I'll have you know
Everybody can tell when you're fluffing.
| Author Notes |
"I wish sarcasm was available as a font" - internet meme
|
By CD Richards
To follow blindly others' steps
Has very little merit
Ideas are what have forged our world
New concept? Build and share it
Knowledge gained will make you great
Fortify your mind
Observe and learn throughout your life
Research, and then opine
You'll never grow by mimicking
Other peoples' way
Use what you've got to find your own
Revising every day
Seek to know your place on
Earth, and then you'll find you've grown
Look round, look up, look to yourself
For your life is your own
| Author Notes |
Poetry potlach entry: time allowed - 1 hour
Topic: Tell us what advice you would give to a young graduate just starting out in the world on his/her own. Thanks, Phyllis, for the topic. |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes | In the clink = in jail. |
By CD Richards
Where's Phyllis? She's up in her room
Rambling about some pantoum
Incessantly scribbling stuff
Tearfully shouting "Enough!"
I've never seen someone so manic
Nor given to wild bouts of panic
God help us, the lady's berserk
Acrostic! she cried with a smirk
Don't you mumble "poetry pants"
Don't frown while you're looking askance
I'm just fine, now let me be
Clearly, Phyl, you're off your tree
Time to stop and have some tea
| Author Notes | Subject is "writing addict" - time allowed , one hour. |
By CD Richards
Debussy clawed his way up top
Erbach, it's rumored, was Christian
Chopin never wrote a flop
Offenbach made opera his mission
Mendelssohn had few critics
Purcell was born in Westminster
Ortega excelled in obstetrics
Strauss had a wife, and he kissed her
Ives played for Charles (I not II)
Niedermeyer was friends with Rossini
Gershwin was handsome in blue
Carmichael never wore a bikini
Ornstein lived well past a hundred
Mozart, it's said, was precocious
Puccini had women he plundered
Obrecht's masses are not atrocious
Stravinsky was somewhat atonal
Ehrlich's a famous Berliner
Rachmaninov wasn't hormonal
Score's settled, each one was a winner
| Author Notes | With apologies to Monty Python and all of the above. |
By CD Richards
Stickers now adorn my car
Hateful sayings, quite bizarre
Extremist views best left unspoken
Exaggerated claims - "we're broken"
Politics is now my life
Lamenting non-stop - "we're in strife"
Each day I raise my flag and pray
Someone keep the sheep away!
| Author Notes |
I just adore the irony in a bumper sticker that says "I think for myself".
|
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
Have you met my sister named Fran?
She swears, some would say, like a man.
I will not repeat
words said in the heat
of the moment, so this line won't scan.
My mother's whole name is just "Ruth",
this story I tell is the truth.
Her boyfriend was "Sting"
and this is the thing,
they're both now quite long in the tooth.
My eldest male child is called Will,
his favourite saying is "chill".
But he's not so cool,
the silly young fool
just now burnt his hand on the grill.
| Author Notes |
Limerick Form: Minimum of 3 stanzas, each one a limerick
Topic: Tell us about a member or members of your real or imaginary family. Time allowed: 1 hour |
By CD Richards
speak in one accord
the pen must conquer the sword
trite shall be outlawed
By CD Richards
Oh Juliet, my love, thou art so fair;
by far the finest beauty I have seen.
I love to run my fingers through your hair,
enchanted by its lustre and its sheen.
Your lips, a source of infinite delight,
assuage my thirst and bring my soul to life.
I gaze on you and all the world feels right;
to lose your love would cut me like a knife.
Yet, Carmen is a lovely woman too;
a passionate and playful little minx.
I'd love to introduce my friend to you;
you'd get on like a house on fire, methinks.
We'd wine and dine, and ere the night is done
indulge ourselves in stirring up some fun.
* * * * *
Oh Romeo, my sweetest, dearest love;
you are so doting, thoughtful, sweet and kind.
Your company's a gift from up above;
without you, I am sure I'd lose my mind.
Your strength and charm are clearly without bounds;
those muscled arms have kept me safe and warm.
With you, I fear not even hellish hounds,
for you're my steadfast shelter from the storm.
Now Carmen is indeed a lovely fox;
I met her at the market yesterday.
Your lechery's unlocked Pandora's box,
and so, my dear, I asked her home to play.
My darling, it is time you got a clue--
there's no room in our little bed for you.
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
Potlatch challenge entry. This week's challenge:
Pretend you are a member of a primitive tribe at some point in the past. Your people have beliefs and traditions very different from those of other societies around the world. All we want to know is what wind means to you. Give some reasons or examples, as you talk about this invisible yet powerful force of nature. Suggestions (none required, just ideas to get you started): In your society, is wind worshipped? Feared? Does wind have a spirit? A name? What does it bring to your people? What stories do you have about its effects? What myths do you have about its origin? Please do NOT use myths of known societies, such as Incas, Native Americans, remote tribes of Borneo, etc. Invent your own, and only as regards wind. (In one hour) |
By CD Richards
| Author Notes |
This is in part a tribute to victims of the 2002 Bali bombings and their friends and families. From time to time, their lives are remembered by releasing flowers (frangipanis) on the water - a custom which I believe was inspired by one particular victim, a 15 year old girl, Chloe Byron, who liked to wear frangipanis in her hair.
There is other symbolism intended too, but I will leave it to readers to fathom (no pun intended) that for themselves. |
By CD Richards
I turn my back, you disappear.
Yet everywhere I go, I know
you're nearby.
Lurking, smirking,
rejoicing in my failures,
laughing at each stumble
along life's potholed road.
Though others never hear
your snide remarks,
for me there is no respite.
Cynical jabs and jeers
inflame my fears.
I shrivel under your ridicule.
Each witty observation I make,
you turn upon itself.
Every edifice I create in my mind
you tear down;
'til barely the foundations remain.
Though no one else can hear
the taunts you fire
like flaming arrows
into my consciousness,
it matters not to you.
You track me like prey,
and when my strength is gone,
you attack, and then
shocklingly, mockingly
watch me bleed.
But for all your cruel intentions,
your arrogance,
your bravado,
you are less substantial
than fog;
for you are nothing
but the shadow of the man
I once was.
| Author Notes |
Poetry potlatch challenge:
Free verse topic for March 26th: It follows you everywhere, no matter how fast or far you go, no matter where you hide. "It" may be anything, tangible or abstract. |
By CD Richards
Is this the way it has to be,
For our poor friends over the sea?
There's famine all across their land,
Why not extend a helping hand?
A clown spouts hatred from TV -
Is this way it has to be?
An ignorant and foolish pup,
I wish to God he'd just shut up.
The bankers plunder you and me,
Propped up by gifts from treasury.
Is this the way it has to be?
Our children starve while they go free.
Watch water rise while seaboards shrink,
The globe is standing at the brink.
And soon, no sign of man or tree,
Is this the way it has to be?
| Author Notes |
This week's challenge:
Write a quatern using the line "Is this the way it has to be" in one hour or less. |
By CD Richards
By CD Richards
The summer sun its golden honey spreads
across the field awash with red and white.
The poppies proudly raising up their heads —
I've rarely seen a more enchanting sight.
The bees collecting pollen for their hive
hum cheerfully as on their way they go.
A splendid day it is to be alive,
I watch them as they're darting to and fro.
When suddenly the noise intensifies —
I turn and freeze, my thoughts are filled with dread.
A swirling funnel now confronts my eyes —
I'm fearing that I'll very soon be dead.
If so, I pray wherever my path leads
there's bees, and poppies waving in the breeze.
| Author Notes |
The idea is to write a poem of a given form on a supplied topic in less than an hour. Today's challenge is to write a Shakespearean sonnet on:
While picking wildflowers in a field, you find yourself in the path of a tornado. |
By CD Richards
The German army marched across the land
Hitler's men designed a code machine
Enigma gave the Reich the upper hand
Invasion led by messages unseen
Machine defeats machine, history tells
Invention of a British scientist
Turing's child rang Germany's death knell
Achieved by mild computer analyst
The courts declared his lifestyle was a crime
Ignorance was rife back in the day
Once hero, now he lives on borrowed time
No mercy shown to anyone who's gay
Genius of math and logic, gentle man
Assassinated by our ignorance
May we not travel down that road again
Enlightened thinking must become our stance.
| Author Notes |
Alan Turing is known as a computer science pioneer, leader in artificial intelligence research, mathematician, logician, cryptanalyst and theoretical biologist.
His work on decrypting German ciphers has been estimated to have shortened the war in Europe by between two and four years. In 1952 Turing was prosecuted for the criminal act of homosexuality, and chose compulsory chemical castration in preference to prison. He died by his own hand in 1954, sixteen days before his 42nd birthday, from cyanide poisoning. In 2009, the British Prime Minister made an official public apology for the "appalling way he was treated". Queen Elizabeth II granted him a posthumous pardon in 2013. The 2014 film "The Imitation Game" won a bucket full of international accolades. It was nominated for eight Academy Awards, but won only one minor award - Best Writing, Adapted Screenplay. The Imitation Game grossed $227M worldwide, compared to the Best Picture winner Birdman (seriously?), which won four awards in that year, and grossed $103M. It seems that in death, as in life, Turing suffers injustice. |
By CD Richards
From one acorn a massive oak will grow
The mighty river starts as but a stream
A drop of rain announces each rainbow
Each great advancement started as a dream
A childhood sweetheart once became a spouse
From little girl she grew to strapping lass
With timber and some nails we built a house
In which our goods and chattels to amass
To grow, there must be light and warmth, it's true
A flower turns its face towards the sun
Our lives were barren soil where nothing grew
You felt it too, I'm not the only one
To last forever never was our fate
You simply can't reap love by sowing hate
By CD Richards
The keeper snapped and flew into a rage
His anger clearly brought the man undone
He wandered angrily from cage to cage
And as he went, he unlocked every one
Two pachyderm rang out their bold escape
The lions ate four tourists on the way
A leopard formed a friendship with an ape
The hippos came along to join the fray
The President phoned in, his language blue
"Enlist the army's help" was his command
"And get the seals, marines and navy too"
I want all beasts removed from off this land
An hour was all it took 'til they were dead
The snipers came and shot them in the head.
| Author Notes | Perhaps a 50 minute challenge was not the best vehicle for my first ever attempt at a sonnet - but here it is lol |
By CD Richards
They work evil on hallowed ground
Without a sound
Acts Unspoken
Lives are broken
Leaving their victims in the lurch
A wayward church
Pedophile priests
Sumptuous feasts
The children's trust, once pure, now flayed
Belief betrayed
Their only sin
To let God in
By CD Richards
The funniest show I've observed
Is surely "Are You Being Served?"
If you're wanting some fun
Switch to BBC One
Your laughter will be unreserved.
Concern for a gravely ill pet
Saw Slocombe head off to the vet
When it started raining
She turned to complaining
"Oh goodness, my pussy's all wet!"
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