A poet, a friend, a tribute

From Kender MacGowan:

It's Memorial Day Weekend. It's not "the start of summer" or National Summer Barbecue Day. It's a day we stop and remember those who have given their last measure in our service. Those who paid the ultimate price for our Liberty. So while you're hanging out this weekend having cookouts with friends and families remember, spread across the country, and indeed around the world, are quiet lawns of green with markers in eternal formation beneath which lie those who helped make it possible for you to have that cookout. So say a little prayer for the peace of their souls and never forget them.

Row Upon Row

The grass is green, the breezes blow
Where soldiers rest, row upon row
The flags in that same breeze do wave
Neath the stones, above the grave
Where Brothers, friends and family go
As soldiers rest, row upon row
Taps and tears and dreams long lost
Upon the storm of history tossed
In foreign lands of sand and snow
Where soldiers rest, row upon row
A cadence called in Heavens glory
Tho' we won't always know the story
They heard the call and had to go
Now honored, rest, row upon row
Trust they did not die in vain
We'll struggle with the loss and pain
And make their tales of valor grow
As soldiers rest, row upon row.

-- http://kendersmusings.blogspot.com/

A citizen's poem

Barack Hussein Obama, Shut the F*** Up


My job is gone

My bills go unpaid

Everyday I fear

A government raid

The border is open

The factories are closed

Our economy and Freedom

Have both been hosed

This hope and change

Is surely no fun

While the President golfs

I cling to my gun

He says to be happy

With my half empty cup

Barack Hussein Obama

Please shut the fuck up

It's all due to him

When something is well

He'll blame someone else

When it all goes to hell

He jumps on TV

Just to tell us all lies

He's smooth as can be

'Til the teleprompter dies

He gives private plane rides

To his purebred pet pup

Barack Hussein Obama

Please shut the fuck up

He says bring a gun to the fight

Hit back twice as hard

While every so often

He'll play the race card

Saying come for the ride

You conservative hack

You're welcome of course

Just sit in the back

His minions get raises

While the rest of us pray

We can pay all our bills

At the end of the day

So it's time we all said

As the country goes south

Barack Hussein Obama

Shut your big fucking mouth

--
http://kendersmusings.blogspot.com/

Never underestimate the stupidity of people in large groups...especially on election day."

Old man

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meegre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
 

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Cranky Old Man.....

What do you see nurses?. . . . . . . What do you see?
What are you thinking. . . . . . . . . .when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man,. . . . . . . . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit. . . . . . . . . . . . .with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food. . . . . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice. . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice. . . . . . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing. . . . . . . . . . .A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not. . . . . . . . . . .lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding. . . . . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. . . . .  Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse. . . . . .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,. . . . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten. . . . . . . . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters. . . . . . . . . . . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen. . . . . . . . with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. . . . . . .  .a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty. . . . . . . .my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows. . . . . . . . that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now. . . . . . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide. . . . . . . . .And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty. . . . . . . . . . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other. . . . . . . . . . .With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons. . . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me. . . . .to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more,. . . . . . . . . . .Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children. . . . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me. . . . . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future. . . . . . . . . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing. . . .  young of their own.
And I think of the years. . . . . . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man. . . . . . . . . . . and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age. . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles. . . . . . . . . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone. . . . . . . . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass. . . . . . A young man still dwells,
And now and again. . . . . . . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys. . . . . . . . . . .I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . .life over again.
I think of the years, all too few. . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact. . . . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people. . . . . .open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within.

The Boob Poem

For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.

So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.

After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram.
"O.K," I said, "let's do it."

"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said,
"Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."

She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vise!

My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.

Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it's vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!

"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.

"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.

It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.

Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steamrolled.

If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"

This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And see how THEY come out!!

From Susun Weed

A Dog Named Beau

1981 - Jimmy Stewart reads his poem on The Johnny Carson Show: VIDEO

In memory of love

In a breath it can all change. Everything that we thought was important becomes frivolous, unmemorable. It only takes a single act, a moment– and life has passed. It happens so suddenly some times that we are left to wonder, what happened — and where did it go...In that fleeting moment, I could see him standing there, lumionous, hands pressed together, and a smile that melted tears. It was fleeting, but it was real.

When I’m not trying to overthrow a corrupt government, I cook–and write, among other gentle things. I’m all about spreading holiday cheer–...The driveway up the mountain to my home is a steady, long and steep climb–anyone who makes it deserves to have something lovely awaiting them at the top.--Peppermint Patty