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JD Jul 2020
You were odd
Big bloke with a big beard
Eye tattoo on your neck

You smell of ***** and smoke
You made me laugh
You were my friend

Today I sit alone
Looking at the unread message on my phone
The one you never saw

I wish I could’ve said goodbye
But time ran out too fast
Faster than your angel could fly

Another one taken too soon
Cancer claims another soul
Dust to dust, forever in my heart.
Love the people in your life.  They may not be there tomorrow!
Francie Lynch Feb 2015
We believe female circumcision
Is barbaric,
But boys should look like their Dads,
It's traditional, like swinging a dead cat
In a gunney sack over your head.
Yeah, like Dad and I showered together daily?
Should girls augment their ******* to look like Mom.
Should Mom landscape to look like daughter.
Let's bring Granny into the mix.

We believe homelessness to be cruel
And unnecessary.
Why I have one in winter,
And one in summer.
Our dogs have wall-to-wall.
Birds have gilded cages.
They have vents and cardboard.

We believe in fair trade
(Except with countries we don't believe),
To get what others have,
Especially those diamond rings,
Blood stones.

We abhor child labour,
But haven't enough
Money to give Wal-Mart
On Black Friday.

Where do our sympathies lie?
When sympathies lie.
Francie Lynch Feb 2015
There's a sleeping giant
On the floor,
Snoring, blocking
All the doors.
I tip-toe 'round the
Massy bulk,
Lest he wake up hungry,
And I'm the morsel
He first sees.
There's a pillow 'neath
His massive head,
The mirror fogs,
So he's not dead.
He sleeps, yawns,
Grinds yellow teeth,
Flutters eyelids,
Causing grief.
Smoke exhales
As he breathes
Through his nose,
Which makes him sneeze
And stretch his limbs,
Then he rolls over
On his chin
To expose his naked neck.
I should grab
A shiny axe
And give that giant
One clean whack,
Put his head in a gunney sack
And bury it in the garden,
Between the rows of corn,
To fester for the worms.
I'd take the body
To the lake,
Weigh it down
And let it sink.
Then we children
Would sleep well,
The sleeping giant
Sleeps in hell.
Alex McQuate Apr 2018
Marching forward,
The Old Gunney marched to the golden throne,
Halting and coming to the position of attention,
Ready for his final Inspection.

He tried to live as a good man,
Dispute some burrs in the corners,
He was kind to his family,
Full of humility and humor.

Without a doubt his inspection would be up to *****
R. Lee Ermey 1944-2018

— The End —