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Daily Archives: April 7, 2014

THE GUN – Promote Yourself

 

sniper

Received at the tender age of two,

It is fake

Again at the age of eight, a new model but still not real 

Now he’s taught that the gun is to kill

 

At fifteen a still newer model

But this time to hunt

 

At seventeen a better one yet

But this time it’s really out to get.

 

Not the deer, the rabbit, or a tin can

This target is a human man.

Shipped over to a far away place

Start shooting at every different face.

Died at the age nineteen with the gun that started his death at two.

This child could be any one of you.

lmg01@comcast.net

THIS WAS MY VERY FIRST PUBLISHED POEM IN 1967!

Hey for a Lass wi’ a Tocher – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

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Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms: 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for 
a lass wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster the faster it grows; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, 
Ilk Spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for 
a lass wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

And e'en when this Beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possess'd; 
But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie impress'd, 
The langer ye hae them, - the mair they're carest! 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for 
a lass wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, the nice
yellow guineas for me.

Robbie Burns


YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT'S YOURS?

April Midnight

trafalgar_square_by_moonlight_c1865_mol

Side by side through the streets at midnight,
Roaming together,
Through the tumultuous night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
 
Roaming together under the gaslight,
Day’s work over,
How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
 
Cool to the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
Cleansing, entrancing,
After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
Where you dance and I watch your dancing.
 
Good it is to be here together,
Good to be roaming,
Even in London, even at midnight,
Lover-like in a lover’s gloaming.
 
You the dancer and I the dreamer,
Children together,
Wandering lost in the night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
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