Corn

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Corn was a crop that each spring we would sow,
And in the autumn pick and bag each row.
Hard work it was, but then we didn’t mind;
We’d fill the shed with all that it could hold;
The cobs we’d husk and to a fine meal grind,
To feed the milkers through the winter cold.

But on reflection now I shake my head;
My father, bless his soul, is now long dead.
By sixty he was bent, his body worn,
From all that grinding toil and sweat and pain.
Now he is gone and so too is the corn,
And houses stand where once were fields of grain.

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Dog Ugly

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The ugliest dog – is that true?
Well I have known more than a few
With looks much more cursed.
They think that’s the worst?
They haven’t seen some that I knew.

World’s ugliest dog dies

Crunch!

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So comes the end – expansion ceases now;
All heat has died; all matter is stone cold.
It’s reached as far as its laws will allow;
Now gravity, attractive force, takes hold.
For what seemed an eternity it rolled
Forever outward – now it is reversed.
For all things must return, when they are old,
To where they once began – so all are cursed.
From just a speck it into being burst;
Now to that point its body must return.
To that elusive place before the first
Fraction of time and space, now it must turn
And race – all matter, stuff of stars, to there
Must hurtle – every atom, to nowhere.

Shadow Banned

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Hear this, my friends in Facebook-land:
At Facebook I’ve been shadow banned!
My friends say: “Facebook we have scanned –
Where have you gone?” – I’m shadow banned!
My content counted, and my stand!
It’s groovy to be shadow banned!
Down at the beach in sparkling sand
I wrote it large: “I’m shadow banned!”
Oh what a day! It’s great, it’s grand!
At last! At last! – I’m shadow banned!
Perhaps some tiny flames I’ve fanned.
Could that be why I’m shadow banned?
But then I can’t quite understand:
I’m quite obscure, yet shadow banned?
By some computer code – so planned;
By algorithm, shadow banned.
So folks, give Zuckerberg a hand,
Plus all his pals! I’m shadow banned!

Bang!

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It starts – the birth of matter, time and space,
As silently, expanding gases roar.
Towards a far infinity they race.
From just a speck, a tiny point, they pour
White hot – the cosmic building blocks, the raw
Materials that swirl and then condense
To blazing suns and planets. And from core
To crust, each body, tiny or immense,
Each boiling ball of rock or gas so dense –
All came, each one, from just a single place;
From there they came, or nowhere, in a sense;
Yet now these wonders would the Heavens grace.
The Universe was made in such a way,
And too, its laws – and these it must obey.

Baby Bumps

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Remember maternity frocks?
I wish they would make a comeback.
On tight-fitting garments, a pox!
Bring back the all-covering sack.

Now women with buns in the oven,
Exhibit their bellies distended,
To show off the fruit of their lovin’.
I’m by this display much offended.

If I wish to see a beached whale,
Then down to the sea I will go.
An inflated pregnant female?
I’d rather that bump didn’t show.

The Slaves

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A wise man wrote that men are mostly slaves
Who envy all who have, while they have not.
Until the ones who have, rest in their graves,
The uber-slaves within the herds will plot.
The slaves don’t wish to rise – it is their lot
To be ignoble, but they must bring low
The master, and his works – his honour blot.
They’d strike this stronger man a mortal blow;
A thrust to pierce his body from below.
The higher man on their bowed heads would bleed,
And so his wealth unto the slaves would flow;
For what he calls his wealth, the slaves call greed.
Afflicted by their slave morality,
They seek no pathway to nobility.

About “A” & “B”

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Without a complaint and without a delay
They’ve published my postmodern poem called “A”.
I got the great news from the postman today –
They’re simply adoring my poem called “A”.
It’s daring, progressive, insightful they say;
A poetry gem is my masterpiece “A”.
A singular capital letter essay;
You’ll love it to pieces – to use a cliché.
They say for more poems they’re willing to pay,
So since I’ve composed this magnificent “A”,
I’ll harness my brainpower and try hard and see
If I can compose a new classic called “B”.

I promised to write a new poem called “B”;
It turned out quite perfect, I hope you’ll agree.
It’s much like my “A” for it’s just one removed;
Its shape is more rounded so somewhat improved,
And clearly recited, read softly or sung,
However you say it, it rolls off the tongue.
Of course formal poets will pick it to pieces –
Say such innovation, the art’s worth decreases,
But I take no notice of dinosaur turds;
They’re stuck in the past – they are still writing words.
Post modernists surely will drown it in praise;
It sums up vers libre in so many ways.
They’ll say that this poem will add to my fame,
And 24 more will establish my name.