Who is ListeniNG?
An island float:
In iron coat,
Commands the Mispec shore;
It fills a glut;
Amazing but,
Though troth be filled, they will have more¦
That heavy crude,
Burns black and rude,
And spills bequeath great chore;
But liquid gas,
Doth better pass,
Through safety spilled: its at our door¦
Equipment roars,
Like corporate whores,
Along the Stretch beside the shore;
For what's in store:
Was here before,
This roads been grilled,the bank is poor
Like Phantom ships,
The houses slip,
To greet the oceans frothy roar;
No time to pack,
Foundations cracked,
Yet on they build, with needs galore¦
And if she blows,
So Redhead goes,
In history books as fiery lore;
The landscape baked,
Cause heads to shake,
When all are killed 3 miles, and more¦
And for the rent,
They toss a cent,
To make our danger less a chore;
The bulls eye track,
Soon on our back,
The grist is milled, but are we sure?
Mark McGovern, June 4, 2005
2 comments:
Great poem. It must be posted everywhere especially outside the city hall and close to Irving refinery and all the gas stations.
You use the Whore in your poem. The real whore is our premier. You know what that say about whores. After you pay them they will take any position you want them to.
Hey current premier is like that. If you are very rich and assure him you will help him win next election and give him political contributions. Then he will take any position you want him to take including giving $112 million in tax breaks. So what is the difference between him and a whore, NONE.
Exellent poem,very creative & to the point - On your doorstep informative.
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