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Laying Back - Parody Harry Graham - Ruthless Rhymes

Laying Back

Squire Squint, swatting a mosquito,
missed the pest but slipped a disc, -
discomfort followed and a veto
from Doctor Best for reckless risk.

21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Duck

Squire Squint, banging at a pheasant,
pranged, instead, a sitting duck, -
Said he, “It is a bit unpleasant
for hitting peasant to come unstuck ! ”

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Bull

Squire Squint, aiming at a pheasant,
maimed instead a stting bull,
turned tail, - but ‘tis the bull at present
frames the ears, keeps leg to pull!

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Ruthless Rhymes

Père repère quelques cris
de ses très chers, - frères ennemis,
Il noie les trois, ensuite il dit: -
‘Vus, pas sentis, - pauvres chéris! ’

17 August 1977

Ruthless Rhymes

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sitting Bull - Parody Harry Graham - Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Bull - Parody Harry Graham - Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Bull

Squire Squint, aiming at a pheasant,
maimed instead a stting bull,
turned tail, - but ‘tis the bull at present
frames the ears, keeps leg to pull!

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Duck

Squire Squint, banging at a pheasant,
pranged, instead, a sitting duck, -
Said he, “It is a bit unpleasant
for hitting peasant to come unstuck ! ”

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Laying Back

Squire Squint, swatting a mosquito,
missed the pest but slipped a disc, -
discomfort followed and a veto
from Doctor Best for reckless risk.

21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Ruthless Rhymes

Père repère quelques cris
de ses très chers, - frères ennemis,
Il noie les trois, ensuite il dit: -
‘Vus, pas sentis, - pauvres chéris! ’

17 August 1977

Ruthless Rhymes

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sitting Duck - Parody Harry Graham - Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Duck

Squire Squint, banging at a pheasant,
pranged, instead, a sitting duck, -
Said he, “It is a bit unpleasant
for hitting peasant to come unstuck ! ”

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Sitting Bull

Squire Squint, aiming at a pheasant,
maimed instead a stting bull,
turned tail, - but ‘tis the bull at present
frames the ears, keeps leg to pull!

1 August 1991,21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Laying Back

Squire Squint, swatting a mosquito,
missed the pest but slipped a disc, -
discomfort followed and a veto
from Doctor Best for reckless risk.

21 July 2006 Parody Harry GRAHAM Ruthless Rhymes

Ruthless Rhymes

Père repère quelques cris
de ses très chers, - frères ennemis,
Il noie les trois, ensuite il dit: -
‘Vus, pas sentis, - pauvres chéris! ’

17 August 1977

Ruthless Rhymes

Father heard his children scream
so he threw them in the stream,
saying, as he drowned the third,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Adrienne Vittadini

air bag blanco negro y
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air bag conveyor
air bag cop killer
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air bag cover 1999 honda prelude
air bag crash data reset

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Mosquito

Un mosquito
Cest un moustique en colre
Un mosquito
Pique et pique et pique dans la chair
Un mosquito
a pond ses oeufs dans nous rivires
Un mosquito
a vit au milieu de ses frres... un mosquito
Un mosquito
a rve loin de nos rizires
Un mosquito
a prfre la chaleur
Un mosquito
a frappe la tte la premire
Un mosquito
a boit du sang chaud ordinaire... un mosquito
Et a cloque chaud
Mosquito
Chez les modestes et les beaux
Mosquito
a pique chaud
Mosquito
Chez les bonzs, les plots
Un mosquito
Cest un moustique qui galre
Un mosquito
Pique et pique et pique dans ta chair
Un mosquito
Cest un mchant hlicoptre
Un mosquito
a vit du sang chaud des baigneurs... un mosquito
Et a cloque chaud
Mosquito
Chez les gentils les salauds
Mosquito
Et a pique chaud
Mosquito
Mme le chiens et les oiseaux
Mosquito
Et a cloque chaud
Mosquito
Chez les modestes et les beaux
Mosquito
a pique chaud
Mosquito
Chez les bronzs, les plots
Mosquito
Et a cloque chaud
Mosquito
Chez les gentils les salauds

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song performed by Vanessa Paradis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Drawing a Purple Blank Verse after Gelett BURGESS Purple Cow

DRAWING A PURPLE BLANK VERSE
Kindly refer to notes

I've never cowed to purple prose
know now I'll never write it,
for anyhow true writer knows
hand stretched finds critics bite it.

I've never wowed, and goodness knows
hacks lack the knack of versing,
won't bow, kowtow to backhand blows,
preferring role reverse_sing.

Ah, yes, I wrote on purple prose,
yet can't regret I penned it,
one far prefers rhyme's timeless flows,
no blush need rush defend it.

10 February 2009
robi03_1856_burg01_0001 PWX_IXX

Parody Gelett BURGESS The Purple Cow

Author notes

For original and variations on a theme see bekiw
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
THE PURPLE COW

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
CONFESSION

Ah, yes! I wrote the « Purple Cow » -
I’m Sorry, now, I Wrote it,
But I can Tell you Anyhow
I’ll Kill you if you Quote it.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
A Perfect Woman

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mary had a Little Vamp and Other Parodies after Sarah Josepha HALE

Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth glowed white as snow,
each night from sightly vent – no cramp -
the crimson droplets flow.

Some followed her from school one day;
though stalking's 'gainst the rules;
it made goose pimples grow and stay
to see them play at ghouls.

But they were caught, their tale remains
from history well hid,
though we discovered their remains
beneath oak coffin lid.

And so blood flowed from inside out,
none dared to lingered near
when shadows shiver, hang about
until Vamps disappear.

'Why does the Vamp love Mary so? '
the eager children cry;
'Why, Mary loves the Vamp, you know, '
the teacher did reply.

Sleep-overs followed, - little Vamp
A, B, AB, O, drew
by light of Mary’s lurid lamp
new haemoglobulu.

Thus vampire Vlad made Mary glad
hark! men well-read may read,
from kid school lad to college grad, -
mark then welt's red fey bead.

He wore a scarlet cape to match
sweet Mary’s ruddy lips,
attached thereto a cup to catch
the rhesus drips he sips.

No fly-by-night awed Mary’s Vamp,
he could fear blend at need,
though sky high flight soared scary champ -
we here end batty screed.

© Jonathan Robin parody written 3 May 2007 revised 3 September 2008 - for previous version see below

Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth were white as snow,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fitration Bags

2.5 gallon shopvac bags
1995 ktm 400 rxc hard bags
2006 black leather prada bags list
24 x 36 shrink bags
18 x 9 padded bag
3m printscape personalized gift bag
20lb bag parrot food
40 inch round duffle bag
2001 explorer air bag light flashes
3rd street sissy bar bag
1997 nissan air bag sensor
12x18 carry bag
1001 grab bag ideas
2000 explorer air bag light flashing
15,000 cfm used bag dustcollector
12 lb turkey recipies in bag
14.1 laptop messenger bags
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4 mil zip bags
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1970s bean bag
18th century shooting bags
48 superman bop bag
2006 kawasaki ninja 250r bags
1976 electra glide saddle bags
1940 s english aoutomobiles gas bags
40 lb bag of cement
07 cr-v safety bag plastic pillar
2 gauge ear plug grab bag
1998 saturn sl2 air bag module
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3x4 organza gift bags
3 bags full consignment
2000 mercedes air bag problem
2ply snap handle bag
1987 bmw k75s saddle bags
2003 bozo desktop bop bag
135 approved electronic flight bag
2005 toyota matrix side air bags
2006 bag gucci spring
3 insulated sleeping bags
4in bag ice one
2008 street bob hard bags
45 micron bag
250 ninja nelson-rigg saddle bag
24 wheeled garment bag
1996 lincoln continental air bag suspension
2006 aka boule bag
400d horn bag

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by Morrissey
Added by Lucian Velea
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Trash Bag

1 bag cement mold
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2006 kia rio side air bags
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2002 altima air bags
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360121 bat bag
$1 tea bag holder
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2005 jackie o gucci hand bag
1 bag cement mixers
1920s clutch bag
1.5 oz bag reg chips
1 bag popcorn serving size
2000 saturn sl air bag light
11 gallon garbage bags
306 leather tour sissy bag

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Pillage Hangman - Parody LONGFELLOW - The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, -rejoicing, -sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Milkmaid's Song

Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn,
Turn by the dale, my Harry!
Fill pail, fill pail,
He has turned by the dale,
And there by the stile waits Harry.
Fill, fill,
Fill, pail, fill,
For there by the stile waits Harry!
The world may go round, the world may stand still
But I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.

Wheugh, wheugh!
O, if we two
Stood down there now by the water,
I know who'd carry me over the ford
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord,
Though I don't live over the water.
Wheugh, wheugh! he's whistling through,
He's whistling 'The Farmer's Daugher.'
Give down, give down,
My crumpled brown!
He shall not take the road to the town,
For I'll meet him beyond the water.
Give down, give down,
My crumpled brown!
And send me to my Harry.
The folk o' towns
May have silken gowns,
But I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.

Wheugh, wheugh! he has whistled through
He has whistled through the water.
Fill, fill, with a will, a will,
For he's whistled through the water,
And he's whistling down
The way to the town,
And it's not 'The Farmer's Daughter!'
Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,
The sun sets over the water,
Churr, churr! goes the cockchafer,
I'm too late for my Harry!
And, O, if he goes a-soldiering,
The cows they may low, the bells they may ring,
But I'll neither milk nor marry,
Fill pail,
Neither milk nor marry.

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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Rode to a Knight Impale - after John Keats - Ode to a Nightingale

. :) kindly refer to notes. :)

My part aches and a rousing stiffness pains
my whole as though viagra I had drank,
or loosened up some pheronomic chains
split seconds past, endorphined, anticipating prank.
'Tis not through envy that I ask a lot,
but seeking through your image happiness,
love-lipped epitome of all that please
amused muse stays aware that what you've got
conjurs wet dreams, streams’ ready eddies numberless,
straw hollow swallows spring in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
fat vat prime time cocked, erect in deep pelvic berth,
tasting of horny fauna’s jelly beans,
dancing tandem to tambourine song since sunny birth!
O for a beaker full of the warm south,
filled to whet winking brink noways obscene,
with beaded bubbles oozing at the brim,
of purple-hooded mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
and with thee knock on doors quite in the swim:
ride far away, knot solve, and quite forget
what you senses leaves had never known,
no weariness, no fever, and no fret.
Here, men lose wit to hear each other groan
as palsy shakes a few, sad, beardless chins,
where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and sighs;
where but to think of size baits rod with sorrow
and leaden-eyed despairs,
No, Beauty, none may mime your lustrous eyes,
where new Love pines, fears un-orgasmic morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
not roped in by vile censors, critics’ pards,
but on untrammelled wings of intimacy,
though most dull brains perplex, their sloth retards.
Already with thee! tender is the night,
and tenderness my motto ‘tis well known
to massage tissues starry nights, sun days,
without the which love’s light
moons absence of reflection, breezes blown
through tortuous gameplays, inexperienced ways.

You should not care what flowers are at your feet,
for all is incense garland, and endows

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Banging On My Drum

Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drum
Then banging on my drum, boy
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my drums, yeah
Im banging on my drums
Im banging on my drum, now baby
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drums, boy
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my one, huh, my one
Yeah, my, my drum
Im banging on my one, my drums, my one
Im banging on my drum
Yeah, Im banging on drums, yeah
Yeah, Im banging on drum
Yeah, Im banging on drums, now, now
And Im having lots of fun, fun, fun
Yeah

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Reckless

You make me reckless, reckless everyday
You make me reckless
Standin by the disco floor
Spot this girl
My heart jump and move
Yeah, yeah
Walk over said to her
Lovely things
She said I was a fool
Oh no
She said
This is not the right time baby
I came here to groove
Hmmmmmmm
And recklessly
I took my time
When I look back
The girls had made a move
Yeah, yeah
The music played on, played on
Why didnt you make your move
Somebody came on, came on
And stole the girl from you
Its the groove
That makes you move
So come on and get down
To this funky sound
Do what you please
You are entitled to flaunt
Get wild and reckless
If you want
cause the sound we deliver
Will take you higher
Most definately with
Desire, desire, de si si si sire
You make me reckless, reckless everyday
You make me reckless
You make me reckless, reckless everyday
You make me reckless
You make me reckless, reckless everyday
You make me reckless
You make me reckless, reckless everyday
You make me reckless
So as the music play
I had to find a way
To catch her eye
Yeah, yeah
The partner she was with
He did not know how to gig
Said i

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song performed by Ub40
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Bonnie Lass o' Ruily

'Twas in the village of Ruily there lived a bonnie lass
With red, pouting lips which few lasses could surpass,
And her eyes were as azure the blue sky,
Which caused Donald McNeill to heave many a love sigh

Beyond the township of Ruily she never had been,
This pretty maid with tiny feet and aged eighteen;
And when Donald would ask her to be his wife,
"No," she would say, "I'm not going to stay here all my life."

"I'm sick of this life," she said to Donald one day,
"By making the parridge and carrying peats from the bog far away."
"Then marry me, Belle, and peats you shall never carry again,
And we might take a trip to Glasgow and there remain."

Then she answered him crossly, "I wish you wouldn't bother me,
For I'm tired of this kind of talk, as you may see."
So at last there came a steamer to Ruily one day,
So big that if almost seemed to fill the bay.

Then Belle and Effie Mackinnon came to the door with a start,
While Belle's red, pouting lips were wide apart;
But when she saw the Redcoats coming ashore
She thought she had never seen such splendid men before.

One day after the steamer "Resistless" had arrived,
Belle's spirits seemed suddenly to be revived;
And as Belle was lifting peats a few feet from the door
She was startled by a voice she never heard before.

The speaker wore a bright red coat and a small cap,
And she thought to herself he is a handsome chap;
Then the speaker said, "'Tis a fine day," and began to flatter,
Until at last he asked Belle for a drink of watter.

Then she glanced up at him shyly, while uneasy she did feel,
At the thought of having to hoist the peat-creel;
And she could see curly, fair hair beneath his cap,
Still, she thought to herself, he is a good-looking chap.

And his eyes were blue and sparkling as the water in the bay,
And he spoke in a voice that was pleasant and gay;
Then he took hold of the peat-creel as he spoke,
But Belle only laughed and considered it a joke.

Then Belle shook her head and lifted the peats on her back,
But he followed her home whilst to her he did crack;
And by and by she brought him a drink of watter,
While with loving words he began Belle to flatter.

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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Tale XII

'SQUIRE THOMAS; OR THE PRECIPITATE CHOICE.

'Squire Thomas flatter'd long a wealthy Aunt,
Who left him all that she could give or grant;
Ten years he tried, with all his craft and skill,
To fix the sovereign lady's varying will;
Ten years enduring at her board to sit,
He meekly listen'd to her tales and wit:
He took the meanest office man can take,
And his aunt's vices for her money's sake:
By many a threat'ning hint she waked his fear,
And he was pain'd to see a rival near:
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He bore, nor found his grov'ling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish'd his parents to traduce,
Fawning he smiled, and justice call'd th' abuse:
'They taught you nothing: are you not at best,'
Said the proud Dame, 'a trifler, and a jest?
Confess you are a fool!'--he bow'd and he

confess'd.
This vex'd him much, but could not always last:
The dame is buried, and the trial past.
There was a female, who had courted long
Her cousin's gifts, and deeply felt the wrong;
By a vain boy forbidden to attend
The private councils of her wealthy friend,
She vow'd revenge, nor should that crafty boy
In triumph undisturb'd his spoils enjoy:
He heard, he smiled, and when the Will was read,
Kindly dismiss'd the Kindred of the dead;
'The dear deceased' he call'd her, and the crowd
Moved off with curses deep and threat'nings loud.
The youth retired, and, with a mind at ease,
Found he was rich, and fancied he must please:
He might have pleased, and to his comfort found
The wife he wish'd, if he had sought around,
For there were lasses of his own degree,
With no more hatred to the state than he;
But he had courted spleen and age so long,
His heart refused to woo the fair and young;
So long attended on caprice and whim,
He thought attention now was due to him;
And as his flattery pleased the wealthy Dame,
Heir to the wealth, he might the flattery claim:
But this the fair, with one accord, denied,
Nor waived for man's caprice the sex's pride.
There is a season when to them is due
Worship and awe, and they will claim it too:
'Fathers,' they cry, 'long hold us in their chain,

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poem by George Crabbe
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The Hand That Feeds

Doctor, doctor, doctor
Please, doctor, doctor, please
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Feel like an old diseace
Get your sweet ass off the floor
Doctor, doctor, doctor
I cant refuse any loose harted lady anymore
I scream your name into the crowd
You feel the flame, but yo aint proud
Mabye your attitude aint right
So all thats left for me to do is bite
The hand that feeds me
Feeds me
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Doctor, doctor, please
All things you put me through
What the hell you want me to
Do all the things that uncle john needs
I aint the dog that bites the hand that feeds me
In the middle of, with a spittle of
Et tu like birds of a feather
When another day, love another way
Push, shove, make love, play
Never never, never ever
Never ever, never ever
Na, na...
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Please do a-what you can
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Would you please give my life a hand
All the things you put me trough
What the hell you want me to
Do all the things that uncle john needs
I aint the dog that bites the hand that feeds me, yeah
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Doctor, doctor, please
(repeat)

song performed by Aerosmith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Box Car Harry

The railroad dick looked straight at him, eyes unwavering, beady-eyed, menacing, and Harry counted his change to see if there was enough for a bribe; searched his thoughts for an escape route, but he was not as young as he used to be and the dick was young, legs like a deer.

He tussled Barney’s hair and said:

“Go there in that thar car and wait for me, got to dump the dick. Wait for my whistle.”
Barney looked up him hesitantly and Harry stammered hoarsely

“Go! ”

Barney scrambled on all fours the way Harry had taught him and quickly disappeared under cover of the dark Chicago night.

Always, the dick against the Bos, the rich against the poor was Harry’s thought, been that way since her was born, the wanders, the lose, the lose people on the road trying to find an odd job and a meal, against the railroad fat cats trying to exterminate the railroad people, who what was just trying to get by.

Harry held his breath and told himself to concentrate and finally turned back to the dick and showed himself, full on so as the dick could get a good look at him. The dick wide-eyed and incredulous stared hard at Harry surprised by the brazenness of the tramp and stood stock still for a moment, prey in the eyes of the predator.

Harry swayed a little left and then a little right like a running back taunting the linebacker, which way boy, am I going to bolt, which way is the question. Harry feinted a dash to the right and the dick crouched right ready for the chase, Harry smiled and then feinted to the left, testing the dick’s reflexes. The dick danced to the left enjoying the thrilling moment before the chase.

Harry guessed Barney had had time to secure himself in the car and then dashed straight toward the dick, who was thoroughly surprised and steeled himself for what he thought would be a crash between the two men. But Harry at the last minute slanted right allowing the dick to remain close behind but not enough to lay hand on him.

He headed for track 13 for the Great Northern line car.
The dick was breathing behind him; Harry could hear his labored breaths, close enough but not close enough to grab, what was what Harry wanted.

He hit the Northern line yard and saw number 13 looming. The dick was laughing behind him yelping with the sheer joy of it all, feeling he had Harry cornered because the Northern lot was a closed in one, a big wall in the back, a closed station and of course cars, most closed.

But Harry was aiming toward 13 and left up into the car and waited for the dick to catch up and see him. Harry looked down at the man’s heaving chest smiling his best Harry smile.

To be Continued

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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