The Storyteller. J. Michaels
Читать онлайн книгу.
of burping took their toll
Bodies lay limp and depleted
Lesser ones belched out and spent
Those left standing all but exhausted
Until at last only two remained
The best of the belchers in Belgium land
They squared off and faced each other
Each determined to out belch the rest
Rangus McGee, the reigning champ
From the isle of green and Guinness
Facing Big George of England
Self taught at London’s finest pubs
Rangus went first as custom bound
Drank his pint and held his breath
Leaving the crowd cheering and waiting
For the inevitable blast at last
The tension mounted as Rangus held on
Face turning red as the hair on his head
The great belch on its way now
Unfettered, it roared from his mouth
Silence followed the belch supreme
The fans stunned and amazed
At what Rangus had rendered that day
A belch for the ages, leaving all dazed
Rangus now done and quite pleased
With the performance of a lifetime
Confident he had conquered
Yet another opponent less ventilated
Big George stood and hushed the crowd
His size and belly, both quite grand
He took no beverage, no aid of any kind
Simply reared back and belched his all
That left none standing, nor windows intact
Big George stood surveying the mess
That his extraordinary flatulence created
He had bested the best
Poor Rangus deflated
Defeated at last
From the poetry collection Common Ground
Rebel Yell
Blood draining from me
Into the dirt, my bed
An unusual place to die
An unfit burial ground
It seems like so long ago
When a mere boy I was
Running through those golden fields
Riding ole Bess to school
Then one day the soldiers came
Stern faces accepting no objection
Insisting we join them or else
To defend our sovereign nation
So Daddy, Bruce, and I departed
From our beloved Carolina home
Donned the woolen grey suits
That marked us rebels all
Mama’s crying, Sissy too
Left man less and defenseless
Tears in all eyes, ours too
So sad, and proud, and scared
The first day wasn’t so bad
A few shots and cannons away
Still no blood flowing
No wounds to slay
By mid morning of the next
My brother lay in my arms
Nearly breathless and speechless
His life seeping away
The Lord took him that day
Bruce’s blood on my sleeves
The darkness had dawned
My life would never be the same
Before the day ended
I lost my daddy too
A hole in his head, instantly dead
In one short day, three less two
From that day onward
I never really cared
If bullet or bayonet forced me
To join my men folk at Heaven’s gate
At least that’s where I hope we go
When I leave this world so foul
I’ll tell you very shortly
Farewell, my fallen friends
From the poetry collection Common Ground
Man on a Wire
High above the landscape
Rooftops appear below
A man looks down upon us
Makes ready to walk on air
He seems so calm, so at ease
As he stares at the depths below
What brought him here
To this time and place
Preparing to balance on wire
To walk where no one has tried
To be above the average pedestrian
To do what could only be imagined
To do what few would dare
What drives such a man
To such feats up high
Why must he do this thing
Perhaps his way to fly
Looking deep inside before the feat
To challenge both courage and means
To decide for one last time
If it is worth his death to him
For demise is what he wagers
This gamble with prize unknown
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.