|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
Ballad for Sgnt. Bob
Contributed by
incognito_bombastus
on
Wednesday, 7th January 2009 @ 07:23:00 PM in AEST
Topic:
ambiguous
|
Ballad for Sgnt. Bob
Hey Mr spam-marine man
Make a sandwich for me.
I'm fond of cheese and pickles,
but alfalfa bothers me.
There he goes now, wheel about
Such savouir faire and dollar clout
Don't be spare with your katchup,
Or your Mayonaise.
Hey, Mr hambone-lean man
So strikes the hand of chance
Your foe explodes,
Skull pulverized as you soil your
pants.
You'll know whom I'm talking about
When I tell you his full name.
Renowned throughout the cities
That have felt his hand of shame.
He loves Linguini and his shining
Lamborgini's
He rap-sodises well.
And the nations doing swell
For his weenies.
Pin stripe suits and golden braides.
All guess works
Is a pantomime aparthied and
His road blockades.
His eyes, they don't dart about
They are laser like too shoot.
He's well dressed, there he goes now
Its Jesus, in his Jackboots.
Hey Mr Sham Machine man
I know your armour is thick
It's pretty and its Heavy
But it ain't golden brick.
Seen him at the country fair
At the bank,
Or in his frog like tank.
There he goes! Now Its Jesus in his
Jackboots
Prison has three meals square
But it ain't no grand affair
Naked need is, pajama games and the
Whip will crack.
Crucify the son of man
Nail him to a garbage can.
A pretty picture, rotting rude.
A fine spun cloth in boots, but nude.
Watch closely through the dark
As he goose steps through the park
The little clerk he loves
His dreams of, avarice.
Feathers fly
For he's our guy
A fife, a drum, and tune
All continents too bestride, at high
noon.
Every dog shall have his bone
And every cat his ice cream cone
Says the seargant, thats
Jesus, in his Jackboots.
And if I see you some fine day
Taking lots of flack.
Remember these are your streets
So watch your back.
The western setting sun
Silloettes his smokin gun
As he's crucified in basements
And in his gun enplacements.
All of this, with gas mask at hip,
And a scowl upon his lips.
Music in his ear,
Feel the beat of his fear.
No, we never thought he'd shoot.
As we marched that golden route
Not as Dorothy, but pilgrams for
For Jesus, in jackboots.
Copyright ©
incognito_bombastus
... [
2009-01-07 19:23:00]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: Ballad for Sgnt. Bob
(User Rating: 1 )
by gmcse8 on
Thursday, 8th January 2009 @ 08:33:09 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
I tend to like to look at the works of people who comment on my feeble attempts at poetry, but I could never have guessed what awaited me when I checked your poems out. Damn,,,,,,wow...... you are a wordsmith. I read this one through a half dozen times and found something new to enjoy each read. My favorite line has to be the repetitive "Jesus In Jack Boots". wonderful imagery, and lest we forget lets discuss "Jack Boots through the Park". The mind can do so much with those phrases, the imagery keeps renewing itself with each read. This is getting overly long, but it is so easy to find new things in this to enjoy. I will be reading the rest of your works that are posted, Thanks.
Bob Jordan |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Site Help
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
