- Books, Literature, and Writing
By Tony DeLorger (4/08/06)
Reverent stares from gilded chairs and noses pert and dignified,
With pinkies poised on finest bone, Darjeeling steeped and sanctified.
Words of pomp and ceremony, bustling tales and sanctimony,
Snide remarks of judgement bound, societies elite do scoff resound.
Vying for wit and prominence, their narrow views a sad defence,
As staff weave in and out in service, biting tongues their trays all nervous.
Duty bound they fill the bone and try to steady their hands so prone,
Until at last the jig is up and a pot of tea is launched and up,
Up, up it goes, then down, down on Lady Sloan.
She quivers and gasps, her bulges amass, and rising to her feet,
The Lady doth protest it seems, with a gutter slang and cursing scene.
The room is frozen in abject shock, how could the Lady of quality mock,
A group so pure in every way, of social standing and position paid.
But a slight little thing named Amy Bing stepped forward with firm resolve,
Removed her hat and apron, and looked squarely at the mob.
Me bein a servant girl, heard words enough my hair to curl,
And you fine lot with all ya dough, well I never.
She turned on her heal and off she went, her apron in her hand,
And Lady Sloan, drenched to the bone, not a leg on which to stand.
By Tony DeLorger (17/7/06)
Disarming smiles and guileless styles, perpetual gleaming teeth,
the warm and benevolent salesman, does stand upon your feet.
Arms a flailing, radiating, proffering all that is heaven on earth,
with itchy fingers inside his britches, your fate his secret mirth.
Like the hunter he slowly circles, his eyes fixed and intent,
this sale already upon his chart, his bonus sure and spent.
But as you part your mouth for words, his brow turns up a tad,
& those words that salesman despise so much resound inside his head.
‘I’ll think about it’, comes cold and hard, expressionless as a board,
all hopes and dreams are dashed in one, and fall upon the sword.
As the salesman about to launch response, leans forward in repose,
the sale has turned and walked away, his intention never known.
It’s hard to be a salesman, a friend and an ally too,
and line the pockets of the Boss, with mortgage payment due.
But for every product known to man there’s a human need to match,
and the salesman simply joins the two, if not with a little catch.
So vigilant must a salesman be and know which one goes with which,
and pay that mortgage when he can, and ignore the nervous twitch.
My Right Arm
By Tony DeLorger 2005
The musty scent of bullets pinging filled the air,
amidst the acrid stench of rising death.
I clutched the moist dark earth, panting,
the cold hard steel of my rifle against my trembling flesh.
I wondered in my darkest place had I a chance to be,
any place other than this hell on earth,
I’d give my right arm to see.
Then a rumble shook me back to sense amidst a shower of falling debris.
Whilst my body reeled with confusion, my mind was clear and free.
And as the smoke and air around me cleared,
it revealed a sight difficult to conceive.
For a moment there I struggled, reality hardly seen.
There before me at my feet, alone and strangely living,
my right arm sat all disconnected, my wish no doubt been given.
So home I went all arm-less, from hell on earth- I wished,
and sadly do I now regret my arm so sorely missed.
Now I often go to scratch it, from some impulse or subconscious plea,
and the shock of finding but a stump will never cease to be.
In conclusion I admit a lesson learnt on making idle wishes.
Never utter a word in life, unless you really mean it.
Tony DeLorger's Book
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Search book 'The Crest - Poetry for the Soul'