STONEY'S POETRY PAGE

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STONEY'S POETRY PAGE

Welcome poetry lovers...come on in and kick back for a few minutes and sample some of the poems I've written over the last few years. All of these poems are in free verse, some in rhyme and some not.
I know that rhymed verse is out of fashion among the 'net-set', but I enjoy a good rhyming poem, and I especially like writing them. Poetry is meant to be read out loud, and this is especially true of rhyme.
For example, read "Two Special Boys" to yourself and then read it out loud, and see for yourself which you prefer.
I've read some excellent poetry in my visits to various poetry forums and personal pages. Of course, you have to wade through a lot of dross to find the 'gems'.
Yet, each of us must satisfy a need to express ourselves and to turn our creation out into the harsh world for others to see and to either approve, or disapprove.
For anyone who wants to contact me, just stick a message in the bottle with your comments, or use my Guestbook.
After you've read a poem, just hit your back button to return to the table of contents.
If you're still in a poetry reading mood, check out the site below:

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Tiger

A Death On The Tundra

Snapshot

Coyote Ugly

Suttee - Canadian style

The Famous Gunfight Between
Desperado Dan and Pecos Bill

The Generation Gap

Used Car Salesman

Arnie Get Your Gun, eh?

What Do The Animals do?

The Ballad of Nancy McFay

Tiger
Tiger! I watch you,
pacing, in your cage,
How magnificant you are
in your smoldering rage!
If it were
within my power,
I'd set you free
this very hour.
Rather than view
your sad estate,
I would the
Gods berate
on your behalf,
To let swing wide
the restraining gate,
And transport you
to your native plain,
Back to the wild
from whence you came

Snapshot
A drunken wretch lies
comotose in the gutter,
Cradling an empty jug
as if it were mother's milk;
encased in a dirty brownpaper bag,
Recent vomit soils his dirty coat
as he lays there, oblivious
to the pedestrians
who shy away from him in disgust,
The only living thing who
cares whether he lives or dies,
Lays curled beside him,
his muzzle pillowed
on the derelict's lap,
Waiting patiently
for him to stir

Stoney, Jan 1, 2003

Coyote Ugly
He sashayed into the bar
all lean and cool
and ordered a jar
as he plopped on a stool

"Either buy a drink
or get on yer bike"
"Give me time to think,"
the patron replied

"A shot of whiskey
Is what I'll take,
It makes me frisky
so ya better talk nice
for yer very own sake"

The fella turned
and eyeballed the room
checkin' out the talent
that he'd be takin' home soon

There was nothing fancy
that caught his eye
tho' he was feeling kinda ansty
he kept sippin' on his rye

And bided his time
as the clock ticked on,
he was in his prime
sporting a large piss hard-on

On his seventh drink
this horny young fellow
found it hard to think;
he was gettin' kinda mellow

Over in the back booth
was a solitary lass
with a missing front tooth
and a big fat ass

The dude sauntered
over to the booth,
as Marie pondered
this guy with no couth

He jutted out his hips
to profile his cock,
as he eyed her tits,
she eyed his crotch

It was a match made in heaven
any fool could see
He easily had seven
and she was in need

They repaired to her room
just a few blocks down,
they'd be at it soon
and they'd do it up brown

After some drunken passion
they both fell asleep
Marie'd had her ration
Of this soused up creep

Around 6 a.m. the gent began to stir
He looked around the room
til he got a load of her,
idly wondering where
she'd parked her broom

Then he paled
at what he saw
and he tried not to move
as he gazed at her maw
and her monstrous groove

He had ta get out
'cus she'd awaken soon,
so he glanced about;
he knew it was himself
he'd have'ta prune

'cus she was layin'
across his arm
so's he couldn't move
without buyin' the farm,

So he hatched a plan
to break himself free;
this poor, desperate man,
He was kinda gutsy

As you will soon discern,
the gent leaned toward Marie,
and gnawed at his arm
'till he became an amputee

Quietly,
he slid off the bed
leaving her pillow
on his limb so dead

Thus lies the fate,
and it applies doubly
When you chance to mate
with a Coyote Ugly

Stoney

Suttee - Canadian Style
One hopes it won't transpire
That the wife is tossed
On my funeral bier,
Surely, the sprogue she dropped
Won't also merit the fire
Just for having me
As his sire

It was only a bit of a tryst,
A few wee drinks,
...we were hardly pissed
So don't toast her... all;
maybe just her wrist,
Cooked to a turn
nice and crisp

That'll do for amenities' sake
Afterall, one cannot ask
the whole of the girl; to bake
Just that one small appendage,
As a small keepsake...

Stoney

The Famous Gunfight Between
Desperado Dan and Pecos Bill
He was mean;
he was evil,
Was our Desperado Dan
In fact, he was not...
a very nice man

He made his first kill,
At the age of eleven,
And the preacher new then,
This fella wasn't
destined for heaven

Dan was rough
and Dan was tough,
He never gave quarter
when a man hollared, "'nuff!"

He'd kick him in the teeth
he'd kick'um ina bladder,
He'd spike out his eyes
and beat him helpless,
To Dan, it simply
didn't matter,

So Dan was feared
and he was hated,
let's face it,
Dan was weird
To Dan, a soft word
and a gentle caress
was highly over-rated

If you wus smart
you crossed the street
when Dan was out,
if ya didn't
wanta get beat,
and have a fist
shoved down yer throat

Then along came Pecos Bill
he was tall and lean
from months on the trial,
He had steel in his eyes
and an iron will,
People soon learned
not to fuck
with Pecos Bill

The townspeople regarded
these two titans from afar;
that they'd clash
was inevitable,
and there'd soon be
a brand new vegetable
planted up in
Boot Hill garden

So it came as no surprise
that when Bill hit town
the lead would soon fly,
And likely as not
some damned fool
'ud get shot

Opinions varied
as to who was faster,
and which ass-hole
would kill which bastard

It was round about six
when Dan'd commenced ta drinkin',
he figured just for kicks
to hit the Lucky Star
at the other end of town
and sample their bar

Only this was where
Pecos liked
to hang his hat,
So when Dan sauntered in
the piano tickler froze
and the music went flat

Both men turned
and eyed each other,
Not a word was spoke
as they each took measure,
Then before ya knew it
each slapped leather,
and the fur began to fly

The boys were evenly matched,
'cus spectators
swear to this day
they only heard one shot,
yet both men lay;
each with a new hole
in the very same spot -
right between their eyes

Well, for months after
the argument waxed,
and a legal battle ensued,
It was ruled that
all bets were off,
And everyone who'd wagered
figured he'd been screwed

These are the facts
about that famous gun duel,
Hope you've learned
that if ya bet
on something like that
yer a god-damned fool

Stoney, 16 Dec. 2002

A Death On The Tundra
(...A Prose Poem)
The big grey thudded through the light, billowing, snow maintaining a
visual distance from the herd, his mate and her brother trailed behind and
slightly to the left, keeping about forty yards from the rear-most animals

The two pups had taken up position on the far side of the migrating
cariboo, they were almost full-grown now and would soon leave to strike
out on their own; this was the last season they would hunt with the pack

The wolves had been shadowing this large migration for several weeks,
noting the lame and the infirm animals who would eventually become
stragglers from the main body. It was three days since their bellies
were full from their last kill and they needed to feed to-night before
the cold and the pace sapped the last of their strength,

The pack had marked the faltering progress of an old bull,
he'd received severe damage during the rutting season and had
lost an eye, and sometimes he would veer off from the main herd
in confusion, yet, he was still a formidible adversery

The alpha male had bided his time; he signalled his packmates
to move in, the pack expertly cut the old warrior out from the rest
of the herd as the leader swiftly took up position
on the old bull's blind side, the leader measured the distance
and silently leaped toward the exposed throat of his prey,

The leap was true, but instinct and this veteran of many battles,
sensed the danger and dropped his head to meet the unseen challenge,

The big grey was thrown over the bull's shoulder, and landed heavily;
his jaw broken, the pack, sensing the attack had failed, dropped back
allowing the old bull to re-join the herd for yet another day

Whimpering quietly, each pack member nuzzled their fallen leader and
assessed his injury, the grey exposed his throat to his mate and
watched steadfastly as she approached...

- Stoney 17 August '02

The Generation Gap

I am the Past
and Experience
is the only rudder
I can offer you

As you steer
your course
through the rocky
shoals of your future

You are the Present
a brash, yet flimsy
Skiff bent on
self destruction

And thus, it ever was
that Past spoke vainly
to Present, who rushed
impatiently to its fate

Stoney, 16 May 2002

Used Car Salesman
Mistake not
His sleazy grin
For the smile
Of a friend,

He is a predator
And his young
Are mean and
Cowardly curs

With hearts as cold
As their baleful eyes
Salivating after
The hapless lamb

These are worse
Than the rabid wolf
For they have
The mind of Man

The wife and I recently traded in our old pickup
for a '98 Pontiac Grand Am Special Edition. We were
successful in negotiating a fair deal at the first two
levels of used car dealer chicanery.
It was at the 3rd level where I relaxed my vigil,
thinking that all of the negotiating was over and
that we had a deal. This is when you're in
the administrator's office drawing up the formal papers. Before I realized it, they managed to crack on
another $4,000 and change in add-ons.
We managed to extract ourselves from most of the add-on debt, but it still cost us an extra $250. Needless
to say, my bunkhole is still sore!
You know, I've never come out of a new or used car
dealership yet without feeling that I've been royally
and truly shafted.

ARNIE GET YOU GUN, EH?
There's talk all around
That old Patch is in town
And I've heard people say
He's charter N.R. - A.

He's here to recruit
More fuel for the fire
Since the souls in Beruit
Now sing in his choir

Now, America's in line
And production is fine
It's time to expand,
To open new markets
- to bleed a new land

'Cus it's hard to imagine
The devastation to be wrought
From the barrel of a gun
That one has just bought

So the guy in the next lane
Is giving you jive?
Remind him his manners
Flash your .45

If he continues his folly
There's a thing you can do
Disabuse him, by golly!
Fire a round or two

If he crashes and burns
It's nothing to you
You're only emphasizing
...your point of view...

Stoney, 17 Nov. 1994

This one was a bit of satire on the lasting effects of moment-
arily giving in to road-rage. We've all felt it from time-to-time;
fortunately, in Canada not many of us are driving around
with a weapon in our glove compartment.

Venting

Sometime, the day will come
And I'll put aside my tools
When my work is done
Nor sorrow feel, for those other fools

Who labour away
In their particular vineyard
Too tired to play
And for too meager reward

Hell! The place is torn
'tween rack and ruin
Look! See all over the floor
Workers' rights are strewn

So I'll just sing a wee ditty
And go on a spree
Find someplace where
The girls are all pretty
And the beer is all free

The bosses might beg
And they might plead
...I'll simply crack another keg
And continue going to seed

"Oh, Stoney come back
Here, taste this fine weed"
But I'll shoulder my sack
'cus on the manager's shoes
I've just peed

Oh, and I musn't forget
That other little slime-r
The diminutive one
The wee ladder climber

She perches up there
Alone in her web
With naught to declare
And nothing is said

Sometimes I wonder
Why all the good job- os
Seem to go to these ass-kissing yobbos?
They must've learned fast
Where to press their probiscus;
Up which particular ass

It's fine for some
I have to confess
But licking someone's bum
S'not my cup of tea, I guess...

After many months of suffering fools, I sat down and wrote
this piece. At the time, as I recall, the writing was cathartic...

Two Special Boys

Cast out from heaven,
Sowing hatred and discord,
The Dark Angel paused
Amid the creatures of the Lord
- err descending into Hell.

With thund'rous voice the angel spoke,
His eyes were piercing black,
About him fire and brimstone roiled,
and Daemons capered at his back.

"Is there one tormented?
Is there a heart bereft?
Is there a spirit so demented,
'twould put his soul at risk?"

Of the creatures gathered there,
Only one answered the call,
He, the most favoured of God,
With free-will, his the farthest fall.

With malignant glee, Satan smiled,
Upon the face of Man,
At one so easily beguiled,
Yet so material to his plan.

"For those who will embrace the Dark,
I pledge that each foul act,
And every cruel deed you do,
Puts a seal upon our pact."

"And when your line
Has run its course,
And you're beyond the pale
With no remorse,

Then in my realm you will abide,
Along with Jeff and Jack,
(For those two special boys, you see,
- Cerberus brings their slippers,)
Near lads like these you shall reside
The Dahmer and the Ripper."

- Stoney

Now if that's not an incentive to mend your errant ways...*g*
talk about the neighbours from Hell!
While in no way condoning Dahmer's abhorant crimes, I eventually came to pity this poor, tortured creature who was
so enslaved by his passions.

BOMBER McVEIGH
Two men will pass this way to-day
One is good, and noble, and industrious
While the other broods only upon
The vile, the wretched, and the spurious

Each trods a similar road
On the march toward his majority
One will hold high office
The other, mass destruction his priority

Then comes a fork in the road
Exactly where, no one can say
Each chose the path he would take
And somehow, - one lost his way

Now both men have formed their intent
Each, in pursuit of his quest
One, to serve his neighbour
The other, pain and sorrow his bequest

Too late! The die is cast!
Though the signs were marked plain enough
The first would endure great hardship
While the other didn't have the right stuff

As the sands of time run their course
An unknown scribe pens his final verse
The good man is remembered warmly
While the other provokes only a curse

When history alludes to the Georgia man
It notes his Presidential way
As for the Oklah felon -
He's reviled as Bomber McVeigh

- Stoney, 1998

This was an effort to come to grips with the starkly
contrasting behaviour of some individuals in our society,
by juxtapositioning the lives of two of its contemporaries;
Jimmy Carter and Timothy McVeigh.

Courting Companion
Who is this saucy fellow?
Who is this indolent chap?
To saunter in so casual
And pillow on your lap?

Bid thy cosset nearer me
That I too may stroke his back
And commune in that language
Which is not,

His sleek and tawny coat
Bespeaks a loving care
The better to evoke
A primped and pampered air,

Yet he rumbles satisfactor-ly
Upon his plushy pillow
As if to say,
"Oh, it's just my way,
I'm such a lazy fellow!"

- Stoney, 14 April '96

This was simply a whimsical piece I wrote one day
after visiting my mother and observing the behaviour of her
Persian cat.

Alone
Alone, I stand
Before my Lord
Awaiting His final nod
Upon the way
I've lived my life
And how I've served my God

Fearfully, my mind
Casts back
Across that span of years
Recalling all the laughter,
All the heartache,
Aye, and all the tears

Oh, there were things
I wish I'd done
And things I should have known
But now I must
Either stand,... or fall
On life's choices I made, alone...

Stoney, March 30, 1997

The Grim Reaper
I sense near me, a presence
Wherefore, there should be none
Fearfully, mine eyes they probe
Seeking out the Terrible One

My name, it speaks
To my errant soul
Its visage grim
'neath hooded cowl

It bids me touch
That dreadful hem
My time, I know
Is - now!

With deft flick
Of that murderous blade
My earthly bonds
It severs

And mesmerized by
Those vast black orbs
My soul, it sucks from me
- and bids me look back, never!

An ending, no beginnings
As my spiritual shell
It sends to Hell
I regret, there's no more innings...

Stoney, April 4, 1997

Spanking

In our town
There is a house
And in that house
There is a room

The room's
Reserved for special clients
With bottoms soft
And enticingly pliant

There is a girl
With a strong right arm
Bright as a button
Fresh off the farm

And on a table
Covered with lace
Her tools are arrayed
Each, in its place

There are belts with studs,
There are belts with buckles,
There are paddles and shackles
And an old set of brass knuckles

Here you'll be punished
To your heart's desire
She'll even suspend
A forty lb weight from your wire

For the right price
You'll be beaten and thrashed
Just as long as your wallet
Is bulging with cold cash

So if its fun you want
And your taste runs to spanking
Just fork over your dough
She'll soon have you wanking.

Stoney

I wrote this during the course of a poetry challenge
in one of the poetry forums, and I recently found it
on a back-up floppy, so I decided to include it
as a counter-balance to some of the more somber poems.

Solitaries
I weep for what might have been
Had I not been formed by chance
There are never tears enough
To sweep away the pain
I prowl under this vast, angry sky
And draw scant comfort
From the cold, pelting rain

I feel trapped by a recurring past
And ravaged by life's harsh laws
My soul cries out for some surcease
From my multitudinous character flaws
I'm forever condemned
To move through life
Like one of nature's great solitaries

Damned by hap and circumstance
To taste of life
Through chance encounters
So precious, so scarce, and so vicarious!.

Stoney, June 30, 1997

The Idle Sisters
The Straits of Madagascar
Are not for the novice sailor
Not Man-of -War, East India Man
Or Nan-tucket Whaler

For, lying silent below the foam
The Idle Sisters wait
On the foolhardy master
Who would gamble his vessel's fate

Lo! Half a hundred ships or more
Have dared this brazen passage
Now most lay strewn across the ocean floor
In testimony to the Sisters' message

A sleek Xebec sails before the wind
Tacking daintily through the narrows
Her Privateer captain, a daring devil
From Cap'n Teach, a trick he borrows

For he knows the price of failure
Should the race they fail to win it
It's a drumhead court before the mast
And a trip to the hangman's gibbet

In hot pursuit, a mighty seventy-four
Hoves swiftly into view
Her blackened gun ports opened wide
As flames from her bow chasers spew

Fluttering atop her main royals
With her sails all a-back
Is the battle flag
Of the haughty Chief of Amorak

The Xebec glides o'er the Sisters
With nary a foot to spare
As her crafty master gives the command
For the little ship to wear

Her slender bow bites deeper waters
Mid the horrified cries astern
The seventy-four, lumbering heavily in irons
Strikes the Sisters, and the waters churn

Ripped from bow to midships
The roiling seas invade
Slowly the waters drag her off the rocks
Pulling her down to a watery grave

The screams of the dying ship
Send chills through the pirate crew
Were it not for the skill of their captain
T'would be their wives and lovers
Filing into the mourners pew

...an unrelenting sea,
and the Sisters silently wait
For the next unwary traveler
To test his skill, or to greet his fate...

Stoney, May 14, 1997

A Chance Encounter
Do you recall the time
When we two strangers
Paused on a wooded path
In the springtime
Of our youth?

When our eyes locked momentarily
Each held the other
Enthralled
Scarcely drawing breath
Savouring the moment?

Then, our surrender to convention
Passing...words of desire
Left unspoken on our lips
Retreating, saddened at the certain
Knowledge of what might have been

Had we but met
Before others imposed
Their rules
Upon whom we may
And may not love?

Now, after half a century
We stand before each other
In another dell
I wonder...
Will we make
The same mistake again?

Stoney, 14 June 98

The Brotherhood

You are our teacher, our mentor, our confessor
Unfairly tainted o'er the sins of the few
Yet your brotherhood may never recover
From the misdeeds of those miscreant few

You! And you know who you are!
We, the laity indict you
But what use are feather and tar
When our lives are broken in two?

You walk among us, enjoying our trust
And callously cripple our belief
Feeding on our young sates your lust
Some name you pederast and thief

Oh! You deceiver!
You defiler of the innocent!
You destroyer!
You rapacious beast!
You hypocrite!
You priest!

- Stoney

Ah! The brotherhood...what can I say about this one. I
actually got up out of bed to write this one after hearing on
the news about another priest who broke his trust and
molested one of his young parishioners.
I have a real problem with hypocrites who mouth pious
platitudes and set themselves up as having the right to tell us
how to conduct our lives, and then turn around
and betray their sacred trust.
This one wasn't directed only at priests; it's aimed at any professional who crosses the line.

The Dreamer
Sleeping sweetly, sleeping soundly
Breathing softly, breasts rising roundly
wishful hopes unfettered by reality
Dreaming dreams of what might be

Sleeping sweetly, sleeping soundly
Softly breathing, softly sighing
Fair innocence touches thy cheek
No cares do mar thy countenance

The years have yet to do their damage
Unfulfilled aspirations to quench thy spirit
No hardships met to release the savage
Of a beloved's betrayal without merit

Come! Awaken sleeper from thy slumber
To a world yet undiscovered
Filled with dreams and mysterious wonder
Come dreamer, take my hand
And we'll explore together

We'll roam the fields
And trod the heather
Fear not the day, lest you discover
That a life is over, and there is no other
And one by one, all your dreams
Have trickled ..away...

- Stoney, 25 Sept '94

Concepts
A wisp of fancy, like an angel's breath
Brushes lightly past the conscious
Which elusive ideation
Struggles to be born?

Which fragment of truth?
Which puzzle piece
It's intriguing shape
Flits across the forming pattern?

Which whimsical supposition
So easily lost,
As difficult to grasp
As gathering clouds
In the palm of the hand?

Which abstraction claws
Toward the light
Stretching out its thin, frail, stalks
Grasping for a connection?

Which visualizations solidify
To become pictures in the mind
To form glimpses of the future
Of what is, or what might be?
And which possibilities, - or consequences
Are unleashed when a concept is born?

- Stoney, 28 Dec.'94

What do The Animals do?
Cats squabble
Bees bumble
Squirrels skitter
Otters tumble

Cows bawl
Sheep bleat
Horses neigh
Parrots repeat

Lions roar
Tigers rumble
Eagles soar
Aardvarks fumble

Panthers stalk
Snakes slither
Mockingbirds mock
Hummingbirds shiver

Penguins waddle
Bears growl
Minnows puddle
Hyenas howl>

Whales sound
Elephants trumpet-ate
Dogs bound
Men compensate

- Stoney, 9 Nov.'94

Nightmares
With a silent scream, I awaken
From yet another dream?
My heart, trip-tripping beats
Leaving me bereft and shaken

Slowly, I again recline
Recalling events so vivid
And force my ragged breath to calm
As a shiver tingles my spine

Fretfully, I sink below the cover
And pray my travail is done
In a moment, my mind drifts free
...and once again, my nightmare... has begun...

This is my version of a poem originally written
by someone who uses the handle "Venim".

Untitled
Billy the Bos'n had a free
And easy manner
He could share a joke, or laugh
And never give offense
But the times, they've changed
And this is not a messdeck
And these ladies aren't
Messmates, nor even shipmates

Oh, they can jest
And become ribald
With one another
When times are slow

But he dare not
For, if he forgets himself
And joins in the common revelry
He's labelled insensitive

It's like when Blacks
Tell Black jokes
And call each other "nigger"
And no one takes offence

When Whitey joins the fun
And that word slips out
In similar innocent jest
The easy laughter stops

Everyone steps away
He's coldly sized up
As a rabid racist
For his chance remark

Tho' he knows
It isn't so
Twas only a faux pas
He learns to guard his tongue

Lest he's placed
On the company's list
As a prime candidate
For sensitivity training

Now he's called an up-tight
Tight-assed Honky
As he selects each word with care
And dare not let down his hair

So welcome to the Nineties, brother
This is the modern double standard
And it ain't so much fun
Being a middle-aged white male
In the workplace of the nation.

Stoney, March 25, 1997

Buttercups
Tis a flower
A dainty thing
Measuring life
By fleeting hour

With final bow
Its petals wilt
Its lustre fades
Lying fallow

Wintering snow
Pillows the land
Cold western wind
Through acres blow

Til once again
Bonny shoots peek
Through melting snow
And warm spring rain

To my delight
In abundance
Do they unfold
Burgeoning life

Oh! Sweeping fields!
Do greet mine eye
A vast array
As laughter peals

Across the cut
Lassies dancing!
Laddies prancing!
Mid the buttercup.

Stoney, February 26, 1997

"Buttercups" was an attempt to write a technically
correct poem; one without my usual flaws.*g* But
there is still one teensy defect in this piece. Can you
spot it? I'll give you a hint - it's in the meter in the final
verse.

Interlude
Two silhouettes
In the moonlight
Reaching out
For a soft caress
A supple, curving throat
A nuzzle, a nip
Sensual woman scent
Wafting and blending
In the fragrant night
Soon shallow, ragged half breaths
Soft, open, yielding places
Oh! The mystery!
A beginning - a nurturing
Both partners giving
Then, frantic coupling
Each partner demanding
Hard points clawing
Striving to be one
Performing in concert
Discharging Nature's Plan

The primal urge aroused
All senses focused
On their final thrusting
Her movement urging him
To deliver up his seed
Exaltation shuddering through him
His donation joyously spurting
Leaving him spent
And momentarily sated
A gentle, loving warmth
Spreading outward from her loins
Encompassing the lovers
Drowsily, drowsily contented
But Oh! The regret
And the misery
As he withdraws
- The account balanced
Nature satisfied

Stoney, 8 April 1996

Wow! This one's hot! I remember showing this one to a
colleague, and she blushed beet red.*s*

The Ballad of Nancy McFay
There's a nice little pub
Down in Halifax town
Where the lads from the subs
Like to party on down

And slingin' the beer
To all far and near
Was a trim little rig
From her stern to her sprit
And the lads called her Nancy Mcfay

She would tack through their midst
Like a sleek little barque
Slingin' draft right and left
Returning broadsides adept
In reply to each sailorman's remark

Chorus

Oh! She was a trim little rig
From her stern to her sprit
And the lads called her Nancy Mcfay

Well they'd offer large tips
To wrest a smile from her lips
And with practiced aplomb
She would wriggle her bum
As she scooped up her plunder,
Oh, it was great fun dears!

Chorus
Then she'd let fly her sheets
And put her stern to the fleet
And beat a hasty retreat
To load up her tray.
Then, once again cleared for action
She'd rejoin the fray

Chorus

Oh! She was a trim little rig
From her stern to her sprit
And the lads called her Nancy Mcfay
Yes, she was the lovely Nancy Mcfay

And although there were lots of 'um
Not a lad could proclaim
That he'd e'er scraped the bottom
Of the trim little Nancy Mcfay

Chorus - (Final)

- Stoney, 10 Sept. '94

Partying with a bunch of submariners back in the bad
old days reminded me of how much fun you can have
just sitting in a tavern tiltin' back a few with yer mates!
I decided to try my hand at a ballad.

The Sickness Within
Infecting the body politic
Violence bred from violence planned
Decry this act of self mutilation
Of Man's inhumanity to Man

Lift the veil from your eyes
Judge not, nor criticize
Tho' Man chose the hardest road
He may still attain the prize

Each must reach within himself
And find his gift for life
Seeking out his quiet place
Away from care and strife

What's past is past
Dwell not on negative things
Rather live life to its natural end
Then, let your spirit take wing...

Stoney, 12 May 98

The Chair
The chair created freedom
For those who could not walk
But there was no chair for Sonny

'cus Sonny wouldn't be seen in one
He saw the chair as a stigma
Marking him as an invalid

So Sonny never left his room
Sonny took his meal alone
Sonny slowly atrophied

And one day Sonny
Simply died

Stoney, 20 March 97

Lorna
[I'll tell you truly, stranger]
That I can count on one finger
Of one single, solitary hand
The few I'd number as a friend

One gentle, giving soul
Who stood by me
Through thick and thin
No matter what I'd do

Oh, I'm a lucky so �n so!
�Cus I've got such a pard
Who's always been there for me
When life's travails got hard

And I recall the day
I swelled with pride
When she agreed
To be my lovely bride

This dear companion...
This mate to my soul
Who travels with me
Along life's hard road

Stoney, 18 June 1997

Cupid's Little Arrow
I scoffed at Cupid
And his gentle art
Until the sting of
His infamous dart!

I was happy
Without a care
The sun beat warm
Upon my face

Life was good
My soul at rest
'til Cupid loosed his dart
At my innocent breast

My peace vanished
Without a trace
As the barb dug in
My most secret place

I was transported
And all was bliss
As I gathered in
Each bounteous kiss

I basked in the warmth
Of my lover's arms
I extolled in verse
Each of her charms

And marvelled my luck
'til shortly after
A chance remark
And mocking laughter

About a sorry cluck
Who failed to see
What he enjoyed
She gave to all for free!

With Cupid's veil
Ripped from my eyes
There's a wave of pain
And none to heed my cries

The lady's lost her sparkle
If indeed there ever was
And stands revealed, a drab
Bowing to male applause.

Epilogue

I chance to see her
Out and about
Frequenting places
Where men hang out

A regretful twinge
Claws at my heart
For a love lost
Now we're apart

If the mischievous
Imp should chance to note
A lonely figure
Trudging by the moat

And lofts another dart
I'd gladly bare my chest
And invite the shaft
To seek out my breast

(For, I'll not deny)

I miss those days
When love was sweet
And I worshiped
At my love's feet

Stoney, February 28, 1997

Lovers' Lament
A handsome visage flits across her mind
A familiar face so loving and kind
Tho' ne'er seen before, she's not wrong
This image in her mind just seems to belong

The softness in his eyes as they turn her way
Smiling at her fondly every day
Their eyes lock in warm embrace
She feasts on each detail of that loving face

Her heart has longed for someone to come
And say to her, "You are my only one"
Her pretty phrases are all lost
In her need to be his at any cost

As his strong arms surround her
She knows she should demure
But the scent wafting to her nostrils
Sends to her spine, tingling chills

A shared dream, a hope, a lingering fear
Forces them to grasp what is now, and here
Lest this fond and fleeting moment
Be ripped from view midst tears and torment

Lovers rejoice, but also take heed
Enjoy love's sweet bliss
And savour each tender kiss
�Cus tomorrow you'll hurt - it's the lovers' creed

Stoney, April 13, 1997

Rejection can be devastating for many of us, but some
sensitive souls just fail to recognize that this is simply
another part of life's curves thrown at us from time-to-time.
When I was on the ships, I observed the devastating
effects of what a 'broken heart' can do. When you're
young you think that the pain will never end, because it
can take months to get yourself back on an even keel.
I remember suffering through a couple of particularly bad
ones myself. My lubricant of choice was whiskey; it kept
the pain down during the interminable lonely nights.
Not the best solution, but better than some I've seen.
There were three acquaintances back then who couldn't
take the pain anymore and took the ultimate
step. They wrote themselves off.
Such a waste of a human being...

Star-Crossed Lovers
She took her tea
In a fine china cup
While an old chipped mug
Served as his to sup

He was Catholic
And very devout
She, a High Protestant
Whom conventions would flout

He was handsome
A true son of the soil
While, she was winsome
And not meant for hard toil

It was in the market
On a warm spring day
Each, saw the other
In that special way

So the two met
And fell in love
The young man, the lass,
And a small... White Dove

To mark their special
Happiness you see
And each felt blessed
'til eternity

It was just a year
Since they'd been wed
Chancing to walk home
Another way instead

Their cozy cottage
Lie off the Crumlin Road
Near the Borstal Arms
A Republican abode

The lovers tarried
To share a wee cuddle
As the cruel bomb's blast
Turned their street to rubble

The hard men
On each side paused
Momentarily saddened...
At such a terrible loss

What price Freedom...
What price the bloody Crown

Stoney, 23 November '98, Revised 18 May 2002

Fortunately, things have gotten a lot better in the old
country since I wrote this one.

Sergeant Death
Twelve hours of it
And no let up in sight
The Colonel says,
Stand fast! Be brave!
And don't give in
But when will it end?
Lord only knows!

My teeth are chattering
And my bladder leaks
I'm laying here
In my own puddle
Watching the odds shorten
As each exploding shell
Walks toward us up the beach,

Now they're screaming
Down on us!
And I can see
Into my mate's eyes
As each flash
Illuminates our small
Corner of the battle

Can we survive the night?
A lump of bile
Claws up,
And out of my gut
Constricting my throat
As Billy stares at me, petrified
Turned to stone, he is

I wonder, do I look like that
To him?

The waitin's what
Wears a man down
I'll take the fightin' any day
It's the waitin' that does you in
Sometimes I pray for a direct hit
Just so's I can be free of this
God-awful shit!

But if Sergeant Death
Comes calling for me,
Please Lord!
Let me be tucked, safe
In another foxhole
And don't tell the bugger
Where I am...

Stoney, Revised 13 May 2002

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