POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

Anytime I'm called for duty... Wherever deployment takes me, Pervert from my path, any mutiny... But give me the strength to be; The rescuer, the protector and the fire fighter. Whenever I'm gone for stand by... Lord, grant me a listening watch.  All incursions, hazards and risks, May I with my crew identify... Where unavoidable, enable us to mitigate.. Be it in the terminal, tarmac or boarding gate.. Should there ever be an emergency, Wherever fire may rage.. Should there be any shout, No matter the skin or age.. Help me put the fire out, And my neighbor, help me save. And if by your will... Any blood may spill... Leading to any fatality, Protect my wife and kids, And preserve the rest of my crew.

They breastfed us, yes but we bit them.  With their lips as an emblem, They liberated our nostrils, Of phlegms meandering like contrails. A career woman she's now called, Aid to man when his pocket stalled. Beautifully keeps the house before going to work, Yet at home we fail to praise her worth.  So shall the real woman wake, Early from bed and for her family, bake.  And we still ask, "How arduous are house chores? A mere sweeping and cleaning course. Therefore a mother's grin: Is mostly misconstrued. Seldom depicting true bliss, Other times, it's a rare solace, In how much age her child accrued.  Then she flashes back in time, As if she never lost a dime, While pruning her children, Even though it hurt her spine. The sacrifices she made, Stooping so low as their maid, Just to get them to fill their belly. And yet, we think it's her biblical duty? That's the mother's calling. Of which not every woman can hear, Some try due to the love they fall in, But mos

The kitchen was theirs in the days of old, They were the housewives, so I'm told. So shall the real woman wake, Early from bed and for her family bake, The bread of life. Such was the routine of a good wife. What at all is house chores? A mere sweeping and cleaning course, Yet we're expected to praise them aloud, And pamper them like a manner from the cloud. If this mind of societal stereotype, Keep flowing freely like a leaking pipe, In an era of this economic hype. Shall our women be healthy alive, Even if indeed they do survive? A career woman she's now called, Aid to man when his pocket stalled, Beautifully dressed to work, Yet at home we fail to praise her worth. This is poetry for May day, A caution for men to make hay. As she helps financially at home, Assist her to tidy up the dome. Now she's green and stands tall, But green leaves too do fall.  After all this grass has dried up, What else will dare to spring up?

The English Premiere League has best players, pitches and coaches.  Some are talented like Arteta,  Others are relentless like Guardiola. A few want to escape relegation but they don't know how. In most cases, they call Eddie Howe.  In the process of finding answers; Here are Ten questions, Answered by Ten Hag: Is the English Premiere League Hot? "The league burns a lot, like Burnley" Which team has the best football field? "The only field for goals this season is Sheffield"  Do you think FFP rule is of everyone's interest? "Of course not, see NorthernHam Forest" Would you then suggest anything?  "This question should be for Everton" Can you qualify Man United for Europe since the matches left are just six? "We're already there on the table, lose or win, we are sixth"

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.

So they forced us. No, they persuaded us. Or they educated us? They rather Christened us. Whatever they did to us, Has been as good as, The wisdom their book has. Are they truly the words of God? It mostly feels like yes, Other times a bit more less. Like prophecies in poetic verse, Alphabetically scripted in wisdom, Not known where they come from. I'll read it nevertheless, And you should not do otherwise. At least it will keep you from any mess, And the meditations shall make thee wise. If the revelations make you cheer less, Read the chapters that make you fearless. Just Read The BIBLE

I come as an usher with solutions, To all your new year resolutions. A lot of prayers on my head, And I must do it all as the first born. Why don't you love me? Is it my fault at all, That I was born first and tall? Was it not your own doing? So why the early booing? They say I am too long, While teasing me with a song. Workers hate to say my name. But students love me all the same. I had to fast till the fifth week, And even while I prayed, You ate and made merry, With the son of virgin Mary. So please love me this year. Just make room for me. If you plan for me, You will love my vibe. Anytime you hear of December, I am January, her elder brother. I come to wipe the past away, To give you A HAPPY NEW YEAR.