Walking around on the streets of NY, Ken_Park felt a bit homesick, as the chilly wind breeze, the leaves on the ground and the colourful trees
reminded him of the last fall before he took the ship to America . Lighting up a cigar, he quickly took his mind to the rough start he had in this country, and remembered the person that took him under his wing, and accepted him in his family.  

Gratitude and respect were the first two things that came up to Ken's mind when discussing about his boss man. In that spirit, he continues walking towards downtown NY heading to Brooklyn.

Reaching his destination Ken_Park spotted the most crowded corner.  He threw away his empty cigar pack, and pulled a paper from his pocket.

"Greetings gents and my beautiful ladies! Hear me out for a minute. I'm sure you'll enjoy this. Some of you know what today is, but some don't. Either way listen to this."

He proceeds to unfold the paper, and starts reading out loud, like the way little kids do when they read poems.

Today is no ordinary day 
So don't just walk away 
An Irish Farmer this day was born
So everybody blow your horn

 
He started with a simple plan
Building a farm was how it began
He added carrots, potatoes and some goats 
He sliced some throats
He started taking notes
Of dead people quotes

He lives happily on the farm 
And never wanna do any harm 
Except if you destroy his crop
Then you're in big drop 

He is a clever man 
Cause he build it right next to the 303 barn
That's why some call him the bossman
 

From petty thief to wise guy
From Don to Godfather
From one corner to another 
He never turned a blind eye
 

Gained the respect of us all
We should hang him in an exhibition hall
Few have gone this far
Without hitting the horizontal bar
So take some time 
And honor this Irish prime
 

If you ever hit the 365th day mark 
You'll understand what it means to have the spark
Until then wish Cantillon his Happy Birthday
Pop the champagne and throw the confetti 


He quickly crumbles the paper, takes his jacket of trying to pull of his shirt while running around the crowd and shouts,  
"Happy birthday to our Godfather Cantillon !
ohh and whoever recites a better poem than mine 
will get millions and credits worth his rhyme!


1st place   : 5 mil + 5 credits
2nd place  : 3 mil + 3 credits
3rd place   : 1 mil + 2 credits

(Cantillon , Whatsername and me will pick the winners )

Sounds good. Though I dont see much of your Godfather Cantillion around here often. 

This sounds fun. When is the due date? Or does it have to be done tomorrow? Also, does the poem have to be about anything specifically?

Could one not forsake?

Afternoon’s upon wake

Nor hair sear’d gray – thee horns began smolder!

Thou beating heart grew colder – suit glisten bolder!

In my dreams of thee; and therein shows

Lavish wealth – these stories unfold

Leaves fall, wither’d and cold. New life breaths upon thy gray heavens. Behold!  

O! Thy months have passed dearly! Thy goats gasped clearly

Nor Hell – although the Hell were thine! My soul, lest it shine: unlawfulness!

Knowing this day is extremely special because it honors someone very close and dear to her. Rose waits for Ken_Park to finish his poem before she moves towards the front of the crowd.  She pauses to listen to P_habulis, then as it was her turn, Rose makes her way to read her poem.  Clearing her throat, Rose unfolds the piece of paper as she glances around looking for her bossman, Godfather Cantillon.

       Godfather of The Farm

A civilian lured into this life of crime,
Power and money was a dream he had,
Working hard earning his place over time,
His nights at the pub, typical Irish lad.

Growing carrots The Farm is known,
With fierceness his family he protects,
Daily one by one the family has grown,
Loyalty and trust the family projects.

Organized crimes to busting out of jail,
Efforts put forth without a doubt,
Battling the Godfather hoping not to fail,
That night a gun shot when the lights went out.

Fearless and brave a new Godfather was he,
Keeping watch over the Bronx night and day,
Time passed as he tended to his favorite tree,
The Most Awesome Godfather, what can I say.

Cantillon's Canticle

O' Cantillon with his life so long, 
And long rigid horns so very strong, 
A farm he's usually found sitting on, 
But where have all the carrots gone? 
Perhaps they've been place into someone, 
Perhaps just in JustDed's old thong, 
Don't dare question it to be wrong, 
It's just something we do for the song. 
Some might call him the Truck, 
But the carrots are simply tucked,
All the ladies like his horns cupped,
Dirty in the field they get with muck,
Supple and sweet, the ginger gets luck', 
With the barmaidens who like to chuck, 
the bottles, at the ones with salt,
Aren't they the ones usually at fault? 
None the less, pass 'round the single malt,
Be merry for Cantillon's immense vault,
A blessed year, but now we take a halt, 
And to come back to why you're all call't,
To remind ourselves of his deep love, 
Is she a butterfly or is she a dove? 
Achilles with his Heel so bold,
Rosalie with her wings to hold? 
But God give Cantillon more time to shove,
His ramming horns shall hang highly above, 
The people, and we'll find deep solace,
In the great horns people run to polish, 
And the goats' reign shall further extend,
O' they will to the very bahhing end,
Farming and plowing across all the land,
And neither shall they waiver or bend, 
But for Firenza, no fears shall matter,
He's done it all and had glorious blood spatter,
While Trixie's tipsy hooves clip and clatter,
Making her milk in the morning for batter, 
And if you're not much of a fan of his, 
You might just find yourself to be a piss- 
ant. 

In honor of an Irish farmer......

This life is no ordinary life

Delivered unto a peasants wife

A single child with a simple breath

Starts a journey towards his death

It always begins with so much hope

From humble beginnings his parents elope

Fed many of carrots, potatoes and barley

The child grew strong with a plenty of belly

He was raised smart and took note of notes

Studying all the gravestones and their quotes

Passed his youth so many days passed long

Into middle age he grew up quite strong

The time had come to continue this life

Across the seas he would escape the strife

A start in a land of plenty he would land

With barn and animals he can make his stand

Climbing the ranks from thief to made man

Soon to call the shots a Godfather with a plan

His gaze was serene his vision grand

His eye never closed to the overall lay of the land

The tales have told of how few this far have gone

With age and experience his feet firm on the lawn

So we write, detail and eloquently disclose

How this Emperor has on all his clothes
 

On this yearly mark
the spark illuminates the dark
Cantillon we raise our glasses and cheer
Let the spirits flow and serve me some good Irish beer!

Cantillon, Ken and I have sat down and picked the winners

1st CiroAntonino

2nd RosalieRossi

3rd BloodySpikeS

Thanks to all who participated!

I'll wear no convicts uniform

Nor meekly serve my time

That England might

Brand Ireland's fight

Eight hundred years of crime

Congratulations to the winners ! i really enjoyed your poems ! 

Thanks for your participation