my name is Robert, Rob, Bert, or Robby and shit sometimes even Bobert....I have brown hair brown eyes I am a country singin baseball playin cowboy and I am Canadian and dam proud of it!
im the guy who would call you beautiful.. instead of hot,
who would call you back when you hang up on me..
who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat.
Or will stay awake just to watch you sleep..
who would give you kisses on your forehead..
Who would show you off to the world when you are in sweats..
Who would hold your hand in front of my friends..
Who would think you're just as pretty without make-up on..
who would constantly remind you of how much i care..
And how lucky i am to have you..
The one who will turn to my friends and says.. "That's Her
hehe Rob's the best!..from you know whoooo!
Ten Reasons It Is Great To Be Canadian
1. It beats being an American
2. Only country to successfully invade the US and burn its capital to the ground
3. You can play hockey 12 months a year, outdoors
4. Only country to successfully invade the US and burn its capital to the ground
5. Where else can you travel 1,000 miles over fresh water in a canoe?
6. A political leader can admit to smoking pot and his/her popularity ratings will rise
7. Only country to successfully invade the US and burn its capital to the ground
8. Kill Grizzly bears with huge shotguns and cover your house in their skins
9. "Own-an-Eskimo" scheme
10. Only country to successfully invade the US and burn its capital to the ground.
this poem wuz wrote by my friend Milly who i asked to write it for me cuz i cant write poems worth **** so all i did wuz explain my feelings for him and she put it into words, i never got to meet my granpda because he died about 4 months before i wuz born but everyone says i look like him and act like him plus i got his name and im ganna keep it with pride.
Grandpa, I miss you, but I love you still
and I hope that you forever will
look down upon me and smile
knowing all the while
that i love you.
That I will hold you forever in my heart
and though we're so far apart
I still feel you here,
so close and near,
protecting me, guiding me on my way,
as i go on day by day.
You are a part through my blood and genes
though there's more it seems.
For when people look upon me, it's written in their face,
that in me, they see a trace
of you past on,
just another way you live now that your gone.
Your like the wind in the trees,
the morning summer breeze
never seen yet always there
noticed only by those who care
to look.
to look.
I have looked and that is why,
I hold my head up high
knowing your invisible hand rests upon my shoulder
watching me as I grow older
keeping me safe from harmful things,
and guiding me on my journy to find
all the beauty and joy life brings.
Which is why I want you to know
I'm greatful for everything you show.
And grandpa
I miss you but I love you still
and I hope you forever will
look down upon me and smile,
knowing all the while,
that I love you.
thanx Milly thats an awsome poem
I also wrote a poem about my grandpa wich is weird cuz i dont write poetry that well but i wuz bored in english.
Grandpa I'm talking to you
I'm not afraid to die
Since i'll get to see you up so high
In the heavens we will be
Is that grandma there i see?
Well i guess it's time to go
But when i see you i will show
How my love for you has grown
Bye for now, on with my life i will go
Oh but how i miss you so
Grandpa...I'll never let you go
BASEBALL * My Dream, My Life, My Future
PITCHER/SHORTSTOP * My Place, My Responsibility, My Position-
THE BALL PARK * My Home, My Get-Away, My Sanctuary
NUMBER 7 * My Representation, My Pride, My Number-
- * THERE IS BUT ONE GAME
AND THAT GAME IS BASEBALL * -
AND THAT GAME IS BASEBALL * -
A Poem That I Wrote
Opening Day
Opening day roster was unlike that of any other
With two aces leading a crew of hungry veterans.
Heading for a second division title in three years
En route to a greater glory.
Quarter to midnight in the Bronx when the pack
Swings into motion, three dozen video camera-and
Notebook-wielding men charging as one like the
Pamplona bulls toward a corner of the visitors' clubhouse
Another baseball poem :)
I sit atop the pitchers mound
In the stands people crowd around
As the batter steps on up
As the fans empty their cups
All the pressure circles me
To hear the ump yell strike three,
And then comes another man
To try and hit it to the stands
So once again all eyes on me
Throw the pitch, just let it be
Hope he misses with the bat
As i look from under my hat
So the ball goes flying to the glove
Strike three, Oh the words I love
We win the game cheers go round
As we, the champions, hit the town.