Richard Sockett

Rookie (29/07/1970 / Sheffield)

Richard Sockett Poems

1. Morehall Reservoir 7/15/2008
2. No Worries 7/15/2008
3. Father, The Potter 7/16/2008
4. Valley Pentecostal Church 8/15/2008
5. My Children 8/17/2008
6. Waiting 11/20/2008
7. Samaritans Shop 11/22/2008
8. Betterware Book 9/11/2009
9. Football Ground 3/10/2011
10. Faith Hope Peace 11/28/2011
11. To Ant Marketing 12/1/2011
12. Merry Christmas 12/2/2011
13. Poetry In Motion 12/2/2011
14. Sheffield Pride 12/2/2011
15. Smudge Jess Sooty 12/4/2011
16. Show Your True Colours 12/5/2011
17. Richard Sockett 12/5/2011
18. Totally Devoted 12/6/2011
19. Mistletoe And Wine 12/6/2011
20. Heavenly Smells 12/6/2011
21. Answer Machines 12/8/2011
22. Poetic Justices 12/8/2011
23. Drinking In A Pub 12/8/2011
24. Flowers In A Vase 12/10/2011
25. Monday Mornings 12/12/2011
26. At The Pantomime 12/16/2011
27. Christmas Cards 12/22/2011
28. Happy New Year 12/31/2011
29. Where Has My Love Gone? 8/7/2013
30. Parliament 9/11/2013
31. My Mobile Phones 12/20/2011
32. Bless This House 12/6/2011
33. Praise And Worship 11/30/2008
34. Tribute To My Dad 8/31/2008
35. The Last Day Of School 7/18/2008
36. We Love Bathtime 12/15/2011
37. A Bad Day At Work 4/11/2013
38. Stop It Now 8/8/2008
39. Rich Man Poor Man 12/10/2011
Best Poem of Richard Sockett

Rich Man Poor Man

Rolex on the wrist, flash car in the drive
Ice bucket cooling French champagne, happy to be alive
Country house immaculate looked after by a butler
High society dinner, knives and forks supplied by the master cutler

Millions in the bank, not earned but handed on a plate
Arriving in his private jet he orders caviar by the crate
Nothing could be finer when relaxing on a luxury liner

Poverty stricken homeless person shuffles in bare feet
Out of luck and down at heel he wanders up and down the street
On his own no one to turn to he thinks all hope is lost

Read the full of Rich Man Poor Man

Stop It Now

I know someone who loves me far too much
But there are some places you are not allowed to touch
He says its our big secret and says I must not tell
But it hurts so much that I just want to yell
A gentle hug and a ruffle of the hair on my head
Hours later when all is quiet he creeps into my bed
Forcing me to hunt the sausage is his favourite game
It's no fun for me, all I feel is shame

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