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new girl
7th-December-2006, 01:05 PM
ng, I dont know 9/8 either , - but here's a guess:-

8/8 (4/4 etc)

blame it on the bossa…
Nova 345.. with it’s magic spell …2345678
Nova 345.. that he did so well …2345678

However, when you REALLY want to screw up a song lol - and confuse the hell out of everyone - and watch the dancers lose their step etc lol - you add an extra beat here and there, viz:-

blame it on the bossa…
Nova 345.. with it’s magic spell- …2345678 -ing
Nova 345.. that he did so poor- …2345678 -ly
:2twocents
PS I probably don't even have the 8/8 right let alone the 9/8 ;)

Imagine if a march went like that
Left Right Left Right Left Right Left Right Right Left Right Left etc etc ;)

Fu#$@k you make me laugh!!!!! :)

ps: as for the march, I personally fly with joy when I'm marching, my feet don't even touch the ground!!

yet more ps: I tried to translate one of my Qabbani's favorites "choose" using the site you recommended earlier in this thread, the result was sh@#$t!! how do you do it?? i mean when you translate your poems how do they end up ryming?

2020hindsight
7th-December-2006, 06:06 PM
i mean when you translate your poems how do they end up ryming?
lol - CRIPES - you don;t want much do you lol.
Like I said bak there , these computers will tell you that a Russian hydraulic ram traslates as a water buffalo - ;)
as for the rhyme - cant even think of a word that rhymes with buffalo lol.

i.e. "the press had a cog and a cam
and the will of a hydraulic ram."

would probably come out (translated)

" the laundry had a cigarette and a cameron
and the maybe of a water buffalo" etc etc ;)

as I say - you're lucky if it makes sense. let alone rhymes. - but sometimes you find that someone else has translated and massaged it till it rhymes. :2twocents , good luck

chops_a_must
7th-December-2006, 11:16 PM
yet more ps: I tried to translate one of my Qabbani's favorites "choose" using the site you recommended earlier in this thread, the result was sh@#$t!! how do you do it?? i mean when you translate your poems how do they end up ryming?

Try this site:
http://oldpoetry.com/oauthor/show/Nizar_Qabbani
It's where I got my extract from.

Arabic to English translations are pretty hard. That's why Aristotle is such a handful to read.

chops_a_must
7th-December-2006, 11:54 PM
ng, I dont know 9/8 either , - but here's a guess:-

8/8 (4/4 etc)

blame it on the bossa…
Nova 345.. with it’s magic spell …2345678
Nova 345.. that he did so well …2345678

However, when you REALLY want to screw up a song lol - and confuse the hell out of everyone - and watch the dancers lose their step etc lol - you add an extra beat here and there, viz:-

blame it on the bossa…
Nova 345.. with it’s magic spell- …2345678 -ing
Nova 345.. that he did so poor- …2345678 -ly
:2twocents
PS I probably don't even have the 8/8 right let alone the 9/8 ;)

Imagine if a march went like that
Left Right Left Right Left Right Left Right Right Left Right Left etc etc ;)
And it was his Nizar's political stuff that got me reading him New Girl.

As to the marching, left right left right etc. all even time is essentially in a marching beat. Although, 2/4 is regarded as the main marching beat. This is also known as half time, in a lot of cases. You know, when it enters a chorus, and the drummer starts hitting the snare twice as often? Most of the time that is in 2/4.

In terms of 5/4, you put an extra bass beat in the bar, simple. It works really well if you want a really looping, rolling rhythm, like in original indie-rock and some post-rock. Also good for creating Angsty music because of that. But yeah, the best thing about Brubek, is that it is seemless.

With 9/8, I think you would have to pulse on the 1st 4th and 7th notes. Not very comfortable. You might want to check with Barney on that one though. I think I have heard one rock band try and pull it off, either it is in 9/8 or free range.

There was a jazz band in Perth called Eleventy Three. And you guessed it, the standard time signature they used was 11/3. Not easy. A fill every 33 notes, with an 11 note fill to follow... mmmm.

Anyway, back to the point of this thread.

Wilfred Owen:

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

chops_a_must
8th-December-2006, 12:01 AM
chops
2- WAHT IS OUTSIDE THE TEXT I WONDER :rolleyes:

It was a quote from a French "philosopher" named Jacques Derrida. His famous quote is that there is nothing outside of the text, i.e. anything that is written has no purchase on the outside world, the text has meaning only in and of itself. Which, to me, is stupid and self defeating.

new girl
8th-December-2006, 12:03 AM
"A Brief Love Letter" (needless to say it sounds much better in Arabic)
Nizar Qabbani

My darling, I have much to say
Where o precious one shall I begin ?
All that is in you is princely
O you who makes of my words through their meaning
Cocoons of silk
These are my songs and this is me
This short book contains us
Tomorrow when I return its pages
A lamp will lament
A bed will sing
Its letters from longing will turn green
Its commas be on the verge of flight
Why did he sing these songs ?
Now there is no star
That is not perfumed with my fragrance
Tomorrow people will see me in his verse
A mouth the taste of wine, close-cropped hair
Ignore what people say
You will be great only through my great love
What would the world have been if we had not been
If your eyes had not been, what would the world have been?

2020hindsight
8th-December-2006, 12:08 AM
chops, here are some folk dances - just a bit of nonsense really - I dont expect you to listen to more than a 20 seconds or so of each - you'll soon get the ghist lol. - the thai stuff is a strange beat, maybe 63/37? lol

Don't blame me if you find yourself whistling that Korean song for the next week !!
When it comes to music, I have trouble thinking like a thai for instance ;) - or specially as a korean or .... etc etc ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su8m2HZuoMM&mode=related&search= thai (o boy lol)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BcokC_2sH0 thai music

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zOZJRC3gAk Korean folk music

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YAu_ipazdWI&mode=related&search= Korean dance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRtK9LAT6bk&mode=related&search= peruvian
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBiSNylmFhY&mode=related&search= indian
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfMJVm-FDJY Korean
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5e4S03nzcw&mode=related&search= Japanese folk dance

finally greek ( 10/8? who knows lol, Im no expert - but the dancers seem to know what they are doing)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGimNJLJT1Y&mode=related&search= greek dance

and philippino - ahh at last some sanity lol (again the dancers seem to know what they're doing - but simple beat helps ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPqu2S-nXfw&mode=related&search= phiilippino (Tinikling , sounds like a polka to me ;) )

new girl
8th-December-2006, 12:50 AM
It was a quote from a French "philosopher" named Jacques Derrida. His famous quote is that there is nothing outside of the text, i.e. anything that is written has no purchase on the outside world, the text has meaning only in and of itself. Which, to me, is stupid and self defeating.

Well, well chops

first, thanks for the link ;)

second, I'm going to be honest with you, I know "next to 2/3 of 3/5 of very little about shares" ;) same goes for poetry.

Philosophy on the other hand I know NOTHING about, nothing whatsoever. but I agree with Derrida while the text is written it has meaning only of itself, and being the "delightfully middle ground" person that I am, I want to also agree with you in the sense that IT IS STUPID, cause once the text is read it should have some bearing on the reader (the outside world) and hence stupid and self defeating :rolleyes:

new girl
8th-December-2006, 01:12 AM
"When I Love You"
Nizar Qabbani

When I love you
A new language springs up,
New cities, new countries discovered.
The hours breathe like puppies,
Wheat grows between the pages of books,
When I love you your breasts shake off their shame,
Turn into lightning and thunder, a sword, a sandy storm.
When I love you the Arab cities leap up and demonstrate
Against the ages of repression
And the ages
Of revenge against the laws of the tribe.
And I, when I love you,
March against ugliness,
Against the kings of salt,
Against the institutionalization of the desert.
And I shall continue to love you until the world flood arrives;
I shall continue to love you untill the world flood arrives.

new girl
8th-December-2006, 09:55 PM
Arabic to English translations are pretty hard. That's why Aristotle is such a handful to read.
Excuse my ignorance chops, but what's Arabic to English got to do with Greek? please explain, she's back in politics :eek:

CanOz
9th-December-2006, 01:17 AM
Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I just had a curry,

and i'm not feelin so gooooood!

new girl
9th-December-2006, 01:25 AM
Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I just had a curry,

and i'm not feelin so gooooood!

why, is it because i'm not available? or because 2020 turned out to be such a hotti ;)

CanOz
9th-December-2006, 01:27 AM
why, is it because i'm not available? or because 2020 turned out to be such a hotti ;)

No, because i actually just had a curry! And because my GF is in Beijng and i'm here all alone! :(

new girl
9th-December-2006, 01:36 AM
No, because i actually just had a curry! And because my GF is in Beijng and i'm here all alone! :(

well give her a ring (wake her up if you have to) and read her the poem that you liked the other night :)

ps as for the curry, don't you have chinese tea in china :D that should fix it.

chops_a_must
9th-December-2006, 10:32 AM
Excuse my ignorance chops, but what's Arabic to English got to do with Greek? please explain, she's back in politics :eek:
Oh, because a lot of ancient greek texts were translated into Arabic, during the rise of the Islamic empire. Some of the originals have been lost, some recovered, but scholars have to use a combination of the two to translate it.

2020hindsight
9th-December-2006, 11:26 AM
Oh, because a lot of ancient greek texts were translated into Arabic, during the rise of the Islamic empire.
Chops I wonder how "coupla dayz - beUUUDIful" translates into Arabic ? ;)

new girl
9th-December-2006, 11:42 AM
Chops I wonder how "coupla dayz - beUUUDIful" translates into Arabic ? ;)

إختاري, which is pronounced beuuhottiful!

ps of course it gets much more complicated if you go through the greek to arabic to english to greek again, but that would be your next lesson. we'll keep it simple for now, i don't think you can handle the complicated stuff yet.

new girl
9th-December-2006, 01:49 PM
"Wind Beneath my Wings"
Shirley bassey

While you were the one with all the strength
Only a face without a name
I never once heard you complain
Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I would like to be
I can fly higher than an eagle
'Cause you are the wind beneath my wings
It might have appeared to go unnoticed
But I have it all here in my heart
I want you to know, I know the truth
I would be nothing without you
Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I would like to be
I can fly higher than an eagle
'Cause you are the wind beneath my wings
You are the wind beneath my wings

2020hindsight
9th-December-2006, 03:36 PM
One for the animals and the brave dudes fighting the Vic fires. :(

THE RED AND THE BLACK OF IT

Koalas chewing tips of gums, swing heads to face the threat of fire, !
the booming of the angry drums, that turn a brave man to a liar, !
“Be still my soul, Godzilla comes! I wonder should I climb on higher ?
I wonder with this death that numbs, will I make handsome funeral pyre ?”
and in the end like blackened crumbs, a martyred bear, all black and dire.
and wedged there between boughs and bums, small arms still flailing at the fire,
I wonder did he feel the pain, as hair was burnt and flames got nigher?
a grizzley sight, his blackened thumbs ,- and yet I hear some heaven’s choir.


The stallion neighs - "there's fire" he blurts, try left! try right! my mares and kin,
they pace the clearing, fits and spurts, then charge off west with deadly din.
He breathes some flame, his nostril hurts, he charges back to south agin
His leg is singed, and tail and gerts, all ears tight back and quivered chin.
Now through the bush, a RED ALERT! , a HUNDRED horses race the wind, !!...
..
a meagre dozen now unhurt, and of the rest not one had sinned,
now kindly bullets so inert, their final act that can’t rescind,
now ash to ash and horse to dirt , their shoes recycled, shownails binned.


This flower was red, that flower was blue, dictated by their DNA,
but that was 'fore the fire went through , before the world went black and grey.
before that hellfire fashioned flue , that sucked all coloured life away,
before the smoke and cruel hue , that firemen fight for pittance pay…
They fight for spring and life anew, and light dawn wing of better day
Our compliments of season due, may Lords of courage light your way,
We think you're "dinky-dai true blue" - and this small gesture here we say...
You volunteer your life. For you?, we volunteer last night's meat tray.

Good luck fellas.

chops_a_must
9th-December-2006, 06:00 PM
إختاري, which is pronounced beuuhottiful!

ps of course it gets much more complicated if you go through the greek to arabic to english to greek again, but that would be your next lesson. we'll keep it simple for now, i don't think you can handle the complicated stuff yet.
Yeah, it takes 5-6 years to learn Arabic fluently doesn't it? Seriously difficult.

Mental Cases
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain,- but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?
-These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter.
Always they must see these things and hear them,
Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
Carnage incomparable, and human squander
Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.

Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
Back into their brains, because on their sense
Sunlight seems a blood-smear; night comes blood-black;
Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh.
-Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
-Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.

new girl
9th-December-2006, 06:30 PM
Yeah, it takes 5-6 years to learn Arabic fluently doesn't it? Seriously difficult.

Mental Cases
skulls' wicked?
pain,- panic,
sockets?
Misery perished
hell;
Dead
murders,
Multitudinous murders
blood from lungs
guns
Carnage
eyeballs shrink tormented
blood-smear; blood-black;
wound that bleeds
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
war and madness.

CHOPS

WHAT'S WRONG? :banghead:

I don't mean to be rude, I just don't get this poetry, it kinda makes sad and stresses me out a bit. I know it reflects some of what's going on in this world, but I challenge you to post something sweet or romantic for a change!

ps take one: I agree, Arabic is one of the most difficult languages to learn, have you ever tried to learn it?

ps take two: sorry I'm just in a very happy mood, sorry to pick on your poetry.

chops_a_must
9th-December-2006, 06:39 PM
CHOPS

WHAT'S WRONG? :banghead:

I don't mean to be rude, I just don't get this poetry, it kinda makes sad and stresses me out a bit. I know it reflects some of what's going on in this world, but I challenge you to post something sweet or romantic for a change!

ps take one: I agree, Arabic is one of the most difficult languages to learn, have you ever tried to learn it?

ps take two: sorry I'm just in a very happy mood, sorry to pick on your poetry.
I just like war poetry.

No, but an old drinking partner of mine, who was in the SAS as a technician, got a long term injury, so they trained him up as an Arabic speaking specialist. Even though he learnt it in about 6 months, apparently it takes like 6 years or something most of the time. He just told me a lot about it, that is all.

new girl
9th-December-2006, 06:44 PM
I just like war poetry.

No, but an old drinking partner of mine, who was in the SAS as a technician, got a long term injury, so they trained him up as an Arabic speaking specialist. Even though he learnt it in about 6 months, apparently it takes like 6 years or something most of the time. He just told me a lot about it, that is all.
The challenge is still up, happy poetry is good for the SOUL, you should try it ;)

ps again: I'm just in a very happy mood

chops_a_must
9th-December-2006, 07:02 PM
The challenge is still up, happy poetry is good for the SOUL, you should try it ;)

ps again: I'm just in a very happy mood
I listen to twee music for that. Lol!

But I do have some, just for special occassions. ;)

2020hindsight
12th-December-2006, 12:12 AM
Folks, I was wondering if anyone out there had a copy of a poem "SHADOW SAN" , possibly "SHADOW-SAN" etc.
Theme is not dissimilar to the shadow girl in this video. But there are also references to fights between doves of peace etc.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIfrqdru1B8 the shadow girl ( o boy :( )
Such a modern concept - and such a terrifying one - the only thing left of a person is their shadow
Ahh found it .. the following quotes from Tony Harrisons "the shadow of Hiroshima",
Mitsufuji San is some bloke who volunteers pidgeons / doves for the annual release of "peace doves" at the "Peace Dome". (8.23am) . The year of this poem obviously the 50th anniversary - 1995. Shadow San is a real shadow on a rock, all that is left of a man who faced the atomic blast in 1945. - and obviously too, it is fading with time ( as so too I guess is the memory of what happened that day).


"cheating the void" started with Lumiere's famous film of factory workers leaving their workplace:
"these people are all dead, and yet they walk,
the first in fact to move on celluloid
yet they are silent and wont ever talk
their very movements seems to cheat the void"

The Shadow of Hiroshama also starts with a shadow, though this time not a celluloid one, but the burnt outline of a man whose body has been photographed, not by celluloid, but by stone. :( He is one of many thousands killed by the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945, and harrison gives him a voice ... in a film / poem of great emotional intensity. ... Shadow-san becomes our guide, and his story is interwoven into the build-up for the annual ceremony of releasing "the doves" that takes place beneath the Peace Dome in the city. (he follows them, the lucky ones not savaged by the Hirshama hawks, home again).

SHADOW SAN (, The Shadows of Hiroshima, Tony Harrison)

"This voice comes from the shadow cast
by Hiroshima's A-bomb blast.
The sound you hear inside this case
is of a man who fans the face
he used to have before the flash
turned face and body intoash.
I am the nameless fanning man
you may address as Shadow San.

The inferno flayed me as I fanned
gold fan with cranes on in my hand.
In that fierce force but one degree
of quicker combustibility
separated fan and me,
but that one degree meant that the man
was stamped on stone but not the fan.

My shadow's fading and I fear
I may not make centenary year,
and so before I finally fade
give one last outing to this shade,
and you will be my eyes to see
this fiftieth anniversary."
.......
Mitsufuji San's alarm
that his doves may come to harm
makes him run past A-bomb dome
to catch a tram to take them home
across the bridge they call Aioi,
the bomb-aimer of "Little Boy"
high up in the Enola Gay
fifty years ago today
took focus from where now we see,
walking the upright of the T,
two survivors' shadows but
shadows still still fixed foot to foot,
two survivors here to find
the special seats they've been assigned
to hear speeches, pray, and see
precisely at 8.23
all the doves in the release
making their winged plea for peace.
.......

The peace doves have been freed , but why
won't this last shaking straggler fly?
Perhaps he's seen what's in the sky?

Where peace-doves are, the birds of prey
are never very far away,
These hawks cruising the skies
don't care what peace-doves symbolise,
These emblems are mere morsels, meat,
their ripped-out innards good to eat,
Since yesterday the hawks have waited
to see their lunches liberated.
Hiroshima hawks are glad to glut
and gorge themselves on peace-dove gut.

It's not inappropriate , birds of prey
are also present on Peace Day.
They could well stand for Japanese
who forced other Asians to their knees,
They stand for the spirit of the past
that moved Japan before the blast,
the old Japan that took Nanking
under its dark, blood-splattered wing,
Japan in her aggressive guise
taking Pearl Harbour by surprise,
the prison camps that made us pray
for any means to bring VJ.

Many doves freed on this day
fall victims to these birds of prey
and Mitsufuji fears his may.

...
those symbolic doves that flew
in '91 or '92
in '93 or 4 survive
by fighting these from '95....

Pidgeon / Peace doves brawl and fight.
Is the world at peace tonight?
Or are we like the Shadow San
facing inferno with a fan?

new girl
13th-December-2006, 10:11 PM
"I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair"
Pablo Neruda

DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

new girl
13th-December-2006, 10:21 PM
"Lost in the Night"
J M. Basey

Night is the worst time
Night is a hard time
Why can't I sleep
Why can't I rest

Pain in my heart
Pain in my eyes
Lost is my true love
Lost is my heart

Longing for you
Longing to hold you
Lost forever
Lost to the night

Jett_Star
16th-December-2006, 02:31 PM
THE CODE OF THE PEACEFUL WARRIOR

Be beauty and be grace
Believe in yourself
Love yourself
Enjoy the journey that is yours

A PRAYER TO BEGIN EACH DAY YOU ARE BLESSED TO BE ALIVE....

Today I wake and smile for another day lays before me
I vow to live each moment fully and see all other through the eys of love and compassion

chops_a_must
23rd-December-2006, 10:28 PM
As requested by Nude Girl, love poetry:

Roses are red, violets are blue
All of my base
Are belong to you.

Roses are red, violets are blue
In Soviet Russia
Crabs catch you.

new girl
23rd-December-2006, 10:57 PM
As requested by Nude Girl, love poetry:

Roses are red, violets are blue
All of my base
Are belong to you.

Roses are red, violets are blue
In Soviet Russia
Crabs catch you.

This is Crabs poetry for sure, you don't have to write it yourself you know ;) come on I'm still waiting for something nice, please?

Nude????

2020hindsight
26th-December-2006, 01:55 AM
THE FIRST LAW OF XENOPHANES
Xenophanes 570 BC – 475BC
“If horses could draw, they would draw their gods like horses”

Praps if Horses could take courses and could take a page and draw
they would Draw their god’s as horses (that is Zenophane’s first law)
just as White men draw a white man, just as black men draw their kin
as abDullah draws an Arab, so too Moses draws his twin.

we may Wonder where we’re going, we may wonder whence we came
and whose Dice what god is throwing in which fatalistic game
and i’m Tracing here on cellophane what he has said before
re-creAting old man (X)Zenophane, who lived so long before.

this man Lived, in ancient Greece it was, 500 odd BC
yet he Had the golden fleece to help see things so hard to see
men are Red and men are yellow, this one whiter than a cloud
as one Starts, with age, to mellow, one stops caring why and how.

what we Need are more free thinkers who accept it’s for the best
to reJect religions blinkered with a call of “who cares less”
think inStead of earth and planet, how we all need sun and rain
and to Find men’s fire and fan it, that they empathise with pain.

more free Thinkers that accept this place and its inherent worth
and the Beauty of its inner space, this ball that we call earth
and play Down those “Hells and Heavens” and the speculation wild
concenTrate on Mother Nature, and the homeland of our child.

did we Land from outer galaxies, in space suits or the nud,
or in Edin full of apple seeds, or some primeval mud
just as Astronauts draw spaceships, here we find his second law
there is No way known of knowing , which god’s less and which is more.

just Picture forests drawing gods – with creeks where birds can drink
(forget grey beards we saw on gods to which our creeds are linked )
they would Probly tell us soundly not to bother with “our share”
but to Take care of this treasure, Mother Earth, that’s in our care.

new girl
27th-December-2006, 06:52 PM
"Get On Your Knees And Fight Like A Man"
2 Corinthians 10:4, James 5:16
Words and Music by Bob Hartman

Out on your own with your own self reliance
You've got no one to watch your back
You find yourself caught with no strong alliance
You've been left open for attack
Over your head the condition is graver
You've given ground you can't retreive
The cards are stacked and they're not in your favor
But you've got an ace up your sleeve

Get on your knees and fight like a man
You'll pull down strongholds if you just believe you can
Your enemy will tuck his tail and flee
Get on your knees and fight like a man

Under the gun you've got no place to hide out
Backed in the corner on your own

This is one storm you are destined to ride out

One way to leave the danger zone
You've got the backbone to fight this tide
You've got the will to survive
You've got the weapon, it's at your side
You've got to learn to confide

new girl
27th-December-2006, 07:22 PM
"Torment"
Michelle Hyde


In the shadows I hide,
With torn love and faded pride.
You sought me out,
Now I begin to shout.
“Let me be! ”
“I wish to be free! ”
Shadows begin to take flight,
As you begin your endless plight.
All of my pain and my tears,
Along with my greatest fears.
Take you higher,
On this roller coaster of twisted desire.

new girl
30th-December-2006, 06:07 PM
"To Love Somebody"
Leonard Cohen

There's a light, a very special light,
never ever shone on me.
I would like my whole life to be,
with someone like you ...
with someone ... with someone like ...

You don't know what it's like,
to love somebody,
the way I love you.

There's a way, a very special way,
To look at each and every single thing.
Ah, but what good would that bring,
if I ain't got you ...
if I ain't ... if I ain't got you.

You don't know what it's like,
I don't think you really, really know what it's like,
to love somebody,
the way I love you.

Baby, you don't know what it's like,
You, you just don't know what it's like,
to love somebody,
to love
the way I love you.

new girl
31st-December-2006, 05:52 PM
"Table Manners"
Robert M Wilson


The drinks, the conversation
are just appetizers.

Your face is the full course,
all I hunger for.

At all times, in all places,
everything else

is background
to the banquet of you.

new girl
31st-December-2006, 06:00 PM
"Offended"
Gershon Hepner

Free and always open-ended,
democracies accept the critic,
but extremists who’re offended
by cartoons don’t. Hypocritic
are those who would attempt to silence

the freedom of dissenters’ speech,

resorting to a hateful violence
which they glorify and teach.

We must reject the faith of those

who hold it right to silence others,

leading to most bloody blows
with men they do not see as brothers.
Stranger turns into intruder
once he’s willing to be killer;
Alle Menschen werden Brueder
Ludwig sang—hooray for Schiller.

2020hindsight
2nd-January-2007, 07:46 AM
A TOAST TO ABSENT FRIENDS

Suppose I'm feeling down depressed, the world's about to sink,
Or find myself a frowning mess, I only have to think
Of good men, better men than I, where I have outlived them,
I hear my thoughts first question why - then I seize this daily gem.

They left this world at fifty praps, suppose I'm fifty-five,
That represents five bonus laps that I have been alive,
I've had the chance these sixty moons, these eighteen hundred days,
To toast the sunrise, toast the noon, and toast the sunset rays.

And toast my friends alive and gone, and toast life's wondrous ways.

2020hindsight
5th-January-2007, 09:15 PM
reminds me of the one about the cannibal who toasted his mother-in-law at the wedding breakfast :(

2020hindsight
10th-January-2007, 09:42 PM
NOTES ON SOCRATES AND VIRTUE, Though I Sadly Come Up Short

we are All here individuals, yet all a part of one
one Mass of man’s existence, yet one misfit someone’s son
some Fight off human bias and some stand by deaf and dumb
and some Die a saintly pious, and some fight for cake and crumb.

my Mind, sometimes, gets in the groove of “think, therefore I am”
for When I’m thinking thus I prove there’s life beyond the pram
we Take some stray perceptions and we store what we perceive
and from All these lay conceptions, we then build what we believe.
…………….

old Socrates kept learning, keeping virtues up to date
and These alone were permanent, all else was second rate
and Kindness was a noble thing and courage was his mate
and Hence the students called him king, and “Socrates the great”.

ofFended by his thinking, some then closed the prison gate
and Sentenced him to drinking hemlock (or to abdicate)
he Drank the stuff unblinking , ahh the stuff of Stoic fate,
and they Now refer to Socrates as “Socrates the late”.

put your Head upon old Socrates - they’d asked the man to kneel
they’d Sentenced him half heartedly- he just had to appeal
but Principles were paramount, - he didn’t want to know
and he Kissed his wife and children, and he went where martyrs go.
……….

someTimes it’s less romantic, when raw character is cast
praps Storms in the Atlantic, maybe courage ‘fore the mast
such as Men who helped their wives to find Titanic’s lifeboat queue
and to Walk them to the railing and then bid them sweet adieu.

put your Heart into the chest of someone seeing off his wife
on that Deck with all the best of men amid Titanic strife
“and Give the kids my love, my love, and make a brand new home
and Should you see a passing dove, that’s me beyond the foam.”
…………

put your Feet into the snowboots of old Scott – or better still
of his colleague Captain Lawrence Oates, amid Antarctic chill
as he said “I may be some time” – and he went out in the sleet
tired of dragging down his comrades with his black frostbitten feet.
…………..
spend a Day with the Resistance as a hail of lead descends
as they Fought off nasty Nazis, just to help escaping friends
one such Girl was Violette Szarbo, “carve her name with pride” it’s told
and a Posthumous George Medal to her daughter four years old.
…………

there are Hundreds of descendants of the Aussie convict jails
who went Back to fight for England and for Scotland and for Wales
for the Killing fields of Europe, for “the culling of the males”
for the Empire at Gallipoli, for cross of rusty nails.

put your Head upon the shoulders of an Anzac in his trench
how his Blood went cold as ice or how his heart would give a wrench
“and its Up and over fellas, and we run the big guns down -
and your Chances of survival are a brick to London town.”

they had Photos of their loved ones that they kissed just one kiss more
they had Kissed the thing so often that their sunburnt lips were raw
then they Pocketed their sweethearts and they filed away their fears
and they Charged into the bullets with their fellow pale-faced peers.
…………….

when i Personally think “character”, I think about the bush
a young Wife perhaps with family and many ploughs to push
no Grecian statues looking on, just grief and cattle dying
no Temples, tablets, books upon, just hungry children crying.

a Husband with a broken hip, from vaulting horse’s mane
and Now she fights this leaking ship, yet prays for blessed rain
she Works by day in town five miles, then home to countless chores
then Feeds the kids with forced smiles, then cries behind her door.

so Close to giving in and all, so close to giving up
yet Like a pine so thin and tall, she’s steadfastly says ‘nup’
so Close to throwing saucepans, yet she smiles without restraint
with the Courage of a Norseman, and the kindness of a saint.
…………………..

it was Easy for old Socrates, what’s right and what was wrong
or Permanent in wisdom, or was faulty all along
his Students in assortment queued for things that can’t be bought
what was Less or more important in the quality of thought.

there was No inane Nintendo, Young and Restless, Peyton Place
there were Concepts to comprendo, several facets to each face,
there were Battles at the borders, these were argued, these were fought
but old Socrates' objective wasn’t might but rather thought.
………

i’ve Spent some long night’s drinking, many days remembered naught -
in my Own attempts at thinking (though I sadly came up short)
I observed the sunset sinking, when new pinnacles were sought
and some mental toasts a-clinking with what Socrates had taught.

2020hindsight
12th-January-2007, 11:44 PM
I guess many remember the poem "Beth Gelert" - or "Gelert" as per the following webpage:- i believe it means "faithful Gelert" in Welsh, but I might be wrong. This webpage even has a photo of Gelert ;) which is interesting because the poet died in 1834 ;) It also seems to have the option of hearing it read to you.

Wikipedia >> "William Robert Spencer (1769 - 1834), poet, educated at Harrow School and the University of Oxford. He belonged to the Whig set of Charles James Fox and Sheridan. He wrote graceful vers de société, made translations from Bürger, and is best remembered by his well-known ballad of Gelert. After a life of extravagance he died in poverty in Paris."

yet I find elsewhere that "He published several books relating to missionary work in India; on his return to England in 1849 he was appointed assistant to the bishop of Bath and Wells, and in 1860 became chancellor of St Paul's Cathedral" - So what I want to know is "who says that was a life of extravagence" lol. -maybe he liked to finish off the altar wine singlehandedly.
http://www.spokenpoetry.co.uk/gelert.htm

I posted this poem way back , but only as a link to the website. Hence I now add the full poem. (maybe I've posted that as well, although I cant find any evidence of such if I did). Ahh but there's a positive .. At Easter you can hide your own Easter eggs !! :)

BETH GELERT (by William Robert Spencer)

The spearmen heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound, Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a lustier cheer,
"Come, Gelert, come, wert never last, Llewellyn's horn to hear.

"O where does faithful Gelert roam, The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave - a lamb at home, A lion in the chase?"
In sooth, he was a peerless hound, The gift of royal John;
But now no Gelert could be found, And all the chase rode on.

That day Llewellyn little loved, The chase of hart and hare;
And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. :)

But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound all o'er was smeared with gore; His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise; Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite checked his joyful guise, And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewellyn passed, And on went Gelert too;
And still, where'er his eyes he cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
Overturned his infant's bed he found, With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground, With recent blood besprent.

He called his child - no voice replied - He searched with terror wild;
Blood, blood he found on every side, But nowhere found his child.
"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured," The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword, He plunged in Gelert's side.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh;
What words the parent's joy could tell To hear his infant's cry!
Concealed beneath a tumbled heap, His hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep, The cherub boy he kissed.

No hurt had he, nor harm, nor dread, But, the same couch beneath,
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, Tremendous still in death.
Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! For now the truth was clear;
His gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.

2020hindsight
13th-January-2007, 12:36 AM
did anyone see the story of the lady and the lion tonight ;) - how they cuddled through the bars of his cage (after she rescued it from severe malnutrition etc ) - top stuff.

Here's one of Aesop's Fables..

Androcles. A slave named Androcles once escaped from his master and fled to the forest. As he was wandering about there he came upon a Lion lying down moaning and groaning. At first he turned to flee, but finding that the Lion did not pursue him, he turned back and went up to him. As he came near, the Lion put out his paw, which was all swollen and bleeding, and Androcles found that a huge thorn had got into it, and was causing all the pain. He pulled out the thorn and bound up the paw of the Lion, who was soon able to rise and lick the hand of Androcles like a dog. Then the Lion took Androcles to his cave, and every day used to bring him meat from which to live. But shortly afterwards both Androcles and the Lion were captured, and the slave was sentenced to be thrown to the Lion, after the latter had been kept without food for several days. The Emperor and all his Court came to see the spectacle, and Androcles was led out into the middle of the arena. Soon the Lion was let loose from his den, and rushed bounding and roaring towards his victim. But as soon as he came near to Androcles he recognised his friend, and fawned upon him, and licked his hands like a friendly dog. The Emperor, surprised at this, summoned Androcles to him, who told him the whole story. Whereupon the slave was pardoned and freed, and the Lion let loose to his native forest.
Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.

2020hindsight
14th-January-2007, 08:05 PM
couple of songs - sorry can't find the youtube - so they become poetry ;)
(
I WON'T SEND ROSES from the musical Mack and Mabel

I won't send roses, Or hold the door
I won't remember, Which dress you wore
My heart is too much in control
The lack of romance in my soul
Will turn you grey, kid , So stay away, kid

Forget my shoulder , When you're in need
Forgetting birthdays , Is guaranteed
And should I love you, you would be, The last to know
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so

My pace is frantic , My temper's cross
With words romantic, I'm at a loss
I'd be the first one to agree
That I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kid , So keep your head, kid

In me you'll find things , Like guts and nerve
But not the kind of things , That you deserve
And so while there's a fighting chance, Just turn and go
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so.

The following comment I found on a related website:- http://nickbrowne.coraider.com/2006/01/i-wont-send-roses.html

"With words romantic, I'm at a loss" is pretty weak. I suggest "I'm no romantic, at love a loss" would be an improvement, but generally that is a great lyric. I love the way that "and roses suit you so" subverts the implications of the earlier lines and changes them from bombast to melancholy yearning. It is the same technique that I noticed in Dylan's "Most of the Time" last year. I wonder if there is a technical term for it?


MOST OF THE TIME by Bob Dylan

Most of the time , I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time , I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs, Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon, I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time.

Most of the time , It's well understood,
Most of the time, I wouldn't change it if I could,
I can't make it all match up, I can hold my own,, I can deal with the situation right down to the bone,
I can survive, I can endure, And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time, My head is on straight,
Most of the time, I'm strong enough not to hate.
I don't build up illusion 'till it makes me sick, I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind. Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time , She ain't even in my mind,
I wouldn't know her if I saw her, She's that far behind.
Most of the time , I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me Or if I was with her.

Most of the time, I'm halfway content,
Most of the time I know exactly where I went,
I don't cheat on myself, I don't run and hide, Hide from the feelings, that are buried inside,
I don't compromise and I don't pretend, I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.

"I love the way the first and last line undercut the sentiment the narrator is apparently expressing."

mrWoodo
15th-January-2007, 11:05 PM
Have I a body or have I none?
Am I who I am or am I not?
Pondering these questions,
I sit leaning against the cliff as the years go by,
Till the green grass grows between my feet
And the red dust settles on my head,
And the men of the world, thinking me dead,
Come with offerings of wine and fruit to lay by my corpse.

Han Shan, Cold Mountain

2020hindsight
16th-January-2007, 10:07 PM
Three quotes from the web ( and a song from memory) - only vaguely related ;)

New Zealanders should be able to see the brightest comet in 40 years – and possibly in the past century – in the southwest evening sky for the next couple of weeks, astronomers say.

"Look towards the south western sky, low down towards the horizon soon after sunset," Carter Observatory senior astronomer Brian Carter said yesterday. "You will have no trouble in finding it over the next few days."

Known as Comet McNaught, it was only spotted for the first time last August by Australian professional astronomer Robert McNaught, when it was just a faint fuzzy blob.

Mr Carter said the comet had brightened up more than anyone expected as the icy lump orbited the sun, ice and dust coming off its surface reflecting sunlight.

"McNaught is now the brightest comet in more than 40 years. . .and it may become the brightest in centuries," Mr Carter said.

Nasa astronomer Tony Phillips told The Associated Press McNaught could turn out to be the brightest comet in recorded history: "It will remain a spectacular comet for weeks, perhaps months, in the Southern Hemisphere".

The comet made its closest approach to the sun – 25 million kilometres – over the weekend and is now moving away, which means it will be easiest to spot in the evening twilight.

Dr McNaught works at the research school of astronomy and astrophysics of the Australian National University. He is a prolific discoverer of asteroids and the comet was the 31st to carry his name.

Mr Phillips said Comet McNaught was six times brighter than Hale-Bopp in 1997 and 100 times brighter than Halley's Comet when it appeared in 1986.

"It will remain a spectacular comet for weeks, perhaps months, in the Southern Hemisphere," he said.

The comet is also visible to armchair astronomers via images posted to the Internet from the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory (SOHO) spacecraft launched in 1995 to study the sun.

I'm reminded of Robert Goulet's song :-

we laugh we cry , we live we die
and when we're gone the world moves on
we love, we hate, we learn too late
how small we are , how little we know.

see how the time goes swiftly by
we dont know how we dont know why
we reach so high and fall so low
the more we learn the less we know

too soon the time to rest will come
to late the will to carry on
and so we leave so much undone
how small we are , how little we know.

Donald Rumsfold (2002 Dept of Defense new briefing)

http://cosmicvariance.com/2006/11/10/toward-a-unified-epistemology-of-the-natural-sciences/
"As we know
there are "known knowns"
there are things we know we know.

We also know
there are "known unknowns"
that is to say
we know there are some things
we do not know

but there are also "unknown unknowns"
the ones we dont know
we dont know."
You can spend a long time trying to get that one into your head ;) Probably the most sensible thing he ever said.

2020hindsight
20th-January-2007, 04:26 PM
NOTES ON PAYING THE RENT

If you basejump, you tempt fortune, and you dare things to go wrong
and you dare your soul to do it, though it may be your last song,
will your chute tear accidental, is this 'bad luck' if it does
or are YOU some yearly rental, in some game of "chase the buzz"
- you were doing what you loved with mates, and that's what fortune does.

If you hangglide mountain ranges where the misty clouds recline
where the colour pattern changes with the arching sun behind
mostly wind like magic pillows - but should gusts blow false to you
are you food for weeping willows, or just rent that's overdue.
- you were doing what you loved wth mates, praps rent was overdue.

If you surf and crash and tumble with white pointer sharks beneath,
when last year one of your number lost a leg to razor teeth
guess it's just like paying rental for the freedom you enjoy
and it's cruelly sentimental, - there's a warning with the toy!
- and it's sad that rent is paid for by this sacrificial boy.

I have stood on sandy beaches and I've deep inhaled the scent,
and I've asked the god of creatures where do I pay back some rent,
rent for lighting up the landscape, rent for warming up the sand
and for phonecalls that are answered, by some friendly landlord's hand.
- but the answer adds "remember! rent is paid in ever land."

Then the voice gets sentimental "rent is small for First World days
just be thankful that your rental is one third the Third World pays
yet you help them only rarely? yet you've means and you have ways?
you could share their rent more fairly, help your brother through his maze
- help the odds of his existence, help reduce the rent he pays". :2twocents

2020hindsight
26th-January-2007, 11:39 PM
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/PoetsPoetry/WarPoems/tabid/877/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1359 Here's one of the war poems there... Follows on the sentiment of Red Gum's "I was only 19" which I'm sure you all know.

OLD SOLDIER
© 1999 Tom Stonham, Nambucca Heads NSW

Dim jungle dawn, a crouching run,
hot on my hip, an Owen gun ...
Cold, clammy sweat as I was torn
from brash boyhood ... and woke, reborn.

For nineteen years I never knew
what Freedom costs but now I do ...
You know, or not, it can’t be told -
New-born at dawn and now I’m old.

The ignorance of youth was lost.
Life’s line of no-return was crossed.
Delusion’s dead, I’ve shed its husk ...
OLD SOLDIER IN THE GRIM, RED DUSK

2020hindsight
27th-January-2007, 12:25 AM
A lighter poem by Banjo Patterson ... Not sure the RSPCA would go along with the last line ;) - but intended for a laugh obviously.
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/PatersonAndrewBartonBanjo/tabid/704/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1251
A DOG'S MISTAKE
AB Banjo Paterson 1933

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear.

He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.

'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end,"
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.

Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."

2020hindsight
27th-January-2007, 01:46 PM
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/PoetsPoetry/WarPoems/tabid/877/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1372 - what a poem !!!! - what an emotional experience to read this one folks.
REMEMBER THE HORSES TOO
© Kym Eitel

The men who went to war for us, and died so far away,
are honoured and remembered well, each touching Anzac Day.
Our soldiers fought with hero strength, but let us not forget -
who helped them through those horrid times of bomb and bayonet?

The Remounts Section(*1) sourced the best – Australia’s finest Walers(*2)
were led aboard a hundred steam ships – patient equine sailors.
Oblivious to war ahead, they crossed the angry waves.
Not all of them survived the trip, some sleep in ocean graves.

The Brigadier’s prancing mount, the trooper’s sturdy steed,
the half-legs (*3) pulling water carts, gave strength, endurance, speed.
Through dust storms, scorching temperatures, and shifting sand and hills
they proved that they had hearts of gold, with courage, nerve and wills.

The Waler took the trumpeter to call at Palestine.
The heavy horse pulled medic carts behind the firing line.
The gun horse (*4) hauled artillery to arm the troopers’ fight,
while sections (*5) rode reconnaissance each dark and restless night.

The horses saw the desperate times, when death was all around.
They galloped through the screaming injured, thrashing on the ground.
They were shot at, strafed by German planes, felt shrapnel each grenade.
The wounded, frightened horses fell, as Turk machine guns sprayed.

All did their job, and did it well, with little hope of rest.
The saddle taken off at night, was thanks they got at best.
A pat, and “Thanks, good on ‘ya mate,” a nosebag with some corn,
a quick lay down, a few hours sleep, then back to war at dawn.

So many stories have been told – heroic acts of horses
who double-backed the injured men and dashed through Turkish forces (*6).
And when the war was finished, all the troopers clapped and cheered,
but what about the horses, that they loved and so revered?

Their horse was friend and comrade, through the thick of war and thin.
The Aussie politicians wouldn’t let them come back in.
They said, “Because of quarantine, and massive costs involved,
you’ll have to leave your mounts behind.” The troopers’ cheers dissolved.

The war was done. The men could leave that nightmare combat zone,
but first, they had to take the lives, of those who’d saved their own!
The younger mounts were volunteered to India’s command.
Those over four, were shot and left, to perish in the sand.

The horses of the 3rd Brigade, were killed in Tripoli.
They lined them up in olive groves, then shot them. Tears ran free.
Each marksman fired, and wished the horse had died while serving war,
to lay the blame on enemy – instead his own heart tore.

The horses’ frightened screaming rose above the gunshot rattle,
and left the men with lifelong scars, of killing after battle.
A thankless way to thank each horse for service in the sand,
and fearless dedication shown to save our precious land.

One hundred and eighty thousand horses, gave their blood and lives(*7),
to help return our troopers to their children and their wives.
They gave their all, and still found more, brave gallantry to give.
They’d never see green fields again, or come back home to live.

We're grateful for the Anzacs, and their sacrifice as well.
We know the wars were brutal, and the soldiers went through Hell.
So honour fallen loved ones, and the friends we never knew,
but I ask you, every Anzac Day … remember the horses, too …


1 - The Remounts Section sourced and bought horses to send overseas. Banjo Paterson was one of these men.

2 - The Waler was not a breed of horse, but they were an Australian-bred horse, from a range of breeds or cross breeds. They were bred to be extremely hardy and of good nature. Only blacks, bays and brown horses were used. It was in 1846 that the term “Waler” was coined by the British, because Australian horses were originally sourced in New South Wales, but by the mid-1800’s, all Australian horses were referred to as Walers. The most famous feat of the Walers, was the Light Horse charge on Beersheeba in 1917, to claim the water wells.

3 - “Half-legs” were a Clydesdale-cross, bred for endurance, speed and strength.

4 - “Gun horses” were the heavy horses that pulled “18 pounders” (a gun that shot shells weighing 18 pounds). Each gun and limber, which carried ammunition, were hitched together behind a team of six horses. The horses were arranged as three pairs, and each pair had a postillian rider on the near side horse. If any of the horses was injured, the rider could cut the traces and release the horse, so the rest of the team could keep going.

5 - “Sections” were groups of four horses and riders that went on scouting rides to look out for advancing enemy at night.

6 - A particularly interesting story can be found on page 111 of the book, “From the Saddlebags at War”, by Joan Starr – “... one night, (Major Mick) Shanahan found four Australians who had lost their horses in the thick of combat. He took two on his horse, and with the other two clinging to his stirrups, he dashed safely through the Turks in the darkness.”

7 - The only horse to return to Australia was Sandy, the mount of Major General Sir William Throsby Bridges, who was the highest ranking Australian officer killed at Gallipoli. He was given a state funeral, and the horse was shipped back to Australia to take part in the funeral parade.

2020hindsight
4th-February-2007, 09:08 PM
For reference, lyrics to "Ne me quitte pas" (allegedly) translated directly in English. Much more powerful than McKuen's lyrics... ?
I'll let you folk be the judges. ...there is more passion in this version - call it wild lateral thinking looking for crazy romantic comparisons http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=3202327

Don't leave me. We must forget
all that can be forgotten, that already has passed away.
Forget the times of misunderstandings,
and the times lost trying to know how
Forget those hours which sometimes killed
in attacks of "whys" the heart of happiness.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.
Don't leave me. Don't leave me.

I'll cover you with pearls of rain
from countries where it never rains.
I will dig the earth until my death
to cover your body with gold and lights.
I will make a land, where love will be king,
where love will be law, and you my queen., DLM etc

DLM. I'll make up crazy words that you'll understand.
I'll tell you about the lovers who have twice seen their hearts catch fire.
I'll tell you the story of this king who died from not being able to meet you., DLM etc

We often see the fire erupt
from the ancient volcano we once thought too old
It is shown that lands that were burned
gave more wheat than the best April.
And when the evening comes with the sky blazing
-- the red and the black -- which doesn't blend., DLM etc

Don't leave me. I won't cry anymore
I won't talk anymore I will hide there.
To watch you dance and smile
and to hear you sing and then laugh.
Let me become the shadow of your shadow,
the shadow of your hand, the shadow of your dog. DLM etc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJIZu37Hfr0&mode=related&search= Jacques Brel - Ne Me Quitte Pas - The author himself ;)
"Emotional performance from a true poet" as they say on youtube.

2020hindsight
5th-February-2007, 10:21 PM
we proclaim the moral high ground, skip the “practice”, stick with “preach”
and the blind eyes and the lying find new quantum depths to reach
it’s a moral we’ll find history has lessons yet to teach
that the mindless politicians left omitted from their speech.

we pretend we’re best and fairest, yet we fan the embered fires
till they blaze in eyes and hearts and minds of enemy empires
we pretend we’re on the right track, that the diggers would stand by us
- but too many diggers died proclaiming "listen not to liars".

we profess to study histor-y, attack before we know
whether mass destruction weapons, whether terrorists will grow
whether multi-headed dragons, will rise up twice from each blow
that the beast we dreaded most of all, we’ve guaranteed will show.

we may claim the moral high ground, yet we climb as one who’s lame
there are acres of the mountain tops the enemy now claim
whether facts are in dispute or not, there’s one fact not denied
that the facts are brown and muddied, and the truth has long since died.

chops_a_must
7th-February-2007, 08:40 PM
Here's one for nude girl.

One of my ex-girlfriends, who I was with for a long time, and who I remained closed to after it was over, has been in a coma for the last month. Unfortunately, they haven't been able to bring her out, so it appears she is brain-dead.

Anyway, she was a great poet, so I thought I would post some of the stuff she wrote for me.

Cheers,
Chops.

A Day to Remember

On the 16th of December,
Is a day I’ll always remember.
This is the day we agreed on together,
I’ll remember this day always and forever.

We’ve had our share of ups and downs,
And I know there’s been times I’ve made you frown.
The first year was rough, but we’ve made it through,
The only reason why is because of the Love I have for you.

I never thought I could love someone as much as I Love you,
I’ve proven to myself and hopefully proven it to you too.
From the day I met you, you’ve had a special place in my heart,
Not a day I want to go by and us spend it apart.

All the years before this really seem quite wasted,
Especially since your love I’ve tasted.
All the Love I have for you, you’ll never completely know,
But for the last 365 days I’ve really tried to show.

You truly mean so very much to me,
You’re so incredible, I know you’ll become all you can be.
You’ve made me laugh, you’ve made me cry,
And there’s times that I Love you so much I feel I could die.

This has been one year, all I can pray for is many more,
For the rest of my life this year I will always adore.
The name of this poem is “A Day to Remember,”
The day I refer to is the 16th of December.

2020hindsight
7th-February-2007, 09:24 PM
sad story bud. she must be young and all. commisserations.
makes you realise how short life is yes?

Nifty
7th-February-2007, 09:42 PM
Heres one of mine

Fetch me the handled vessel
So I may commit plasmatic consummation
Then kiss the maiden who in her country skirts
Came forth from the vineyard
Bearing grapes overflowing in baskets
That in chemical metamorphosis
Will blossom in my senses
Stumbling into dreams

chops_a_must
7th-February-2007, 09:45 PM
sad story bud. she must be young and all. commisserations.
makes you realise how short life is yes?
She must have been brain-dead to go out with me in the first place. Lol!

Jokes aside, there are so many more important things in life than money. You've just got to do all you can for the people you care about while you can. These people's happiness is priceless.

2020hindsight
10th-February-2007, 12:05 PM
There's a quote somewhere, "Salt water is the cure for everything, tears sweat or the sea".

Here's a couple of French songs about sea, sailing etc. one written in 1943 by Charles Trenet, one more recent - could be applied to many "farewell" situations I guess. :(

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_mer_(popular_song) "La mer" is a popular song written by French lyricist Charles Trenet (1913 – 2001). It became the basis for the popular song "Beyond the Sea."
It is claimed that Trenet wrote the song with Leo Chauliac in 1943 while riding on a train. It was not until 1946 that he recorded the song.
The english song (Bobby Darin etc) says "We'll meet beyond the sea, and never again go sailing". No such sentiments apparently in the original French version.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHYj1-3QrrY&mode=related&search= Charles Trenet - La Mer (live Olympia)

LA MER
La mer , Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs, A des reflets d'argent
La mer , Des reflets changeants, Sous la pluie
La mer , Au ciel d'été confond , Ses blancs moutons ,Avec les anges si purs
La mer, bergère d'azur infinie.

Voyez , Près des étangs , Ces grands roseaux mouillés.
Voyez , Ces oiseaux blancs, Et ces maisons rouillées.

La mer , Les a bercés , Le long des golfes clairs, Et d'une chanson d'amour
La mer , A bercé mon cœur pour la vie.

THE SEA (English Translation)
The sea , which we see dancing along the clear gulfs, has silver sparkles.
The sea , has changing sparkles, Under the rain.
The sea, To the summer sky's confuses her white sheep ,With angels so pure.
The sea, Shepherdess of infinite sky.

See , Next to the ponds ,Those tall wet reeds.
See , Those white birds ,And those rusty houses.

The sea , Has rocked them like a baby , Along the clear gulfs
And with a love song The sea , Has rocked my heart for life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCW-a_58KqA&NR three videos combined sous le vent Garou Celine Dion

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0uHHbhn5_s&NR same song, this one's a threesome – trust the French Garou, Elodie & Sophia - Sous le vent

SOUS LE VENT
Et si tu crois que j'ai eu peur, c'est faux
Je donne des vacances a mon coeur, un peu de repos
Et si tu crois que j'ai eu tord, attends
Respire un peu le souffle d'or qui me pousse en avant
Et, fais comme si j'avais pris la mer
J'ai sorti la grande voile et j'ai glisse sous le vent
Fais comme si je quittais la terre
J'ai trouve mon etoile, je l'ai suivie un instant
Sous Le Vent
Et si tu crois que c'est fini, jamais
C'est juste une pause, un repit apres les dangers
Et si tu crois que je t'oubli, ecoute
Ouvre ton port aux vents de la nuit, ferme les yeux

Et fais comme si j'avais etcetc
Sous Le Vent

Et si tu crois que c'est fini, jamais
(Sous le vent)
C'est juste une pause, un repit apres les dangers
Fais comme si j'avais pris la mer
etc
Sous Le Vent

UNDER THE WIND ( Translation: )

And if you think I was frightened
It's not true
I'm giving vacations to my heart
Some rest
And if you think I was wrong
Wait
Breathe a little the golden blast
Which pushes me ahead
And

Do as if I took to the sea
I set the main sail
And I glided with the wind
Do as if I left the ground
I found my star
I followed it for a while
Under the wind

And if you think it's over
Never
It's just a pause, a break
After the dangers

And if you think I forget you
Listen
Open your body to the winds of the night
Close your eyes
And

Do as if I took to the sea , etc......
And if you think it's over , etc ......
Do as if I took to the sea , etc......
Do as if I took to the sea , etc......
….
Under the wind

2020hindsight
10th-February-2007, 06:46 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgSATgDjoJA&NR
I mentioned this one a few posts back - found the song at last.

I WON'T SEND ROSES from the musical Mack and Mabel

I won't send roses, Or hold the door
I won't remember, Which dress you wore
My heart is too much in control
The lack of romance in my soul
Will turn you grey, kid , So stay away, kid

Forget my shoulder , When you're in need
Forgetting birthdays , Is guaranteed
And should I love you, you would be, The last to know
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so

My pace is frantic , My temper's cross
With words romantic, I'm at a loss
I'd be the first one to agree
That I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kid , So keep your head, kid

In me you'll find things , Like guts and nerve
But not the kind things , That you deserve
And so while there's a fighting chance, Just turn and go
I won't send roses , And roses suit you so.

Garpal Gumnut
17th-February-2007, 09:45 PM
Dear 2020'

For you as requested



They **** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

PLarkin

Garpal

2020hindsight
17th-February-2007, 09:55 PM
They **** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you. ..PLarkin
top stuff m8 ;)

Song: Youve Got To Be Carefully Taught Lyrics
Cable:
You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BU1FuozjiAg

Garpal Gumnut
17th-February-2007, 10:02 PM
top stuff m8 ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BU1FuozjiAg

Dear 2020'

Bravo mate,

Garpal

insider
18th-February-2007, 01:34 AM
I say get over it... make some cash and move out.... That's what I'm doing... I don't play the blame game... remember this

you are the common denominator

so get your life handled... no, whinging just do it

Garpal Gumnut
18th-February-2007, 01:53 PM
Dear Insider,

There is no need to shout.

a poem by Philip Larkin , just for you

Money

Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me:
'Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.'

So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don't keep it upstairs.
By now they've a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life

- In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can't put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won't in the end buy you more than a shave.

I listen to money singing. It's like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.

-- Philip Larkin

A couple of notes: "bank your screw" refers to putting your wages in the
bank; this is British slang and no longer current. And the "shave"
referred to is the shave you get from the mortician when you are dead,
to make you look good in the coffin.

Garpal

2020hindsight
18th-February-2007, 03:22 PM
lol, another similar (I forget the author of this rhyming quote - call it a short poem i guess):-
"money talks", i hear some cry ...
I heard it once it said "goodbye" :2twocents

2020hindsight
18th-February-2007, 05:09 PM
maybe others heard a talk about Furphy on Macca this morning.
I only heard the quote about his motto "until the good was better and until the better best", hence the following.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Furphy
A furphy is Australian slang for a rumour, or an erroneous or improbable story.
An original Furphy. The word is derived from water carts made by a company established by John Furphy: J. Furphy & Sons of Shepparton, Victoria. Many Furphy water carts were used to take water to Australian Army personnel during World War I. The carts, with "J. Furphy & Sons" written on their tanks, became popular as gathering places where soldiers could exchange gossip, rumours and fanciful tales.
..
Originally it was synonymous with "rumour" and "scuttlebutt", but the modern meaning (especially in Australian politics) is "an irrelevant or minor issue raised to specifically divert attention away from the real issue".

THE JOHN FURPHY MOTTO
when the diggers craved discussion, when their brave nerve needed rest
they invented boast and blushin’, cos the cure for fear was jest
and amongst the falling mortar, they were generals (second guessed)
and they’d gather at the watercart, and come back de- possessed.
- and the rumours used to give their lives some zest.

these old tanks were made by Furphy, something like the local well
they were manufactured perfect, - gave the old man pride to sell, -
and the lads would find the pathways to oases in the dell
and they’d walk towards the laughter, and the odd exploding shell –
- and their yarns were even heard by mates who fell.

with the motto on the nametag re-emblazened in their chest
(for these tanks inspired some famous tales, as sun sunk in the west)
their throats would leave the wetter, with their yarns all self-confessed-
“until the good was better and until the better best”
- (while a few came home by letter, :( , to a man , they came home blessed.)

2020hindsight
20th-February-2007, 05:40 PM
The following poem is English translation and would probably be known to many Philipinos. It was written by Jose Rizal, the first Asian leader to propose non-violent protest against (Spanish) colonialism - ahead of Ghandi - using his writing to awake the sense of freedom in Philipinos.

It was written the night before he was executed by the Spanish (on trumped up charges), aged 35 yrs. (written in Spanish - this is translation)
http://www.ac.wwu.edu/~fasawwu/resources/rizal/my-last-farewell/

MY LAST FAREWELL, By Jose Rizal

Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed,
Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost,
With gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed;
And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best,
I would still give it to you for your welfare at most.

On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight,
Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy,
The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white,
Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site,
It is the same if asked by home and Country.

I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show
And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night;
If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow,
Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so,
And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light!

My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,
My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain,
Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient,
Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high planev
Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain.

My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire,
Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee;
Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire;
To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire,
And in your mystic land to sleep through eternity !

If over my tomb some day, you would see blow,
A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses,
Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so,
And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow,
Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness.

Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry,
Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light,
In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh,
And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,
Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.

Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize
And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky;
Let a friend shed tears over my early demise;
And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high,
Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I.

Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,
For all those who unequalled torments have undergone;
For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried;
For orphans, widows and captives to tortures were shied,
And pray too that you may see you own redemption.

And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry
And only the dead to vigil there are left alone,
Don't disturb their repose, don't disturb the mystery:
If you hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery,
It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone.

And when my grave by all is no more remembered,
With neither cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scattered
And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored,
Let them turn to dust to cover your earthly space.

Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me:
Your atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep;
Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be:
Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep,
Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep.

My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,
Dear Philippines, to my last goodbye, oh, harken
There I leave all: my parents, loves of mine,
I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmen
Where faith does not kill and where God alone does reign.

Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,
Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed;
Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;
Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my way;
Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.[
http://www.univie.ac.at/Voelkerkunde/apsis/aufi/jorizal.htm

Dr. José Rizal
In full, JOSÉ PROTACIO RIZAL MERCADO Y ALONSO REALONDA (born 19 June 1861, Calamba, Philippines- died 30 December 1896, Manila, Philippines), patriot, physician and man of letters whose life and literary works were an inspiration to the Philippine nationalist movement.
Rizal was the son of a prosperous landowner and sugar planter of Chinese-Filipino descent on the island of Luzon. His mother, Teodora Alonso, one of the most highly educated women in the Philippines at that time, exerted a powerful influence on his intellectual development.

He was educated at the Ateneo de Manila and the University of Santo Tomas in Manila. In 1882, he went to study medicine and liberal arts at the University of Madrid. A brilliant student, he soon became the leader of the small community of Filipino students in Spain and committed himself to the reform of Spanish rule in his home country, though he never advocated Philippine independence. The chief enemy of reform, in his eyes, was not Spain, which was going through a profound revolution, but the Franciscan, Augustinian and Dominican friars who held the country in political and economic paralysis.

Rizal continued his medical studies in Paris and Heidelberg. In 1886, he published his first novel in Spanish, Noli Me Tangere, a passionate exposure of the evils of the friars rule, comparable in its effect to Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. A sequel, El Filibusterismo, 1891, established his reputation as the leading spokesman of the Philippine reform movement. He annotated an edition in 1890 on Antonio Morga's Sucesos de las Islas Filipinas, which showed that the native people of the Philippines had a long history before the coming of the Spaniards.

He became the leader of the Propaganda Movement, contributing numerous articles to its newspaper, La Solidaridad, published in Barcelona. Rizal's political program, as expressed in the newspaper, included integration of the Philippines as a province of Spain, representation in the Cortes (the Spanish parliament), the replacement of the Spanish friars by the Filipino priests, freedom of assembly and expression, and equality of Filipinos and Spaniards before the law.

Against the advice of his parents and friends, Rizal returned to the Philippines in 1892. He found a nonviolent reform society, La Liga Filipina, in Manila, and was deported to Dapitan, in northwest Mindanao, an island south of the Philippines. He remained in exile for four years, doing scientific research and founding a school and hospital. In 1896, the Katipunan, a nationalist secret society, launched a revolt against Spain. Although he had no connections with that organization or any part in the insurrection, Rizal was arrested and tried for sedition by the military. Found guilty, he wa publicly executed by a firing squad in Manila. His martyrdom convinced Filipinos that there was no alternative to independence from Spain. On the eve of his execution, while confined in Fort Santiago, Rizal wrote Mi Ultimo Adios ("My Last Farewell"), a masterpiece of 19th-century Spanish verse.
http://www.univie.ac.at/Voelkerkunde/apsis/aufi/rizal/rzpoem4.htm
he spent much of his adult life in Spain - studied extensively in medicine, poetry, sculpture, engineering, you name it .

..A plant I am, that scarcely grown,
Was torn from out its Eastern bed,
Where all around perfume is shed,
And life but as a dream is known;
The land that I can call my own,
By me forgotten ne'er to be,
Where trilling birds their song taught me,
And cascades with their ceaseless roar,
And all along the apreading shore
The murmurs of the sounding sea.

While yet in childhood's happy day,
I learned upon its sun to smile,
And in my breast there seems the while
Seething volcanic fires to play.
A bard I was, my wish alway
To call upon the fleeting wind,
With all the force of verse and mind:
"Go forth, and spread around its flame
From zone to zone with glad acclaim,
And earth to heaven together bin ... etc
Philippinos worship this guy :)
mountains of info here if anyone is interested in reading further:-
http://www.joserizal.ph/in01.html

2020hindsight
23rd-February-2007, 07:30 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0yn7nS_wuc Here's a poem by an america's (prior?) poet laureate
different! lol

2020hindsight
23rd-February-2007, 10:41 PM
NOTES ON PAYING THE RENT
If you basejump, if you wing it, if you dare things to go wrong
and you dare your soul to sing it, though it may be your last song,
will your chute tear accidental, is this 'bad luck' if it does
or are YOU some yearly rental, in some game of "chase the buzz"
- you were doing what you loved with mates, and that's what fortune does.

If you hangglide mountain ranges where the misty clouds recline
where the colour pattern changes with the arching sun behind
mostly wind like magic pillows - but should gusts blow false to you
are you food for weeping willows, or just rent that's overdue.
- you were doing what you loved wth mates, praps rent was overdue.

If you surf and crash and tumble with white pointer sharks beneath,
when last year one of your number lost a leg to razor teeth
guess it's just like paying rental for the freedom you enjoy
and it's sadly incidental - there's a warning with the toy!
- and it's sad that rent is paid for by this sacrificial boy.

I have stood on sandy beaches and I've deep inhaled the scent,
and I've asked the god of creatures where do I pay back some rent,
rent for lighting up the landscape, rent for warming up the sand
and for phonecalls that are answered, by some friendly landlord's hand.
- but the answer adds "remember! rent is paid in every land."

Then the voice gets sentimental "rent is small for First World days
just be thankful that your rental is one third the Third World pays
yet you help them only rarely? yet you've means and you have ways?
you could share their rent more fairly, help your brother through his maze
- help the odds of his existence, help reduce the rent he pays".
In games of war that pollies play, with others as their pawns
Their questionable "calls to arms" that land us all in thorns,
Again some rental hardly missed, is paid as war day dawns
And "others" make up missing lists, "Another" mother mourns
- from pawn to polished granite, amid well kept tombstone lawns. :(

Such sadly long term rental and such sadly short term lives
And such questionable motives, as some Pollies life revives.

I wrote this poem leaning against a gum in Kings Park Perth, (dedicated to the memory of a soldier who didn't return) - and looking on a memorial to West Australians who didn't return - one of whom I had given a course of instruction, (and knew well), and two who I buried :( Please don't question my patriotic credentials.

2020hindsight
2nd-March-2007, 10:04 PM
The Money Tree

I'd LIKE a bludy money tree – today! before I’m broke!
a thirty footer fir maybe , or eighty metre oak
or even hek a Christmas pine all laden with its fruit
as long as all the fruit was mine, and all the fruit was loot.

I'd LIKE those 50 dollar leaves, all green and dewdrop laden
or even after autumn thieves leave 20’s red and fadin’
I’d even live with bluey 10’s , or purple fives in droves-
…………
But knowing how the real world wends, :)
I’ll be happy with some loaves ;)

2020hindsight
3rd-March-2007, 02:24 PM
An example of Churchill "Picking the right word"...
(ps maybe skip this unless you are a Churchill fan - or need your positive thinking geed-up lol)
http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=423

"Never Give In" Speech, October 29, 1941, Harrow School
When Churchill visited Harrow on October 29 to hear the traditional songs again, he discovered that an additional verse had been added to one of them. It ran:

"Not less we praise in darker days
The leader of our nation,
And Churchill's name shall win acclaim
From each new generation.
For you have power in danger's hour
Our freedom to defend, Sir!
Though long the fight we know that right
Will triumph in the end, Sir!

Almost a year has passed since I came down here at your Head Master's kind invitation in order to cheer myself and cheer the hearts of a few of my friends by singing some of our own songs. The ten months that have passed have seen very terrible catastrophic events in the world - ups and downs, misfortunes - but can anyone sitting here this afternoon, this October afternoon, not feel deeply thankful for what has happened in the time that has passed and for the very great improvement in the position of our country and of our home? ........

Another lesson I think we may take, just throwing our minds back to our meeting here ten months ago and now, is that appearances are often very deceptive, and as Kipling well says, we must "…meet with Triumph and Disaster. And treat those two impostors just the same."

You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more than will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination. But for everyone, surely, what we have gone through in this period - I am addressing myself to the School - surely from this period of ten months this is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never-in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. We stood all alone a year ago, and to many countries it seemed that our account was closed, we were finished. All this tradition of ours, our songs, our School history, this part of the history of this country, were gone and finished and liquidated.

Very different is the mood today. .....we now find ourselves in a position where I say that we can be sure that we have only to persevere to conquer.

You sang here a verse of a School Song: you sang that extra verse written in my honour, which I was very greatly complimented by and which you have repeated today. But there is one word in it I want to alter - I wanted to do so last year, but I did not venture to. It is the line: "Not less we praise in darker days."

I have obtained the Head Master's permission to alter darker to sterner. "Not less we praise in sterner days."

Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days - the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race. :2twocents

2020hindsight
11th-March-2007, 09:37 PM
I LOVE THE BUSH.
I love the bush - the way the trees stretch up towards an endless sky
like placards pushing some green freeze – just leave them there to stately die
I doubt that God in Heaven cares if one mere mortal questions why
but maybe sixteen million dare, to fight the greenhouse, fight the dry.

Those gently carbon trading leaves just sucking in and smiling back
those stately limbs that nature weaves where birds and blossoms interact
Like nails into the earth those trunks, that stake their claim for future life
and praps rebirth, like wooden monks, ...
or praps the coffin nails of strife.

(A bloke down the road wants me to plant a coupla trees - to help him with a development application lol - council requirement that he gets 100 trees planted - I said sure !! - then took the dog for a walk in the bush, and got to thinking about trees. :)

2020hindsight
15th-March-2007, 06:54 PM
Insider, I believe we were talking about "allegorical stories" on another thread . (assuming you can be bothered with this boring stuff, and reading non-trading threads:)

Here's a quote from that wikipedia site about allegory vs metaphor etc, about Tolkien's opinion of allegory (but I'm damned if I agree with him) ;) :-

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allegory An allegory (from Greek ἄλλος, "other", and ἀγορεύειν, agoreuein, "to speak in public") is a figurative mode of representation conveying a meaning other than the literal.

Allegory is generally treated as a figure of rhetoric, but an allegory does not have to be expressed in language: it may be addressed to the eye, and is often found in realistic painting, sculpture or some other form of mimetic, or representative art.

The etymological meaning of the word is broader than the common use of the word. Though it is similar to other rhetorical comparisons, an allegory is sustained longer and more fully in its details than a metaphor, and appeals to imagination, while an analogy appeals to reason or logic. The fable or parable is a short allegory with one definite moral.

Since meaningful stories are nearly always applicable to larger issues, allegories may be read into many stories, sometimes distorting their author's overt meaning. For instance, many people have suggested that The Lord of the Rings was an allegory for the World Wars, while in fact it was well under way before the outbreak of World War II and J.R.R. Tolkien's emphatic statement in the introduction to the American edition "It is neither allegorical nor topical....I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence ."
For instance, I personally really like Adam Lindsay Gordon's poem as below:- :2twocents

YE WEARY WAYFARER, Fytte VI
POTTER's CLAY [An Allegorucal Interlude]

Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill
Too oft gets broken at last,
There are scores of others its place to fill
When its earth to the earth is cast;
Keep that pitcher at home, may it never roam,
but lie like a useless clod,
Yet sooner or later the hour will come
When its chips are thrown to the sod.

Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day,
When the vessel is crack'd and old,
To cherish the battered potters clay ,
As though it were virgin gold?
Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf,
Though prudent and safe you seem,
Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf
And mine by the dazzling stream.
PS like my son might say - "I metaphor a drink dad, just a drink, that's all - and then the fog closed in, and ..!" ;)

2020hindsight
15th-March-2007, 11:49 PM
sorry folks this is a long one - Just shows how versatile was Australia's first poet. " Printed in 1864...Gordon met friends in the Mt Gambier Hotel, and during the evening his attentoin was drawn to a set of 6 plates illustrative of the old Border ballad "The Downie Dens o' Yarrow". Gordon was much pleased with the plates and intimated to one of the company his intention of using them as the subjecvt of some verses. A day or two later he showed the poem to the gentleman he had spoken to .. printed etc...
http://www.rangerjohn.com/thefeud.html

THE FEUD : A BORDER BALLAD
PLATE I - Rixa super mero

They sat by their wine in the tavern that night, But not in good fellowship true:
The Rhenish was strong and the Burgundy bright, And hotter the argument grew.

'I asked your consent when I first sought her hand, Nor did you refuse to agree,
Tho' her father declared that the half of his land Her dower at our wedding should be.'

'No dower shall be given (the brother replied) With a maiden of beauty so rare,
Nor yet shall my father my birthright divide, Our lands with a foeman to share.'

The knight stood erect in the midst of the hall, And sterner his visage became,
'Now, shame and dishonour my 'scutcheon befall, If thus I relinquish my claim."

The brother then drained a tall goblet of wine, And fiercely this answer he made--
'Before like a coward my rights I resign I'll claim an appeal to the blade.

"The passes at Yarrow are rugged and wide, There meet me to-morrow alone;
This quarrel we two with our swords will decide, And one shall this folly atone.'

They've settled the time and they've settled the place, They've paid for the wine and the ale,
They've bitten their gloves, and their steps they retrace, To their castles in Ettrick's Vale.


PLATE II - Morituri (te) salutant, Now, buckle my broadsword at my side
And saddle my trusty steed;
And bid me adieu, my bonnie bride, To Yarrow I go with speed.

'I've passed through many a bloody fray Unharmed in health or limb;
Then why's your brow so sad this day And your dark eye so dim?'

'Oh, belt not on your broadsword bright, Oh! leave your steed in the stall,
For I dreamt last night of a stubborn fight, And I dreamt I saw you fall.'

'On Yarrow's braes there will be strife, Yet I am safe from ill;
And if I thought it would cost my life I must take this journey still.'

He turned his charger to depart In the misty morning air,
But he stood and pressed her to his heart And smoothed her glossy hair.

And her red lips he fondly kissed Beside the castle door,
And he rode away in the morning mist, And he never saw her more!

PLATE III Heu! deserta domus
She sits by the eastern casement now, And the sunlight enters there,
And settles on her ivory brow And gleams in her golden hair.
....

PLATE IV Gaudia certaminis
He came to the spot where his foe had agreed, To meet him in Yarrow's dark glade,
And there he drew rein amd dismounted his steed, And fastened him under the shade.

Close by in the greenwood the ambush was set, And scarce had he entered the glen
When, armed for the combat, the brother he met, And with him were eight of his men.

'Now, swear to relinquish all claim to our land, Or to give as a hostage your bride!
Or fly if your able, or yield where you stand, Or die as your betters have died!'

His doublet and hat on the greensward he threw, He wrapt round the left arm his cloak;
And out of its scabbard his broadsword he drew, And stood with his back to an oak.

'My claim to your land I refuse to deny, Nor will I restore you my bride,
Now will I surrender, nor yet will I fly: Come on, and the steel shall decide!'

Oh! sudden and sure were the blows that he dealt! Like lightning the sweep of his blade!
Cut and thrust, point and edge, all around him they fell, They fell one by one in the glade!

And pierced in the gullet their leader goes down! And sinks with a curse on the plain;
And his squire falls dead! cut through headpice and crown! And his groom by a back stroke is slain.

Now five are stretched lifeless; disabled are three! Hard pressed, see the last caitiff reel!
The brother behind struggles up on one knee, And drives through his body the steel.
And drives though his body the steel. caitiff - coward

PLATE V Non habeo mihi facta adhuc cur Herculis uxor
Credar coniugii mors mihi pignus erit.
The traitor's father heard the tale, In haste he mounted then,
And spurred his horse from Ettrick Vale To Yarrow's lonely glen,

Some troopers followed in his track-- For them he tarried not,
He neither halted nor looked back Until he found the spot.

The earth was trod and trampled bare, And stained with dark red dew,
A broken blade lay here, and there A bonnet cut in two;

And stretched in ghastly shapes around The lifeless corpses lie,
Some with their faces to the ground, And some towards the sky.

And there the ancient Border chief, Stood silent and alone--
Too stubborn to give way to grief, Too stern remorse to own.

A soldier in the midst of strife, Since he had first drawn breath,
He'd grown to undervalue life, And feel at home with death.

And yet he shuddered when he saw, The work that had been done;
He knew his fearless son-in-law, He knew his dastard son.

Despite the failings of his race, A brave old man was he,
Who would not stoop to actions base, And hated treachery.

He loved his younger daughter well, And though severe and rude,
For her sake he had tried to quell, That foolish Border feud.

Her brother all his schemes had marred, And given his pledge the lie,
And sense of justice struggled hard, With nature's stronger tie.

He knew his son had richly earned, The stroke that laid him low,
Yet had not quite forgiveness learned, For him that dealt the blow.

There came a tramp of horses' feet: He raised his startled eyes,
And felt his pulses throb and beat, With sorrow and surprise.

He saw his daughter riding fast, And from her steed she sprung,
And on her lover's corpse she cast, Herself. and round him clung.

...
The stout moss-trooper glanced around But not a word he said;
He knelt upon the battered ground And raised his master's head.

The face had set serene and sad, Nor was there on the clay
The stamp of that fierce soul which had In anger passed away.
....
The father first that silence broke; His voice was firm and clear,
And every accent that he spoke, Fell on the listener's ear.
'Daughter, this quarrel to forgo, I offered half our land
A dower to him--a feudal foe-- When first he sought your hand.

I only asked for some brief while, Some few short weeks' delay,
Till I my son could reconcile; For this he would not stay.
He was your husband, so I'm told; But you yourself must own
He took you to his fortress-hold With your consent alone.

Of late the strife broke out anew; They blame your brother there;
But he was hot and headstrong, too-- He doubtless did his share.
Oh! stout of heart, and strong of hand, With all his faults was he,
The champion of his Border land; I ne'er his judge will be!

Now, grieve no more for what is done; Alike we share the cost;
For, girl, I too have lost a son, If you your love have lost.
Forget the deed! and learn to call A worthier man your lord
Than he whose arm has vexed us all; Here lies his fatal sword.

Think, when you seek his guilt to cloak, Whose blood has dyed it red,
Who fell beneath its deadly stroke, Whose life is forfeited.'
The old man paused, for while he spoke The girl had raised her head.
Her silken hair she proudly dashed Back from her crimson face!

And in her bright eyes once more flashed The spirit of her race!
He beauty made her stand abashed! Her voice rang thro' the place!
'Who held the treacherous dagger's hilt When against odds he fought?
My brothers blood was fairly spilt! But his was basely sought!

Now, Christ absolve his soul from guilt; He sinned as he was taught!
'His next of kin by blood and birth May claim his house and Land!
His groom may slack his saddle-girth, Or bid his charger stand!
But never a man on God's wide earth Shall touch his darling's hand!'

The colour faded from her cheek, Her eyelids drooped and fell,
And when again she sought to speak Her accents came so low and weak
Her words they scarce could tell. 'Oh! father, all I ask is rest,--
Here let me once more lie!' She stretched upon the dead man's breast
With one long weary sigh; And the old man bowed his lofty crest
And hid his troubled eye!

They called her, but she spoke no more, And when they raised her head
She seemed as lovely as before, Though all her bloom had fled;
But they grew pale at that they saw-- They knew that she was dead!


PLATE VI Dies irae: dies illa
The requiem breaks the midnight air, the funeral bell they toll,--
A mass or prayer we well may spare, for a brave moss-trooper's soul;
And the fairest bride on the Border side, may she too be forgiven!
The dirge we ring, the chant we sing, the rest we leave to Heaven!

2020hindsight
27th-March-2007, 08:44 PM
http://poetry.tetto.org/read/27841/
trading rookie, nothing to do with the Cross, but a poem about King St nonetheless - a busker with a hangover who loves his guitar - different, nice imagery. ;)


At The Colonial Plaza on King Street , by redsky

I'm experimenting with form, this is a syllabic poem, each line ranges between 10 to 11 syllables (I think there's one with 12), but any helpful feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Dedication is a two string guitar,
with swirls of teal, jade and tangerine tinting
its sandy face. Bloated fingers tune with
fevered concentration like a crazed locksmith.
Salty mornings breathe an air of apathy.
Tourists and townies pass by without a glance
as fa and re float like placid soap bubbles,
each twang piercing their iridescent beauty.
An interlude follows. The tattered rag pulled
out from his army green pocket caresses
each dull curve of the guitar, a devotion
longed by some women from their callous lovers.
His splintered melodies regurgitate
an agony of mornings, noons and nights
trapped between paper blankets and a drenched
bench. His guttural persuasion smudges his face
with claret, vermilion, and burgundy,
like crushed wild berries speckled on a sidewalk.
A naked voice left howling through cobblestone
roads, without an audience, without a spotlight.

2020hindsight
2nd-April-2007, 10:05 PM
THE DEEP SEA COD AND THE FISHERMAN'S SON

It has always amazed the deepsea cod,
As he swims through the wrecks, and the seaweed and sod,
Why these tallships, once proud, till some “Wrath of God”
Delivered them here - and from whence?
Whence their skeletoned crew all strewn about?
Whence the whalers still screaming their final half-shout?
Whence the Titanic patrons who couldn’t get out
Now in “Davey Jones’ Locker” immense ?

Whence the engine room comrades who stand and stare?
Whence the captain about to launch one final flare?
Whence the battleship lad in his ack-ack chair?
Who all died with adrenalin blush;
But the colours down here all merge as one,
And their pasts are all riddles now known to none,
Just a ghostly and fathomless absence of sun,
And the sound is nothing but “hush”.-
And a memory of water’s rush.

………………………………………………….

And the terror for bathers who lay on that beach
Neath a tropical sun like a heavenly peach -
Why that day Davey Jones lurched out to reach
And took em all back to “his deep”.
Whence the freakish gargantuan wall of wet
That has left survivors to fear and fret,
Who in time I suppose will forgive and forget
But - Davey – please stay asleep!! :( .

Now the deepsea cod’s even more confused
And no less are we who are left to choose
Which mood of a dozen blacks or blues
Would best depict our thoughts;
Whence the bus and the house and the baby’s coat
Whence the thousands of souls who forgot how to float
Whence the church’s old bible a few still quote
In some distant vanquished ports.
Whence the boy in the boogieboard shorts.

Whence the fisherman’s son, and the fisherman’s wife
Who all drowned on that day – in that swirling strife
No gail, no tempest, no red sky to warn
Yet the fisherman lives – though his life is torn
And he goes to the beach to mourn.: :2twocents

2020hindsight
2nd-April-2007, 11:04 PM
A thought for those who died on the weekend , including the little girl found today :(

Shakespeare, The Tempest:- "We are such stuff as dreams are made of,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep"

drillinto
3rd-April-2007, 12:10 AM
The Early Morning

The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other:
The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother.
The moon on my left hand and the dawn on my right.
My brother, good morning: my sister, good night.

Hilaire Belloc(1870-1953)

trading_rookie
5th-April-2007, 03:42 PM
trading rookie, nothing to do with the Cross, but a poem about King St nonetheless - a busker with a hangover who loves his guitar - different, nice imagery

It's not the one, infact I'm not sure now if it was called King Street, or it mentioned King Street in it. But I do recall pawn shops, alcho's and the low-life element of the street. Think it was written around the time of the depression.

drillinto
6th-April-2007, 04:04 AM
Introduction to Poetry

Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.



from The Apple that Astonished Paris, 1996
University of Arkansas Press, Fayetteville, Ark., USA

drillinto
6th-April-2007, 04:38 AM
It's not the one, infact I'm not sure now if it was called King Street, or it mentioned King Street in it. But I do recall pawn shops, alcho's and the low-life element of the street. Think it was written around the time of the depression.

Search for Poems and Poets ==> www.searchpoetry.com

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 08:53 AM
Introduction to Poetry
Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem, and hold it up to the light, like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
thanks drill ;) brilliant.
here's another :-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrEPJh14mcU forgetfulnes , billy collins (US Poet Laureate a few years back)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eI5Gp3d7Z-4&mode=related&search= the dead
(personally I much prefer the former, I had a reason once, but I forget)

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 08:55 AM
btw, here's a poem in it's early stages of drafting - Anyone who has ever written a poem / song / letter / report /advertising idea etc etc can relate to this one lol :)

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 09:21 AM
Drill, This one has something in common with "Forgefulness" I guess - (more about being pensive) - but much better , it rhymes , lol - and being a patriot, I prefer an Aussie , none better than Gordon IMO with these "beautiful musical melancholy lines". ;) - tell us what you think (if you have time).
PS if you go to that website , don;t bother clicking on any of the "sound files" - just some stupid tune / ditty.
http://www.rangerjohn.com/twoyears.html

QUARE FATIGASTI (Wither Bound) Adam Lindsay Gordon

Two years ago I was thinking
On the changes that years bring forth;
Now I stand where I then stood drinking
The gust and the salt sea froth;
And the shuddering wave strikes, linking
With the waves subsiding and sinking,
And clots the coast herbage, shrinking,
With the hue of the white cere-cloth.

Is there aught worth losing or keeping?
The bitters or sweets men quaff?
The sowing or the doubtful reaping?
The harvest of grain or chaff?
Or squandring days or heaping,
Or waking seasons or sleeping,
The laughter that dries the weeping,
Or the weeping that drowns the laugh?

The joys wax dim and woes deaden,
We forget the sorrowful biers,
And the garlands glad that have fled in
The merciful march of years;
And the sunny skies and the leaden,
And the faces that pale or redden,
And the smiles that lovers are wed in
Who are born and buried in tears.

And the myrtle bloom turns hoary,
And the blush of the rose decays,
And sodden with sweat and gory
Are the hard won laurels and bays;
We are neither joyous nor sorry
When time has ended our story,
And blotted out grief and glory,
And pain, and pleasure, and praise.

Weigh justly, throw good and bad in
The scales, will the balance veer
With the joys or the sorrows had in
The sum of a life's career?
In the end, spite of dreams that sadden
The sad, or the sanguine madden,
There is nothing to grieve or gladden,
There is nothing to hope or fear.

'Thou hast gone astray.' quoth the preacher,
'In the gall of thy bitterness,'
Thou hast taught me in vain, oh, teacher!
I neither blame thee nor bless;
If bitter is sure and sweet sure,
These vanish with form and feature--
Can the creature fathom the creature
Whose Creator is fathomless?

Is this dry land sure? Is the sea sure?
Is there aught that shall long remain,
Pain, or peril, or pleasure,
Pleasure, or peril, or pain?
Shall we labour or take our leisure,
And who shall inherit treasure,
If the measure with which we measure
Is meted to us again?

I am slow in learning, and swift in
Forgetting, and I have grown
So weary with long sand sifting;
T'wards the mist where the breakers moan
The rudderless bark is drifting,
Through the shoals and the quicksands shifting--
In the end shall the night-rack lifting,
Discover the shores unknown?
Something in common with his lines
"Life is mostly froth and bubble, two things stand like stone , kindness in another's trouble, courage in your own". :2twocents

noirua
6th-April-2007, 09:49 AM
Here I am at home, poorly,
Dreadfull cold, cough, cough,
splutter, splutter, at deaths door,
back to bed, rough, rough.

Throat is sore, about to snore,
Chest is tight, can't breath,
Very hot, temperature soared,
rather sick, about to heave.

My head is now hurting,
surely it's not curtains,
sick as a parrot,
I think I've had it.

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 09:57 AM
My head is now hurting,
surely it's not curtains,
sick as a parrot,
I think I've had it.
lol - good one noi,
as they say , if it wasn't for venetian blinds, it would be curtains for all of us ;)

PS similar "rhytm" to Gordon.
by the way , don't you just love those lines back there, example...

"And the sunny skies and the leaden,
And the faces that pale or redden,
And the smiles that lovers are wed in
Who are born and buried in tears."

man was a genius. :) (used to spend all his time memorising ancient classical latin / greek text - could quote em cover to cover etc)

romantic - probably that pensiveness went back to this ...(?)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_Lindsay_Gordon Gordon had fallen in love with a girl of 17, Jane Bridges, who was able to tell the story 60 years afterwards to his biographers. He did not declare his love until he came to say good-bye to her before leaving for Australia on 7 August 1853. "With characteristic recklessness he offered to sacrifice the passage he had taken to Australia, and all his father's plans for giving him a fresh start in life, if she would tell him not to go, or promise to be his wife, or even give him some hope." This Miss Bridges could not do, though she liked the shy handsome boy and remembered him with affection to the end of a long life. It was the one romance of Gordon's life. That Gordon realized his conduct had fallen much below what it might have been can be seen in his poems .

noirua
6th-April-2007, 10:08 AM
Quare Fatigasti: Found it quite interesting, especially with your not recommended music. Something about that music that goes back to the 16th century or earlier - King Henry V111 and all that.

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 11:05 AM
Something about that music that goes back to the 16th century or earlier - King Henry V111 and all that.
Ever wonder what Henry VIII would have thought of the beatles ? lol - or amplified quadraphonic sound that could (as an extreme) break crystal glasses ;)

much like this I reckon ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrNsjuPcqnQ Oliver Cochlear Implant Activation 12/2006

one small sound for mum, one giant symphony for that little kid

noi, this one probably belongs on your "videos that send a message" thread , but I'll post it here now that I'm on a roll ;) a short movie, and brings a tear to your eye - poetic? - you be the judge , lol. http://www.clicksmilies.com/s1106/aktion/action-smiley-044.gif

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEC-SJbE83E&mode=related&search= first day

further reading / watching :-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaPYQQtj1jM what it's like before the implant
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmNpP2fr57A the science
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW5xNGB_jZM&mode=related&search= Surgery Before 1st Birthday Best for Deaf Kids

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 06:10 PM
Wayne, Since you're going to the Cotswalds, here's a poem to help you settle in ;)
By FLOOD AND FIELD (by Adam LindsayGordon)

I remember the lowering wintry morn,
And the mist of the Cotswold hills
Where I once heard the blast of the huntsman’s horn
Not far from the seven rills. etc etc

You'll see his riding friend goes on to participate in the Charge of the Light Brigade, whereas he himself only has a heavy fall in the Hunt. Moral ofthe story , lol - take it easy over there, lol - who cares if the fox gets away anyway (as long as you don't bring itback to Aus) ;)

PS There's actually a second poem appended - worth a read as well
THE VINE TREE vs THE SADDLE TREE....

I remember some words my father said
when I was an urchin vain:-
God rest his soul, in his narrow bed
these ten long years he hath lain
When I think one drop of the blood he bore
this faint heart surely must hold
It may be my fancy and nothing more
But the faint heart seemeth bold.

He said that as from the blood of the grape,
or from juice distilled from the grain,
False vigour soon to evaporate,
is leant to nerve and brain,
So the coward will dare on the gallant horse ,
what he never would dare alone,
Because he exults in a borrowed force,
and a hardihood not his own.

And so it may be , yet the difference lies
Twixt the vine and the saddle tree
The spurious courage that drink supplies
Sets our baser passions free;
But the stimulant which the horseman feels
When he gallops fast and straight,
To his better nature most appeals
and charity conquers hate... etcetc

2020hindsight
6th-April-2007, 06:13 PM
Wayne
further to previous
Here are all 8 of Gordon's Fyttes , (fits? lol). The two poems below are Fytte II and III.
plus the Lay of the Last Charger. (I love that one ) :2twocents
Let us know what you think. :2twocents

2020hindsight
9th-April-2007, 07:08 PM
OKKER AUTONOMY (call it an Easter message of peace if you prefer :2twocents :()

There’s a little fledgling nation, call it Oz, or “Okkerland”
While sitting at Eureka said “c’mon ! let’s make a stand!”,
Since then has made pretensions to the truth and the UN,
And so gained its autonomy on what to do and when.

Autonomous young nation, you’ll be judged in years to come,
Please “filter” all “sensation” and don’t follow causes dumb,
Don’t charge into mass lynchings, where young angels fear to tread,
There’s such a thing as “walk beside” much preferable to “lead”.

Autonomy, umBilicals are long since naval floss,
Be anything you wanna be, but YOU’re your moral boss,
Don’t follow Uncle Sam so blind – he’ll lead you up some creek,
His brightest talent talons, and that razor eagle beak.

His Peace Corps boys around the world make friends for life it seems ,
And meet old friends on islands, :) and they smile at long held dreams,
They shake the hands of kindred souls they taught at some bark school - ….
Don’t “stuff it up” with warlike goals, because of some blind fool.

The history of Uncle Sam as all good Texans know
Means “equal justice for the lamb went out with Alamo”
Those Mexicans who fought it had no right to be out there,
And Davey Crockett bought it, and his motives pure and fair.

Don’t follow him so readily boy, he likes to play with death,
Some “four-year king” with deadly toys – makes choir boy of Macbeth,
Unless you win some hearts and minds, you’ll never win that goal,
That makes your land a noble place, and gives your nation soul.

Be careful of your Uncle boy he preaches like a monk
He loves to taunt like Dirty Harry “Feelin lucky, punk?”
He has such simple ethics, he can make it up each day -
“Don’t do that which we do, you all, just do that which we say!”.

Be careful of your Uncle boy he’s just a little wild
His birth and youth the tantrums of a civil warring child
Where strength was proven without doubt to emanate from guns
And carpet baggers laughing at “red-badge-of-courage” sons.

He learnt the law of “might is right” and jaundiced record books
Those written by the victors, “how we beat those wimpish sooks”
He’s lost all sense of moral cause, he’s now his own worst foe
And pity help some “Mouse that Roars” at modern GI Joe.

Tis only seven score year and four, that Lincoln gave his speech (1863)
He spoke of equals, principles, the stuff that teachers teach,
But how the heck can kids grow up in these uncertain times,?
We’ve traded any moral code for blood-soaked oil-soaked dimes.

I wonder what would Lincoln think if now he saw the mess
Of how we bomb the innocent, yet innocence protest.
And pity help the child that sees through any kings new clothes
Who makes predictions terrified of ugly things he loathes.

“I think therefore I’m here, I am”?, - that’s much too strong on tact!
He much prefers “I think KERBAM” He much prefers to act,
And pity help some Mouse that Roars, his sense of humour’s gone
KERBAM to you, to hell with cause, (his Xmas list is long).

A truly moral message that will resonate for years
Is not the one the booms out of a cannon near your ears
And who recalls the word of Caesar in historic mist ?
And who prefers the gentle thoughts of Buddha or the Christ?

I really liked the English Archbishop of Canterbury's Easter message ...(something like) ..

"We might get peace , but not before Moslems stop thinking of Christians as Crusaders
and Christians stop thinking of Moslems as Terrorists"

2020hindsight
9th-April-2007, 07:48 PM
OKKER AUTONOMY (call it an Easter message of peace if you prefer :2twocents :()

A truly moral message that will resonate for years
Is not the one the booms out of a cannon near your ears
And who recalls the word of Caesar in historic mist ?
And who prefers the gentle thoughts of Buddha or the Christ?

I really liked the English Archbishop of Canterbury's Easter message ...(something like) ..

"We might get peace , but not before Moslems stop thinking of Christians as Crusaders
and Christians stop thinking of Moslems as Terrorists"

PS There's only one thing I hate more than where we are going
and that is the speed with which we are going there . :(

PS I met US Peace Corps blokes in the islands - scuba dived with em - great ambassadors working with poor village kids ;) - shame that their work is being undermined by "recent events". :(

drillinto
11th-April-2007, 01:29 PM
The Poet

Tom Wayman

Loses his position on worksheet or page in textbook
May speak much but makes little sense
Cannot give clear verbal instructions
Does not understand what he reads
Does not understand what he hears
Cannot handle “yes-no” questions

Has great difficulty interpreting proverbs
Has difficulty recalling what he ate for breakfast, etc.
Cannot tell a story from a picture
Cannot recognize visual absurdities

Has difficulty classifying and categorizing objects
Has difficulty retaining such things as
addition and subtraction facts, or multiplication tables
May recognize a word one day and not the next


From In a Small House on the Outskirts of Heaven, 1989
Harbour Publishing (Canada)

2020hindsight
11th-April-2007, 02:13 PM
drill, you're probaly right ;)
Its hard to make some sense of it , especially set to verse
You try defining poets you just make em ten times worse
The poet will get stuck in corners every time he paints
The rest of us are logical - and rational - and saints :eek7:

2020hindsight
11th-April-2007, 05:03 PM
The Poet
....
Has difficulty classifying and categorizing objects
Has difficulty retaining such things as
addition and subtraction facts, or multiplication tables
May recognize a word one day and not the next

From In a Small House on the Outskirts of Heaven, 1989
Harbour Publishing (Canada)
drill, since you've posted some good poetry here yourself , I'm not sure where your post is going ;) , but...
on the question of logical behaviour , poets or anyone, this is an excerpt from #62 on this one..

MATTERS OF THE HEART

by Way of preamble, it’s easy to gamble, when dice are odds-on and it’s wise
and your Head’s in control, and the facts are in BOLD and they’re easy to rationalise,
but Where do you start with affairs of the heart, like two lovers’ tortured goodbyes,
who Needs to be chaste, its such a damned waste
they Much prefer lock-jawed and wrestle-embraced
(you Try it on strangers you’re sure to get maced)
and a Needing, bleeding, and frenzied-feeding - pleading trust in their eyes.
(As long as they don’t get to actually breeding before’n they formalise).

cos you Haven’t felt warmth till you’ve been there child, tho’ you’ve sat in front of the fire,
nor Shared in so dizzy a dream there child, with your heart on so swinging a tyre,
if Only one knew how to “beam there” child, one would yell from the highest spire,
but Rational thoughts – in love – distorts,
and the Two don’t combine well by all reports,
you just Give of your soul and your innermost thoughts,
and be Blissfully, wis(t)fully, ultralong kissfully - glissfully lost in the mire.
(you could Bottle and bank it and make a pile - Swissfully – selling to the highest buyer)., etc etc
occasionally through life we should forget about maths and stuff yes? ;)

And another - in defense of Romance vs Reality #26 :-

SCRAP METAL

Tell me your story small piece of scrap metal, jagged and rent from some hull,
Satelite glory? or broken old kettle? Something exciting or dull?
(have you) Seen the world from 10,000 miles high, or just from a kitchen stove?
did you Guess what a buzz it would be to fly? - or the pantry your furthest rove?

did aDrenoline thrill you, who knows maybe kill you? did you Whirl like a wide eyed dreamer?
did they "Tea-cosy frill" you, or praps "window sill" you, did you boil like a two-pot screamer?
did you Find romance in your time allotted? and travel mid languages foreign?
did your Master's dance with each space-beep spotted, - or your cosy just doubled as sporran?

Tell me your story , my new-found friend, just How have we spent our life?
Relishing height in each new bound, friend? or Just steering clear of strife?
Relishing moments of sunshine and warm, - and the LIGHTNING flash - Natures wild language?
or Relishing praps just the END of the storm? - or maybe - a corn relish sandwich?

Soared where the wedge tailed eagle goes? or Paced out some cage like a turkey?
well ME? I'm a bit of both I suppose (WHETHER REAL OR IMAGINED GETS MIRKY )
Moments of boredom or moments of bliss, Moments worth ten times gold,
In the end my friend it has come to this - Your story remains untold!

Epilogue (written by a Realist):-

You think it's romantic? It's a serious case!!! I have to be crisp and specific!!
There's Fe3 O4 all over the place (that's rust to you unscientific!)
It's OBVIOUSLY kettle you flaming great drip !! There's even a tealeaf this corner !!
And chances of satellite here !!! GET A GRIP!!, Stick your thumb back in , Lill Jack Horner!!

AND TRY TO BE MORE SCIENTIFICALLY PURE !! YOURE TECHNICALLY LACKING JACK HORNER!!
Better I stick with a real poet maybe, lol :-
"Life is mostly froth and bubble, two things stand like stone
kindness in another 's trouble, courage in your own" (ALGordon).

PS I would classify Mr Tom Wayman as "kettle" lol. :2twocents
possibly with a fair bit of Fe3O4 as well ;)

2020hindsight
11th-April-2007, 08:39 PM
THE LEGACY OF ABU GHRAIB
Sure we've had some baddies downed, Lord but what a cost,
Win at least SOME moral ground, else all else is lost,
Broadcast to the world out there, Abu Ghraib grins, :(
Makes rhetoric kinda bare, when inderpinned with sins.

Abu Ben Adam, (tribe reduced?), awoke one night from zen
And asked to be recorded "one who loves his fellow men"
How different from his brother Ghraib, ignorant, obsessed,
And when that golden book was wrote, which name lead all the rest?

drillinto
13th-April-2007, 12:56 AM
Selecting a Reader

Ted Kooser

First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.



from Sure Signs, 1980
University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, Pa.

[ Every poet has an image of the ideal reader, and the not-so-ideal reader ]

2020hindsight
13th-April-2007, 09:10 AM
LIFE IS A BEACH
The scribbled words we write today, are footprints of a mind at play
Or sometimes thoughts that sooth or thrill, to quench some electronic quill.
Sometimes we type out grains of sand, (- or grains of mud, you understand ;))
And so we leave behind us here, constructions out of such small beer.

For most of us one bucket full, one turret of a sandy fort
And equal share praps of bull, with fingers crossed in case we're caught,
....
Or Hitler's mangrove swamp of words, with twisted roots and blood lust leach, -
While Winston Churchill much preferred, to leave behind a golden beach . :)

2020hindsight
14th-April-2007, 12:06 PM
Lawson , the dollar-challenged larrikin .. :)
http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/L/LawsonHenry/index.html

To a Pair of Blucher Boots, 1890 Henry Lawson

OLD acquaintance unforgotten, Though you may be “ugly brutes”—
Though your leather’s cracked and rotten, Worn-out pair of Blucher boots.
’Tis the richer man before you, Dearer leathers grace his feet;
’Twas the better man that wore you In the tramps through dust and heat!

Oft rebuffed by “super’s” snarling, When I asked him for a “show”,
On that long tramp to the Darling In the days of long ago;
Tell me, if you know it, whether, As I sadly tramped away,
Bore I heavy on your leather, Worn-out pair of Bluchers, say?

Though your leather’s cracked and rotten, Though you may be ugly brutes,
I’ll preserve you unforgotten, Worn-out pair of Blucher boots!


A Mixed Battle Song, Henry Lawson

LO! the Boar’s tail is salted, and the Kangaroo’s exalted,
And his right eye is extinguished by a man-o’-warsman’s cap;
He is flying round the fences where the Southern Sea commences,
And he’s very much excited for a quiet sort of chap.
For his ships have had a scrap and they’ve marked it on the map
Where the H.M.A.S. Sydney dropped across a German trap.
So the Kangaroo’s a-chasing of his Blessed Self, and racing
From Cape York right round to Leeuwin, from the coast to Nevertire;
And of him need be no more said, save that to the tail aforesaid
Is the Blue Australian Ensign firmly fixed with copper wire.
(When he’s filled the map with white men there’ll be little to desire.)

I was sulky, I was moody (I’m inclined to being broody)
When the news appeared in Sydney, bringing joy and bringing tears,
(There’s an undertone of sorrow that you’ll understand to-morrow)
And I felt a something in me that had not been there for years.
Though I lean in the direction of most absolute Protection
(And of wheat on the selection)
And, considering Congestion and the hopeless unemployed,
I’d a notion (but I hid it) that, the way the Emden did it,
’Twould be better for Australia if her “commerce” was destroyed.

You may say that war’s a curse, but the peace curse may be worse,
When it’s lasted till it’s rotten—rotten from the inmost core,
To the mouldy skin which we are, in the land we call the freer—
And I almost feel inclined to call for “Three Cheers for the War!”
For I think, when all is over, from Magellan’s Straits to Dover,
Things will be a great deal better than they ever were before.
But, since “Peace” and “Right” are squalling, I’ll content myself with calling
For three rousers—like the ringing cheers we used to give of yore—
For the Emden!
For the Sydney!
And their gallant crews and captains—both of whom we’ve met before!
And, for Kaiser William’s nevvy, we shall venture three cheers more!
Cheers that go to end a war.

2020hindsight
15th-April-2007, 02:19 PM
I'M OK - AT LEAST I WAS THE LAST TIME I WENT TO THE SHRINK ;)

We are all here one part parent, we are also one part child
we are thirdly one part adult – that’s where facts and stuff are filed
and the part that holds most interest to my questionable mind :confused:
is the part in there unique to us – with birthmarked gems to find.

Just as two year olds can make us laugh, or sixty year olds dance
just as laughing conversations can lead logic to romance
we are all a mixed up bag of skills, and all were small kids once
so let’s skip the part that’s "genius", and drop all else and "dunce”.

If we only live in adult, it would all get so intense
I’d prefer to watch the footy, (where my mates are really dense)
Or watch the Greeks pay chess like kids, beneath some olive tree,
but with cheering and with jeering from the peanut gallery.

If we ride the roller coaster, if we scream down waterslides
where some 2 percent get toaster burns from rubbing on the sides
then we’ll maybe come out injured, but the question is my friend
we have fought the adult boredom, and these injuries will mend.

Even tears are from a part of us that's strictly from our youth
Even sympathy and courage and to pick a lie from truth
and the body language unaffected (prior to poker faces)
is the stuff that makes us what we are, and gives us all "our basis". :2twocents

PS (IMHO :))

2020hindsight
15th-April-2007, 03:00 PM
THE LITTLE HERO

It was many years ago now, when a small young boy was killed
I read about the matter - why was such young blood be-spilled
a man had worked long overtime to pay his bills that day
and he microslept that part of his untimely homeward way.

The little boy was with his sister, both were infant kids
the footbridge wasn’t finished, and the road was full of skids
each one of them spelt danger, but this day the driver slept,
and he hit this little stranger, and his mother since has wept.

There’s more to this sad story, just to make it extra cruel
for I think from distant memory, she has barely started school
and the car involved was heading for his darling little sis
and he pushed her in a way that meant the danger was all his.

......
Sure he died that day a hero, sure they think about him oft
Sure he’s found a path to heaven, sure he looks down from aloft
Sure there’s none of us immortal, and the one’s behind will weep
.....
Sure his little life is bounded by an honoured heroes sleep.

drillinto
16th-April-2007, 01:32 AM
Fame
Les Murray

We were at dinner in Soho
and the couple at the next table
rose to go. The woman paused to say
to me: I just wanted you to know
I have got all your cook books
and I swear by them!

I managed
to answer her: Ma’am,
they’ve done you nothing but good!
which was perhaps immodest
of whoever I am.



[Les Murray is Australia's leading poet]

2020hindsight
16th-April-2007, 08:04 PM
a lot of talk lately about rating posts and posting rates etc...
These lines sprung to mind as I was walking the dog just now ;)

"Bill Posters will be prosecuted" called the maddened crowd!
"Bill Posters might be innocent" said one lone voice aloud!
and pre -romantic poets mustn't post romantic verse,
and they in turn will reckon that pre-classical is worse.

And threads might score two stars or threes, or maybe even fours
hell my tent scores at least 15!, and I've got timber floors!
but when I sleep outside my tent, and when it's not too cold
why then I score 10,000 stars - and that's worth more than gold.

A day out at the races can bring fortunes to a fool
who doubles up his losing bets by some outdated rule
there's no exceptions sadly from the ASX floor dins...
.. one trader always loses when another trader wins.:o

2020hindsight
17th-April-2007, 06:22 AM
a lot of talk lately about rating posts and posting rates etc...
These lines sprung to mind as I was walking the dog just now ;)

"Bill Posters will be prosecuted" called the maddened crowd!
"Bill Posters might be innocent" said one lone voice aloud!
and pre -romantic poets mustn't post romantic verse,
and they in turn will reckon that pre-classical is worse.

And threads (and hotels) score three stars, or maybe even fours
- my tent scores maybe 15 stars!, cos I've got timber floors!
but when I sleep outside my tent, and when it's not too cold
why then I score 10,000 stars - and that's worth 10 times gold.

A day out at the races can bring fortunes to a fool
who doubles up his losing bets by some outdated rule
there's no exceptions sadly from the ASX floor dins...
.. one trader always loses when another trader wins.:o

I'll post this on the poetry thread, and if called to attention by the moderators, I'll plead "poetic licence " ;). But continuing ...

One trader sells a share in something, someone out there buys,
and the crazy thing goes up or down, and one or other cries,
whether Lady Luck has kissed you, maybe left you in the lurch,
It is no-one's place to blame another (DYOR).

There'll be posters rating posters, there'll be raters posting rates,
there 'll be scrambled egg comparible to thirty broken crates,
there'll be "I can knock your block off", there'll be "yeah you wanna bet"
there'll be quick-draw nigh-noon gunfights with the moderator's pet.

In the quiet logic moment, you'd suspect a fatal flaw,
Cos the judge who sits in judgement might himself be feeling sore.
while the dog can chase his tail around, the ASF thread log
will (you'd think) be less constructive, (and a bloody dizzy dog).:2twocents :o

2020hindsight
17th-April-2007, 12:40 PM
THE NEVER-ENDING BULL RUN

A mate of mine's an optimism, he's rarely ever blue
I told him a correction to the market's overdue
His eye's lit up, a smile broke out, like some foolhardy clown
"You little bobby dazzler!! - is it up or is it down? "

You'd have to say he's on a roll, it's hard right now to fault him
But then again, the day will come some hiccup's gonna halt him
Until that happens, sure I'll try to join in all the fun,
But have my joggers standing by, in case I haveta run. ;)

drillinto
18th-April-2007, 12:35 AM
Natasha Trethewey has won the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for poetry for ``Native Guard.''

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :

Publisher (Mariner Books/Boston - USA) Comments:

Growing up in the Deep South, Natasha Trethewey was never told that in her hometown of Gulfport, Mississippi, black soldiers had played a pivotal role in the Civil War. Off the coast, on Ship Island, stood a fort that had once been a Union prison housing Confederate captives. Protecting the fort was the second regiment of the Louisiana Native Guards — one of the Union's first official black units. Trethewey's new book of poems pays homage to the soldiers who served and whose voices have echoed through her own life.
The title poem imagines the life of a former slave stationed at the fort, who is charged with writing letters home for the illiterate or invalid POWs and his fellow soldiers. Just as he becomes the guard of Ship Island's memory, so Trethewey recalls her own childhood as the daughter of a black woman and a white man. Her parents' marriage was still illegal in 1966 Mississippi. The racial legacy of the Civil War echoes through elegiac poems that honor her own mother and the forgotten history of her native South. Native Guard is haunted by the intersection of national and personal experience.

noirua
18th-April-2007, 05:57 AM
Confidences' friendly dash remains sky high,
as investors line up, join the feeding frenzy,
they only see the sky, blue, a flicker of fire?
one day, grey skies, and then, no, no envy.

The beginning, the middle, and the end - noirua

noirua
18th-April-2007, 09:55 AM
Now I'm getting into this poetry there's no stopping me.

Your next journey is your greatest journey;
on this journey, will be all your loved ones and friends;
you may not have started the journey but it will certainly begin;
the world will continue whilst you are on this journey
and all the world and everything that is within it, and without it,
will follow you on this journey; and fear not my friends,
the journey, that all and everything will be with you on!
Most fear this journey, but do not, I will be with you,
and you with me, and we will all travel on it forever

"the journey" - by noirua

2020hindsight
18th-April-2007, 08:59 PM
PROTECT YOUR ASS-ETS

there are many reasons readers come to websites such as this
and to separate the leaders from the ones who take the pi**
but I find it quite a challenge (and this isn't meant as "dig")
how to end up with small fortunes (without starting off with big).

there are some who could care tuppence with a dropping AOX
while the rest sing for their suppers, and resort to "coke and bex"
it can be like sand grains draining in an upturned hour glass -
while a few "protect their assets" some poor punters "lose their ass" ;)

noirua
18th-April-2007, 11:51 PM
OK, 2020 et al, here goes again. My poems are usually a bit sad, so please post some happy ones.


Every day, is a curse, pain, again, it seems to rain,
good God, again, I'm going swiftly, down the drain,
every end is a sharp one, again, tired, oh insane.
heaven save me, again, rats, crocs, no, I'm lame.

"again", by noirua

2020hindsight
19th-April-2007, 01:18 AM
ok noi, since you've challenged me lol ... seriously amateur poetry but what's new...

if you're rivetted to tv's or you're glued to some square screen
then unglue your bludy ass and buy an exercise machine
take a lesson from a lamb in spring, or spanish jumping bean
and forget all sheep-like traits, by which we lose our childhood keen. (?)

that is so hopeless it's not funny
maybe ..
clean your spleen of that caffeen, and let some running make you mean (?) :2twocents
lol ;) - with that I retire ) - see ya m8

http://www.clicksmilies.com/s1106/ernaehrung/food-smiley-021.gif :)
I'm trying to give up bludy coffee by alternating it with tea, but somewhere deep down in my subconscious I much prefer coffee lol.

noirua
19th-April-2007, 10:16 AM
Very good 2020: Our poetry is head and shoulders above anyone elses on ASF, that's for sure.

drillinto
21st-April-2007, 01:02 AM
Poetry

Don Paterson

In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's -- boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.



from The White Lie; New and Selected Poetry, 2001
Graywolf Press, St. Paul, Minn.

BIG BWACULL
21st-April-2007, 01:44 AM
Very good 2020: Our poetry is head and shoulders above anyone elses on ASF, that's for sure.
Here i sit and watch you Two
f%%# around like cockatoos
you drink your tea i scull my wine
GEE somethin wrong with this rhyme
Time to give up on this CRAP
Before i get booed and hissed AT

Hey not bad for a quickie straight outta my back SHHHEAD

2020hindsight
21st-April-2007, 05:31 AM
Here i sit and watch you Two
f%%# around like cockatoos
you drink your tea i scull my wine
GEE somethin wrong with this rhyme..
Alf E Neumann was a lad, three parts funny one part sad
best response? sad or sorry? , maybe best is "What me worry?"
PS stick to blonde jokes m8, lol - that was a good one . :)

2020hindsight
21st-April-2007, 06:05 AM
hey bwac, think you misunderstood ..

PS coffee I drink through the day, when I'm working for my pay
what i drink at night ? depends. usually cats piss by the tens
As I drink, I smile with dreams, "this tastes better than it seems"
"this cheap plonk I'll drink today ... tomorrow?
... the REDS of COURTEGUAY!! " :bandit:

PS If you get to watch the Adventurers, the head of the banditos, or maybe it was the president or some damned thing, whatever (it was 20 years ago I saw it lol) makes a toast "give me the red wine of Courteguay, and keep this cat's piss for the women" :)

have a good one . If you're interested here's the cricket result.

Also here's a new way to get some caffeine into you ;) shinbone, as if ! - I'm trying to give the bludy stuff up ! lol
hell with this I'm off to bed.

Bar of soap gives caffeine kick in the shower. Inventors have created a soap infused with caffeine which helps users wake up in the morning. etc
http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200704/s1903102.htm

2020hindsight
21st-April-2007, 06:57 AM
Tonight I give the booze a miss, that's it! no more ! off the piss!
the vintage of that bludy cask? - buga, rats, forgot to ask
six bucks for a bucket full! "Dry White" - what a loada bull
must be worst damned booze on earth - I'm giving it a wider berth.

speaking of which, I'll get there soon - is try to find my bludy room
birthplace of a thousand dreams - and bludy nightmares too it seems
now to get this spinning head to land on that so narrow bed
like a bludy injured harrier, landing on an aircraft carrier.

PS tomorrow Ill be sore and sorrier
no more booze for this here warrier.

[PS Speaking of beds / bunks / berths... Knew a bloke was a skipper on a small oil tanker out in the islands. Whilst most of the local crew are brilliant, really good, there was one bloke who was always giving trouble - wanted the biggest share of meals, wanted the biggest bunk (a la berth), fought with everyone, including the skipper etc - so , he had to "ask him to leave". To his surprise this bloke asked him for a reference. Which he did. .. as follows.

"This reference concerns fred bloggs. He likes good meals and a wide bunk, and I have no hesitation in saying that you should give him as wide a berth as possible".
The bloke went away happy ;)

2020hindsight
21st-April-2007, 09:06 PM
Oldies but goodies :)
http://www.bartleby.com/101/489.html

THE TIGER , William Blake

TIGER, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

THE LAMB
Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Alternative versions:-

TIGER, tiger, amber bright In some foureyed mental fight,
Mirrors rarely ever lie But cripes I’m lacking symmetry? ;)

Here's a heap more detail, although I think he's winging it a bit lol - a bit like other theologians and politicians I could mention :(


http://www.pathguy.com/tyger.htm Understanding William Blake's "The Tyger" Ed Friedlander, M.D
As an online William Blake fan, I receive at least one request per month from students asked to interpret William Blake's wonderful lyric, "The Tyger."

The contrast with "The Lamb" is obvious. ("Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?" The answer is God, who became incarnate as Jesus the Lamb.) "The Tyger" asks, "Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" And the answer is, "Yes, God made the Tyger too."

To understand "The Tyger" fully, you need to know Blake's symbols. One of the central themes in his major works is that of the Creator as a blacksmith. This is both God the Creator (personified in Blake's myth as Los) and Blake himself (again with Los as his alter-ego.) Blake identified God's creative process with the work of an artist. And it is art that brings creation to its fulfillment -- by showing the world as it is, by sharpening perception, by giving form to ideas.

Blake's story of creation differs from the Genesis account. The familiar world was created only after a cosmic catastrophe. When the life of the spirit was reduced to a sea of atoms, the Creator set a limit below which it could not deteriorate farther, and began creating the world of nature. The longer books that Blake wrote describe Los's creation of animals and people within the world of nature. One particularly powerful passage in "Milton" describes Los's family weaving the bodies of each unborn child.

In believing that creation followed a cosmic catastrophe and a fall of spiritual beings into matter, Blake recalls Gnosticism, a multi-faceted religious movement which has run parallel to mainstream Christianity. Unlike most other Gnosticizers, Blake considered our own world to be a fine and wonderful place, but one which would ultimately give way to a restored universe. Blake believed that his own visions, which included end-of-the- world images and sometimes a sense of cosmic oneness, prefigured this, and that his art would help raise others "to the perception of the infinite." For Blake (and for many, if not most, mainstream Christians), the purpose of creation is as a place for our own growth, in preparation for the beginning of our real lives. Although the natural world contains much that is gentle and innocent ("Songs of Innocence"), those who are experienced with life ("Songs of Experience") know that there is also much that is terrible and frightening. (The "fearful symmetry" might be that of the lamb and the tyger, innocence and experience.)

A casual reader or student does not have to understand Blake's mystical-visionary beliefs to appreciate "The Tyger". For the casual reader, the poem is about the question that most of us asked when we first heard about God as the benevolent creator of nature. "Why is there bloodshed and pain and horror?" If you're like me, you've heard various answers that are obviously not true. "The Tyger", which actually finishes without an answer, is (on this level) about your own experience of not getting a completely satisfactory answer to this essential question of faith.

There is more. "The Tyger" is about having your reason overwhelmed at once by the beauty and the horror of the natural world. "When the stars threw down their spears / And watered heaven with their tears" is the most difficult section of "The Tyger". In the creation story in "Job", the stars sing for joy at creation, a scene which Blake illustrated. In Blake's later books, the stars throw down their cups at the collapse of a previous clockwork universe founded on pure reason. For Blake, the stars represent cold reason and objective science. (They are weaker than the Sun of inspiration or the moon of love. Their mechanical procession has reminded others, including the author of "Lucifer in Starlight", of "the army of unalterable law"; in this case the law of science.) Although Blake was hostile (as I am, and as most real scientists are) to attempts to reduce all phenomena to chemistry and physics, Blake greatly appreciated the explosion of scientific knowledge during his era. But there is something about seeing a Tyger which you can't learn from a zoology class. The sense of awe and fear defy reason. And Blake's contemporary "rationalists" who had hoped for a tame, gentle world guided by kindness and understanding must face the reality of the Tyger.

.....

If you found that you really enjoyed "The Tyger", then I hope you'll have a chance to explore more of Blake's writings -- even the difficult "Prophetic Books" -- as well as his own influences (especially the Bible and "Paradise Lost"). You may also enjoy learning about his times, and the social injustices of which he was so deeply aware. .

2020hindsight
21st-April-2007, 10:19 PM
More on that website about Blake assuming maybe someone out there is interested ;) http://www.pathguy.com/tyger.htm

I have always loved the classical poets like Blake because of the intensity and compactness of their expression, especially within the discipline of rhyme and meter which make it easy to remember the words. Today there is very little interest outside of academia and trendoid circles in the amorphous stuff that passes for "contemporary poetry". But Shakespeare, Chaucer, Milton, Keats, and Tennyson were extraordinarily popular with ordinary people. Blake was less well-known to his contemporaries, but now is hugely popular with casual readers.

The real heirs of the classical poets are the lyricists of popular music. Sometimes lyrics make no sense, and it's hard for me to appreciate this. (A friend who's knowledgeable about such things told me: "'Stairway to Heaven' is supposed to mean whatever you want it to mean.") At their best, they present a bit of human experience that makes you say, "Wow! I knew that, but never heard it expressed so clearly!"

If you like "The Tyger", you may want to go on to learn more about Blake. For his era, he was extremely radical, both politically and philosophically. He and his wife practiced nudism in a friend's garden ("It's okay, we're just Adam and Eve"). Blake was tried for treason for saying something like "you soldiers of the god-damned king, I hope Napoleon kills all of you" while throwing a drunken soldier out of his garden. ....
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake

He was voted 38th in a poll of the 100 Greatest Britons organized by the BBC in 2002 . According to Northrop Frye, who undertook a study of Blake's entire poetic corpus, his prophetic poems form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language." Others have praised Blake's visual artistry, at least one modern critic proclaiming Blake "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced."[1] Once considered mad for his idiosyncratic views, Blake is highly regarded today for his expressiveness and creativity, and the philosophical vision that underlies his work. As he himself once indicated, "The imagination is not a State: it is the Human existence itself."

noirua
22nd-April-2007, 08:59 AM
Markets are but shelves in the mountains,
as from there, we find our way to the top,
far better to plan the whole journey,
otherwise, temptations are there to hop.

Each shelf may have its next pathway
to the next shelf or maybe not,
finding yourself with no pathway,
return, under no circumstances hop.

Never take shortcuts up mountains,
always take a pathway to the top.
Mark decided to hop up the mountain,
at the bottom now, a great big drop.

Most markets require eminent virtues,
no sloppy journeys, thou care's not
like the fall from the top of a mountain.
they too, can have a really fine drop.

Dropped off the mountain - noirua

drillinto
25th-April-2007, 09:14 PM
Drillinto calling all ASF market poets:

http://www.marketpoetry.com/

drillinto
26th-April-2007, 06:46 PM
Numbers

Mary Cornish

I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count
anything or anyone:
two pickles, one door to the room,
eight dancers dressed as swans.

I like the domesticity of addition--
add two cups of milk and stir--
the sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.

And multiplication's school
of fish times fish,
whose silver bodies breed
beneath the shadow
of a boat.

Even subtraction is never loss,
just addition somewhere else:
five sparrows take away two,
the two in someone else's
garden now.

There's an amplitude to long division,
as it opens Chinese take-out
box by paper box,
inside every folded cookie
a new fortune.

And I never fail to be surprised
by the gift of an odd remainder,
footloose at the end:
forty-seven divided by eleven equals four,
with three remaining.

Three boys beyond their mothers' call,
two Italians off to the sea,
one sock that isn't anywhere you look.



from Poetry magazine
Volume CLXXVI, Number 3, June 2000

2020hindsight
26th-April-2007, 07:12 PM
top poem , thanks drill ;)

Speaking of maths ;) ... here's one I posted back there #26

Fifty odd poems when you add ‘em all up (+)
The product of what I think (x),
The critics divided twixt “maybe” and “nup” ( / )
Or whether they bloodywell stink,
Or whether you somehow could rescue the page
If you’d just take away the ink ( - )
Or the sum of decreasing mental age (- - -)
And increasing time to think. ( + + +)
- But in truth it’s a square on an empty stage ( ^2)
and a cubic TV on the blink ( ^3)

2020hindsight
26th-April-2007, 08:06 PM
Fifty odd poems about this and that,
Well certainly odder than most,
Nothing to really write home about,
And certainly nothing to boast,
Tug at your heartstrings, or tug at your lead
But Most of em breezy and light,
And those that are heavy or hard to read
It’s because they were easy to write.

Fifty odd poems when you add ‘em all up (+)
The product of what I think (x),
The critics divided twixt “maybe” and “nup” ( / )
Or whether they bloodywell stink,
Or whether you somehow could rescue the page
If you’d just take away the ink ( - )
Or the sum of decreasing mental age (- - -)
And increasing time to think. ( + + +)
- But in truth it’s a square on an empty stage ( ^2)
and a cubic TV on the blink. ( ^3)

Fifty odd poems about this and that
And a few through the eyes of my dog
What we see in a bird or a fleeting cat,
Or a rare and so-kissable frog,
And a few poems thrown in, well, just for a chat -
Like the chimps in the family log,
And a few more poems there, where my heart is at,
Or my head after nights on the grog.

And some more about Rugby World Cups and the like,
And sportsmen, their madness, their colours,
And some are a mixture of Shakespeare and Spike,
And Hamlet and all those great fellas.
Of dogs ever faithful, of war and of dove,
And photos of memories old,
The quandary of trees, and the quantum of love,
- Rabid yarns that grow rapid with mould.

Fifty odd poems as I walked the odd mile
And things that have caught my eye,
And things that have prompted a laugh or a smile
And some that damned near made me cry,
But the fun has been in the writing hereof
Or to quell the man in the kid,
Have a good one, my friends, we’re all square off
And in parting, I dips me’ lid.

2020hindsight
27th-April-2007, 12:39 PM
seriously trivial post, but do I look worried ;)

While some live by that simple rule where four times 1 makes roughly 4
There's others who with vectors strive, where 3 plus 4 gives only five.
Some prefer the logbook plan where 1+1 makes hundreds man
or short-change rules like binary where 1 plus 1 makes only 3.

PS Einstein said that can't be right, you must account for speed of light
but my mate Paddy didn't bite :) .. he only does his maths at night. :eek7:

drillinto
4th-May-2007, 06:50 PM
This very short poem reminds us
there are two ways of looking at things



Tour

Carol Snow

Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path
and then placed camellia blossoms there.

Or -- we had no way of knowing -- he'd swept the path
between fallen camellias.



from For, 2000
University of California Press, Berkeley

x2rider
4th-May-2007, 06:57 PM
Another way to look at it
Was the path never there and it was placed in between the camillia flowers
Cheers martin

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 01:34 AM
Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path, and then placed camellia blossoms there.

We had no way of knowing, he'd swept the path, between fallen camellias.

brilliant stuff drill (and x2 for the third option lol) .

Like the 3 ways to look at it :- is the glass half full , half empty, or just twice as big as necessary ;)
(or as some idiot posted here once, there are 10 types of people, those that believe in binary and those that don't)

I'm reminded (yet again) of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken", and despite the fact that chops hates "the boring old fart" lol - I'm gonna throw it in (yet again)...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken
The poem, especially its last lines, where the narrator declares that taking the road "one less traveled by" "made all the difference," can be seen as a declaration of the importance of independence and personal freedom. However, Frost likely intended the poem as a gentle jab at his great friend and fellow poet Edward Thomas, and seemed amused at the slightly "mischievous" misinterpretation.[1]

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 02:05 AM
The Twinkle of Our Various Fathers' Eyes. (Two directions to look at eternity).

Since the first big bang went kaboom, and for ages and ages prior
we have all been asleep in some room, till a twinkle appeared in dad's eye
and we sprang from our mother's womb and we yodelled our prodigal birth.
and we topple with time to some tomb - that's the end of the game here on earth.

It's an inverse of heaven, this law, that we look at our lives in this way,
we were all alive before, and the end is all decay -
........
But I think that most would prefer that both past and future we'll lie
In some land - though a starry blurr - like the twinkling of Our Other Father's eye. ;) :eek7:

And One by Tennyson :-

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 10:09 AM
The first poem back there is obviously a plagiarism of Wil Shakespeare's The Tempest - the "rounded sleep" quote in particular - what brilliant words / concepts / atmosphere / penetration of a fellow mortal's moods ! :o
http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/S/ShakespeareWilliam/index.html
As I mentioned in the "internet resources for kids homework" thread, you can cut and paste great chunks of him if you wish .. eg

http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/S/ShakespeareWilliam/play/tempest/tempesta4s1.html , Act IV, scene I
PROSPERO
[Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
Against my life: the minute of their plot
Is almost come.—

To the Spirits
Well done!—avoid;—no more!

FERDINAND
This is strange: your father’s in some passion
That works him strongly.

MIRANDA
Never till this day
Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.

PROSPERO
You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.—Sir, I am vex’d;
Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb’d with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk,
To still my beating mind.
This one (from same scene) - a wedding toast

JUNO
How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be
And honour’d in their issue.

They sing:
JUNO
Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
Long continuance, and increasing,
Hourly joys be still upon you!
Juno sings her blessings upon you.
CERES
Earth’s increase, foison plenty,
Barns and garners never empty,
Vines and clustering bunches growing,
Plants with goodly burthen bowing;
Spring come to you at the farthest
In the very end of harvest!
Scarcity and want shall shun you;
Ceres’ blessing so is on you.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare
He is counted among the few playwrights who have excelled in both tragedy and comedy; his plays combine popular appeal with complex characterisation, and poetic grandeur with philosophical depth. Shakespeare's works have been translated into every major living language,[8]

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 10:23 AM
Further to previous, and speaking of whether "life on earth" is the beginning, or the middle, or the end of "the total of our eternity",

...and just discussing the matter philosophically ok !! - lol, not trying to convert anyone, (including myself, - possibly myself if I accidentally say something that makes sense, lol )...

But it could be argued that Churchill is on the same subject here, could it not ? ;) :-
http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=388

"The End of the Beginning"

"The Germans have received back again that measure of fire and steel which they have so often meted out to others.
Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
—Lord Mayor's Luncheon, Mansion House following the victory at El Alameinin North Africa, London, 10 November 1942.

PS When they say he was "first lord of the admiralty" - well how come Lord Mountbatten was as well?? :confused: - ahhh this Wikipedia is full of errors!! ;)
(oops Lord Louis Mountbatten was "first sea lord", BUT SO WAS HIS FATHER, Prince Louis of Battenberg ! - so which of em was the first ?? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Mountbatten
- think I've run with that joke about as far as it will go, lol)

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 10:49 AM
Third and hopefully final quote on the subject (although I could probably go on for eterninty, ;) ) from Arthur Stace - who Sydney-siders might remember from 2000 fireworks .. the word to herald in the new millenium :)

Arthur Stace ! - who'd have thought that you'd be remembered as Sydney's most famous graffiti vandal. How long will you be remembered, that's the question ? ;) (not bad for "an illiterate former soldier, petty criminal and alcoholic " )

(then there are those who reckon the end of the millenium was new years 2001 (being 2000 years after year 1 started, etc etc ), but let's save that one to sort out over a beer, lol)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eternity_%28graffito%29 The word Eternity was a famous graffito which was written numerous times in chalk on the streets of Sydney, Australia from the 1940s through to the 1960s. The word had been written by Arthur Stace, an illiterate former soldier, petty criminal and alcoholic who became a devout Christian in the late 1940s. For years after his conversion up until his death in the 1960s, Stace walked the streets of Sydney at night writing the single word "Eternity" on walls and footpaths in his unmistakable copperplate handwriting. Stace's identity remained unknown until it was finally revealed in a newspaper article in the early 1960s.

After Stace's death, his Eternity signature lived on. Australian contemporary artist, illustrator and filmmaker Martin Sharp noticed it and celebrated Stace's one-man campaign in many of his works. More recently, some Australian Christian groups, including those at universities, have run evangelical campaigns whose promotion involved chalking "Eternity", after Stace's fashion, on footpaths.

As part of the fireworks on Sydney Harbour to mark New Year's Day of the year 2000, the graffito "Eternity" was illuminated on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. This moment was symbolically recreated later that year as part of the Sydney 2000 Olympics Opening Ceremony, beamed to billions of television viewers worldwide

LOL - at least they didn't pick Fred Bloggs for his contribution to Sydney graffiti !!

Can't you see it !!?? New years night , !!, the world watching !! - and (drum roll)

"For a good time , phone flossy on 9876 5432"!! emblazened across the mighty coathanger!

PS - shame Stace didn't expand a bit on that philosophy of his, lol - might have convinced a few more to follow his "one-man-one-word cult" ;)

PS "an illiterate former soldier, petty criminal and alcoholic" mmm maybe I should go out and buy some chalk - where there's LIFE ... there's HOPE!!

and let's face it , they'll be looking for a new slogan next new years!! - maybe "DISINTEREST-ISM" !! (the religion and philosphical depth of todays youth - well my kids anyways lol)

2020hindsight
5th-May-2007, 11:15 AM
Thought for the day ...

If Arthur Stace was illiterate as wikipedia claims ...then
I wonder what HE thought he was writing all over the place .. ?? :confused:

funny if he thought he was drawing a coil of rope , or maybe a dead snake lol. Can't you see him up in heaven - "HEY they've done a drawing of my SNAKE!!":)

PS As for today ... I'm gonna use this thought to keep me going re three alternative ways to look at my life so far :-
"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

Finally back on thread, (although this thread has poetic licence ok ! - and no need to restrict yourself to 100 characters lol) , I return to drill's comments that there are different ways to look at things - and yes I would have to agree :2twocents
Until next time, I'll shuddup now lol.

PS when they say that Shakespeare was translated into every major language, I wonder if they included "Rapper", or "Jive", or "Fluent Profane" or all those modern languages lol.

"To be or not to be"
"HEYYYY dude, make up your mind man.... yo, no? bro?"

2020hindsight
14th-May-2007, 08:47 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuJ3Tjj40P8&mode=related&search= Carl Sagan Speaks

I posted this on the "Is there a God" thread - but I reckon on reflection that it qualifies as poetry. (imho) :) (magic)

2020hindsight
20th-May-2007, 05:03 PM
http://www.golfballmuseum.co.uk/
http://www.golfballmuseum.co.uk/ishop/818/shopscr2.html (wooden balls used in 14 th century ?)

Record books also show that in 1447 King James II issued his now famous edict in Parliament that golf was to be outlawed. His concern was that his subjects were more interested in golf than training how to use the war fare weapons of their time. Worried that this would leave his country unprotected banned golf. Although the game was outlawed it was continually played over the next 300 years but not by the masses. ;)

new girl
21st-May-2007, 08:34 PM
may i feel said he
by e e cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she


(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

new girl
22nd-May-2007, 03:04 PM
Still I Rise
by Dr. Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

2020hindsight
22nd-May-2007, 09:09 PM
great poems there ng ;) - rebel without a cause lol.

Here's one I already posted on music, (Robbie Burns poem), but it's worth the repeat ( including a few extra words of translation - as per that website). http://www.robertburns.org/works/496.shtml
What a fantastic philosophy :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z64teeHODjM A Man's a Man for a' That (also sung at opening at Scottish Parliament)


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Man's_A_Man_for_A'_That The Scots song "Is There For Honest Poverty", by Robert Burns, is more commonly known as "A Man's A Man For A' That", and famous for its expression of egalitarian ideas of society, which may be seen as anticipating the ideas of liberalism that arose in the 18th century, and those of socialism which arose in the 19th century.

The song was sung at the opening of the Scottish Parliament, and is sometimes associated with ideas of Scottish independence although the song is concerned with what makes a man "honest" rather than with Scotland and its self-government, neither of which are mentioned. It is also known in translations into other European languages, for example the German "Trotz Alledem Und Alledem".

http://www.robertburns.org/works/496.shtml


Is there for honest Poverty
That hings (hangs) his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd (gold, wealth) for a' that.

What though on hamely (homely) fare we dine,
Wear hoddin (countryman horse rider) grey, an' a that;
Gie (give) fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae (ever so) poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, (aggressive man) ca'd (called) a lord,
Wha (who) struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof (idiot) for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, (heraldry) star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak (make) a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! (good faith, he doesn't suit that (?))
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith (importance) o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

"For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith (importance) o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that. "

Maybe Robbie Burns was just taking the pith here ;)

new girl
22nd-May-2007, 09:29 PM
great poems there ng ;) - rebel without a cause lol.

What a fantastic philosophy :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z64teeHODjM A Man's a Man for a' That (also sung at opening at Scottish Parliament)


http://www.robertburns.org/works/496.shtml


Coming from THE Poet himself..... great compliment;)

I love Maya Angelou, I can relate to the stubborn mule within her, if you know what I mean :)

Tell me more about honesty...FANTASTIC poem, thanks 2020 ;)

ps I miss your poetry, why don't write us something tonight or post one of your 50 poems you have hidden somewhere?

ps HONESTY (according to the Macquarie dictionary): 1. the quality or fact of being honest, uprightness, probity, or integrity....2. truthfulness, sincerity, or frankness.... 3. a herb with purple flowers and....... oops sorry 2020 I don't think its No 3 but who's counting anyway?????

drillinto
22nd-May-2007, 09:54 PM
The Partial Explanation

Charles Simic

Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.

Seems like it has grown darker
Since I last heard the kitchen door
Behind my back
Since I last noticed
Anyone pass on the street.

A glass of ice-water
Keeps me company
At this table I chose myself
Upon entering.

And a longing,
Incredible longing
To eavesdrop
On the conversation
Of cooks.



from Selected Early Poems, 1999
George Braziller Publishers

2020hindsight
22nd-May-2007, 10:54 PM
here's a philosophical one ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMc3hysFUqk In The Morning - Bee Gees

In keeping with Churchill's quote ( #378) :-
"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
—Lord Mayor's Luncheon, Mansion House following the victory at El Alameinin North Africa, London, 10 November 1942. :)

new girl
22nd-May-2007, 11:19 PM
here's a philosophical one
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMc3hysFUqk In The Morning - Bee Gees

In keeping with Churchill's quote ( #378) :-
"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
—Lord Mayor's Luncheon, Mansion House following the victory at El Alameinin North Africa, London, 10 November 1942.

2020

I dont get it :) I told you I know nothing about philosophy! mind you, I liked the bit about the evening and flying to the moon and stuff.

Speaking of Chruchill, I attended the "unforgettable evening" organised by ABC LNL (late night live :) ) btw... lol...rofl..ftl..wtf :). anyway, churchill's "We Shall Fight on the Beaches" came 4th right after JESUS' "Sermon on the mountain" (2nd) :D.

ps do you think having a beginning implies a middle or/and an end???

2020hindsight
23rd-May-2007, 08:53 AM
maybe just an attitude,
- just that Churchill's statement "end of the beginning" can be applied to any given day/morning we wake up at any stage of our lives ;)

I guess a Christian might even choose to say that as their last words..

"this is not the end, nor even the beginning of the end, - my friends, it is only the end of the beginning" etc :)

new girl
23rd-May-2007, 06:14 PM
maybe just an attitude,
- just that Churchill's statement "end of the beginning" can be applied to any given day/morning we wake up at any stage of our lives ;)

I guess a Christian might even choose to say that as their last words..

"this is not the end, nor even the beginning of the end, - my friends, it is only the end of the beginning" etc :)

wowo, fantastic ;)

I have to admit I'm not familiar with this speech, very impressive, I must do some research to find out why........:rolleyes: .:p:

2020hindsight
23rd-May-2007, 06:19 PM
TOAST TO THE QUARTER MOON

How the quarter moon is glowing with reflected sunbeams growing
like a small seed after sowing or reflected ceiling light
and I stare back one of billions of Earth's piggy-backing pillions
to admire the C-shaped spill of colours spanning day and night.

Praps we're all such busy pilgrims, Ted and Alice Jack and Jill-grims
that we rarely smell the roses (while life's bloom shows on our face)
with imagined monsters gaining, I oft miss this wax and waning
Often off somewhere complaining in my rush through time and space.

Praps a softly whispered hello to this space companion mellow
compliment her gold and yellow (where Egyptians used to pray)
Rolling silently with Earth, dragging tides around its girth
Giving night skies their rebirth and deserved sleep by day.

....
As it hung there after dusk, as the farmer swept his husk
there's an old man stopped his busking and he chewed his daily bread
and he sang an evening tune to that glowing golden spoon
"HERE's TO YOU" he calls "THE MOON, and to time and tide" he said.

And long after we are gone, men will still find poem and song
to the magic of a moonbeam from its rheostatic height
Just one night of many millions for Earth's piggy-backing pillions
...I'll be dead for maybe zillions, ...
I'll enjoy the moon tonight. :)

spooly74
23rd-May-2007, 06:29 PM
TOAST TO THE QUARTER MOON

How the quarter moon is glowing with reflected sunbeams growing
like a small seed after sowing or reflected ceiling light
and I stare back one of billions of Earth's piggy-backing pillions
to admire the C-shaped spill of colours spanning day and night.

Praps we're all such busy pilgrims, Ted and Alice Jack and Jill-grims
that we rarely smell the roses (while life's bloom shows on our face)
with imagined monsters gaining, I oft miss this wax and waning
Often off somewhere complaining in my rush through time and space.

Praps a softly whispered hello to this space companion mellow
compliment her gold and yellow (where Egyptians used to pray)
Rolling silently with Earth, dragging tides around its girth
Giving night skies their rebirth and deserved sleep by day.

....
As it hung there after dusk, as the farmer swept his husk
there's an old man stopped his busking and he chewed his daily bread
and he sang an evening tune to that glowing golden spoon
"HERE's TO YOU" he calls "THE MOON, and to time and tide" he said.

And long after we are gone, men will still find poem and song
to the magic of a moonbeam from its rheostatic height
Just one night of many millions for Earth's piggy-backing pillions
...I'll be dead for maybe zillions, ...
I'll enjoy the moon tonight. :)


Fantastic :xyxthumbs

2020hindsight
23rd-May-2007, 08:23 PM
spooly , you might enjoy this one ( something similar)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=88166&highlight=sunshine#post88166 sunshine salesman.

ng , As for Winston's quotes , here are a couple more ;)
http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=388#not_the_end

(paraphrasing this one) I am ready to meet my maker. Whether or not my maker is ready for the formidible task of meeting me is another question..WC

Political ability is the ability to foretell what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month and next year. And to have the ability afterward to explain why it didnt happen... WC.

A fanatic is one who wont change his mind and won't change the subject .. WC
(or as peter Lawrence said .. a fanatic is a person who is highly enthusiastic about something in which you are not even remotely interested )
- perhaps I qualify on the matter of poetry in the eyes of many ;)

new girl
23rd-May-2007, 09:35 PM
sunshine salesman.

ng, I am ready to meet my maker. Whether or not my maker is ready for the formidible task of meeting me is another question..WC

A fanatic is one who wont change his mind and won't change the subject .. WC
(or as peter Lawrence said .. a fanatic is a person who is highly enthusiastic about something in which you are not even remotely interested )
- perhaps I qualify on the matter of poetry in the eyes of many ;)

Thanks 2020

Firstly, if I were God it'll be my pleasure to meet churchill!!

Secondly, easy for him to say when Britain made the Belfor promise and gave away something that didn't belong to them. I think a fanatic is a person that won't accept defeat.

Thirdly, does selling sunshine qualify as poetry ;)

2020hindsight
23rd-May-2007, 09:37 PM
PS The quarter moon is strictly tomorrow night ;)
If you ever need to check when say the full moon is, say you notice it almost full, and it rose at say 5pm , then you know it will be full tomorrow because full moon rises at (about) 6pm and sets at (about) 6am. :2twocents

Then the third quarter rises at midnight and sets at noon
Then the new moon rises at 6am and sets at 6pm (in phase with the sun)
Then the first quarter rises at noon and sets at midnight.

(think I'm right there , but this is something I've worked out for myself, and could well be "approximate" at best ;)

ng - I have my own idea of poetry ;) - but I'm no expert no I'll keep it to myself.
There are a lot of pro's around - and a lot of prose. ;)

2020hindsight
24th-May-2007, 07:27 AM
PROSAIC POEMS, POETIC PROSE, AND THE VERSE-ATILITY OF ENGLISH

by all means have a go at me, my shoulders pretty wide
on what’s put up as poetry and what is put aside
like minstrel songs, a poem should rhyme (though this one can't get worse)
whereas the magic skakespeare wrote is bardly written verse.

to see or not to see, that is the question is it not
its metred but unrhyming it deserves a special spot
depends on what you see it as, (it’s jewelled verse I spose)
that’s metred out in theatres, - as comedy or woes.

I am a big pentameter, said Shakespeare in his time
but hell it would be corny if the lines would have to rhyme
so much the more dramatic when the words are free to ring
but maybe throw a sonnet in as poetry to sing.

When winnie set his mind to it, he moved the hearts of men
throw in his wartime flavoured wit, you have yourself a gem
but I’d contend his crafted words that left the BBC
were words of praise, and words of prose...
(they just weren’t poetry):o :2twocents

new girl
25th-May-2007, 10:12 AM
Thirdly, does selling sunshine qualify as poetry ;)

No way would I say it doesn't......I guess..... maybe?

You Are Sunshine You Are Rain
Peter S. Quinn

You are sunshine you are rain
And all you do is fun or pain,
And love is always a highest hill
You need no other thing or skill;
Remember this for all your days
There are so many turning ways,
Like lovers do you must give in
If you are going a heart to win.

You are sunshine you are rain
Your beginning lies down the lane,
Remember this for all your days
A broken heart with two it plays

new girl
25th-May-2007, 11:53 AM
Seriously trivial post, but do I look worried ;)


Whatever
Ulrike Gerbig

I start a new one
Called whatever
Because whatever is what
Is was will be
Whatever leaves room
For me you anyone
To be whatever he/she/I
Is am will be
For whatever comes to pass
For whatever is
For whatever was
It is the poem
For whatever poet is
Beyond any whatever understanding
Beyond any whatever words
For any whatever was
For any whatever is
For any whatever will be


ps I mean I don't think it's poetry, but still the most appropriate thread I could think of ;) also I think the writer doesn't give a flying *#$ what I or anyone else says!!

BIG BWACULL
26th-May-2007, 12:10 AM
Well may as well put this here as well, I'll call it
Sell In May and Go Away

If i sold in MAY and went away, i'd have spent all day
wondering where, if i may, what my money wouldve done today
With limited cashflow, if i sold today i'd never know
What could have been tomorrow, and hence my sorrow
So fortunatley or not, my money is in the spot awaiting a handsome plot
to turn my hard earned savings aloft, with a landing oh so soft
On the otherside where the grass be green as ive read in a magazine
So hold and wait is my theme so the kids can live their dream
with me here and there and in between.:D
BY B.B

new girl
26th-May-2007, 08:34 PM
My April Lady
Henry Van Dyke

When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy. :)

When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief. :(

My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love. :remybussi


ps: gee these Aries women are a bit weird ;)

new girl
26th-May-2007, 08:50 PM
Astrology...She was Aries & I was Gemini
John Tansey


You,
Aries, born of flame
and forged in fire.

I,
Gemini, a gourd
of air, poured of sky.

You,
consume me;
So that I, too,
assume the body.

I,
an idea with no mortar,
placed moral
into your rage.

Without...
you would slowly
blacken to waning ash.

And without...
a chalkline in the rain,
I would never know the flesh.

Ah, but once, did we dance!
briefly, but beautifully,
like burning Birchwood in the hearth.

We loved furiously and, as quickly,
collapsed together into a heap of the sparkling past...

ps: not that i believe in astrology, beautiful poem nevertheless :) ah but once did we dance, briefly, but beautifully............wow.

new girl
26th-May-2007, 09:20 PM
Letter From Under The Sea
Nizar Qabbani ;)


If you are my friend...
Help me...to leave you
If I knew....
that the ocean is very deep...I would not have swam...
If I knew...how I would end,
I would not have began

teach me...
how tears may die in the eyes
and love may commit suicide

If you are prophet,
Cleanse me from this spell
Deliver me from this atheism...
Your love is like atheism...so purify me from this atheism

If you are strong...
Rescue me from this ocean
For I don't know how to swim
The blue waves...in your eyes
drag me...to the depths
blue...
blue...
nothing but the color blue
and I have no experience
in love...and no boat...

I am breathing under water!
I am drowning...
drowning...
drowning...


ps: the best poet the Arabic world has ever produced (in my very humble opinion), not that anyone could care less ;) Also needless to say it sounds much better in Arabic ;)

new girl
26th-May-2007, 09:40 PM
a world of make Belief ;)


Belief is a very powerful thing
No matter what it is you believe in
Belief can carry you very far
When you have belief
It is difficult to stall
It has a way of making you fight
That belief keeps saying
You must not give up, right
Belief is power, laying at your feet
Showing you how to stick to it, to beat
Believe in whatever you do
Then others will believe in you too

How much do you believe in yourself? :D

new girl
26th-May-2007, 09:56 PM
Pretty Words
Elinor Morton Wylie

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens fed on cream and curds.

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees,
Gilded and sticky, with a little sting.

ps: I could rearticulate the above by saying that having a taste for classical music and opera doesn't make you classy ;) I mean you could also say "que sera sera" but you really mean "Whatever Will Be, Will Be" it just sounds prettier... classier..... sophisticated-er.......un-tacky-er :D

new girl
27th-May-2007, 10:10 PM
The Alcoholic Family Hero
A. Albert Aguero


He is a hero
not by sibling ordinal age,
nor by fate.
He did not choose
whatever he became.
You see . . . his father drank himself
out of fortune, family, and prestige,
right into the nothingness
of the streets.
Cold and motionless,
without anyone
to claim what remained,
a city dump truck
took him to the grave.
Not just any power greater than he
but The Lord alone,
led the hero to success
and . . . away from alcohol.


According to Wikipedi ;): "alcoholism refers to any condition that results in continued consumption of alcoholic beverages despite negative consequences. Medical definitions describe alcoholism as a disease, addiction, or dependence that results in difficulty with controlling one's alcohol consumption. Alcoholism can also refer to as a loss of control over one's alcohol consumption, a preoccupation with or compulsion for alcohol, and an impaired ability to recognize the effects of alcohol consumption. Some but not all definitions specify a current use of alcohol and include the effects of long-term heavy alcohol use, including dependence and withdrawal.

Alcoholism is characterized by the continued use of alcohol despite harm to the drinker and people associated with the drinker.

new girl
27th-May-2007, 10:41 PM
Useless poet
Eman Awad

Struggling with thousands of words,
just for the sake of his beautiful eyes.
And for him i built so many worlds,
and i put in them all i've ever fantasied.
Silver moons up and so high,

and more than a sun to shine.
So are wings for us to fly,

and i even had angels of mine.
But mostly a stronger love than oak trees,

a little heaven in my words is our serene.

Rapid our love and fury like seas,
and what if we got lost in this dream? ?
Then i found that my poems aren't enough,

He closed his eyes and i led the way,
i did breathe deeply and took his hand.
And my little heart dreamt away,
but for my wonder he didn't understand.
I knew we came from two worlds apart,
as he couldn't get further pass my fence.
Though he had love in his heart,
he didn't comprehence..

What a useless poet am i to be,
when the only thing i'm good at i couldn't render?
Now, how can he feel or even see,
the love i have that made me to surrender? ?
When all that's about me is,
words i write and never to say.
Poems of joy or lonliness,
and of love till my last day.
I felt like my heart is broken,
how can i reach his heart with my love?
Poetry tells when words aren't spoken,
they are to be read and to fly him above.

Useless poet i am i know,
but love is stronger than words for him to feel.
And stronger love can grow,
words can be erased but love stays mostly is real.
Maybe i'm useless for my self,
for i feel that my words went in vain.
But dearest to me than my life it self,
he is, and the one in my heart to remain.
And my words i'm the poet are for you to tell,
i'm madly in love with him that i fly.

insider
27th-May-2007, 10:43 PM
wow new girl... you really love poetry... is any of it yours?

BIG BWACULL
27th-May-2007, 10:57 PM
wow new girl... you really love poetry... is any of it yours?
New girl new girl, give us a rhyme
doesnt have to be in time
But please oh please change the text size
Or my eyes will have their demise :eek:
:D

new girl
27th-May-2007, 11:06 PM
wow new girl... you really love poetry... is any of it yours?

AS IF :D

Well here is one just for you darl ;)


“Nobody Reads My Stuff” :)
Trade Martin


No one gives a damn about my work…., (no one, they're busy making money!)
Guess I’m not good enough….., (guess so)
Only got one hit all month….,
Cause Nobody Reads My Stuff….! ! !
What do you do…..,
When the goin’ gets ruff….? ? ? (just have a couple of beers and start writing again, I guess)
Cause Nobody Reads My Stuff….! ! !

Maybe I’ll start writin’…., (yeh I just told you that :D )
Off the cuff….., (tell me about it mate ;) )
But it won’t even matter….,
God, I’m feelin’ like Dan Rather….,
Cause Nobody Reads My Stuff….! ! !
I’ve got no depth….., (sometimes I do but only to keep non-clones reading)

Lackin’ credibility….., (Fu!k this poem is good!!!!!!!!!!)

Kind of like GWB….., (I don't really like him though)
With all negative publicity…., (Aha)
And no message to share….., (yeh I know)
Why am I so unaware….? ? ? (yeh why why joe why??)
You know it’s just not fair….,
I'm even startin' to cry....,
Wishin' I could die....,
I might be better off….,
Just hidin’…..,
And divin’ in the muff…., (what does muff mean??)
Cause Nobody Reads My Stuff….! ! !

Life has really been tough….,
Now I can no longer bluff…..,
With nothin’ left to snuff…..,
My ego left me in a huff….,
Once I could play the B-3…..,
In the style of Jack McDuff….,
But who cares…..? ? ? (No one really)

Cause Nobody Reads My Stuff….! ! ! (yes Nobody reads your stuff, cause its just stuff, except me maybe. I like reading your stuff, grasshopping from stuff to stuff, sniffing stuff, flying with stuff, drowning in stuff..............................

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:18 PM
AS IF :D
And divin’ in the muff….


Thanks... i think... :p ... UMMM I could be banned for sexual harassment or something if i told you what it means colloquially... Lets just say I suspect most girls to have done something like this at least once...

Keep up good work new girl but maybe do dome rhyming ones...

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:24 PM
beans beans
they're good fo the heart
the more you eat
the more you start

new girl
27th-May-2007, 11:28 PM
Thanks... i think... :p ... UMMM I could be banned for sexual harassment or something if i told you what it means colloquially... Lets just say I suspect most girls to have done something like this at least once...

Keep up good work new girl but maybe do dome rhyming ones...


Mate I still dont get it :D you can explain it in a pm if you want, I dont get offended easily.

Well someone has to ;) (keep up the good work that is).

Cant do dome rhyming ones, I love poetry too much ;)

hey I'm bored and tired of all the posting and stuff :D post us a dome one yourself ;)

new girl
27th-May-2007, 11:32 PM
beans beans
they're good fo the heart
the more you eat
the more you start

TOO BORING ;) and its been done by others ;) I'm sure you can do better :) Also, I think you can do better with the avatar, Im sure your more attractive than that, surely :eek:

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:39 PM
TOO BORING ;) and its been done by others ;) I'm sure you can do better :) Also, I think you can do better with the avatar, Im sure your more attractive than that, surely :eek:

Do you wanna see a real picture of me?

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:47 PM
here's a pic of me

new girl
27th-May-2007, 11:47 PM
Do you wanna see a real picture of me?


Yeh :D its only fair :D cause that'll make us equal I guess :D

ps: make sure its not 20 years old cause that'll make me really disappointed when I see you now !!! ;)

new girl
27th-May-2007, 11:49 PM
here's a pic of me

GOD!!!!!!!:eek::eek::eek:

BAD poetry, bad pic, is there anything good at all?? surprise me ;)

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:49 PM
you see... I have a lot going for me... I'm smart as well as good looking...

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:50 PM
Ok here's a real pic

wayneL
27th-May-2007, 11:54 PM
I like this one:

The Last Rose of Summer

Thomas Moore (1779–1852)


’TIS the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

insider
27th-May-2007, 11:55 PM
here I am... You can put this in your purse

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:00 AM
you see... I have a lot going for me... I'm smart as well as good looking...

tell me about it mate ;) are you also rich? intellectual? deep? sohpisticated? classy? young? nice? pretty :D with pretty charts :D

Gee!! life is not fair you know!!!!!

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:03 AM
here I am... You can put this in your purse

yeh that's more like you ;) you need more trendy glasses though :D

hey are we allowed to schit shat :D without posting poetry :rolleyes:

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:05 AM
I'm gonna be bachelor of the year...

As you can see I've been working out

In your dreams Insider, in your dreams :) I have to admit I do like the name though ;)

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:07 AM
tell me about it mate ;) are you also rich? intellectual? deep? sohpisticated? classy? young? nice? pretty :D with pretty charts :D

Gee!! life is not fair you know!!!!!

I'm gonna be bachelor of the year...

As you can see I've been working out

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:09 AM
In your dreams Insider, in your dreams :) I have to admit I do like the name though ;)

Where's your picture? I feel like I've been taken advantage of

Mousie
28th-May-2007, 12:10 AM
If only you people can flirt in poetry - now won't that be a sight ;)

Go ahead, make my day! :D

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:17 AM
I like this one:

The Last Rose of Summer

Thomas Moore (1779–1852)


’TIS the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
To give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
wowowo Waynel, this is what I call poetry. sad but beautiful, thanks buddy :)

Oh I forgot its also very classy and sophisticated!! such pretty words, like the poster himself eh?;)

Now if Im that rose I'd like to be alone, all the more beautiful and noticable, better than being just a number in a bunch (or should I say a bouquet , sounds french and pretty doesn't it ;) )

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:21 AM
Where's your picture? I feel like I've been taken advantage of

Hey are you telling me you have'nt seen it yet??? Mate your missing out :D I dont think your living up to your name ;)

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:24 AM
If only you people can flirt in poetry - now won't that be a sight ;)

Go ahead, make my day! :D

With pleasure ;) although, there is lots of that if you read the whole thread :D

Tell me, does mousie mean a little mouse :)

and also I think you have to post a poem if you want to start posting on this thread!

wayneL
28th-May-2007, 12:29 AM
wowowo Waynel, this is what I call poetry. sad but beautiful, thanks buddy :)

Oh I forgot its also very classy and sophisticated!! such pretty words, like the poster himself eh?;)

Now if Im that rose I'd like to be alone, all the more beautiful and noticable, better than being just a number in a bunch (or should I say a bouquet , sounds french and pretty doesn't it ;) )
Sounds fair :D

It takes a new dimension again when music is added:

OxRU82Zdqcc

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:32 AM
New girl new girl, give us a rhyme
doesnt have to be in time
But please oh please change the text size
Or my eyes will have their demise


Hi BB :D

sounds like habibi, which means darl in arabic ;) of course it gets much more complicated when you translate poetry from greek to arabic to english back to greek again ;) but well get to that later............anyway, I love it when people write poetry about me :D

ps I only make it that size cause I feel guilty taking so much space and keeping you poets out ;)

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:33 AM
Where's your picture? I feel like I've been taken advantage of

Never mind I found ya http://www.grimmemennesker.dk/ugly-people-76.htm

Looks like a werewolf... soooo when your sick do you go the the hospital or the vet?

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:35 AM
[QUOTE=wayneL;162233]Sounds fair :D



Waynel, your classy :D like me :D

LOVED IT!!!!!! thanks mate :)

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:38 AM
Never mind I found ya http://www.grimmemennesker.dk/ugly-people-76.htm

Looks like a werewolf... soooo when your sick do you go the the hospital or the vet?


Mate I'm GORGEOUS !!!!! (not in the morning though :D or when I'm sad :( )

ps: I'm starting to think your actually an outsider :)

oh yeh my biggest asset is humility :D not to mention the charts :)

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:42 AM
Mate I'm GORGEOUS !!!!! (not in the morning though :D or when I'm sad :( )

ps: I'm starting to think your actually an outsider :)

oh yeh my biggest asset is humility :D

I'm starting to think you're old... :D

And maybe a boy too...

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:47 AM
Here's a poem I just made up

Let's face we'd never get along...
you'd be too much like my bratty little sister...
we'd have arguments in the car about the stereo...
we will have arguments all the time...
I will always win...
Sorry new girl but outside you will go...

insider
28th-May-2007, 12:48 AM
good night!!!

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:51 AM
I'm starting to think you're old... :D

And maybe a boy too...

YOU ARE AN OUTSIDER!!!!!!!:D I'd change my name if I were you ;)

wayneL
28th-May-2007, 12:52 AM
Closer to home, this brings a tear to the eye as well:

The Story of Mongrel Grey
by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson

This is the story the stockman told
On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright;
The moon rose up like a globe of gold
And flooded the plain with her mellow light.
We watched the cattle till dawn of day
And he told me the story of Mongrel Grey.

He was a knock-about station hack,
Spurred and walloped, and banged and beat;
Ridden all day with a sore on his back,
Left all night with nothing to eat.
That was a matter of everyday
Normal occurrence with Mongrel Grey.

We might have sold him, but someone heard
He was bred out back on a flooded run,
Where he learnt to swom like a waterbird;
Midnight or midday were all as one --
In the flooded ground he would find his way;
Nothing could puzzle old Mongrel Grey.

'Tis a trick, no doubt, that some horses learn;
When the floods are out they will splash along
In girth-deep water, and twist and turn
From hidden channel and billabong,
Never mistaking the road to go;
for a man may guess -- but the horses know.

I was camping out with my youngest son --
Bit of a nipper, just learnt to speak --
In an empty hut on the lower run,
Shooting and fishing in Conroy's Creek.
The youngster toddled about all day
And there with our horses was Mongrel Grey.

All of a sudden a flood came down,
At first a freshet of mountain rain,
Roaring and eddying, rank and brown,
Over the flats and across the plain.
Rising and rising -- at fall of night
Nothing but water appeared in sight!

'Tis a nasty place when the floods are out,
Even in daylight; for all around
Channels and billabongs twist about,
Stretching for miles in the flooded ground.
And to move seemed a hopeless thing to try
In the dark with the storm-water racing by.

I hed to risk it. I heard a roar
As the wind swept down and the driving rain;
And the water rose till it reached the floor
Of our highest room; and 'twas very plain --
The way the torrent was sweeping down --
We must make for the highlands at once, or drown.

Off to the stable I splashed, and found
The horses shaking with cold and fright;
I led them down to the lower ground,
But never a yard would they swim that night!
They reared and snorted and turned away,
And none would face it but Mongrel Grey.

I bound the child on the horse's back,
And we started off, with a prayer to heaven,
Through the rain and the wind and the pitchy black
For I knew that the instinct God has given
To prompt His creatures by night and day
Would guide the footsteps of Mongrel Grey.

He struck deep water at once and swam --
I swam beside him and held his mane --
Till we touched the bank of the broken dam
In shallow water; then off again,
Swimming in darkness across the flood,
Rank with the smell of the drifting mud.

He turned and twisted across and back,
Choosing the places to wade or swim,
Picking the safest and shortest track --
The blackest darkness was clear to him.
Did he strike the crossing by sight or smell?
The Lord that held him alone could tell!

He dodged the timber whene'er he could,
But timber brought us to grief at last;
I was partly stunned by a log of wood
That struck my head as it drifted past;
Then lost my grip of the brave old grey,
And in half a second he swept away.

I reached a tree, where I had to stay,
And did a perish for two days' hard;
And lived on water -- but Mongrel Grey,
He walked right into the homestead yard
At dawn next morning, and grazed around,
With the child strapped on to him safe and sound.

We keep him now for the wife to ride,
Nothing too godd for him now, of course;
Never a whip on his fat old hide,
For she owes the child to that brave grey horse.
And not Old Tyson himself could pay
The purchase money of Mongrel Grey.

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:53 AM
Here's a poem I just made up

Let's face we'd never get along...
you'd be too much like my bratty little sister...
we'd have arguments in the car about the stereo...
we will have arguments all the time...
I will always win...
Sorry new girl but outside you will go...

NO sorry back at yah ;) I and only I will decide when to go and where to ;)

new girl
28th-May-2007, 12:58 AM
Closer to home, this brings a tear to the eye as well:

The Story of Mongrel Grey
by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson

This is the story the stockman told
On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright;
The moon rose up like a globe of gold
And flooded the plain with her mellow light.
We watched the cattle till dawn of day
And he told me the story of Mongrel Grey.

He was a knock-about station hack,
Spurred and walloped, and banged and beat;
Ridden all day with a sore on his back,
Left all night with nothing to eat.
That was a matter of everyday
Normal occurrence with Mongrel Grey.

We might have sold him, but someone heard
He was bred out back on a flooded run,
Where he learnt to swom like a waterbird;
Midnight or midday were all as one --
In the flooded ground he would find his way;
Nothing could puzzle old Mongrel Grey.

'Tis a trick, no doubt, that some horses learn;
When the floods are out they will splash along
In girth-deep water, and twist and turn
From hidden channel and billabong,
Never mistaking the road to go;
for a man may guess -- but the horses know.

I was camping out with my youngest son --
Bit of a nipper, just learnt to speak --
In an empty hut on the lower run,
Shooting and fishing in Conroy's Creek.
The youngster toddled about all day
And there with our horses was Mongrel Grey.

All of a sudden a flood came down,
At first a freshet of mountain rain,
Roaring and eddying, rank and brown,
Over the flats and across the plain.
Rising and rising -- at fall of night
Nothing but water appeared in sight!

'Tis a nasty place when the floods are out,
Even in daylight; for all around
Channels and billabongs twist about,
Stretching for miles in the flooded ground.
And to move seemed a hopeless thing to try
In the dark with the storm-water racing by.

I hed to risk it. I heard a roar
As the wind swept down and the driving rain;
And the water rose till it reached the floor
Of our highest room; and 'twas very plain --
The way the torrent was sweeping down --
We must make for the highlands at once, or drown.

Off to the stable I splashed, and found
The horses shaking with cold and fright;
I led them down to the lower ground,
But never a yard would they swim that night!
They reared and snorted and turned away,
And none would face it but Mongrel Grey.

I bound the child on the horse's back,
And we started off, with a prayer to heaven,
Through the rain and the wind and the pitchy black
For I knew that the instinct God has given
To prompt His creatures by night and day
Would guide the footsteps of Mongrel Grey.

He struck deep water at once and swam --
I swam beside him and held his mane --
Till we touched the bank of the broken dam
In shallow water; then off again,
Swimming in darkness across the flood,
Rank with the smell of the drifting mud.

He turned and twisted across and back,
Choosing the places to wade or swim,
Picking the safest and shortest track --
The blackest darkness was clear to him.
Did he strike the crossing by sight or smell?
The Lord that held him alone could tell!

He dodged the timber whene'er he could,
But timber brought us to grief at last;
I was partly stunned by a log of wood
That struck my head as it drifted past;
Then lost my grip of the brave old grey,
And in half a second he swept away.

I reached a tree, where I had to stay,
And did a perish for two days' hard;
And lived on water -- but Mongrel Grey,
He walked right into the homestead yard
At dawn next morning, and grazed around,
With the child strapped on to him safe and sound.

We keep him now for the wife to ride,
Nothing too godd for him now, of course;
Never a whip on his fat old hide,
For she owes the child to that brave grey horse.
And not Old Tyson himself could pay
The purchase money of Mongrel Grey.



wowowowowo FANTASTIC ;)

PS: a horse is still better than a pig eh ;)

more ps: i'm getting bored and tired, I have a big day tomorrow, having a life and all, I just do this for fun ;)

wayneL
28th-May-2007, 01:07 AM
wowowowowo FANTASTIC ;)

PS: a horse is still better than a pig eh ;)


I would agree, but pigs have their fans as well it seems:)

Ernie, Heavens’ Pig

There was a vacancy in heaven
that God just had to fill
keeping the angels company
not just anyone would fill the bill.

God looked all through heaven
and he could not find
a suitable companion
with a face sweet and kind.

When all the possibilities were exhausted
God turned His face toward earth
His eyes fell upon Ernie
with his pug face and his girth.

Then God spoke to Ernie
in a sweet and loving way
and asked him to please come home
to heaven this very day.

God said, "you’re my creation
and I need to call you back home,
for we have a need in heaven
no one can fill but you alone".

The angels gently ushered
Ernie into their midst
t where he now helps the angels
their missions to assist.

Mousie
28th-May-2007, 01:22 AM
With pleasure ;) although, there is lots of that if you read the whole thread :D

Tell me, does mousie mean a little mouse :)

and also I think you have to post a poem if you want to start posting on this thread!

Post a poem? Sure, here goes!

Clap along ya... :D

I'm a big mouse
Strong man in da house
When called upon to douse
Fire on da blouse
To save me spouse!

PS: If you haven't guessed it already, Mousie refers to da muscles...but I suppose 'little mouse' adds to the cute factor, no? ;)

wayneL
28th-May-2007, 01:37 AM
I posted this one early in the thread... one of my old favourites

Clancy of the Overflow

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow"
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."

* * * * * * * * *

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

* * * * * * * * *

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --
But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of The Overflow.

-- A. B. "Banjo" Paterson

wayneL
28th-May-2007, 01:39 AM
Some song writers make tidy poets as well

GALLERIES OF PINK GALAHS
by John Williamson

Galleries of pink galahs,
Crystal nights with diamond stars,
Apricots preserved in jars,
That's my home.

Land of oceans in the sun,
Purple hazes, river gum,
Breaks your heart when rain won't come,
It breaks your heart.

It takes a harsh and cruel drought
To sort the weaker saplings out,
It makes room for stronger trees
Maybe that's what life's about.

Winter's come, the hills are brown,
Shops are closed, the blinds are down.
Everybody's leaving town,
They can't go on.

The south wind through verandah gauze
Whines and bangs the homestead doors.
A mother curses dusty floors,
And feels alone.

Trucks and bulk bins filled with rust,
Boy leaves home to make a crust.
A father's dreams reduced to dust,
But he must go on.

Tortured red gums - unashamed,
Sunburnt country wisely named.
Chisel-ploughed and wire-claimed,
But never, never, never tamed.

Whirlwind swirls a paper high,
Same old news of further dry.
Of broken clouds just passing by,
That's my home.

2020hindsight
28th-May-2007, 05:56 PM
GALLERIES OF PINK GALAHS by John Williamson
Tortured red gums - unashamed,
Sunburnt country wisely named.
Chisel-ploughed and wire-claimed,
But never, never, never tamed....
.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFc8eODLiAc
probably a better poem than a song lol

nice turn of phrase in the above verse..
Harsh, dangerous tools :) - chisels, wire etc

Chisel-ploughed and wire-claimed,
Sawn up mudflats, sheep ashamed
Boney backs and fly inflamed,
And dusty cross cut saws.

Hammered home, with cattle maimed
Lying dying drought has claimed
City folk at home ashamed -
The global warming cause. :2twocents

BIG BWACULL
28th-May-2007, 06:07 PM
money made, market up
money down, no pre nup
ahh alas move along
as i sing my dreary song

AHH might stick to the blonde jokes hey LOL:D

insider
28th-May-2007, 08:31 PM
NO sorry back at yah ;) I and only I will decide when to go and where to ;)

Nope... you're playing catch up now... ;)

insider
1st-June-2007, 06:38 PM
Who is Sean and Nick.... wait.... I don't care...

Anglo Saxon? wtf

I better tell the moderators that you've gone coo coo now... hahahaha what a crack up...... :rolleyes: :D

Gotta go to work now.... stop thinking please ;)

new girl
1st-June-2007, 09:44 PM
The Shallow Ones
Beggar Boy

We are the shallow ones
the shallow ones
the shallow ones
Broken and undone ones
undone ones
undone ones
Torn from top to bottom
Lost amidst our Autumn
Lost in winds of change
Roaming the endless range
Of all we hoped and dreamed for

For we are the hollow jars
the hollow jars
the hollow jars
Cracked beneath eternal stars
eternal stars
eternal stars
Frozen in the winter
Bleeding from the splinter
Sedated in our cares
We try to climb the stairs
A stair that leads to nowhere
to nowhere
to nowhere

For we are the shallow ones...

new girl
1st-June-2007, 09:59 PM
When Ure Hero Falls (my Hero....)
Tupak Shakur


when your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales r uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified

the greatest pain discovered

u taught me 2 be strong
but im confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat

when ure hero falls so do the stars

and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow
your heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what r u expected 2 do

when ure only hero falls

arminius
1st-June-2007, 11:46 PM
roses are red
violets are blue
i'm a schitzophrenic
and so am i

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 06:39 AM
hey doc I’ve had this bit of a think, - and decided I’m probably a moth
with these things my boy, you should go see a shrink, and tailor the treatment to cloth
and furthermore son im a dentist
...........................I know
.....................................then why did you come here tonight ?
well you see, I was walking past I spose
and I happened to see your light.:o

hey doc this problem Ive got isn’t funny, there’s butterflies everywhere
no matter which way I’m looking or running, theres millions of butterflies there
don’t worry my son, they’re all in your head, a lot of my patients have been there
I know all that doc, but that all said, I’d like to know how they got in there!:confused:

hey doc my husband he thinks he's a fridge, and it chills me right to the bone
you may not believe this but richy ditch, he makes this compressor tone
just try to ignore him, it’s go away, he’s sure to turn out all right
But he sleeps with his mouth open doc!, and well, the light keeps me up all night.!!:eek7:

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 07:39 AM
http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/index/0,29221,20581,00.html

new girl
2nd-June-2007, 09:23 AM
Your Unjust Anger :p: :p:
Jessica Holt


You don’t realize that; when you get mad
You blame me for outrageous things,
And that deep inside this makes me sad,
The intensity of the pain one hurtful word brings


“Everything is your fault” :pesok:


At first I wondered if I was to blame
“Maybe it was my fault this time”,
But every time? It’s always the same
You act as if I committed a crime.

If nothing changes I can guarantee,
Your unjust anger will lead to you losing me

new girl
2nd-June-2007, 09:38 AM
Your Black And White Photograph :)
Suchoon Mo_


thank you

for your photograph
a black and white photograph
of a young woman
of you
in another time
another place

you are sitting by the kitchen table
in the light from the window

your eyes are smiling

it is quiet here now
outside and inside
silent autumn morning

I am sitting by the kitchen table
in the light from the window

time is alone
space is mute

your black and white photograph
is in my warm hand

thank you :)

new girl
2nd-June-2007, 10:15 AM
Of the Pain in the Heart of the Follower ( what's even worse is to follow a follower !!!!!!! :o No can do!!! )
Newo Enec

You once held
Everything that was mine
I once held
Your picture with admiration
But my heart
Can keep grasp on only nothing
Because whats deep
Sinks through these holes
My heart
Cant keep hold of anything
After the hell you put it through
When the curtain closes
On this faked out soliloquy
Will you be standing in the shadows
Lying on the road ive paved by hand
Or will you grow up
And face tomorrow on your own

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 11:26 AM
PRESSURE FIRE AND DIAMONDS

The best steel ever made, has been tempered as a blade
and then plunged into a quenching bath of oil
Yet the fire that makes the steel is the same fire that you feel
when you see the problem through with honest toil.

With forging hammer blows, (any village blacksmith knows)
you make steel respond to iron will of men
so too carbon locked in space, with pressure in its face
will morph into a better morph again.

Things arent always going well, buying when you outta sell
putting out lifes little fires like a fireman
but I think that's how God meant it, or why else has he invented
the rule that under pressure, ;)
..........you get diamond. :)

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 12:21 PM
My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose - Izzy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52TOtrwBErU&mode=related&search=
52TOtrwBErU&mode=related&search=
http://www.robertburns.org/works/444.shtml
A Red Red Rose ,, by Robbie Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

new girl
2nd-June-2007, 12:59 PM
PRESSURE FIRE AND DIAMONDS

The best steel ever made, has been tempered as a blade
and then plunged into a quenching bath of oil
Yet the fire that makes the steel is the same fire that you feel
when you see the problem through with honest toil.

With forging hammer blows, (any village blacksmith knows)
you make steel respond to iron will of men
so too carbon locked in space, with pressure in its face
will morph into a better morph again.

Things arent always going well, buying when you outta sell
putting out lifes little fires like a fireman
but I think that's how God meant it, or why else has he invented
the rule that under pressure, ;)
..........you get diamond. :)


2020 :) :)

Thank you for a beautiful poem yet again :)

NG

new girl
2nd-June-2007, 01:05 PM
My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose - Izzy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52TOtrwBErU&mode=related&search=
52TOtrwBErU&mode=related&search=
http://www.robertburns.org/works/444.shtml
A Red Red Rose ,, by Robbie Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!


My God!!! The words....the melody.....the video............THERE HAS TO BE A GOD!!!! :) :) :)

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 04:10 PM
pleased you enjoyed em, ng ;)
Robbie Burns was great - and his birthday (25 Jan) has been responsible for many a Scottish hangover :o
Probably why the Scots often seem ambivalent about Australia day lol.

one of the kids heard a quote this morning about "enjoy the pressure, you need it to make diamonds" so I took the concept and ran with it. As usual, totally amateur, but you get the idea. :2twocents

2020hindsight
2nd-June-2007, 04:36 PM
PS THIS is the one I like ;) - as we've both already commented on
wOBcFt5tevY
the mans the gold for all that ;)
.......
for all that and all that ,
the tinsel show and all that,
the honest man though ever to poor,
is king of men for all that
......
for all that and all that
his riband star and all that
the man of independent mind
he looks and laughs at all that :)

all the words already posted on :-
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=160213&highlight=man%27s#post160213

arminius
3rd-June-2007, 01:28 PM
Apathetic Betrayal.
by me.

I’d rather muse on the wonders of life
While holding the hand of one’s beautiful wife
I prefer to be inspired by a neighbour’s wisdom
A stranger’s warm heart and their altruism

But at six every evening or in the daily review
It’s all turning pear-shaped and a deep shade of blue
Our ‘National Interest’ they solemnly decree
Those with the most powerful artillery

‘Where is the love?’ the ’Peas do enquire
Bought in a fire sale, to some bargain buyer
Paid for in ways even wheat farmers resent
At the request of the bloke with the Texan accent

Will our kids safely walk a non-NATO street?
Reflect without fear in the Gallipoli heat?
Will they work Christmas Day for ten bucks an hour?
And wonder what happened to the ozone layer

Share price lords over system repair
Lanes closed quicker than that hospital there
Privatisation, rationalisation
There’s hardly a damn phone box left in the nation

My greatest fear is not terrorism
Or sedition that lands me seven years in prison
It’s the shame I will face, when my kids one day say,
‘Why didn’t you stop them. Why is it this way’

2020hindsight
3rd-June-2007, 02:20 PM
PUNTING ON DE-NILE

Early or late, comes the hand of Fate, toppling years in rank and file,
Fate sank the punts of the Pharoahs-of-late, those who punted upon deNile,
Many race past "go", in their quest for dough, but there's some belong "in Jail",
"Monopoly-ising" the world scene so - A Pathetic bloody tale.
......
Fate watches our bombs and our bulding-of-forts, as we hope the drawbridge holds
Fate watches as delicate peace aborts, and undelicate war unfolds
As we tell the kids, between yawns and rorts, "now we've messed up - YOU mustn't fail!" - .... :(
please ignore (kids) our mass destructive thoughts - and our Apathetic betrayal.

(PS needless to say, Arminius, I loved that poem of yours :) :2twocents)

arminius
4th-June-2007, 09:16 PM
tell you what 2020, that is a beauty.
it moved me.
i think we are reading off the same sheet of music.

2020hindsight
4th-June-2007, 09:53 PM
i think we are reading off the same sheet of music.
hey it was your idea m8 lol - I'm just the kid with the banjo ;) (perhaps a bit more polite at the end)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esl2NNOtHQE 'Deliverance' - 'Dueling banjos' scene

esl2NNOtHQE

2020hindsight
5th-June-2007, 07:45 AM
A CHECKLIST FOR A NOTE TO A FREIEND

how long to send someone an email (or poem)?
lets say it’s a line a minute,
unless its a technical tirade or tome
there’s a hundred ways to skin it,
a word to a friend across the foam ?
that the world’s still here and you’re in it ?
can you answer the charge that you didn’t write home
cos your quill and your heart weren’ tin it ?

were your travels of gold or silver or chrome ?
when trouble came by, did you grin it ?
did you meet some Jack or Jill or Jerome ?
did you cry over some or thick skin it ?
did you meet some concept in Paris or Rome ?
was its soul without or within it ?
is the world pure or just polystyrene foam ?
do they doctor that world and spin it ?

did you get some insult from peasant or throne ?
did you fight back or take on the chin it ?
did you moralise long over lover or loan ?
(did you knock back a beer and just sin it) ?
did you lose all your fun so you just couldn’t phone ?
forget to write numbers and pin it ?
did you wake up with headaches and memories unknown ?
did you stop at first draft and just bin it.?

Is your friend that you’re writing a friend outgrown ?
do the two of you no more “Huck Finn” it ?
do you simply repeat some old love always shown ?
does it sound like you violin it ?
did you fear some glass “writing skill”’s only half blown?
ahh to hell – let’s firing pin it! :)
well - the first thing to writing that note to that gnome
is to sit for a bit – and begin it . ;)

PS Here's another in the same vein -
(and hopefully without being too vain) ;)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=86968&highlight=indies#post86968

arminius
5th-June-2007, 10:50 PM
as of last week i'm a dad again.

Aura

What price a smile
On the face of a baby
In the world a short while
Settled at home…maybe

They don’t know any real funny folk
nor familiar with colours like red, or yellow
They’ve not been a party to fine tales or good jokes
Or cringed at Howard, Abbott or Costello

When their day is divided into eating and sleeping
And the parents do ponder their parental failings
And bubs only concern is the dinner date it’s keeping
The rest of the time is an incessant wailing

The price, the price, is always around us
This smile is a potion infusing a full dose
For our love wells inside and flows out to surround us
It may be coincidence but they smile when they’re close.

arminius
5th-June-2007, 11:02 PM
i havent seen that clip for ages.
reminds me of the time some mates and i went to Victoria.

2020hindsight
5th-June-2007, 11:10 PM
I havent seen that clip for ages.
reminds me of the time some mates and i went to Victoria.
Lol, personally I used to go to family reunions to pick up chicks ;)

2020hindsight
5th-June-2007, 11:41 PM
FATHERS AND SHOES

I remember my Dad teaching threading of laces, and tying the damned things in bows,
And the first and foremost of fatherly graces, where kindness and caring flows,
and patience with things that a child will recall, for longer than anyone knows,
- "Remember that moment" ;) (I say to myself) "when in time my own child grows".

I remember my Dad resoling HIS shoes, so cracked and so sadly worn,
When his own soul was fading - about to lose - as the links to his life became torn
And he joked about hiding some shoemaker's elves and his "new" pair of shoes so "reborn"
Confiding to Mum that you don't buy new shoes, when your next life's about to dawn.:o

These days I get up, and I put on my boots, steel capped and elastic sided,
Not strictly the tricks from my infant roots, while my Father smiled and confided,
Yet I smile for a sec, feel my old Man's touch, and I grin at the future decided,
That I owe my old Man, more than so much, that evolved from the skills he provided. ......

And I thank him for guidance and patience and such, and those footprints o'er which he presided. ;)

Based on the same emotions as the final line of this one ... :- ;)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=83551&highlight=mustard#post83551

2020hindsight
11th-June-2007, 03:18 PM
on the Ab question..

CYCLICAL ARGUMENTS around MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES

they have oh so many badguys, 'mongst their colour and their kin
and their youth are just a mob of sleezy louts
but there’s surely mitigation in their circumstantial sin
ah don’t come at me with wimpish easy outs

would you have YOUR daughter stolen, Mr Black or Mr White
taking some fool's word that she was living well
never knowing till your Heaven, whether she turned out all right
(when so many fought through institutes from Hell)

look here I’m a perfect father, and it doesn’t (hence) apply
but it does you see , they took them irrespective
well the kids were all too backward, and a few of them too shy
but they had a black child's purest brown perspective

well of course they did, but damned if I’m say sorry, shame or cry,
but this thing has been a boil which needs a lance
crist man mop that bleeding heart of yours, and here’s the reason why..
they had this mitigating circumstance .. ;)


THE FREEDOM BUS / BIKE / ROLLER SKATES

WE don’t have to say that “sorry”, it’s government, not us
but we’ll Need a hint of sorrow to be on that freedom bus
there are Nuts and bolts to work-out, coalface issues and the rest
and the Flavours back of Bourke-out in the seriously west

let’s Not forget they “owned” this land way back in dreamtime daze
or Rather we’ve all loaned this land , give Rainbow Serpent praise
ackNowledge future hope and smile, acknowledge past mistakes
one Word of sorry “Canberra-style” , the tuppence that it takes.

and its Not like bad old US - rednecks, whitecaps, lynching parties
nor Palestine or Suez (where the only chop’s karates)
its More about a trip around this piebald land of ours
with a Lunching stop in sunshine and admire those wild wild flowers.

and aMongst those sacred acorn seeds are kids there one month old
who Don’t know there’s no hope for them (they haven’t yet been told)
no Water there to christen them unless it’s carted in
( I’m Betting that you’ll better me - I hope - young Gunga Din. ;) )

This bus might be a mad proposal , get the future sorted - sheesh
have miles of hope at my disposal, convoy cars escorted - sheesh
but…
…….even just a freedom bike, or just some roller skates
but pointing THERE, into that LIGHT – and treating them as mates.

2020hindsight
11th-June-2007, 04:26 PM
further to previous Kipling posted here ;)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=85547&highlight=kipling#post85547 posts #76 and #77

thought I'd slip in Kipling's Gunga Din

"knock knock : who's there
Gunga : gunga who
- gunga DIN!!!"

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunga_Din
Gunga Din (1892) is one of Rudyard Kipling's most famous poems, perhaps best known for its often-quoted last line, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"[1]

The poem is a rhyming narrative from the point of view of a British soldier, about a native water-bearer who saves his life. Like several other Kipling poems, it celebrates the virtues of a non-European while portraying a colonial infantryman's view of such people as being of a "lower order".
http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets.html

Rudyard Kipling. 1865– 1936

48. Gunga Din

YOU may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water, 5
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew 10
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao! 15
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 20
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day, 25
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din! 30
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one 35
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 40
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside 45
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout: 50
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst, 55
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green; 60
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 65
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 70
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone— 75
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din! 80
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

2020hindsight
11th-June-2007, 04:48 PM
I repost that epitath that Kipling wrote for someone :(

A SON
My son was killed while laughing at some jest. I would I knew
What it was, and it might serve me in a time when jests are few.

legs
11th-June-2007, 04:58 PM
Miss Hilton went to Jail,
But a few days later,
Turned very pail,
They said it was just skin infections,
But maybe it was her missed injections!!

2020hindsight
13th-June-2007, 05:43 AM
Further to the Ab question, #375 below :-


FRIENDS OR STEALING MOTHERS

whats the best way then of treating them
as dark skinned foes or brothers
some thoughtful way or beating them
as friends or stealing mothers
do you have to make selection praps
the rough way or the carrot
(and after this election praps
the Brough way or the Garrett.?)

or maybe there's a third way brewing
food for thought and hope
and the black men give up glueing
and the white give up dope
and we look upon each other
with a clearer point of view
and we each boil piles of carrots
in a mutual positive stew.

2020hindsight
13th-June-2007, 09:01 PM
U0PjKJ9nHS4The Words of Patrick Pearse

The History of Patrick Pearse, One of Irelands Greatest And Most Influential Political Figures and Leaders. A Poet, A Master of the Gaelic Language, And a Nationalist. Pearse was it all. And Died for his Land


I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,
That have no treasure but hope,
No riches laid up but a memory
Of an Ancient glory.
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,
I am of the blood of serfs;
The children with whom I have played,
the men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,
And, though gentle, have served churls;
Their hands that have touched mine,
the dear hands whose touch is familiar to me,
Have worn shameful manacles,
have been bitten at the wriest by manacles
Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers.
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone,
I that have never submitted;
I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters
I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech,
I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill.

And because I am of the people, I understand the people,
I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire:
My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,
I have yearned with old wistful men,
And laughed or cursed with young men,

Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it,
Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free,
Reddened for that they have gone in want,
while others have been full,
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their jailors
With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,
Men mean and cruel!
I could have borne stripes on my body
rather than this shame of my people.

And now I speak, being full of vision;
I speak to my people,
and I speak in my people's name to the masters of my people.
I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august,
despite their chains,
That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and purer,
That they have but need of courage,
and to call on the name of their God,
God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples
For whom He died naked, suffering shame.
And I say to my people's masters: Beware,
Beware of the thing that is coming,
beware of the risen people,
Who shall take what ye would not give.
Did ye think to conquer the people,
Or that Law is stronger than life and than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,
Ye that have bullied and bribed,
tyrants, hypocrites, liars!

2020hindsight
14th-June-2007, 06:40 AM
Further to the advantages of carrot vs stick below .. just exercising the grey stuff on the question of black v white ;)

Maybe Friendship is as Easy as Intention

instead of pollies parroting (like Heffernan or Harradine)
or pointing at those clueless lesser races
I wish they’d seek more clarity that eyesight gains from carotene
and trade em worn out shoes (and missing laces).

instead of vicious people we might check our visual purple
that stuff that penetrates where light is lacking
our eyes might probe the darkness, lighten up and lessen starkness
(and maybe seek some expert help,- black tracking).

do I hear that lonely voice, of one Barnaby re- Joyce?
who fights against the fickleness of yes-men
who pleads a case eyes moist, cause the words that he has voiced
have been forged with sweat and tears and blood of best men.

sure they didn’t get to space when they were a lonely race
and the "flying stick" was praps their best invention
but the lessons and the vibes we should foster in all tribes
is that friendship is as easy as intention.

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 11:17 AM
Here's a poem I've just cooked up. I guess it's a combination of these two - correction :- it makes reference to Burns, however much more infinitely superior his efforts "compar'd wi' me"
a) To A Mouse (R. Burns)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=92612&highlight=sleekit#post92612

b) Parent's Blessings (2020Hindsight)
which proposes a lackadaisical attitude to parenting (if you read it, please treat references to "clearing land" as metaphorical ;)
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=86060&highlight=blessings#post86060

Lol just an aside , I wanted to search for that ASF post above that I'd already made on "To A Mouse", so I asked for all posts/threads with the word "mouse", lol - guess how many posts there are on computer mouses? lol -

thought for the day ...
Maybe you can think of "the present only toucheth thee" as in fact a very prophetic poem by Robbie with a view to application to computer mouses ? Where the person sitting two feet under and behind the keyboard "casts his e'e forward, tho' we canna see, and guess an' fear" - and the (computer) mouse is by comparison blessed?? ;)

- naah doesn't quite work does it - in those days of the Romantic poets, mice (and men) had hearts!

"Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me, The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e. On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!"


WORLDLY WISE or WISELY WORLDLY

I’m glad I didn’t listen to advice in younger day
where I’d have missed so many young mistakes
I now ‘ken’ ways of men and mice that oft-times gang a'gley
and friendship real and true, and ratty fakes.

And If my kids would ask me what it means, this “worldly wise”
I’d blunder through some theories hiding doubt
I’d probably change some colour with a heap of half white lies
(like Walls of China keeping rabbits out).

But easier to turn it from a concept to a verb
“kids, wisely live but wordly” I can state!
“and even Chinese Rabbits ken this ‘wisely wordly’ blurb
live early, let the 'worldly wise' come late.”

And it’s house foundations, post-wise, and its partly horse and cart
and in my opinion “understanding word”
for this question of the “most wise”, is it Homer praps - or Bart ??~|!
is it just the “lesser foolish” of the herd.? :2twocents

some claim I’m 'Careless Shepherd', then so be it I suppose
But gladly I reject that for a start
For a shepherd tends to naïve sheep. ...:sheep:
.......... As any meets them knows ;)
my kids and sheep are fifty miles apart.

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 12:24 PM
you ask "example of living wisely but worldly" ?
for instance , kids, when it comes to chatting up the opposite sex -
beware of potential mothers-in-law hiding behind the door with a waddy ;)

MGllegMKToomouse singing "you sexy thing" to a cheese

And another ;) - when the magic lets you down, don't give up - improvise!! lol
v42LVMi6Suk&NR=1 Ratatouille : Emile's Magic Trick

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 01:52 PM
gee there are some clever animations on youtube ;)
here's one about the importance of friendship... - and friends repaying friendship :)
(you have to take it right through to the finish ;))
4lhyH5TsuPg&NR=1Pixar Movie or Sony image works - The ChubbChubbs

mind you , to modern kids, 'worldiness' is more a measure of your cell phone reception
4Zv9vRz4QYM&NR=1

here's one "in search of pleasure-o-rama " (?) (subtitled) - (bit longer and slower than the others - up to you. )
I can say with 100% confidence that the Earth is the closest place to meeting that desription (provided you stay , ... down -to -earth ) ;)
IVIHvqcvdQU&mode=related&search=The Astronuts (L'Astro-Poère)

PS I'm not preaching believe me, just having fun with this subject :) : 2twocents

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 04:48 PM
SOME DUDE WHO HAD THE SMARTS

it’s about our time on earth
it’s about our worldly worth
it’s about the fact we land and leave alone
it’s about a chat and chortle
with a fellow pilgrim mortal
it’s about the fact we miss em when they’re gone

its what happens to our souls
it’s about magnetic poles
its about regression y and z, x rated
it’s what grief and grave unfolds
it’s about those damned black holes
it’s about the billion ways that we’re deflated.

it’s about the smallest suture
that could link our past and future
making us appear an insignifi - cance
it’s the 14 giga years
and the zillion mother’s tears
in the labour wards of evolution’s dance.

1-2-3 quadrillion stars
with their planet dodgem cars
and the sandgrains, one of which could be our sun,
take our 25meg tideline
metre deep and 5K wideline
that’s the number of those grains, of which it’s one.

its about the atoms in us
from formation through to finis
where there’s also just as many minute parts,
it’s too hard to comprehend
it will warp your mind and bend…
.....
I suggest invent “Some Dude" who had the smarts. ;)

PS
Australia has a total 25,760 km (16,000 miles) of coastline.
(ignore the lesser “perimeter road” which is only about 16,000 km).
The number of sand grains (ok coarse sand grains ;)) ( assume 1mm x 1mm x 1mm) in a perimeter beach 25,000 km long x 5 km wide x 1m deep would be
125,000,000,000,000,000,000; which is pretty close to the number of stars in the (currently observable) universe, namely:-
123,000,000,000,000,000,000.

13.7 billion years (gigayears) since the big bang

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 06:57 PM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damocles

THE LIGHTNING ROD OF DAMOCLES

Damocles was some Greek figure, lived beneath a hair-pin trigger
of a giant dagger horse-hair-held above him
and that’s how we all live really, there’s a sword up there so nearly
ready waiting, god of lightning, fear or love him.

I quite like a bit of skiing – specially prior to my seeing
a movie of some fellow having fun..
till some Sword of Damocles mixed with avalanching trees
made the population smaller there by one

there was no way he’d outrun it, even jet propelled and gun it
as he charged the steep incline as if midair
you can see it to this day, where he turned an instant grey
and the cliff marks where it caught him like a bear

there’s a monument there gaping where he gave up on escaping
but today …it’s just a peaceful scene in sun
once a scary white apartment, now a scar on the escarpment
where that skier screwed his final scoring run.

It’s a bit like that I spose, just as well one never knows
whence the lightning bolt the big guy shoots will come
maybe out there on some slope ?
……….. loving life and loving hope ?
maybe home with dog? and TV? and your mum? ;)

This is just a whisker/(horse-hair-thread ? ;)) like Gordon's poem, "Potter's Clay", Fytte 6 (of 8) found here :-
http://www.worldwideschool.org/library/books/lit/poetry/ThePoemsofALAdamLindsayGordon/chap4.html

2020hindsight
17th-June-2007, 09:46 PM
sword of Damocles
eim5jLlEPYI&mode=related&search= I Will Survive - Aliensong (only 40 secs ;))

insider
17th-June-2007, 11:10 PM
I'm sorry but I really don't find much enjoyment in poetry... It really doesn't phase me... how come?

2020hindsight
18th-June-2007, 04:05 AM
I'm sorry but I really don't find much enjoyment in poetry... It really doesn't phase me... how come?
Insider - ok try this when you go for your next jog ..

or after a beer or whatever ...
ever been to the races ? lol
try expressing the exuberance of riding a horse over a jump in a steeplechase better than Adam Lindsay Gordon does ;)


"Oh the vigour with which the air is rife !
The spirit of joyous motion;
The fever, the fullness of animal life,
Can be drained from no earthly potion!
The lungs with the living gas grow light,
and the limbs feel the strength of ten,
While the chest expands with its madd'ning might
GOD'S GLORIOUS OXYGEN.

Thus the measured stroke, on elastic sward,
Of the steed three parts extended,
Hard held, the breath of his nostrils broad,
With the golden ether blended;
Then the leap, the rise from the springing turf,
The rush through the bouyant air,
And the light shock landing - the veriest serf
Is an emporer then and there.

PS but no doubt you're right as far as the amateur stuff I put up goes (i.e. I'm not pretending it's anything flash here)...

"some of em heavy and tug at your lead
but most of em breezy and light
and those that are heavy or hard to read
...
it's because they were easy to write " ;)

new girl
20th-June-2007, 10:07 PM
Gentle Peace
Heather Z. Hanna


If I could give you a gift
It would be peace.
Peace of mind
Peace of Heart

Gentle Peace

Peace of mind
would be for you to know
that someone loves you.

No expectations
where none were given.
Just let yourself know that it's okay,
And it's a compliment
to your kindness to have touched
This Heart
in a way so special,
That peace of mind and Heart
Is the only gift
I wish for you.

2020hindsight
28th-June-2007, 07:23 AM
probably a new tack to the quest for peace ng ;) - but I just scribbled some lines based on gordon lightfoot's line in Edmund Fitzgerald ( as posted by wayneL - great song :) )
Just that the cook always seems to feature in these nautical misadventures ;)


http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=170210&highlight=fitzgerald#post170210

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin.
Fellas, its too rough to feed ya.
At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, its been good tknow ya


THANK GOD FOR THE COOK

the first mate hollered halyard and the master hollered mizzen
and the bollard lost its billiards and the windspeed cups went whizzen
and the bilgepump vanes were groaning and the skipper cried “we’ll drown”
to a man the crew were moaning,.... but the cook just held his frown.

the lightning rod alighted in some baggy wrinkled stays
and their faces all alerted in some badly wrinkled ways
and the homerun sound of baseball bat as boom came "whooshing" past
and some tall guy hollered ‘timber’ to the spluttering of splintering mast

.... but the cook said calmly “scuttle her”, down went the drowning skuppers
down went the skippers slippers and down went their fancy uppers
down went that full of strife boat and the million matchstick mast
and they jumped into the lifeboat, and released their recent past

the cook cried out "you ripper!!" as the sea turned into rides
like some lunatic big dipper, made of vertically aligned tides


then ...
....... he calmly passed out croissants . and a friendly cup of tea
“with a giant nip of whisky boys – this last drink here’s on me.”!!

2020hindsight
28th-June-2007, 07:58 AM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_Celeste


The cargo of 1701 barrels of alcohol was intact, though when it was eventually unloaded in Genoa, nine barrels were noted as being empty. A six-month supply of food and water was aboard. All of the ship's papers except the captain's logbook were missing. The last log entry was dated November 24 and placed her 100 miles west of the Azores. The last entry on the ship's slate showed her as having reached the island of Santa Maria in the Azores on November 25th.


but then of course, Marie Celeste , a story known to many
I wonder who would place their bets on who killed skipper Kenny
the crew and all their traces sank, the boat sailed on in mirth
and nearly made the dogger bank, and third and fourth of firth.

and 1700 barrels of their best booze still intact ! :confused:
you'd have to guess some frightful fate, some alian attack
what man in half their right mind would jump overboard of all things!!
hek !! once they're empty - barrels make most excellent of waterwings !! ;)

2020hindsight
1st-July-2007, 12:08 AM
All Things Drink

Fruitful earth drinks up the rain;
Trees from earth drink that again;
The sea drinks the air, the sun
Drinks the sea, and him the moon.
Is it reason then, d'ye think,
I should thirst when all else drink?

Anakreon (Translated by Thomas Stanley)
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/anakreon.html#3


Beauty

HORNS to bulls wise Nature lends;
Horses she with hoofs defends;
Hares with nimble feet relieves;
Dreadful teeth to lions gives;
Fishes learn through streams to slide;
Birds through yielding air to glide;
Men to courage she supplies;
But to women these denies.
What then give she? Beauty, this
Both their arms and armor is:
She, that can this weapon use,
Fire and sword with ease subdues.

Anakreon (Translated by Thomas Stanley, 1651)

2020hindsight
1st-July-2007, 09:01 AM
here's a Cumbrian 's opinion of "nature" vs "palaces"... :)
(with an accent and a fiery red attitude like that - maybe from the northern parts of Cumbria ;))

As they say, "wear flat shoes, and watch out for falling sheep" .

2020hindsight
3rd-July-2007, 05:56 PM
I saw a creek yesterday that was running a banker a few days back - trees leaning every which way - bit like Chad Morgan's teeth ;)


FROM THE REDWOOD FOREST TO THE GULF BETWEEN MAN AND NATURE
The river was a torrent just a day or two ago
and all except the redwood tree now leans
It’s naught that worry warrants, just unruly riotous flow
much like our blood when we were in our teens

Today the stream’s more peaceful and it canters nice and slow
in much maturer jodhpurs ‘stead of jeans
and some autumn leaves deceasing radiate their dying glow
and smiling pray to come back evergreens.

But time keeps marching onwards to the redwood’s ticking song
and its rings count floods and tempests through the years
and Nature has been kind to this gentle giant blind
and almost nothing natural it fears.

But the pendulum has swung for this friendly wooden lung
and fear is at its worst since time began
such a God-respectful place till the new boy joined the race
that chainsaw wielding idiot called Man

.. That whale harpooning
species pruning,
“sit on Jesus right hand soon” - ing :o
self opinioned great bafooning
self claimed lord of all that’s blooming…
blooming self destructive beast …

called Man. :(

2020hindsight
5th-July-2007, 09:05 PM
BLOOD FOR OIL

if you analyse things of this nature
then you’d probably start with a rule
that a man is unlikely to hate ya
unless you’re a psychotic fool
it’s a must that you maintain the high ground
that you balance your taking with give
when the foreigner says “this is my land”
it’s a must that you let this man live…

........ though his accent is strange ,
........ though he’s in your gun’s range,
........ though you’re in some damned army designed to derange
it’s a must that you let this man live.

though the history book’s laden with killers
there are thousands that dance on their graves
while the peace loving future has pillars
that are founded on HONESTY’s slaves
it’s a must that you live by conventions
that are founded in fair firm and free
that are free of those ugly dimensions
that his oilcan’s more value than he……

........ though he dresses in rags
........ and salutes different flags
........ though your army mate killed his whole family and brags
it’s a must that that you let him go free.

If you march in and claim “this is my land”
If you only take lives - and not give,
what right to the moral high ground?
(and what makes you think they'll forgive)?
if you murder young kids in their village
and you only know conquer not kind
but you claim it’s just “lateral spillage”
yet you claim it is “oil intertwined”

........ there were carpenter’s skills
........ Jesus learnt with breast drills
........ now this child has a breast hole through which his life spills

and you claim it is “oil intertwined”?!!!

Here's one that was written in the days when Aus (and the world) watched on as East Timorese were being killed.
- similar sentiments I guess. :(
http://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=85342&highlight=timor#post85342
this in turn quotes this website (
http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/Senate/7112/poems_frconten.htm

HOWL
by Emma Lawrence
....ten thousand people a year
is thirty a day
is one death every forty-five minutes
for a generation
in a country smaller than tasmania their
six litres of blood each
would be just over a million
litres of oil, but
3.25 billion dollars will buy you
quite a showbag
with an unused conscience thrown in

2020hindsight
6th-July-2007, 07:03 AM
I heard on Radio National last night that the oil used daily by the US military navy and airforce (combined ) - and arguably concerned in large part or small with securing oil into the futute for them ? and us? - is one half of that used by the entire Aussie nation - and obviously much more than many smaller nations out there.

IRRATIONAL RATIONS OF OIL

with the news on I drove home last night
I heard something I thought was quite daft
with an earful of pain and sad plight
and a headful of poetic draught
seems the oil for American might
and the oil for their military shaft
that is used for the purpose of fight
that they use in one day is one half …

of that used by the whole aussie nation !
and it’s not as if we thrive on thrift !
to my ear ..that ‘s a rather large ration
and extinction of oil will be swift.

…….. praps no point in gnashin’ ??
…….. when waste is the fashion ??
…….. in time some election will give them a lashin’ ??
praps wait for some evening shift ??

…….. hell it’s minutes to midnight
…….. bolt-down-the-big-lid night
…….. whether this time or next time or maybe grand-kid-night
praps wait for some evening shift - ??
and one overdue grandchildren gift ??

…….. it’s ir-rational waste !!
…….. that must squarely be faced !!
…….. and it’s not as if oil can be copied and paste !!
we must give our front foresight a lift.

2020hindsight
7th-July-2007, 02:15 PM
Further to discussion of East Timor, and - MORE GENERALLY - the thousands of innocents who are killed in "war" - including Iraqis of course - here's a poem I posted back there (in two halves over two posts) ... just not sure that I'd put it together as a full poem. The last verse is about the out-of-control pro-Indon-militia attacking the nuns - not typical these days thank goodness - thanks to the UN and Cosgrove and his boys. But these days kids are being killed in Iraq, and ... ahh I 've said it already. :(

THE HEARTBEAT OF THE BATTLEFIELD DRUMMER BOY

they found Bits of his drum on the old battlefield, four Centuries after the fact
with its Shoulderstrap rotting with blood congealed, and a Slice where a sword had hacked,
'twas a Job he'd been handed, his destiny sealed, "to Keep morale intact",
- and he'd Marched out in front with the cards he was dealed
- and he Gave it his best, though hed rather have reeled
- and he Drummed till the yells in his ear canals peeled
and he Honoured his boyhood pact.

if you Knew where to look, and you knew how to read, the Footprint signs hidden below
then you'd Find where his small boots confrontd the steed, of some Giant and mounted foe,
and he'd Shook in the stare of the murderous breed who had challenged his drumstick's blow,
- but one Swipe of that sword made the red blood bleed,
- and he'd silenced the heartbeat, the home teams lead
- and the boy's so-small soul had so-soon been freed
to some Place where the bravest go.

no more "Rat-a-tat-tat", amid battlefield yell, to "ADVANCE" or to "HOLD THAT DAMNED LINE!!!"
no more Marching down hills to the bloodiest Hell, where each five of us faced nine,
and the Plaque-stone now shows where the drummer boy fell, where Now grows that aging pine,
- but it's "twigs" lie uneasy, and hard to quell,
- ahh , it's after the fact and the funeral bell,
- but at Dusk there's a drumming ( you'd swear ) in the dell,
.....and his brave little footprints SHINE.
.... see them FACE ever FORWARD, to drum his own knell,
and they terminate there - by the shrine

A VERSE FOR EAST TIMOR

one could Write the same verse ( perhaps sadder and worse), of the Recent East Timor insanity.
but I Kinda prefer the 400 year hearse, as a buffer against inhumanity,
and the Part of the drummer is played by a nun, or a farmer defending his family,
- and the cavalry cruel will be played by some fool
- who's been taught, oohh such hatred, in some half-baked school
- and machettes for swords, make it all the more brutal
and for drumbeats, the psalms of "the Lamb".

2020hindsight
8th-July-2007, 04:18 PM
FUTURE-O-PHOBIA on behalf of the WORLD'S CHILDREN.

fear of ignorance, or learning (Sophophobia, Misosophy)
fear of wisdom, fear of words (Misosophy:, Verbophobia)
fear of matches, fear of burning (0,Pyrophobia)
fear of lonely, fear of herds (Autophobia: Agoraphobia)
fear of chatting up some pub chick (Anthropophobia)
fear of emphasis uncouth
fear of saying “sh1t” in public
perhaps to underline some truth

fear of hiding, fear of bullet (Claustrophobia, Traumatophobia)
fear of low and fear of height (Depression-a-phobia?, Altophobia)
fear of nothing in our gullet (Hunger)
fear of “critically- light”(Starvation)
fear of home, and fear of foreign (Ecophobia, Xenophobia)
fear of yellow, fear of red (Xanthophobia, Eurotophobia)
fear of f***ing for a florin (Staying Alive anyhow you can)
fear of homeless, fear of dead. (0, Necrophobia)

fear of cold, and fear of heat (Frigophobia Thermophobia)
fear of looting packs at large (Harpaxophobia)
fear of messy, fear of neat (Fastidious, Unfastidious?)
“fear of shooting” says the Sarge
fear of moon, and fear of sunbeams (Lunaphobia Heliophobia)
fear of romance, fear of stars (Philophobia Siderophobia)
fear of Venus, fear of mungbeans (Gynophobia)
fear of men (of war) from Mars. (Misanthropy)

fear of flying, fear of driving (Aerophobia Amaxophobia)
fear how long to dinner time (Hunger)
fear of nations that are striving (Third World)
or are starving for a dime (Starvation)
fear of looking in a mirror, (Spectrophobia)
fear of looking less than best
fear of oil accounts and terror
intertwined and Hell-possessed. (Hadeophobia)

fear of justice for a person
lest they have their say in court
fear of words that contradict the ones
you’ve carefully been taught
fear of verdicts that don’t suit ya,
fear of international laws
fear FOR children and their future,
FOR their blood in fearful wars.

fear FOR children, fear of poisons (Pedophobia Toxophobia)
fear of poisoning their mind
fear of thunder, fear of lightning (Tonitrophobia Astraphobia)
fear of cannon fire unkind (Traumatophobia)
fear FOR children, fear of trembling (Tremophobia)
fear of whirring dentist drills (Dentophobia)
fear of first night nerves and stumbling (Topophobia)
fear of rocket fire that kills.

fear of ghosts, and fear of darkness (Phasmophobia Nyctophobia)
fear of things that might be there (Psychophobia)
fear of logic-in-Iraq-ness,
fear of thoughts outside the square
fear of fire, and of inferno (Pyrophobia)
fear of maniacs untame
fear of loading up extinguishers
with fuel that fosters flame.

fear of Russia, fear of Suez, (Russophobia)
fear of Moslems, fear of French (Islamophobia, Gallophobia)
fear of British, fear of US (Anglophobia US-ophobia ?)
fear of appetites unquenched (Gluttony)
fear of small and childish coffins (Mycrophobia, 0)
fear of wasting too much wood
fear of oil controlled endorphins
fear of meeting with our Lord.

fear of underestimation
of His sense of humour broad
fear of sampling His damnation
and to feel HIS “shock and awed”
when he points out Jesus’s teachings
have been pretty much ignored :(
….
fear he’ll wince at our “beseechings”
fear the justice of His sword. (Anthropo-deity-ophobia)

http://www.ojohaven.com/fun/phobias.html

2020hindsight
12th-July-2007, 11:31 PM
THE GREAT GLOBAL WARMING SWIM-BLE

we are running out of oil , perhaps I’ll put my money there
maybe short on mortal coil, of this planet and its air
praps ‘the answer’s in the soil’, as some Goonshow clown would claim
praps hold back from banking money in philosophies insane.

praps I’ll bet on global warming going downhill at a pace
praps I’ll bet on freakish storming and go short on human race
praps I’ll bet on hell for humpback whales and coral reefs in woe
praps I’ll bet on f***wit pollies saying “gee I didn’t know”

praps it’s long on shonky scientists, spin doctors and the like
praps it’s long on paid defy-entists concocting backflip pike
those who claim the earth is cooling or who claim it’s sun alone
but just who they think they’re fooling, and which dog they’re throwing bone.

manipulation ? maybe - where old Maggie was concerned
manipulation ? maybe - that's until these facts we’ve learned
manipulation ? maybe - that the sun is uninvolved
but worst of all pretend the roll of man is still unsolved.

It’s prompted me to want to see more data and more thorough
and maybe documentary by David Attenborough
………
If I want to buy a gherkin then I’ll check out channel 4
and I’ll ask that dimwit Durkin, is he liar? or Al Gore?

Rome is burning, true confessor, while the fiddler madly plays
while some oil-rich-paid professor argues red-faced in the blaze
... 'Bout this warming that we're facin' - do the humans die or whales?
As the self styled Lords of Creation - either way , the human fails.