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RichKid
15th-October-2005, 11:19 PM
Thought I'd share one of my favourite poems, being in a time of war, it may help remind us of how terrible it is indeed for the so many thousands that do battle around the globe. If it is so difficult for the combatants imagine how the civilians must be feeling. War is futile. Any comments or observations are welcome, let's keep this thread on poetry and ideas if at all possible.



The best known poem of the first world war by Wilfred Owen:

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares2 we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest3 began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots4
Of tired, outstripped5 Five-Nines6 that dropped behind.

Gas!7 Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets8 just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime9 . . .
Dim, through the misty panes10 and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,11 choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud12
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest13
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.15

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

1 DULCE ET DECORUM EST - the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace). The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War. They mean "It is sweet and right." The full saying ends the poem: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - it is sweet and right to die for your country. In other words, it is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country
2 rockets which were sent up to burn with a brilliant glare to light up men and other targets in the area between the front lines (See illustration, page 118 of Out in the Dark.)
3 a camp away from the front line where exhausted soldiers might rest for a few days, or longer
4 the noise made by the shells rushing through the air
5 outpaced, the soldiers have struggled beyond the reach of these shells which are now falling behind them as they struggle away from the scene of battle
6 Five-Nines - 5.9 calibre explosive shells
7 poison gas. From the symptoms it would appear to be chlorine or phosgene gas. The filling of the lungs with fluid had the same effects as when a person drowned
8 the early name for gas masks
9 a white chalky substance which can burn live tissue
10 the glass in the eyepieces of the gas masks
11 Owen probably meant flickering out like a candle or gurgling like water draining down a gutter, referring to the sounds in the throat of the choking man, or it might be a sound partly like stuttering and partly like gurgling
12 normally the regurgitated grass that cows chew; here a similar looking material was issuing from the soldier's mouth
13 high zest - idealistic enthusiasm, keenly believing in the rightness of the idea
14 keen
15 see note 1

http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html Please follow the link, well worth it.

Julia
17th-October-2005, 10:40 PM
Rich,

I read your war poem yesterday and the images it evokes have stayed with me all day.
Thank you for posting it.

Usually I think we regard the most enduring poetry as that which is as powerful as the one you've contributed. However, I think there's also a place for the wry observation, or whimsy.

Below are a few of my old favourites from I think the 60's and 70's.

"A nun in a supermarket
standing in the queue
Wondering what it's like
To buy groceries for two"

- Adrian Henri
________________________________________

" At Lunchtime - A story of Love"

When the bus stopped suddenly to avoid
damaging a mother and child in the road,
the young lady in the greenhat sitting opposite
was thrown across me, and not being one to
miss an opportunity i started to makelove
with all my body.

At first she resisted saying that it was too early in the morning and too soon
after breakfast and that anyway she found
me repulsive. But when i explained that
this being a nuclearage, the world was going
to end at lunchtime, she took off her greenhat,
put her busticket in her pocket
and joined in the exercise.

The buspeople, and there were many of them,
were shockedandsurprised and amused and annoyed, but when the
word got around that the world was coming to an end at
lunchtime, they put their pride in their pockets with their bustickets and
madelove one with the other. And even the busconductor,
being over, climbed into the cab and struck up some sort of
relationship with the driver.

Thatnight, on the bus coming home,
wewere all alittle embarrassed, especially me and the younglady
in the greenhat, and we all started to say in different ways howhasty
and foolish we had been. Butthen, always having been a bitofalad, i stood up and said it was a pity that the world didn;t nearly end every lunchtime and
that we could always pretend. And then it happened.......

Quick asa crash we all changed partners
and soon the bus was acquiver with white
mothballbodies doing naughty things.

And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry

people pretended that the world was coming
to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't
Although in a way it has.

- Roger McGough
(the punctuation and spacing are Roger's)

________________________________________________

"Sad Aunt Madge"

As the cold winter evenings drew near
Aunt Madge used to put extra blankets
over the furniture, to keep it warm and cosy.
Mussolini was her lover, and life
was an oufoffocus rosy-tinted spectacle.

but neurological experts
with kind blueeyes
and gentle voices
small white hands
and large Rolls Royces
said that electric shock treatment should
dothe trick
it did...

today after 15 years of therepeutic tears
and an awful lot of ratepayers' shillings
down the hospital meter
sad Aunt Madge
no longer tucks up the furniture
before kssing it goodnight
and admits
that her affair with Mussolini
clearly was not right
particularly in the light
of her recently announced engagement
to the late pope."

- Roger McGough
_________________________________________________

"Party Piece"

He said:
Let's stay here
Now this place has emptied
& make gentle pornography with one another,
While the partygoers go out
& the dawn creeps in
Like a stranger.

Let us not hesitate
Over what we know
Or over how cold this place has become,
But let's unclip our minds
And let tumble free
The mad, mangled crocodiles of love.

So they did,
Right there among the woodbines and guinness stains,
And later he caught a bus and she a train
And all there was between them then
was rain."

- Brian Patten

_____________________________

Julia

wayneL
17th-October-2005, 11:08 PM
Obvious suspects for any Aussie are poem from Banjo Patterson. A couple of my fav's are "Clancy of the Overflow" and "The Man From Snowy River"...both of which I can recite off by heart:


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.



There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from Old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least --
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die --
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend --
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred."

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat --
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

It's Snake Pliskin
17th-October-2005, 11:46 PM
Richkid,

I'm not much of a poetry man I must admit. However I do like The Man From Snowy River.

I'll have a go at a poem for you all.

I'm a poet and I don't know it
I like red and bread
Trees are green and so is grass,
though when on fire, black
Chinese food and Indian food really kicks ****,
it's much better than the grass
I didn't trade Babcock and Brown this year, oh no I didn't
Vegemite is black, the same as burn't grass
But if you don't eat it your mother will kick you in the ****
I must go now to feed my cow, Oh yes yes yes,
the stock market is all but a guess! :eek:

Bronte
18th-October-2005, 11:41 AM
Excellent thread RichKid,
My contribution:

SEA FEVER by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


Submitted to memory many years ago.....

Julia
18th-October-2005, 12:40 PM
Excellent thread RichKid,
My contribution:

SEA FEVER by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


Submitted to memory many years ago.....


Thanks, Bronte. Rereading this brought back lots of memories and the pleasant realisation that most of it had actually been committed to my memory also.

Julia

Bronte
18th-October-2005, 03:18 PM
You are welcome Julia
It is a lovely poem.

GreatPig
18th-October-2005, 03:22 PM
At Lunchtime - A story of Love
I remember that! It was an awful long time ago though (and the world still hasn't ended :D).

I'm quite a fan of Winnie-the-Pooh poems :p:


Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?

It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.

Also by A. A. Milne: BAD SIR BRIAN BOTANY


Sir Brian had a battleaxe with great big knobs on;
He went among the villagers and blipped them on the head.
On Wednesday and on Saturday, but mostly on the latter day,
He called at all the cottages, and this is what he said:

"I am Sir Brian!" (ting-ling)
"I am Sir Brian!" (rat-tat)
"I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion -
Take that! - and that - and that!

Sir Brian had a pair of boots with great big spurs on,
A fighting pair of which he was particularly fond.
On Tuesday and on Friday, just to make the street look tidy,
He'd collect the passing villagers and kick them in the pond.

"I am Sir Brian!" (sper-lash)
"I am Sir Brian!" (sper-losh!)
"I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion -
Is anyone else for a wash?"

Sir Brian woke one morning, and he couldn't find his battleaxe;
He walked into the village in his second pair of boots.
He had gone a hundred paces, when the street was full of faces,
And the villagers were around him with ironical salutes.

"You are Sir Brian? Indeed!
You are Sir Brian? Dear, dear!
You are Sir Brian, as bold as a lion?
Delighted to meet you here!"

Sir Brian went a journey, and he found a lot of duckweed;
They pulled him out and dried him, and blipped him on the head.
They took him by the breeches, and they hurled him into ditches,
And they pushed him under waterfalls, and this is what they said:

"You are Sir Brian - don't laugh,
You are Sir Brian - don't cry;
You are Sir Brian, as bold as a lion -
Sir Brian, the lion, good-bye!"

Sir Brian struggled home again, and chopped up his battleaxe,
Sir Brian took his fighting boots, and threw them in the fire.
He is quite a different person now he hasn't got his spurs on,
And he goes about the village as B. Botany, Esquire.

"I am Sir Brian? Oh, no!
I am Sir Brian? Who's he?
I haven't got any title, I'm Botany -
Plain Mr. Botany (B)."

And the poem that's stuck with me the most? T.S. Eliot's McCavity The Mystery Cat, which we learnt in primary school and had to recite at our end-of-year function one time:


Macavity!

Macavity's a mystery cat; he's called the hidden paw
For he's the master criminal who can defy the law
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flaying Squad's despair
For when they reach the scene of crime Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare
And when you reach the scene of crime Macavity's not there

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin
You'd know him if you saw him for his eyes are sunken in
His brow is deeply lined in thought, his head is highly domed
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity
He's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square
But when a crime's discovered then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable, I know he cheats at cards
And his footprints are not found in any files of Scotland Yard's
And when the larder's looted or the jewel case is rifled
Or when the milk is missing or another peke's been stifled
Or the greenhouse glass is broken and the trellis past repair
There's the wonder of the thing. Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity
There never was a cat of such deceitfulness and suavity
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare
Whatever time the deed took place Macavity wasn't there!

And they say of all the cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone
Are nothing more than agents for the cat who all the time
Just controls the operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity
He's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square
But when a crime's discovered then Macavity, Macavity
Macavity, Macavity
When a crime's discovered then Macavity's not there!
Macavity's not there!

And finally, who can forget The Owl and the Pussycat (http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ns/pussy.html), by Edward Lear. For this one I'll just provide a link, since it includes a few drawings.

Cheers,
GP

Double Six
18th-October-2005, 03:40 PM
Just a taster .....


To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.





.

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 06:17 AM
Here's a web link to a poem - plenty of them around these days.
"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost - the concept fascinates me ;) plenty of relevance to trading there too lol.
http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html

PS Adam Lindsay Gordon is a favourite of mine as well -
THere's a poem "Wolf and Hound" at http://www.imagesaustralia.com/adamlindsaygordon.htm
Its a true story of how he captures a bushranger "in his lair".
I've posted excerpts from his poems about horseriding elsewhere around here. This is not necessarily one of his better poems - but shows the depth of his experience :) - a boxer as well - and he once arrested a man by pretending a stick pushed into his back was a piston ( he had forgotten his lol). Brave dude .
"ALG: He arrived in Adelaide in 1853 he was 20 years old and within a few days he joined the South Australian Mounted Police. Two years later in 1855 he resigned and became a horse breaker and steeplechase rider. He soon gained a reputation as being the best and most daring non-professional steeplechase rider in the colony."[/QUOTE]

PS Thanks Joe and Rich for setting me straight - pointing me to this thread - I just knew if I started a new thread I'd be doing the wrong thing lol. (Call it premonition - or call it 100% success rate in screwing up on those sort of things lol.

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:11 AM
I tried to mimic Robert Frost with this one - at least the concept of the road not taken - BTW, the concept wasnt original when Frost wrote his either.

TO WALK THE PATHS AGAIN

To walk the paths again my friend, to walk the paths again,
To take the uphill path my friend, instead of through the glen,
Or maybe find some truth my friend, on why the paths of men
Gang aft’ a'glay, as oft' they do, it's all beyond our ken.
And would we choose the self-same path again?
If "here and now" was somehow "there and then"?

Sometimes when I am half in trance I retrace steps of old,
When I was young and liked to dance, and brasher praps and bold,
When there were risky things I chanced which I let Fate unfold,
And some delivered cactus plants, where they had promised gold.
Ahh, paths can get so complex, even cold,
And much is lost to moss, and much to mould.

To walk some different pathways chaps, or follow different yearns,
To set a different campfire praps, without so many burns,
To make a better damper with the skills of one who learns,
To sidestep indigestion traps and other like concerns.
Ideally - using "hindsight maps" - return
And make the right decision at each turn.

Life's like a dodgem car careering, foot flat to the floor,
And little time to "twig" the steering, taking hits galore,
And doors have opened left and right, and options by the score,
……But …I have used THIS path my friends,
THIS set of doors around THESE bends
And there's NO way doors come again,
- And I'm THIS path, - And I'm THESE doors.
- And I'm THESE strengths and I'm THESE flaws
- And I'm THESE footprints through the moors
- And I'm effect; and I am cause.

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:15 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. (not that Ive cracked that bit of technology yet, lol)

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.

"He was an accomplished writer of "occasional" verse, which was warmly praised by Scott, by Christopher North and by Byron, who placed him in the same rank as Moore, Rogers and Campbell" I never knew Roger Moore wrote poetry!

http://www.spokenpoetry.co.uk/gelert.htm

An excerpt :- ( but I wont tell you the ending :- bloody brilliant )
But if you love dogs - this one is a must. (imho) , cheers

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied Bounding his lord to greet. (probably wagging his tail ?)

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.

wayneL
19th-October-2006, 07:31 PM
I am going to speak to Joe to see if we can name 2020 as "Official ASF Poet".

Whadaya think 20?

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:33 PM
THe following is a true story - I met Patch and her owners at the vet's where I had taken my dog for something I thought was important - but unlike them I left with my dog beside me, and much sobered by the experience. I wrote this for them, not that I pretend it has merit - but some may be able to relate to it. When people are mourning they appreciate any simple thought irrespective of technical or artistic merit ( imho).

PATCH, THE BRAVE
(A true story - New Year’s Day 2004.)

They live in the bush on ten acres unsawn, Where the lower Nepean tracks,
And the house is a refuge surrounded by lawn, With a fence where the wilderness backs,
And the summer was hot and the dogs were all sleeping - The noted exception was Patch,
Who was barking excitedly “here boss !!” and leaping, Disturbing the televised match.

The man of the house in a mood opaque, Came out to review the commotion,
And there he discovered she’d bailed up a snake, Which approached the house with its potion,
And SNAKE went for MAN!!! - so DOG went for SNAKE!!! And wife in a panic called “PATCCHHHHH !!!!
Come here girl, My God!! Inside!! For your sake !! Please, dear – this heathen despatch.!!”

He circled the thing like boxers in ring, And twice it coiled back and struck,
He jumped for the spade which he knew he had lain In back of the old pick-up truck,
With one short sharp blow he let the snake know Its number was definitely up,
But now – to the dog – my God!, the dog! Who had loved them since she was a pup.

They phoned and they watched for an hour or two, She followed and licked their hand,
They prayed as she circled beside his shoe - They knelt in the hourglass sand.
A small clue that things weren’t all right – and sad - A hint of thick fleam in a cough -
And her eyes looked up, with a “help me Dad – For my breathing gets just a bit rough”.

They drove and they dreamed “may the the dog be unstung”, But the dog grew progressively weak,
She sat in one place and bled in one lung, And licked them both on each cheek.
The vet had a sigh, and a kindly lance, And offered to soften the bill -
But softly she left us, her last gentle glance, Protective and loving still.

THAT’s why we call them “Man’s best friend” - THAT’s why they sleep on the hearth,
And those warm echoed bonds so bountifully mend Through the years as they sleep in our heart.
THAT’s why we treasure their every pricked ear As they “walk the watch” up the street
Cos they teach us love’s rhythms, just they can hear - And they’re here to help give us that beat.

So many shared smiles, yet diverse our styles, Let’s hope paths convergent meet.

wayneL
19th-October-2006, 07:39 PM
THe following is a true story - I met Patch and her owners at the vet's where I had taken my dog for something I thought was important - but unlike them I left with my dog beside me, and much sobered by the experience. I wrote this for them, not that I pretend it has merit - but some may be able to relate to it. When people are mourning they appreciate any simple thought irrespective of technical or artistic merit ( imho).

PATCH, THE BRAVE
(A true story - New Year’s Day 2004.)

They live in the bush on ten acres unsawn, Where the lower Nepean tracks,
And the house is a refuge surrounded by lawn, With a fence where the wilderness backs,
And the summer was hot and the dogs were all sleeping - The noted exception was Patch,
Who was barking excitedly “here boss !!” and leaping, Disturbing the televised match.

The man of the house in a mood opaque, Came out to review the commotion,
And there he discovered she’d bailed up a snake, Which approached the house with its potion,
And SNAKE went for MAN!!! - so DOG went for SNAKE!!! And wife in a panic called “PATCCHHHHH !!!!
Come here girl, My God!! Inside!! For your sake !! Please, dear – this heathen despatch.!!”

He circled the thing like boxers in ring, And twice it coiled back and struck,
He jumped for the spade which he knew he had lain In back of the old pick-up truck,
With one short sharp blow he let the snake know Its number was definitely up,
But now – to the dog – my God!, the dog! Who loved them since she was a pup.

They phoned and they watched for an hour or two, She followed and licked their hand,
They prayed as she circled beside his shoe - They knelt in the hourglass sand.
A small clue that things weren’t all right – and sad - A hint of thick fleam in a cough -
And her eyes looked up, with a “help me Dad – For my breathing gets just a bit rough”.

They drove and they dreamed “may the the dog be unstung”, But the dog grew progressively weak,
She sat in one place and bled in one lung, And licked them both on each cheek.
The vet had a sigh, and a kindly lance, And offered to soften the bill -
But softly she left us, her last gentle glance, Protective and loving still.

THAT’s why we call them “Man’s best friend” - THAT’s why they sleep on the hearth,
And those warm echoed bonds so bountifully mend Through the years as they sleep in our heart.
THAT’s why we treasure their every pricked ear As they “walk the watch” up the street
Cos they teach us love’s rhythms, just they can hear - And they’re here to help give us that beat.

So many shared smiles, yet diverse our styles, Let’s hope paths convergent meet.

Lovely work 20/20....and I think I got sand in my eye....

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:40 PM
I am going to speak to Joe to see if we can name 2020 as "Official ASF Poet". Whadaya think 20?
Lol spoken like a true dog lover Wayne ;)
Now if you were a cat lover you'd be throwing tomatoes lol ( or is it tomatos ? - mmm have to ask Dan Qualye lol)

PS - I can't tell you how much I'd like to read others ideas of poetry favourites btw. lol. ;)

PS I really liked the Great Pig's post below
"I am Sir Brian!" (sper-lash)
"I am Sir Brian!" (sper-losh!)
"I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion -
Is anyone else for a wash?"
lol - funny as!

new girl
19th-October-2006, 07:45 PM
I am going to speak to Joe to see if we can name 2020 as "Official ASF Poet".

Whadaya think 20?


Agree.

He should also be allowed to bend the rules a bit like ramping because he does it with a 2020 style.

You know life is not fair, smart, great sense of humor and a poet?

I AM JEALOUS.

Dukey
19th-October-2006, 07:49 PM
Here's one of my all time favourites, from the back catalogues of the coolest of cats :cool: : Bob Dylan ...
Of course songs are just rythmic poems....
Dylan was and is greatly influence by Verlaine and Rambaud; and of course Woody Guthrie, Hank Williams and Many others. Robert Frost too i think.

One Too Many Mornings (1964)

Down the street the dogs are barkin'
And the day is a-gettin' dark.
As the night comes in a-fallin',
The dogs 'll lose their bark.
An' the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind,
For I'm one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

From the crossroads of my doorstep,
My eyes they start to fade,
As I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid.
An' I gaze back to the street,
The sidewalk and the signs,
And I'm one too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.

It's a restless hungry feeling
That don't mean no one no good,
When ev'rything I'm a-sayin'
You can say it just as good.
You're right from your side,
I'm right from mine.
We're both just one too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.

Bob Dylan
---------------------------

I'm sure we've all been there ... wherevever that is ??!! :eek7:

Thers plenty more where that came from ...http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:52 PM
Agree.... (various compliments)....JEALOUS.
Lol - ty New Girl - you left out most of the adjectives I get around here - or at work for that matter lol - "useless, stupid, crazy" lol - but I take refuge in quotes like :-

A man is infinetly more complex that his own thoughts.
What be-eth a man if he hath not a little madness ( or a lot lol)

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 07:56 PM
Here's one of my all time favourites, from the back catalogues of the coolest of cats :cool: : Bob Dylan ...

For I'm one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

..... Bob Dylan---------------------------

Gr8 m8 - brilliant - GOTTA be a Robert Frost influence youre right ..

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/Stopping_ByWood.htm

new girl
19th-October-2006, 08:05 PM
Lol - ty New Girl - you left out most of the adjectives I get around here - or at work for that matter lol - "useless, stupid, crazy" lol - but I take refuge in quotes like :-

A man is infinetly more complex that his own thoughts.
What be-eth a man if he hath not a little madness ( or a lot lol)


They’re all jealous 2020.

They have nothing going for them except that stupid job. Creative people need to be crazy and a little lazy. Don’t waste your life working, become a comedian/finance commentator.

You can't be uglier than coshy (not sure about the spelling)! If that boring geek can make it, believe me you can.

Dukey
19th-October-2006, 08:18 PM
Yep - similar tone huh.
Bobs 'Chronicles' are a great read - a similar feel in some places to his songs - just prose not poetry. Some good 'BOB' movies recently too - Masked and Anonymous is a hilarious (in a wierd kinda way) spoof of the US gone wrong. Heartily recommend it. Havn't seen Scorcese's effort yet.... soon

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 08:26 PM
One for Mother Nature, my heroine ;), like Wordsworth. I wonder what Wordsworth would have had to say about global warming :( woops dont go there 2020! last time you went there you got a black eye lol. But even politics - and hopefully religion - are covered by a poetic licence on this thread ;) (that's so isnt it Joe?? - unless of course its judged to be ramping Mother Nature lol.)

IF I WERE GOD

If I were the God of Light ..in the Christian twist of the word,
And some Bishops pretended I’d said that a gay man's excluded, or “Heaven’s deferred”,
I’d probably question their motives..and tell them their vision was blurred,
Or lacking in empathy, praps homophobic, and certainly downright absurd.
We’re no two the same .. so let’s tone down the blame..
(And judging ..and sledging ..and pastlife redredging)
And the heat and the hate incurred.

If I were the God of Love..as the Islamic followers say,
And men draped in BLACK!! said that wives should be stoned, if suspected of going astray,
And just on the word of some madman..and quoting My name all the way,
To kill her by pellets from rampaging zealots, - I’d probably lean towards “nay”.
- You’ll guess how I dress, from my rainbow caress
of my wife-world, my life-world, my not-without-strife world,
So lovingly sculptured from clay.

If I were the God of the Righteous, and I mean in the global sense
And somebody said that the answer was “might” , and that killing was not an offence,
Or a volunteer bomber could somehow find “Bliss”, from the moment of impact and hence-
I’d prob’ly say “Son, just give-it-a-miss, ..and don’t be so God-damned dense!.”
Salvation my boy is a well informed joy,
(Enlightened, less frightened, and ranting-much-quietened,)
where you argue – like gents - at the fence.

If I were the God of the Living, ..and somebody came up and said
That some quote from some Biblical text or Koran..predicted some horrible dread,
Abandoned by Keeper, some monster Grim Reaper who mega-throws worlds on their head ! -
I’m here ;) just ignore it ;) (cos I’ve never saw it), and don’t be so easily lead.
Predictions like that .. when the world was flat..
(Begotten, forgotten, from-some-old-dude’s-jottin’)
are inept (you can take it as read).

But…But…But (sigh)
But If I were the Mother of Nature, ..and my world was a breaking shell,
And someone was pouring black oil on my birds…and poisoning, slowly, the well,
And deserts were growing like wildfire.. and wildfires were burning like Hell,
I’d be just a tiddy- wee-bit concerned, …And I’d probably opt to sell !!
Or make a new pact to clean up my act,
(this dome, my home, where I love to roam)
and try to make patient well;
And stare down their eyes when they rabidly foam ,
while ringing some Heavenly bell.

Lol inevitably I hav to make a stack of "edits" - everything I do is "work in progress", and never quite the FINAL draft lol.
Like I sat beside a Portugese banker at a wedding once - for conversation I said " sorry I don't know much about Portugal - except that I believe that you dont kill the bull yes? He answered - "yes you're right, we never finish anything we start in Portugal lol."

Dukey
19th-October-2006, 09:11 PM
Nice one 20!! great wit and very relevent!...
Unlike this effort of mine - which i just found in 'my back pages' - Just realised I writ it when i was about 22 - and scared the Sh%! out of myself realising that was 17 years ago!! :(
Sorry if
its
abit
stilted like...
-------------------------
A Life Cycle / Perpetual Human Motion (EVB)
--------------------------------------------------
The moon - it comes
on nights so still
round as yolk of egg though pale
a smallish chunk of terra-firma
flung by earthly catastrophe

Or perhaps by chance, a seeding vessel
from galaxies far away
that sowed the seeds of life on earth
that man may have his day
. . . . again.

Could it be
that we
will do the same
when our time on earth runs dry
we'll pack our bags and head for space
- an interstellar caravanserai

We'll heave-to by a likely lump
and wait till dawn is nigh
then sow the seeds of life
again
as a new sun
illuminates
a new blue sky

And so ...
on and on we'll crawl
through a swirling sea of years
creating, then destroying,
life.
Then moving on...
we'll shed no tears.

But without death there is no life
without yin... no yang
We just move on
and round
and round
and the circle
remains
the same.

(ahhh . . . . men !)

-----------------
:confused:
Gotta go eat sushi!!!!! 明日ね!

2020hindsight
19th-October-2006, 09:21 PM
Sorry if its a bit stilted like...
-------------------------
A Life Cycle / Perpetual Human Motion (EVB)
--------------------------------------------------
The moon - it comes , on nights so still , round as yolk of egg though pale
Man o man ! that is fantasstic !!

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 12:02 AM
The moon - it comes on nights so still, round as yolk of egg though pale
Dukey, since you introduce the subject of astronomy ... here's a couple of poems , also of questionable quality. Lets just call this amateur hour lol.

Somewhere I wrote (when I committed my first 50 poems to print) that
" 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." ;)

Continuing in this vein lol:-

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)

here are some that were PARTICULARLY easy to write lol.

PS If you say that "astronomer" and "Jeronimo" dont rhyme - well its a lot bludy closer than your poem lol.

FIND YOUR STAR AND GIVE IT NAME

Met an old astronomer , Sat me down and pointed skyward
"There's the clues Jeronimo" , ... Searched the darkness for more firewood.

Clue to life is search the night sky , Find your star and give it name
Search your soul and set your sights, and Let your star define your aim.

Next trick son is find the Pointers , Limits like celestial gates
Left and right like Pope's annointers, Goalposts like Magellan's Straights.

Last one boy is find your cross - its Crux to some and crutch to others -
Learn that you're your moral boss - and Go with truth and help your brothers,
( sisters, wives and even mothers)

And another (A comparison of Romance and Reality) :-
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!!, Strick your thumb back in , Lill Jack Horner!!

AND TRY TO BE MORE SCIENTIFICALLY PURE !! YOURE TECHNICALLY LACKING JACK HORNER!!
;)

Dukey
20th-October-2006, 12:04 AM
Back from sushi...man that was good. Aussie sushi train just don't cut it when you've got the real thing!!

Taa - '20' - glad you like it! - surprised - more like...
I'll show you my VOGON :eek7: poetry if you show me yours!!!
:eek:

Dukey
20th-October-2006, 12:15 AM
20 - sounds like we're turned on by the same things!! damn scary that.
... 'boil like a two pot screamer' - gotta love it!!!

here goes - Vogon Alert.... :alien2: :ald:
--------------------
WARNING: If death occurs - discontinue use.
--------------------

Ode to a Twisted Heap of Scrap Metal (April 1994)
------------------------------------------------

Rest in peace
Oh great white Super Bug

Young Ferdinand Porsche
awaits you in the mystic
clouds of twighlights highway

May your oil remain clean and viscous
May they always use straight 40 wt.
as I did

I know you liked it that way

May your wheels run true
on the golden paved highways
of heavenly transportation

and may you never be parked out in the cold
emptiness of the void
but instead have your own place
in Nature-gods great garage

Fear not my car
for all will be well

be assured that although you were metal
and I am flesh
we transcend these limitations
I will hold you dear in my heart
till we meet again

I loved you
like no other car

Oh, and by the way St. Peter
She takes only silicone brake fluid
and rock and roll

Goodbye

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 12:39 AM
20 - sounds like we're turned on by the same things!! damn scary that....Ode to a Twisted Heap of Scrap Metal
Fear not my car, for all will be well, be assured that although you were metal
and I am flesh, we transcend these limitations, I will hold you dear in my heart
till we meet again

I loved you like no other car

Oh, and by the way St. Peter, She takes only silicone brake fluid, and rock and roll, Goodbye
M8 lol - that's hilarious ROFL.
But you're right it's scary ;) -
Similarities - title , off the deep end romantically speaking lol (eat your heart out Byron, Robbie Burns etc lol)
Differences - almost everything else ;)

Speaking of Robbie Burns - see if you can work out what the hell he's been drinking here lol:-
http://www.robertburns.org/works/147.shtml
PS - Im taking the p*** lol. I havent got a clue;) .

but I really like the old stalwart:-
http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.shtml

Hell I'm off - enough of this !! lol thanks btw ;)

PS YOU CAN TAK' OUR LIVES - YOU CAN EVEN TAK' OUR LIBERTY - BUT YOU CANNA TAK' OUR HAGGIS!!

Dukey
20th-October-2006, 12:47 AM
Yep - I'll check it out.

see you 'Ron'.

RichKid
20th-October-2006, 08:25 AM
This is a great thread guys, here's another one from Batleby.com, seems a bit like prose but on point, the road less travelled isn't always that obvious:

"Wherever a man separates from the multitude, and goes his own way in this mood, there indeed is a fork in the road, though ordinary travelers may see only a gap in the paling. His solitary path across lots will turn out the higher way of the two."

ATTRIBUTION: Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. “Life Without Principle” (1863), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 4, p. 466, Houghton Mifflin (1906). http://www.bartleby.com/66/56/59956.html

yogi-in-oz
20th-October-2006, 08:48 AM
:)

.....cancer and death visited our family again, this week.

Writing the eulogy for today's funeral has demanded
some introspection about our own mortality, that we
often try to delay in our own lives.

Here's a small part of a tribute to a special man and
his humour, courage, love and dignity, in the face of
impossible odds:


'Bye Joe.

"Bye Joe, take care" were my final words
And he shook my hand with firmest grip,
The measure of a man.

Our eyes met for one last time
And with words unspoken, we both knew,
That the time had almost come,
For Joe to meet the Father, Spirit and the Son.

In hospital, he sat upon the bed,
Not wishing to lay down.
The pain to his family obvious,
But never did he frown.

Instead, he showed us the courage
That we will all hope for, at that time,
When God says, "It's time to go."
Joe said, "Hold on mate, next round is mine."

Love, compassion and devotion
Are traits, that Joe gave us, all.
And in the face of death he showed,
How to overcome that final hurdle.

With inner strength and dignity,
Lots of courage and a smile for all,
He left the family numbed,
As he answered God's final call.

Farewell to a generous soul,
Who lived life, in the fullest measure,
Both in his work, but most especially,
In his leisure.

Many thanks, Joe.

=====
yogi
16.10.2006
=====

RichKid
20th-October-2006, 09:05 AM
That is quite moving Yogi, you obviously have a talent there, but more to the point, I think you have helped make the passing a little bit easier to cope with, sounds like Joe was quite a man, my condolences to you and all the family.

Dukey
20th-October-2006, 02:47 PM
I'll second those comments Rich : Thanks Yogi or sharing your touching eulogy. May we all have Joe's strength and dignity when the time comes...
Thanks Rich too for starting this interesting/thoughtful/amusing thread.

And - 2020 - Whatever Robert Burns was drinking (link above) - He'd obviously had a skin-full when he wrote that!! Guess he liked his haggis too. And thats about as much detail as i can glean without a year long study!! - though its more fun if you imagine a wild scottiish accent...

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 06:24 PM
Thanks Yogi - you are still thinking of your friend this evening I am sure. This is the flip side of life isnt it. The serious and the sad stuff.

Here's a eulogy of sorts - to a miscarried child. As seen from the (imagined) perspective of a mother who has just lost her baby, and being visited by doctors nurses etc in hospital (as someone I know was).

IF EVER YOU'VE FELT SADNESS.

if speak you must then gently please, I'm feeling kinda low,
padre doctor nurse whoever, say your piece and go
if ever you've felt sadness, then maybe you will know
if ever you've felt pain of loss when Fortune was your foe -
remember then and recognise my plea.

just yesterday I beamed with joy and shared life with my own
your scraping ugly instruments have left me all alone
my soul is absent escort to a far and final home
where his spirit source of so much joy can roam -
if ever you've felt sadness, leave me be.

I guess in truth I'm miles away him cradled in my arms
we're walking through the valley like the shepherd in the psalms
we're walking past still waters and it's peaceful and it's calm
his spirit's with me yet with all his charm -
so excuse my lack of answer or alarm.

praps his tiny brief existence wasn't futile, all in vain,
though histories will come and go not mentioning his name
warm tears the only remnants of his sojourn that remain
and memories of inward smiles, now pain. -
praps God knows what he's doing - He'll explain.

and no doubt time and love will conquer sadness
tomorrow I will kindle warmth and cheer
but for the moment let me make my parting
with someone very small and very dear

and no doubt destiny will one day compensate
and one day I will hold his brother here
but if you've ever grieved then praps you'll bear with me
and leave me with his memory and this tear.

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 09:28 PM
see if this style reminds you of anyone :) ..

http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/gordonal/poetry/fromthewreck.html

From the Wreck by A L Gordon

Excepts:-
There was bridling with hurry, and saddling with haste,
Confusion and cursing for lack of a moon;
"Be quick with these buckles, we've no time to waste;"
"Mind the mare, she can use her hind legs to some tune."
"Make sure of the crossing-place; strike the old track,
They've fenced off the new one; look out for the holes
On the wombat hills." "Down with the slip rails; stand back."
"And ride, boys, the pair of you, ride for your souls."

In the low branches heavily laden with dew,
In the long grasses spoiling with deadwood that day,
Where the blackwood, the box, and the bastard oak grew,
Between the tall gum-trees we gallop'd away --
We crash'd through a brush fence, we splash'd through a swamp --
We steered for the north near "The Eaglehawk's Nest" --
We bore to the left, just beyond "The Red Camp",
And round the black tea-tree belt wheel'd to the west --

We cross'd a low range sickly scented with musk
From wattle-tree blossom -- we skirted a marsh --
Then the dawn faintly dappled with orange the dusk,
And peal'd overhead the jay's laughter note harsh,
And shot the first sunstreak behind us, and soon
The dim dewy uplands were dreamy with light;
And full on our left flash'd "The Reedy Lagoon",
And sharply "The Sugarloaf" rear'd on our right.
A smothered curse broke through the bushman's brown beard,
He turn'd in his saddle, his brick-colour'd cheek
Flush'd feebly with sundawn, said, "Just what I fear'd;
Last fortnight's late rainfall has flooded the creek."

Black Bolingbroke snorted, and stood on the brink
One instant, then deep in the dark sluggish swirl
Plunged headlong. I saw the horse suddenly sink,
Till round the man's armpits the waves seemed to curl.
We follow'd, -- one cold shock, and deeper we sank
Than they did, and twice tried the landing in vain;
The third struggle won it; straight up the steep bank
We stagger'd, then out on the skirts of the plain.

The stockrider, Alec, at starting had got
The lead, and had kept it throughout; 'twas his boast
That through thickest of scrub he could steer like a shot,
And the black horse was counted the best on the coast.
The mare had been awkward enough in the dark,
She was eager and headstrong, and barely half broke;
She had had me too close to a big stringy-bark,
And had made a near thing of a crooked sheoak.

But now on the open, lit up by the morn,
She flung the white foam-flakes from nostril to neck,
And chased him -- I hatless, with shirt sleeves all torn
(For he may ride ragged who rides from a wreck) --
And faster and faster across the wide heath
We rode till we raced. Then I gave her her head,
And she -- stretching out with the bit in her teeth --
She caught him, outpaced him, and passed him, and led.
etc etc

http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/gordonal/selectedalg.html

"Gordon was the first Australian poet to be read by the ordinary man. His riding rhymes were an important factor in the creation of the Australian ballad by Paterson and others. Perhaps H.M. Green speaks for the reader when he writes, '... we read Gordon "not for the fine phrases, but for the directness of some cry, and above all for the breadth and effectiveness of any utterance ... taken as a whole". And we read him because even if we ourselves are not hunters, sportsmen, soldiers, adventurers, he uncovers some underlying stratum of such men in us, opening up to us the road of adventure and blowing over it the wind of romance.'

personally I really like his poems. :2twocents

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 10:37 PM
A couple of poems by AL Gordon ; (just to keep things next to relevant posts) - I've typed em so pls excuse the typos.

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 thoughit 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.

and another - you can feel the horse hard held approaching a jump ;)-

from YE WEARY WAYFARER, Fytte VII
.........
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 buoyant air,
And the light shock landing - the veriest serf
Is an emperor then and there......

2020hindsight
20th-October-2006, 11:06 PM
TITANIC (Wrong boat, wrong time, wrong attitude)

Its a Heaven-sent night to be out on deck, and we're hundreds of miles from shore,
No radar invented but what the heck, the Captain's been this way before,
The pride of his eye, the pride of the fleet, and the White Star line and all,
And there's only one pride that he's yet to meet, that's the one that preempts a fall.

Hey look Bergermeister that berg of ice, just out of the blue so romantic,
The Captain must know the stakes and the dice, or forgotten he's in mid Atlantic?
Cos the way that I see it, - the speed we are going, - that half hidden monster ahead,!!
There's just a wee chance , without to-ing and fro-ing of a....."CRUNCH!!" woops, and stopping dead.

It's a beautiful night, but I must go inside, this lean's the champagne I assume,
But Im also concerned at the rising tide in the starboard engine room,
That's funny?? That funnel just went up in smoke ! and now we're splitting in two!
Ah those deckchairs are crooked! and Im a neat bloke, it'll give me something to do.

And the strains of the hymn "Abide with me" I hear some heroes playing,
St Peter - tune in!! and confide with me, Mate where do I go for "weigh in"?
And a handful of lifeboats bobbing like cork, watch the stern disappear from view,
And unless you can walk the watery walk, Move on to a world of dark blue.

...................

There's right and there's wrong and there's "wronger" dude - Wrong boat, wrong time, wrong attitude,
Too little perhaps the longitude, and far too lax the latitude,
And too much ice with the whiskey dries, and too many people got wet
And far too cocky the hype and the cries that was sold as such a safe bet.

And too determined a win to record, for a maiden voyage and fastest,
And too many omens simply ignored, that rebounded and made it the lastest,
And "full speed ahead" despite the warning that icepacks were hunting in threes,
And far too long before daylight's dawning, and far too cold the seas.

And it just goes to show that we don't always know what's around the next bend (just as well)
Cos it's moist underfoot (neath the undertow) and it's not "all's well" neath the swell,
And three hours ago we were laughing flatchat, in a floating hotel unsinkable,
Now courage and curtains are where it's at, and its all so damned unthinkable.

..........................

"The Captain advises he'll have to abstain from the 10:00 pm party upstairs
Cos he's busy with mops where someone complained, and he's having to lead the prayers"
Twas one hell of a debrief in Heav'n to report, that night the Titanic sank
While the sinkable boats came home to port from the self same Newfoundland bank,

And 1500 found a new home, on the lonely Newfoundland Bank.

yogi-in-oz
21st-October-2006, 12:47 AM
:)

..... many thanks for the kind words, folks !~!

have a great weekend

yogi

:)

2020hindsight
21st-October-2006, 10:30 AM
:) .....cancer and death visited our family again, this week......a tribute to a special man and his humour, courage, love and dignity, in the face of impossible odds... thanks, folks !~!
Yogi, Im going to risk it and throw in one more sad one - I hope someone responds with a light hearted poem ;).

This one's about my father who also died of cancer - way back. I was just a kid, youngest of 3. I barely remember him - but everything I DO remember is in superlatives. I've tried to put myself inside his head during the last few weeks that he faced (also with tremendous courage - just as your friend Joe). Noone - but noone - saw him cry, but I explore the possibility that there may have been a tear or two when he was alone, maybe on watching a sunrise, - just as there are often tears at any family farewell - any separation of whatever duration - and not knowing when or if we will meet again ;)

FAREWELL, BUT MY LAST FAREWELL.

My children, we've travelled a few short miles -
Look there.. we can still see the start..
I know you won't understand what I say,
But this is where I must depart.

It's not that I choose to abandon,
Unload any load onto you.
Come , while there's time - feel the warmth of my breast,
You'll hear my heart breaking in two.

But my body is tired and cannot keep up,
And I have no choice but to rest,
And this side road is short to the top of this hill,
(Please courage - just one more test.)

And beyond that hill to a world unknown,
For there's nothing to say on the sign,
Who knows ?, perhaps there's a war over there,
But Im told there's a Father who's kind.

And never forget as you travel life's paths,
- As is the good fortune of men -
That Im travelling a road - somewhere, worlds apart -
And that maybe we'll meet again.

And my love will always be with you,
And my hopes for you fill the years,
And I sign this pact that I trace on these sheets,
With the salt of these pillowed tears.

As I say above, I hope someone responds with a light hearted poem ;). But its a free country and people can respond any which way they like, comedy , tragedy, etc - after all, poetry (like opera) isnt a "one trick pony".

PS Epilogue (from a note by an Aunt, - Perhaps young kids who have lost a parent might find some comfort in these words - I sure have :) ):-
"There will I know be moments of sadness and great loss ; but...
if you can put beside these -
all the good times you have had together -
I am sure -
that you will find -
that you have gained -
more...
than you can ever lose."

2020hindsight
21st-October-2006, 11:44 AM
Hindsight vs Foresight... ;)

SITTING IN TRAINS

I like to face forward in trains, - to look to my future-to-be;
To otherwise sit is to watch what has been - it's all in the past you see,
It's not that the past isn't precious, I treasure each grand memory,
Unique mine alone, but they're safe set in stone,
And living there constantly sounds like a drone
They're always accessible via "head-phone"
And dialing it works like a T.
…..I Like to watch where the NEXT seeds will be sown
As well as admiring the tree.

The mem-ries I've buried in layers - the layers I've buried in years
There's mem-ories there that I really do care for, and others that tackle my fears,
But diggin em up gets addictive, the mixture of laughter and tears,
Unique mine alone but I've buried that bone
(I mean in the canine sense, not Al Capone);
While diggin em up sets a warm fuzzy tone
The next cashcrop gets in arrears.
…….I'll unbury them - like a gift left alone -
In time - more mature - with some beers. ;)

I like to face forward in trains - behind us is all in the past,
On yachts I will blow on the gyb or the main - while sighting ahead through the mast,
I even face forward when rowing - it's ethically pure if not fast
The past is a heap of indelible stains -
The present's restricted by "no-passing" lanes
Just look to the future, and…. "let go the reins !! "
And "face the next turn not the last….."
……......
This lady reached back to me.."You!! - .. making brain noises !!
That was your station you passed !!. ;)"

2020hindsight
21st-October-2006, 05:05 PM
http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Southey/the_inchcape_rock.htm
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=6688&poem=28859
(Two alternative websites - take your pick)

Here's one for folks who remember the quote "Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair".:)

Website reads :- ‘By east the Isle of May’, says he, ‘twelve miles from all land in the German seas, lyes a great hidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous for navigators, because it is overflowed everie tide. It is reported in old times, upon the saide rock there was a bell, fixed upon a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to the saylers of the danger. This bell or clocke was put there and maintained by the Abbott of Aberbrothok, and being taken down by a sea pirate, a yeare thereafter he perished upon the same rocke, with ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God.’ – STODDART’S Remarks on Scotland.


THE INCHCAPE ROCK
by Robert Southey

... just the last few verses (best to get the full story on the web)...

‘Canst hear,’ said one, ‘the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore.’
‘Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.’

They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,― ‘Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!’

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side, The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell, The Devil below was ringing his knell.

2020hindsight
21st-October-2006, 06:52 PM
You'll be pleased to know that im gonna limit myself to four (4) posts without someone else saying some bludy thing ( even if it's SHUDDUP!! - WHO NEEDS THIS CRAPP!!) .

Thought for the day ( in closing ) I'd like to suggest that any who wish post an original poem about the ASX - you've got to the end of October - no rules (other than stick roughly to the topic) - and a prize? Im checking , but I think I can organise 300,000 shares in TLS for starters ! - (well at least that might get them moving !?) lol - By the end of the month, they'll be giving em away anyways.

Here's one written to a galloping rhythm. Pathetic compared to the masters like ALG and Banjo - but there you go. ;)

JACKAROO vs OLD BULLOCK DRAY

A galloping sound was alive in the ground
And the henhouse in chaos the hoofbeats in flight
And a rapid fire clopping with no hint of stopping
And rapid fire cries of the young maiden’s plight,
And just out of town the crescendo invaded
The sleeping young jackaroo’s half naked dreaming,
He jumped to the window to see legs akimbo
And bolter and duststorm and girl by now screaming

With no thought of dacks he just ran to make tracks
And he jumped on his horse, it was eighteen hands high,
And he gave it a kick and they took off so quick
That some leghairs got caught – hairy saddle, bald thigh.
And he galloped full bore (minus leghairs - times four)
Till the tortured young lass he did briefly espy,
And he caught up beside her and smiled to confide her
And slowly the screaming relaxed to a sigh.

Well they fell off at last, (she had headlocked him fast),
And they fortunate fell in a big pile of hay
And they both bumped their funny bones - humerus fabulous
Laughter ensued as they pantingly lay,
And their pulses were racing – like – right off the tracing
On impulse he bellowed “let’s kiss! – here !! TODAY !!!”
To which she replied that her boyfriend ( she lied)
Would “be catching up soon – in his old bullock dray”.

So the moral of stories like this (there are lots)
Is that galloping’s fun and it thrills and excites,
But when trottin out ladies who much prefer trots and/or
Bulldust and stuff- SKIP the heroic heights –
And if ever you’re sleeping and screams come a-creeping
Upsetting your optimist-dream-laden-night
Don’t bother to jump up and rescue the lass
There’s a bullock dray soon – so let HIM set it right.

Ahh shucks - Im gonna slip another one in (under Joe's radar)..
It's about my granpa, :) a real character - who was an expert horseman, breaker, could light a cigarette on a bucking horse etc - but then had to adapt to this new beast called the car ... Had to go up this hill in reverse at night (strongest), and made his wife (my gran) precede him on foot with her hem up over her head to show the white petticoat ( he had damn all taillights)..


PETTICOAT HILL TRAVERSED IN THE DARK

Here's a story handed down - must be true, my Granma told me -
Of my Granpa so renowned, and my Gran whose arms enfold me,
'Bout the time they climbed the hill, in the dark, some place remote,
Made it up like Jack and Jill, courtesy of petticoat.

Granpa was a mighty man, legs were somewhat horseback- bowed,
Born beside the passing Ghan, where the Channel Rivers flowed,
Lucky me to meet this giant, (older - in a quieter mode),
Patron Saint of "self reliant", Patron saint of "no fixed road".

Granma was so neat and dainty, More at home in churchhall choir,
Married him to make him sainty, 'stead she scored baptismal fire,
Told these tales of horse and cattle, how he rode into the bar, or
Tried his best to fit a saddle to this new beast called a "car".

There's this hill that needs traversing, Driving his new fangled Ford,
Strongest gear was when reversing, Sadly that meant lights ignored,
Gramps told Gran (a brainstorm burst) " Pull your dress up at the back"!
Petticoats would walk on first, He would follow up the track.

Backed the car up to the hill - Gran in place, the hem he spied,
Told her "that's it - show the frills!!" - Told her to advance a stride,
Sure, the slightest gleam was showing, If he squinted through the dark,
But they needed to get going, so he shouted "Take your Mark!!" .

Yelled to Gran to up the pace - pitchest black the night owl hooted,
Suddenly became a race - throttle down, - and Granma scooted.!!
Safest place was through the ferns, hopeful not to be run over,
Hem-high scamper took some turns, mumbling "Hell with you, Red Rover !!"

Granpa just kept charging backwards, followed dodges back and forth
Bit surprised at twisting trackwards, nonetheless he charged on - North!!
….Made that crest (by pity's sake), now the hillside sports two paths -
One straight up that most would take, one my grandpa's aftermath.

That's ONE story handed down - must be true my Granma told me -
Of my Granpa so renowned, and my Gran whose arms enfold me,
'Bout the time they climbed the hill, in the dark, some place remote,
Made it up like Jack and Jill, courtesy of petticoat.

2020hindsight
22nd-October-2006, 11:23 AM
SHUDDUP!! - WHO NEEDS THIS CRAPP!!

Thanks for your message. And thanks for your support even if its a bit qualified. But Im a perpetual optimist, and Im sure you really like poetry deep down. And Thanks for beaking the 4 max post rule ;) - (private messages also count btw :)

2020hindsight
22nd-October-2006, 11:25 AM
Here's one I wrote for this thread ;)

A PLACE WHERE PIGEONS CAN MAKE SENSE OF STATUES

there’s a statue over yonder where the pigeons like to rest
and they make their small deposits on the General’s medalled chest
and they team up all day long but in the end it’s second guessed
that they love the stoney Gen’ral for his big plumed crest.

And the pigeons all take turns to be the central one who talks
and who struts the genral’s braid or sword and pecks and points and squawks
with his bird brain making theories bout some item where he walks
“CRIKEY – HERE’s another concept - from the world of general dorks”

now that Gen’ral to a pigeon is a giant mystery
(though the Gen’ral couldn’t giv a hoot - he’s out cold - history)
And its much the same for human pigeons - likes of you and me
that we ‘ccasion-ly should question “general earth” and “general free”.

…………..........
In my humblest opinion, we should take a random break
between piling up portfolios and watching how they bake
between learning how to look at graphs that experts kindly make
(that as far as I can see resemble - most of all - a snake ?)

just a mental cup of coffee, just a different type of thought
after nervous tonnes of toffee wishing “sell” was bludy “bought”
after watching your life savings fast approaching bludy nought, - (maybe
wishing that you’d robbed that bank – so what if you’d been caught.)

cos we sit for bludy hours watching one or other trend
and we summons wizard powers that the downward graph will bend
and we’re fearing that that expert tipper had us for a lend
or your broker’s phoneline cra-c-k-led - and “sit tight” came out as “spend”

so this table in the chatroom is for anyone who cares
for a bit of lateral thinking perhaps beyond their diving shares
and few arguments – rare clashes – praps some sordid love affairs
but it’s mostly poems and promises (and bashing heads with chairs)

just a mental cup of coffee where you spill the mental beans
using English rarely exercised by Kings or proper Queens
can be poetry or prosey from mature age or your teens
or a quote that Wrangler tattoo-ed on your first blue pair of jeans

like, we’re all on earth together, and we share the air today
- we’re both ripening and rotting as old Shakespeare used to say
but we’re so damned blessed to be possessed of “passions in the play”
and the mission and the fishing - and saliva’s wide-arced spray.

.....................
But I make this bet, - the statuette that we call life will stay
“general mystery” to you and me – despite what pigeons say!

2020hindsight
23rd-October-2006, 12:36 PM
Thought for the day...Call it "Open Air Opera"
Something to STIR THE BLOOD (Man I would pay double to watch a rugby match in Cardiff Arms Park and hear the Welsh in full flight) :- PS I don't have a drop of Welsh blood in me btw.

http://www.contemplator.com/tunebook/wales/landof.htm

LAND OF MY FATHERS

The land of my fathers is dear unto me
The land of the poets, the land of the free
Her patriots and heroes, her warriors so brave
For freedom their life's blood they gave.
Wales! Wales!
Pledged am I to Wales
Whilst seas surround
This land so proud
Oh, long may our old tongue remain.

Hen Wlad fy Nhadau
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn anwyl i mi
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri
Ei gwrol rhyfelwyr, gwlad garwyr tra mad
Tros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.
Cytgan:
Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad
Tra mor yn fur
I'r bur hoff bau
O bydded i'r heniaith barhau.

etc lol - rhyfelwyr? - please escuse typos lol.

PS "O bydded i'r heniaith barhau" - gee doesnt that just get you here !! :viking: reminds me of the time I hit my thumb with a hammer lol :swear:

"Jerusalem" isn't bad either of course. Must say you'd have to wonder at William Blake wanting to build Jerusalem in England ?? - musta been a masochist.

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/alan.stuart/music/lyrics/jerusale.html

JERUSALEM
Written by William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green
And was the holy lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen

And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills
And was Jerusalem builded there
Among those dark Satanic mills

Bring me my bow (my bow) of burning gold
Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spears o'clouds unfold
Bring me my chariot of fire

I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my (my) sword sleep in hand
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land

Then there's Flower of SCotland of course - says that its a relatively recent song

http://www.geo.ed.ac.uk/home/scotland/songs/flower.html

written by Roy Williamson (1937 - 1990) Half of the Scottish folk band "The Corries" who, in the 1960's, wrote "Flower of Scotland", which has subsequently been adopted as Scotland's unofficial National Anthem.

O FLOWER OF SCOTLAND

0 Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.
etc etc

Then of course there's "Once a Jolly Swagman" lol

or even :- "Life is Great in the Sunshine State, every Queensland heart would agree ...";)

2020hindsight
23rd-October-2006, 06:08 PM
Editor's Note (re last post) - always assuming anyway READ the last post lol - or could give a shinbone..:- Just to clarify for those who like i's crossed and t's dotted ...

"Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau" is the national anthem of Wales, written and sung in the Welsh language with words written by Evan James in 1856 and set to music by his son, James James, both residents of Pontypridd, Glamorgan, and first printed in Well St, Ruthin, Denbighshire.

There are several translations according to "Wales on line", some of which are "fairly free" translations -

http://www.walesonline.com/info/anthem.shtml
the one in previous post is "literal" translation (pretty close to it anyway).
Here's one of the fairly free ones:-


LAND OF MY FATHERS (2)
The following is a fairly free translation:-

O land of my fathers, O land of my love,
Dear mother of minstrels who kindle and move,
And hero on hero, who at honour's proud call,
For freedom their lifeblood let fall.

Wales! Wales! O but my heart is with you!
And long as the sea
Your bulwark shall be,
To Cymru (Cumbria) my heart shall be true.

O land of the mountains, the bard's paradise,
Whose precipice, valleys lone as the skies,
Green murmuring forest, far echoing flood
Fire the fancy and quicken the blood.

For tho' the fierce foeman has ravaged your realm,
The old speech of Cymru he cannot o'erwhelm,
Our passionate poets to silence command
Or banish the harp from your strand.

In summary, it seems the Welsh poets would rather die than switch to writing in English - or give up writing about "Gwlad, Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau"
;) - you wonder why you get an eyeful of spittel when you talk with a welshman.

PS Question :- if the music was written by James James - then do they call him "Jimmy Jimmy" for short?)

PS - and by comparison "Life is great in the sunshine state - is the anthem of Qld - and was written by Fred Dag whilst picking pineapples in his shorts on a beautiful sunny day in mid winter ;) I can see it now - Wales vs Qld at Cardiff Arms, - and 30 Queenslanders competing with the Welsh male choir before the match ....

2020hindsight
23rd-October-2006, 08:16 PM
10 points for anyone who can follow a thread through this thread lol - but here's one written before the Wallabies played the Poms in the last world cup - and more generally about Aus-Pom rivalry ;)

PREPARE FOR A THUMPING GOOD END

It’s the land of the convict in rattling chains,
And the land of his jackbooted jailer,
As to which was the less corrupt remains
A mystery for even the bailer,
It’s the land of a people who let go the reins,
And the cheers for a wild Peter Lalor,
And his oath of allegiance if Destiny deigns,
And his blistered spade-hands for loud hailer.

“Eureka!” they shouted, “Eureka!” the yell,
With a new-found emboldened erectness,
To Hell with the law cos the lawmen smell,
To Hell with politic correctness,
We’re here till they ring out our dying bell,
So bugger it lads, go for broke,
And if they imprison us just go and tell em
The whole thing was just a huge joke.

It’s the land of the landed gentry son,
And the land of the goldrush hordes,
And the race-off to own the Bentley son,
As to whether it’s laymen or Lords,
And you had to be tough both mentally son
And a back like a raft of ripchords, -
Yet to move on, like brothers, half-gently son,
As the prince and the pauper downed swords.

It’s the land of the hero of World War 1,
And the land of the mother proud,
And the times she could boast what a brave, brave son,
And the times she could weep out loud.
It’s the land of a handful of Battle of Brittainers
Most of the Rats of Tobruk,
And their old mate’s (those gumption-filled never-say-quittener’s)
Names in the Doomsday Book.

…..
Ahhh, the future is all about planting and wheat,
And the past is all about “gone”,
And the melting pot bubbles not missing a beat,
And ignores the buried bone,
And the future is all about teamwork and goals,
And the teammates relying upon
The role of each player as life unfolds,
And so on – and on – anon.

It’s the land of a youth so privileged and free,
And the small percentage who know it,
And the football uncouth, and the Wishing Tree,
And the time to nurture and grow it,
And our roots may be planted with English hoes,
But you wanna know something, my friend?
If the Wallabies take on the English Rose
Prepare for a thumping good end.

2020hindsight
23rd-October-2006, 10:18 PM
Thought I'd share one of my favourite poems, being in a time of war, it may help remind us of how terrible it is indeed for the so many thousands that do battle around the globe. If it is so difficult for the combatants imagine how the civilians must be feeling. War is futile. Any comments or observations are welcome, let's keep this thread on poetry and ideas if at all possible.

Rich - (your first post on this thread - my guess is your ideas are reinforced ? ) here's one about a digger going off to war. - leaving behind wife and (in particular) a child - ahead lies mustard gas, cannon, shrapnel, and bullets - and hopeless odds. Bit like your poem by Wilfred Owen - but less graphic. Still I sympathise with any soldier or indeed serviceman (especially parents) going to war.

Owen:-
"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."


IF THE WAR HADN’T GOT IN THE WAY

Its just a wee skirmish child over in France, Dad’s back in six months or a year,
A skirmish? Well that’s where grown men do a dance , With canon and rifle and spear,
Six months? The time child to read you the tale of Alice’s Wonderland queer,
And look after your Mum cos she’s just a bit pale, And try not to learn the word fear.

Mustard gas son? Why it’s yellowish green, That drifts down on you in your trenches
Blisters? Those things on your lungs and your spleen, As you splutter on blood-muddied benches,
But don’t worry my boy, Daddy’s got this mask, and this armour, and bulletproof dentures
And this halo (I wish) that solves the task Of Living through such misadventures.

Here’s a gift to keep you amused my boy, Till I RUN back one bright sunny day,
But.... in case I don’t then remember this toy, Each night when you kneel to pray,
How we planned to do all those things so keen, When fathers and children play,
And the miriad things that might have been, Had the war not got in the way.

I go now my child though I’d much prefer , To watch you sleep and just stay,
Your small babe’s dreams and your sleeping purr, And your tiny nest of hay,
And I go now child though my heart is in two, And I go to meet my frey,
And if I should die with my hair so dark, It’s that you may grow to be grey.

..............
They say that we give “our all”, my son, but y’know… that’s not quite true
For our spirit becomes ten feet tall, my son, And a part of it lives on in you,
And I’ll be there to answer your call, my son, If it’s nigh-on the last thing I do,
But I’d much rather “be there” my small, .. wee, .. son , And to teach you to tie your shoe.

Digger Smith of course is one of the classics

DIGGER SMITH by C.J. Dennis
IX. THE BOYS OUT THERE

"Why do they do it? I dunno,"
Sez Digger Smith. "Yeh got me beat.
Some uv the yarns yeh 'ear is true,
An' some is rather umptydoo,
An' some is -- indiscreet.
But them that don't get to the crowd,
Them is the ones would make you proud."

With Digger Smith an' other blokes
'Oo 'ave returned it's much the same:
They'll talk uv wot they've seen an' done
When they've been out to 'ave their fun;
But no word uv the game.
On fights an' all the tale uv blood
Their talk, as they remark, is dud.

It's so with soldiers, I 'ave 'eard,
All times. The things they 'ave done,
War-mad, with blood before their eyes,
An' their ears wild fightin' cries,
They ever after shun.
P'r'aps they forget; or find it well
Not to recall too much uv 'Ell.

An' when they won't loose up their talk
It's 'ard for us to understand
'Ow all those boys we used to know,
Ole Billo, Jim an' Tom an' Joe,
Done things to beat the band.
We knoo they'd fight; but they've became
'Ead ringers at the fightin' game.

Well, wot I've 'eard from Digger Smith
An' other soldier blokes like 'im
I've put together bit by bit,
An' chewed a long time over it;
An' now I've got a dim
An' 'azy notion in me 'ead
Why they is battlers, born an' bred.

Wot did they know uv war first off,
When they joined up? Wot did I know
When I was tossed out on me neck
As if I was a shattered wreck
The time I tried to go?
Flat feet! Me feet 'as len'th and brea'th
Enough to kick a 'Un to death!

They don't know nothing, bein' reared
Out 'ere where war 'as never spread --
"A land by bloodless conquest won,"
As some son uv a writin' gun
Sez in a book I read --
They don't know nix but wot they're told
At school; an' that sticks till they're old.

Yeh've got to take the kid at school,
Gettin' 'is 'ist'ry lesson learned --
Then tales uv Nelson an' uv Drake,
Uv Wellington an' Fightin' Blake.
'Is little 'eart 'as burned
To get right out an' 'ave a go,
An' sock it into some base foe.

Nothin' but glory fills 'is mind;
The British charge is somethin' grand;
The soldier that 'e reads about
Don't 'ave no time for fear an' doubt;
'E's the 'eroic brand.
So, when the boy gets in the game,
'E jist wades in an' does the same.

Not bein' old 'ands at the stunt,
They simply does as they are told;
But, bein' Aussies -- Spare me days! --
They never thinks uv other ways,
But does it brave an' bold.
That's 'arf; an' for the other part
Yeh got to go back to the start.

Yeh've got to go right back to Dad,
To Gran'dad and the pioneers,
'Oo packed up all their bag uv tricks
An' come out 'ere in fifty-six,
An' battled thro' the years;
Our Gran'dads; and their women, too,
That 'ad the grit to face the new.

It's that old stock; an', more than that,
It's Bill an' Jim an' ev'ry son
Gettin' three good meat meals a day
An' 'eaps uv chance to go an' play
Out in the bonzer sun.
It's partly that; but, don't forget,
When it's all said, there's something yet.

There's something yet; an' there I'm beat.
Crowds uv these lads I've known, but then,
They 'ave got somethin' from this war,
Somethin' they never 'ad before,
That makes 'em better men.
Better? There's no word I can get
To name it right. There's somethin' yet.

We 'ear a lot about reward;
We praise, an' sling the cheers about;
But there was debts we can't repay
Piled up on us one single day --
When that first list come out.
There ain't no way to pay that debt.
Do wot we can - there's somethin' yet

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 12:29 PM
I like that quote I heard on the ABC this morning (driving to work)..
someone questioning the data coming out of Canberra - something like :-

unemployment figures far too good, you optimistic clowns -
and the GDP growth equal nonsense - cept it's too far down -
and confusion reigns supreme they say - all logic's been and gone -
if you're not confused this morning, you dont know what's going on!

PS A bit more nonsense :- Speaking of confusion - James James wrote the music of Land of My Fathers. There's a pommie I know of, (true story) - name of Thomas Thomas. His father was also Thomas Thomas. And guess what ( you probly guessed) so was his grandfather named Thomas Thomas. When asked (over a beer) what his son was called - he breathed a sigh of relief and smiling broady said "mate, I've got three daughters " :) :2twocents (gotta work out a way to split those coins and post 1cent only

rub92me
24th-October-2006, 02:27 PM
Haiku
Can we but dream of
A day without hindsight posts
Time will tell us all
:p: Just kidding, you're a great bard.

Judd
24th-October-2006, 04:44 PM
It may not be poetry in the true sense but it does have a certain feeling

Dear Captain
My name is Nicola im 8 years.old. this is my first flight but im not scared. I like to watch the cloulds go by. My mum says the crew is nice. I think your plane is good. thanks for a nice flight dont f u c k up the landing. Luv Nicola xxxx

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 06:12 PM
Thanks for the encouragement rub ;) - and really appreciate the fact that you broke the 11 post sequence. Btw - the incoming private post #44 was a forgery I think - and if I find out who did it, I'll report him to Joe immediately.
And thanks for not spitting the dummy and really telling me what you thought of my poetry. lol.

Judd, youre right - classic "twist in the tale" .
I reckon the ABC comment was similar in a way - Don't want to labour the point, but I mean .... "ABC:- Unemployment unrealistically optimistic, GDP growth unrealistically pessimistic, very confused signals coming out of Canberra, IF YOU'RE NOT CONFUSED THEN YOU DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT's GOING ON."

Hek - there's no way you can labour over what makes a joke a joke, or prose prose, or poem poem , or wit wit, or half half, or full full, or half wit, or ...ahhh SHUDDUP!!! "A Prose by any other name would smell as sw.." ahhh SHUDDUP!!!

mmm, Sorry I seem to be having this problem with my alter-ego here. ;) - better change tacs.

I'm a technocrat btw, just happen to like the english language and poems and jokes and stuff - I mean not sure you could have a thread like this in pigeon english for instance lol. In German? maybe - but then the German sense of humour differs from ours -
You know the one about the Hare and the Tortoise? well in German it goes something like:-

"Ein Hare bin outswellen mit der chesten mit grossen braggin unt boastin, etc etc ", anyway the tortoise accepts the challenge - and obviously the hare thrashes the tortoise - germans prefer their fables to end logically ;) - and concludes "der turtler ist ein dumkopf ja?"
(since we're not supposed to speak other than english thats "the turtle is an idiot yes?" Well I gues it illustrates that you shouldnt assume that a joke in English will translate into german for instance. :2twocents
PS If any Germans reading this - no offense meant - I'm sure that German jokes dont always translate very well into English either lol.

thanks for the chat folks. As for the string of posts, well Noirua has 150 bludy snakes someone out there - and I personally prefer poems and jokes to bludy snakes lol.

mmm here goes .."lik lik big-pela-ears-he-run-long- ground, he talkim lik lik pela-he-carry-bucket-on-head, he say - you me hav bet , me beat you runhim that pela hill oba dare. etc etc ... woops Im way way outa my depth here lol." ahhh SHUDDUP!!!

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 08:56 PM
http://www.skygod.com/quotes/flyingjokes.html#high

WHY I WANT TO BE A PILOT. Pilots don't need much school. They just have to learn to read numbers so they can read their instruments. Pilots should be brave to they won't get scared it it's foggy and they can't see, or if a wing or motor falls off.

Captain Oveur: "Ya ever been in a cockpit before?
Joey: "No sir, I've never been up in a plane before!
Captain Oveur: "Ya ever seen a grown man naked?
— from the 1980 movie 'Airplane.'

Doctor Rumack: "When are we going to be able to land?
Ted Striker: "I can't tell.
Doctor Rumack: "You can tell me, I'm a doctor.
Ted Striker: "I don't know.
Doctor Rumack: "Well, can't you take a guess?
Ted Striker: "Not for another two hours.
Doctor Rumack: "You can't take a guess for another two hours? — ditto.

They're beeping and they're flashing. They're flashing and they're beeping! I cant stand it anymore, they're blinking and they're flashing. — Buck Murdock, in the 1982 movie 'Airplane II, The Sequel.'

Both optimists and pessimists contribute to the society. The optimist invents the aeroplane, the pessimist the parachute. — George Bernard Shaw

The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline luggage. — Mark Russell

Buttons . . . check. Dials . . . check. Switches . . . check. Little colored lights . . . check. (from 'Cavin and Hobbes.')

Leader, bandits at 2 o’clock!
Roger; it’s only 1:30 now—what’ll I do ‘til then? - ditto

Our headline ran, "Virgin screw British Airways." We'd have rather preferred 'British Airways screws Virgin,' but we had to run with the facts. - — News Editor, 'The Sun' newspaper.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the very first Fokker airplane built in the world. The Dutch call it the mother Fokker. — Custodian at the Amsterdam aviation museum.

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 09:05 PM
This is one of my favourites:-
a) first the poem, then
b) the story of the poet,
c) some humerous takes
http://www.skygod.com/quotes/highflight.html

HIGH FLIGHT
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

B. THE POET :- During the desperate days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight the Nazis. John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922 to an English mother and a Scotch-Irish-American father,.....

On 3 September 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem — "To touch the face of God." Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed." On the back of the letter, he jotted down his poem, 'High Flight'.

Just three months later, on 11 December 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer .... At the enquiry a farmer testified that he saw the Spitfire pilot struggle to push back the canopy. The pilot, he said, finally stood up to jump from the plane. John, however, was too close to the ground for his parachute to open. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.

http://www.skygod.com/quotes/flyingjokes.html#high
There's a stack more on that website - including some humerous takes...

1. Pilots must insure that all surly bonds have been slipped entirely before aircraft taxi or flight is attempted.
2. During periods of severe sky dancing, crew and passengers must keep seatbelts fastened. Crew should wear shoulderbelts as provided.
3. Sunward climbs must not exceed the maximum permitted aircraft ceiling.
4. Passenger aircraft are prohibited from joining the tumbling mirth.
5. Pilots flying through sun-split clouds under VFR conditions must comply with all applicable minimum clearances.
etc etc

PS "It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed" ... You'd have the say the man was truly "high" on flying when he wrote it. Who says you need drugs in life.;)

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 10:22 PM
Here's one I wrote for my daughter who was into wizard books at the time (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, etc) ;)

BOOK MEETS GIRL

Like an orphan left unmothered on the library shelf unread,
Sat a small book partly smothered by the bigger books instead,
And its gems were undiscovered, from some crazy poet's head,
And it sadly sat unlovered, and it's little heart, it bled.

Ahh, it wasn't Henry Lawson, with his wit that rocked the bar,
And it wasn’t Smokey Dawson with his grin and grand guitar,
And it wasn't Banjo Patterson, nor Scott nor Lochinvar,
But maybe it didnt matter that it wasn't such a star.

And the dust collected weekly, and the months turned into years
And the little book sat meekly, and it held back welling tears,
Oh its eyes would rise obliquely every time a child appears,
Just to fall again as quickly, to its neighbour volume's jeers.

By the luck of some great cosmic ray, a bolt from who-knows-where,
The little book fell down one day, the lady found it there,
"The boss finds this - there's hell to pay - its user card is bare!!
We'll sell this book come Saturday, and I'm too rushed to care."

It went on sale exceeding fast, the cheapest there, ten cents,
A little girl was walking past, and spied it through the fence,
And book-and-girl were both aghast, their first-sight-love immense,
And ten cents later, die was cast on all that's happened hence.

.................
Amongst its gems her favourite poem would give a ghoul a fright!
Half lightning flash, half Thunderdome, dark wizards in half light,
And book-and-girl entwined would roam with knuckles waay past white,
And arm-in-page they'd read this poem and raid the fridge each night.

Ahh, it wasn't colt from Old Regret, or Man from Iron Bark,
But old regrets had disappeared, like blacksmiths in the dark - and
It wasn’t Clancy Overflow, his thumbnail dipped in tar,
Just the overflowing vegemite - and grins from ear to jar.

I dare you all to take a look into the land of dreams,
Or find yourself a ten cent book on wacky wizard themes,
It's very hard to 'throw the hook' once you are hooked it seems,
(Just plug your ears for girl-and-book's ten trillion dollar screams).

2020hindsight
24th-October-2006, 11:03 PM
Sorry folks - here's another serious one, WWII this time. This bloke's a hero of mine. Maybe I should relate a story in a lighter vein - by way of introduction. Once when Weary was driving his family to the beach (his sons were kids), they started asking "dad can we have an icecream, dad can we etcetc ". So Weary stopped and was about to back into a space when a smart alec in an open sports car slipped in and stole the spot. Weary walked up, asked him to leave - when he didnt, lifted him up by the throat and clocked him on the nose. (There were two sides to Weary lol). By now the boys didnt want their icecreams!! Weary (having parked the car in the vacated spot) would hear none of it - "YOU'RE HAVING AN ICE CREAM AND THAT's THAT !!" lol - paraphrased, but that's the ghist of the story. His boys had many stories - to say nothing of the work he did after the war with Columbo Plan doctors etc - Aussie of the Year etc etc - Such a man - Such a bludy saint. Actions vs words etc.

WEARY DUNLOP – WHAT A MOUNTAIN

Weary Dunlop - what a mountain, bit like Saint but more like God
Drank at some brave hearted fountain, kindest steps that ever trod.
Weary says that we’ll all live, just Eat your foodbowl – scraps we crave
So what, we’d fall through a sieve, just Eat the gravy, beat the grave. –
Light you may be, fight the grave!

Build their bloody railroad fellows, Eat your pride and spit your oath,
Skip the foreign foreman’s bellows, Watch your mates, you can’t watch both.
Crosses strewn around their bridge, Don’t ask numbers, don’t ask why,
End to end to Hellfire ridge, Up and down the River Kwai. –
Quiet witness, River Kwai.

That’s it boys just smile at bayonet, Mateship transcends bamboo jails,
Mateship’s real, no need to feign it, Never falters, never fails.
Sickbed grins will full explain it, All the more for Heaven’s porch,
Freedom Day will ne’er unchain it, Even with an oxy torch –
Even Hellfire’s oxy torch.

Malaria so varied yellows, Ulcerated cratered legs,
Cholera you cruel gallows, Food like discard zoocage dregs.
Haunting - how I hear the murmur, Grinning mates from Weary’s days,
Buddies who I left in Burma, Smiling out of Buddhist haze –
Smiling out of memory’s haze.

Modern man, though full-on tired, will Never know that tree within,
Weary knew it and inspired Countless men so free from sin.
Find some damned excuse to laugh at Every curse the jungle bowls,
Find the strength to lift your half of Mates on hearse of bamboo poles –
but for fortune, reversed roles.

Weary’s doctrine – give out, give it, Weary doctored on till dawn.
See out one more day boys, live it, Don’t give in though weak and worn.
Spare a thought for Weary’s soldier, Plodding on through darkest night -
“See the gleam boys – there I told ya, Weary’d take us to the light !! -
Weary’d somehow make it right”.

Spare a thought for Weary’s soldier, Plodding on through darkest night –
“Plead my case if needs be, Weary – Give me my last bath of light.?” –
Bathed in blessed mountain light.

PS Im fairly sure I'm right here - but on only about the third or fourth time Weary pulled on a Rugby Union jersey, he played for the Wallabies lol.

2020hindsight
25th-October-2006, 09:54 PM
http://www.kipling.org.uk/kip_fra.htm
An old favourite from praps a bygone age of moral ethical analysis..

IF (by Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!

PS I just wish he added .." and if you can't be perfect, then at least admit it" lol.

PS "If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;"
NOW there's a concept for the ASX - and the ASF I guess ;)

2020hindsight
25th-October-2006, 10:57 PM
http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=1
Some of the greatest speeches you could ever read - I knew a fellow used to be one of the coaches of a rugby union team - used to read Churchill all the time - btw, the team was the Wallabies lol ;)
PS I invite people to find the sentences that most appeal to them ..

http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=422
You Do Your Worst - and We Will do Our Best"
A tonic for today by Winston S. Churchill

"Prepare yourselves, then, my friends and comrades, for this renewal of your exertions. We shall never turn from our purpose, however sombre the road, however grievous the cost, because we know that out of this time of trial and tribulation will be born a new freedom and glory for all mankind."

All mankind? a novel concept ;)

2020hindsight
25th-October-2006, 11:44 PM
Amateur hour - yet again. I'd like to say this was written by one of my kids, but I think I wrote it once when I'd had a few to drink ;)

THE KOOKABURRA’S CALL

In the morning you hear them, the kookas loud laugh, and a
Full bellied laugh it is too,
Like a joke told with tears of “enuf enarf”
Such jokes in the morning? You’d have to be darf!
It sounds like a mad pterodactyl’s “barf”,
Or a “gone-bezerk-Kalimazoo”.
“Try a little Half Half Half Half - and multiply it by a Two Two Two Two.”

No matter if you’ve had a massive all-nighter
praps drinking straight schnapps from a shoe,
He lets rip, the blighter, that raucous “inviter”
You’re suddenly smiling, your hearts feeling lighter
And whether you’re lover or whether you’re fighter
The sky is a brighter blue.
“Cook Cook Cook Cook you lazy blighter, Feed the bloody Crew Crew Crew”

How dare you laugh you crazy bird,
the world in its currrent plight,
Such laughs are reserved for the quite absurd,
Or a pie in the face of your favourite nurd
Or for slap-stick or bunfights or punchlines deferred
Twards the end of a drunken night
“Car, Car , Car, Car where’s a bludy taxi when you’re lost your Shoe Shoe Shoe.”

Its been proven by playwrights and men outta town
and the comedy festival crowd,
When you bend your head back - dont look sideways or down
When you put on a smile and take off that ole frown,
When you steer clear of backstreets of local renown
That laughter is best when it’s LOUD.
“What a bludy Lark Lark Lark – get outta bed and bludy Laugh Laugh Laugh.”

2020hindsight
26th-October-2006, 09:37 PM
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/16362/16362.txt
CJ Dennis on hypocrisy:-

THE SECOND RHYME OF SYM
from ThE Glugs of Gosh, By CJ Dennis

"Now come," said the Devil, he said to me, With his swart face all a-grin,
"This day, ere ever the clock strikes three, Shall you sin your darling sin.
For I've wagered a crown with Beelzebub, Down there at the Gentlemen's Brimstone Club,
I shall tempt you once, I shall tempt you twice, Yet thrice shall you fall ere I tempt you thrice."

"Begone, base Devil!" I made reply-- "Begone with your fiendish grin!
How hope you to profit by such as I? For I have no darling sin.
But many there be, and I know them well, All foul with sinning and ripe for Hell.
And I name no names, but the whole world knows That I am never of such as those."

"How nowt' said the Devil. "I'll spread my net, And I vow I'll gather you in!
By this and by that shall I win my bet, And you shall sin the sin!
Come, fill up a bumper of good red wine, Your heart shall sing, and your eye shall shine,
You shall know such joy as you never have known. For the salving of men was the good vine grown."

"Begone, red Devil!" I made reply. "Parch shall these lips of mine,
And my tongue shall shrink, and my throat go dry, Ere ever I taste your wine!
But greet you shall, as I know full well, A tipsy score of my friends in Hell.
And I name no names, but the whole world wots Most of my fellows are drunken sots."

"Ah, ha!" said the Devil. "You scorn the wine! Thrice shall you sin, I say,
To win me a crown from a friend of mine, Ere three o' the clock this day.
Are you calling to mind some lady fair? And is she a wife or a maiden rare?
'Twere folly to shackle young love, hot Youth; And stolen kisses are sweet, forsooth!"

"Begone, foul Devil!" I made reply; "For never in all my life
Have I looked on a woman with lustful eye, Be she maid, or widow, or wife.
But my brothers! Alas! I am scandalized By their evil passions so ill disguised.
And I name no names, but my thanks I give That I loathe the lives my fellow-men live."

"Ho, ho!" roared the Devil in fiendish glee. "'Tis a silver crown I win!
Thrice have you fallen! 0 Pharisee, You have sinned your darling sin!"
"But, nay," said I; "and I scorn your lure. I have sinned no sin, and my heart is pure.
Come, show me a sign of the sin you see!" But the Devil was gone . . . and the clock struck three.

2020hindsight
26th-October-2006, 09:42 PM
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).

hey- it’s Not always happy, - it sometimes turns blue, and painful those hearts that are hurt,
you can Go lose umbrellas – or even a shoe - or, Hell, even go lose your shirt!,
but to Lose in love is to lose your sun, and leave you to blabber and blurt,
and to Lose a lover with clinging last clenches,
is Enough to melt hearts and to cause such wrenches,
that you Feel like go-finding some long lonely trenches,
and get Hopelessly, mopelessly, Bishop-and-Popelessly, copelessly buried in dirt.
(we’ve All been there child, let’s hope that you soaplessly “unearth” and “pristine revert”.)

and it’s True – or praps not - that the heart was involved (though you’re playing with fire for a cert)
with your First young kiss when your head first revolved – or a simple smile or a flirt,
cos your Heart clicks in when you least expect, while pretending to be inert
and Instantly takes on a passionate warm
and Equal inclined to find sunshine or storm -
and it Never pretended that Peace was the norm
not to Play, not to stray, not to make your soul pay, nor to stay on guard and alert,
(but you’ll Follow with strength of a bullock dray, and despite the risk of a hurt.)

you’ll Go though life day by day my child, and it’s all from a standing start,
then you’ll Learn you’ve a Cupid at bay my child, and you’ll feel the point of his dart,
And you won’t always do what you’d reason was right, or what was particularly smart,
And from countless splatters, when your world just shatters,
Or in fits of love when you’re mad as hatters,
You’ll find that the soul of what really matters
Are the trusting, lusting, and love-till-you’re-busting, - gusting affairs of the heart
(which, in time, with age, becomes “love-till-you’re-rusting”, but keep that old horse before cart) ;)

2020hindsight
27th-October-2006, 08:00 PM
FUNNY HOW FASHIONS HAVE SHIFTED

I'm of Italian extraction, Opera brings me to tears,
Julius Caesar was one of my Grandaddy's Uncle's etcetera's peers;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Passions have changed through the years,
I like the opera, he liked the roaring of Gladiatorial cheers.

I'm of a Grecian extraction (Ode more than this Grecian urns),
Plato, my forebear, refused to make argument, Till one defined all one's terms;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Sometimes it even unlearns,
My wife can argue on nothing till morning, to Hell with Platonic concerns.

I'm of Egyptian extraction, Trinket sales on Golden Mile,
Ramses the third was my distant Great-greatuncle, (There was a ruler with style!);
Funny how fashions have shifted, Sphinx watching on all the while -
I like to punt on a gullible tourist trade, He the Royal Punt on the Nile.

I'm of a Kenyan extraction, Homo and Rectus were ‘rels’,
I like to scout o'er the great broad savannah while Staying at five star motels;
Funny how fashions have shifted, New-fangled whistles and bells,
I use a camera to search out wild animals, They used a rock axe and yells.

I'm from Neanderthal's hometown, We both like party and rave,
I like my beard trimmed a neat Van-Gogh goatie, He didn't like much to shave;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Subtle things how we behave,
I met my wife in a nightclub in Dusseldorf, He clubbed his wife in some cave.

Of all my distant relations, First was the miracle son,
I get to exercise 10 zillion body cells, Proto the Zoan had one;
Funny how fashions have shifted, Proto you son of a gun,
He didn’t get to have one raw emotion, I write strange ditties for fun.

2020hindsight
27th-October-2006, 09:26 PM
NO REGRETS
http://www.talkinbroadway.com/talkin/piaf_trib.html
Edith Piaf was born in France in utter poverty. At the age of 12 she was blind, but miraculously regained her sight. Later on in life, she was blinded again, but the same thing happened, and her sight was restored. She literally sang for her supper in the streets of Paris during the Second World War. She then led a life of prostitution on the streets of Pigalle (a section of Paris). Still, she sang, and Parisians began to take notice of this extraordinarily gifted songbird. To make a long story short, she became a very famous chanteuse of France during the time that Judy Garland (America) and Marlene Dietrich (Germany) were enjoying fame. Her songs epitomized the vulnerability of France (then German occupied) and a nation rushed to her ... adored her, loved her. Her voice was inspired by God and she could sell a song like no one in this century. In short the nation of France was in love with their very own Edith Piaf. She appeared on stage in a plain black dress, a harsh spotlight on her, and she just sang her heart out. Audiences cried, laughed, and cheered. She became known as The Little Sparrow.

Her fame spread throughout the world and she appeared in concerts in London, New York and just about every major city in the world. Her songs were in French, but audiences understood, even if they could not understand the language, such was the power of her delivery.

But drugs, booze, and multiple marriages took their toll on Piaf. She aged rapidly, sinned in the eyes of the very Catholic French, and lost popularity. Her health was never very good to begin with. But, she possessed that stage magic! In the 60's, she had a pop hit in America called "MILORD" which was played on all the top 40 stations. I wonder if they knew then that it was about a prostitute and her client if they would have played it.
.....
France was outraged by her behavior in marrying a much younger man, especially in her state of health. Still, she did what she wanted to do. She partied hard, drank, the drugs, the young men ... but she was seeking love and she was desperate for it. And to do this in America .. well, Frenchmen were furious with her.

She contracted to do a concert toward the end of her life in Paris ... still knowing how her people were still fuming with her. And she pulled a coup d'etat even after being warned not to do what she was about to do. She walked out on stage in that black dress ... that small spotlight .. and opened her show with a new song that was penned for her by Dummont/Vaucaire, part of her writing friends.

She sang ... NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN ... (NO, I regret Nothing!) ... she floored the audience and they fell in love all over again. The song is highly personal and roughly translates to "I have no regrets. The past is forgotten. I don't need my memories. I'm starting all over again....with you."

NO REGRETS

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things - That went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the grief doesn't last -It is gone
I've forgotten the past

And the memories I had - I no longer desire
Both the good and the bad - I have flung in a fire
And I feel in my heart - That the seed has been sown
It is something quite new - It's like nothing I've known

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong - For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the seed that is new - It's the love
that is growing for you

Gee this internet is good - you find out the story behind the song - you hear the song again - it just means so much more ;)

Julia
27th-October-2006, 10:06 PM
NO REGRETS
http://www.talkinbroadway.com/talkin/piaf_trib.html
Edith Piaf was born in France in utter poverty. At the age of 12 she was blind, but miraculously regained her sight. Later on in life, she was blinded again, but the same thing happened, and her sight was restored. She literally sang for her supper in the streets of Paris during the Second World War. She then led a life of prostitution on the streets of Pigalle (a section of Paris). Still, she sang, and Parisians began to take notice of this extraordinarily gifted songbird. To make a long story short, she became a very famous chanteuse of France during the time that Judy Garland (America) and Marlene Dietrich (Germany) were enjoying fame. Her songs epitomized the vulnerability of France (then German occupied) and a nation rushed to her ... adored her, loved her. Her voice was inspired by God and she could sell a song like no one in this century. In short the nation of France was in love with their very own Edith Piaf. She appeared on stage in a plain black dress, a harsh spotlight on her, and she just sang her heart out. Audiences cried, laughed, and cheered. She became known as The Little Sparrow.

Her fame spread throughout the world and she appeared in concerts in London, New York and just about every major city in the world. Her songs were in French, but audiences understood, even if they could not understand the language, such was the power of her delivery.

But drugs, booze, and multiple marriages took their toll on Piaf. She aged rapidly, sinned in the eyes of the very Catholic French, and lost popularity. Her health was never very good to begin with. But, she possessed that stage magic! In the 60's, she had a pop hit in America called "MILORD" which was played on all the top 40 stations. I wonder if they knew then that it was about a prostitute and her client if they would have played it.
.....
France was outraged by her behavior in marrying a much younger man, especially in her state of health. Still, she did what she wanted to do. She partied hard, drank, the drugs, the young men ... but she was seeking love and she was desperate for it. And to do this in America .. well, Frenchmen were furious with her.

She contracted to do a concert toward the end of her life in Paris ... still knowing how her people were still fuming with her. And she pulled a coup d'etat even after being warned not to do what she was about to do. She walked out on stage in that black dress ... that small spotlight .. and opened her show with a new song that was penned for her by Dummont/Vaucaire, part of her writing friends.

She sang ... NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN ... (NO, I regret Nothing!) ... she floored the audience and they fell in love all over again. The song is highly personal and roughly translates to "I have no regrets. The past is forgotten. I don't need my memories. I'm starting all over again....with you."

NO REGRETS

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things - That went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the grief doesn't last -It is gone
I've forgotten the past

And the memories I had - I no longer desire
Both the good and the bad - I have flung in a fire
And I feel in my heart - That the seed has been sown
It is something quite new - It's like nothing I've known

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong - For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets - No! I will have no regrets
For the seed that is new - It's the love
that is growing for you

Gee this internet is good - you find out the story behind the song - you hear the song again - it just means so much more ;)


Lovely summary of Piaf's life, 2020. I'm not sure exactly why, but I find some common quality in her and Billie Holliday - a sort of sultry underlying sadness.

Julia

2020hindsight
27th-October-2006, 10:27 PM
This post is more about memories we file away with a song or a poem or whatever, "associations" stored - some we hold dear, some I guess we would prefer to forget but cant - This particular song has damn all literary merit, but for me it qualifies as a part of a "magnificent" memory. I once heard it sung by a group of about 10 or 15 kids in the 60's. They were orphans and, somehow or other, us students were giving them a day out - a hayride of sorts - anyway these kids just broke into song as we were driving down the road, ... and I've never forgotten it! They had spirit those kids I'll give em that!

A WORLD OF OUR OWN
Close the door, light the light; we're staying home tonight,
Far away from the bustle and the bright city lights.
Let them all fade away; just leave us alone,
And we'll live in a world of our own.

We'll build a world of our own that no one else can share;
All our sorrows we'll leave far behind us there.
And I know you will find
There'll be peace of mind
When we live in a world of our own.

Oh, my love, oh, my love, I cried for you so much;
Lonely nights without sleeping while I longed for your touch.
Now your lips can erase the heartache I've known;
Come with me to a world of our own.
etc "

Website ( lost the link):- The Seekers set out on their trip of a lifetime playing their own way on a P & O cruise ship. They had no idea what they were in for. Bruce Woodley:- "We arrived there for the sound check and there's a chalk board out the front that said, 'Tonight The Seekers by Public Demand'. It didn't get any better than that. That night we followed the Bingo. This fellow comes on in front of the curtains and says in this heavy Yorkshire accent, 'It has come to my attention, certain of our members have been seen relieving themselves against the west wall of the club. It's bloody disgusting and it's got to stop. Ladies and gentlemen, The Seekers'" etc etc lol.

...Then folk singer, Dusty Springfield, caught their act and mentioned it to her brother, Tom. ...'I'll Never Find Another You'... and the rest is history;)

2020hindsight
27th-October-2006, 10:53 PM
Lovely summary of Piaf's life, 2020. I'm not sure exactly why, but I find some common quality in her and Billie Holliday - a sort of sultry underlying sadness. Julia
Julia - not a word of my post about Piaf was original of cors;) cept last sentence.

I don't know about her and Billie Halliday having things in common - but I know she and I do....take the excerpt for instance ;), lol

She aged rapidly,...

You're right, you can hear that underlying sadness in someone's voice, difficult to feign it , the real thing that is. Sorry I'm a bit of a novice on Billie but I agree black american jazz singers do "sultry" and "sad" pretty damned well.

I'll be honest with you, the best female voice for me is Shirley Bassey. (with Piaf and Judith Durham) With your kind permission, I was just gonna post one more - call it a "trilogy...".

IF YOU GO AWAY
http://www.songsofshirleybassey.co.uk/song/sng67008.html
Jacques Brel wrote the original French version "Ne Me Quitte Pas" ..born in Belgian and became one of France's most beloved and enduring musical figures ...
Rod McKuen, penned the English words to this song ...900 songs .....His poetry is studied in schools, colleges, ..around the world. ....After Rod McKuen had received the test-pressing of the album "And We Were Lovers" including Shirley's version of his song, he wrote to Shirley Bassey:

Dear Shirley,
It's been a bang-bang day. Too much work. Too much work undone. An hour ago, the test pressing of your album arrived and I used it as an excuse to begin unwinding. Maybe it's the scotch. Maybe it's the time of evening and the fact that I'm by myself - whatever, i am unwinding and next to me is that probing, prying voice of yours - now warm, now cold as an iceberg, coaxing out my song and a brilliant programme of other tunes. Thank You for singing If You Go Away. Thank you for doing something different with it. Also, thank you for singing everything you sing. Most of all, thank you for being beautiful always and in all ways - and tonight, thanks for helping me to let go.
I love you,
Rod McKuen

IF YOU GO AWAY

If you go away, on this summer day
Then you might as well take the sun away
All the birds that flew in the summer sky
When our love was new and our hearts were high
When the day was young and the night was long
And the moon stood still for the night birds' song
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

But if you stay, I'll make you a day
Like no day has been or will be again
We'll sail the sun, we'll ride on the rain
We'll talk to the trees and worship the wind
Then if you go, I'll understand
Leave me just enough love to hold in my hand
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

If you go away, as I know you will
You must tell the world to stop turning till
You return again, if you ever do
For what good is love without loving you
Can I tell you now as you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly till the next hello
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

But if you stay I'll make you a night
Like no night has been or will be again
I'll sail on your smile, I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes that I love so much
But if you go I won't cry
Though the good is gone from the word goodbye
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

If you go away as I know you must
There'll be nothing left in the world to trust
Just an empty room full of empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
I'd have been the shadow of your dog
If I thought you might have kept me by your side
If you go away, if you go away, if you go away

Concerning the French version:-
http://ilx.wh3rd.net/thread.php?msgid=3202327
One bloke says that the French is better - "McKuan changes the desperate "Don't leave me" to the rather pathetic "If you go away" ". Personally mate, I really like McKuen's words, but true the French and the Italians can get a lot of emotion into a song. :2twocents

PS I have a friend who married an Italian lady who does the housework with a string of operas - BLARING - she cries after vacuuming the lounge, she laughs after washing the dishes, then she cries again after doing the ironing then etcetc. -and so on "till the end of an average day" lol.

2020hindsight
28th-October-2006, 08:00 AM
For reference, lyrics to "Ne me quitte pas" (allegedly) translated directly in English: ("allegedly" - because , as the bishop said to the actress, I dont do french). Much more powerful than McKuen's lyrics... ?
I'll let you folk be the judges. (that's assuming youcan be bothered reading it lol - personally I think it gets better as it progresses - true there is more passion in this version - call it wild lateral thinking looking for crazy romantic comparisons - but I still like the subtlety of McKuen's "if you go away ..."I'll be dying slowly" - and hell when its sung by Bassey, God save the Queen would come out passionate - probably even sexy lol)
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

Sorry correction - I believe it was the Actress to the Bishop - you know how liberated Bishops are these days.

2020hindsight
28th-October-2006, 08:28 AM
"as the mufti said to the actress?"
maybe "as the actress said to the mufti?"
..Naaah just doesnt ..... sound right. (yield not into temptation)

2020hindsight
28th-October-2006, 02:09 PM
KRXG (Xanana Gusmão)
a) a letter to a young fan, who b) wrote him a poem
then c) XG's story, and d) one of his poems + excerpts from a website.

LETTER TO MARTA B. NEVES, LISBON
My very dear Marta, (a child who had written to him in prison)
Thank you for your poem and, above all, thank you for your sensitivity to the struggle of the Maubere people. At your age, most East Timorese children are already contributing to the struggle in one form or another.

I have lots of stories, many of them based on my own experiences, which highlight the participation of the children of East Timor. If you would like, one day, I will tell them to you. Today I don't have time to do so. As you know, I am in the prison of a colonialist and repressive regime. A place where I am not permitted to do much except to mix with other prisoners and listen to their tales of crimes not committed. The conclusion they would have one reach is that they are in fact not guilty and that, had they had sufficient money to pay the judges, the sentence they received would have been far less severe.

Thanks to the poems, letters and solidarity of children of your age, I have every faith that I will survive the next 17 years which remain of this most cruel and yet, at the same time, beautiful experience of my life. And it is, dear Marta! Have you ever heard it said that prisons were made for people? Well, here I am and I must tell you that I have learnt so much, and there is still much to learn. I am certain that you will now be asking me: "learn what?"

Well, to struggle, my dear! And I know that you and "many, many other" Portuguese children are with me in this struggle to bring to an end the war in East Timor. With kisses of love, KRXG, Cipinang, 9 October, 1995

GRANDFATHER CROCODILE (by young Portugese child)

The legend says - and who am I to disbelieve!
The sun perched atop the sea - opened its eyes
and with its rays -indicated a way
From the depths of the ocean - a crocodile in search of a destiny
spied the pool of light, and there he surfaced

Then wearily, he stretched himself out - in time - and his lumpy hide was transformed - into a mountain range
where people were born - and where people died
Grandfather crocodile
—the legend says - and who am I to disbelieve
that he is Timor!

http://www.etan.org/et2003/september/21-30/21intrvw.htm

POET, painter, pumpkin farmer. These are the only titles Jose Alexandre 'Xanana' Gusmao really wants on his business card these days. 'Independence is like a blank piece of paper where we can write our dreams, and dream of happiness for our children.' But 25 years of dodging bullets from the Indonesian Armed Forces in storm and shine, and then fighting to stay sane in a prison cell no bigger than a grave, have put paid to that wish.

On May 20, 2002, Mr Gusmao, 57, became the first democratically-elected President of Timor Leste .....But the man who fought a guerilla war for its freedom tells Sunday Review: 'A few months after the presidency, I still felt that I was not the right man to be President. I never studied to be a President, I studied to be an engineer! I'm not the right man for the job.' ..........laughs... 'Although I don't think I am the right man for the job, I'm trying to learn to be a good President.'

....Journalist John Pilger wrote in Britain's Guardian newspaper in December 1995: '(Mr Gusmao) became a Pimpernel figure, eluding capture for more than a decade. In their frustration, the Indonesians deployed a tactic known as 'the fence of legs'. 'They forced tens of thousands of old people, women and children to march through the jungle in all conditions, 'sweeping' the undergrowth for guerillas and calling on them to surrender.' Instead, the marchers whispered warnings in Tetum, their mother tongue, to Mr Gusmao and his fighters, thus saving them.

Published in that same article were excerpts from Mr Gusmao's war diary, which included these lines: 'Six weeks of pain and daily fighting. I couldn't sit down, I couldn't stay standing up and I couldn't bear to lie down. I used to roll around on the ground as if possessed. How I cried!'

What a world away that was from his carefree teenhood, when he was given the nickname Xanana from the 1970s American rock-and-roll show, Sha Na Na (which is how Xanana is pronounced).....In July 2000, he married Ms Kirsty Sword, 37, an Australian undercover agent for the East Timor resistance movement who went by the codename Ruby Blade. She met him in prison in 1994, and their love blossomed through a flurry of letters. ...two sons.

But while Mr Gusmao spent years running through streets slippery with the blood of friends and foes, ruthlessness has no place in his book. He has forgiven the pro-Jakarta militants who massacred the East Timorese in the thousands and urged the latter not to retaliate against them. As he puts it: 'We have to remember that it was a foreign occupation and we fought for our own destiny. It was that for which we suffered, and we should accept that. If not, we keep trying to deny the values of what we fought for in the first place.' He stresses: 'Now, we must keep the past in the past. We must honour all this sacrifice. We all suffered. We have already got our objectives. Now, we must look to the future, learn how to solve problems, how to send our children to school. "

....
Call him Asia's Nelson Mandela, and he chafes. 'I don't agree. I can only learn from him. He is my inspiration. 'You cannot compare the student to the teacher,' he says. He then lets on - with a laugh - that when Mr Mandela visited him in prison in 1997, the legendary freedom fighter asked him: 'Xanana, what are you trying to do?' Mr Gusmao recalls: 'His words that will always stay with me were that there is the need for dialogue and the need for tolerance.

'That has helped me very, very much. We cannot get all we need, but we achieve what we can through dialogue and listening.' These days, his aides tell Sunday Review, he spends three weeks in a month walking Mr Mandela's talk by going over Timor Leste's hills and vales to hear his people's grouses.
'He calls it his open presidency programme,' says his media relations officer, Ms Elizabeth Exposto.

Foremost on his mind is building as many schools and hiring as many teachers as quickly as possible for Timor Leste's one million people. He says: 'More than half of my people are under 20 years of age, so East Timor is a very young nation indeed. We will have a bright future if we have education.' Businessweek reported that his 'smooth leadership style' and 'moral authority' is helping the United Nations rebuild and improve the quality of life in Timor Leste.

POET-WARRIOR Jose Alexandre 'Xanana' Gusmao began writing poems as a boy and won a national prize for poetry in 1975. He continued to write and paint throughout his seven years in prison from 1992 to 1999. Here is one of his works:

POETIC JUSTICE. MY SEA OF TIMOR

If I could capture between my fingers the sighs of the sea and share them with children,
If I could caress with my fingers the wave's gentle breeze and feel the hair of children,
If I could feel between my fingers the kiss of the foam and hear the laughter of children,
If I could touch with my fingers the sleep of the sea and coax to slumber the eyes of children,
If I could take between my fingers pretty little shells and make of them necklaces for children

Oh, sea of mine! why do you wait? why don't you give? why don't you feel? why don't you hear?,
Immersed in my thoughts I was suddenly shaken From the sea, my sea, Out of the bellies of ships, tremors came,
I looked at the erupting sky and the size of the sea were cries of agony the gentle breeze the smell of dust and blood the kiss of the foam the death-rattle the sea's slumber. the pebbles of the gravestone and the pretty shells traced the destiny of the Homeland!

- Cipinang Prison, Jakarta October 8, 1995

There's a stack more of poems by him AND OTHERS here :-
http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/Senate/7112/poems_frconten.htm

THE FIGHTER WHO FELL By XG
....Throughout the peaks and plains of Timor
The life-bloood flows
And animates the bones
Of the fighters who fell

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
28th-October-2006, 09:03 PM
HEROES . Gusmao, and Mandela - the closest things to statesmen since Churchill. All three are mentioned on "heroes" website - with Ghandi, Churchill, Oliver Tambo, Ataturk, Nancy Wake etc etc:-
http://www.moreorless.au.com/heroes/gusmao.html


PS For a bit of fun check your synergy rating with famous people :-
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/default.asp
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/Xanana_Gusmao.asp
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/Nelson_Mandela.asp
;)
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/Richard_Nixon.asp lol
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/Adolf_Hitler.asp
http://www.topsynergy.com/famous/Mao_Zedong.asp
Woody Allen etc etc
But beware "Moon in Pisces" - I think they mean that the moon - and this astrological site - are "off with the pixies" ;)
Extracts from a letter by Gusmao to Convention 1998:-


Dear Compatriots,

Who would have thought that it would take the East Timorese 24 years to realize that we have wasted so much moral, psychological, intellectual and political energy since the Carnation Revolution? It has taken us far too long to acknowledge the just principles of our struggle. ..... It has taken us far too long to realize that we were riding in different compartments of a single train, running along the same track harbouring the same desires, the same determination to win........

Sovereignty lies with our People, it is our People who deserve honor and respect. It is our People who give the orders and draft the mandates. It is not up to us, weak, imperfect individuals as we are, to decide. Our decisions, our commitments are legitimate only in so far as they comply with the will of our People. Too often, we are more preoccupied with the reactions we provoke in people than with the feelings and the suffering of our People. Too often, we try to satisfy other people's opinions without stopping to think that we might be offending our People, insulting the blood of our young ones, the tears of our mothers and the sacrifices made by one and all.

We ignore our responsibility to the suffering of our People every time we think more about ourselves than about the heroic greatness of our People. We act as if it was our People's duty to struggle, suffer and die to give legitimacy to our personal positions, status and ambitions.

We have fostered too many contradictions, we have nurtured too many internal conflicts, fueling a highly polluted environment. Instead of mutual respect we have sought power. Instead of understanding, we have created distrust. Instead of supporting each other, we have undermined each other. And we all know that the atmosphere is still weighed down by doubt, mistrust, discontent and complaints. Bearing all this in mind, we are gathered here with the resolve to join hands, to move ahead, to begin a new chapter in the history of East Timor.

Mandela likewise :- similar sentiments:-
http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/history/mandela/1990/
http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/history/mandela/1990/sp900225-1.html


Friends, comrades, and the people of Natal, I greet you all. I do so in the name of peace, the peace that is so desperately and urgently needed in this region.

In Natal, apartheid is a deadly cancer in our midst, setting house against house, and eating away at the precious ties that bound us together. This strife among ourselves wastes our energy and destroys our unity. My message to those of you involved in this battle of brother against brother is this: take your guns, your knives, and your pangas(1), and throw them into the sea. Close down the death factories. End this war now!

We also come together today to renew the ties that make us one people, and to reaffirm a single united stand against the oppression of apartheid. We have gathered here to find a way of building even greater unity than we already have. Unity is the pillar and foundation of our struggle to end the misery which is caused by the oppression which is our greatest enemy. This repression and the violence it creates cannot be ended if we fight and attack each other.....

We condemn, in the strongest possible terms, the use of violence as a way of settling differences amongst our people. Great anger and violence can never build a nation. The apartheid regime uses this strife as a pretext for further oppression.

We would like to see in members of all seasoned political organisations the total absence of intolerance towards those who differ from us on questions of strategy and tactics. Those who approach problems with intolerant attitudes are no credit to the struggle: they actively endanger our future.

2020hindsight
28th-October-2006, 10:19 PM
Here's one I saw on that site, (by EB - presumably one of XG's fighters ?) but I've juggled the words a bit to more resemble AL Gordon. Apologies EB.
http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHil...ms_frconten.htm

Orig poem called LONGING

How I long, how I long, for the pillows of my dreams
How I long for the cushion where I'll sleep
How I long, how I long , for the peace of moonlit beams
And the haven of a nest where I can creep.

I will sleep, I will dream, I will fly, fly up high
Climb Ramelau mountain in its cloud,
I will climb through its steam, I will reach the peak and cry
I will shout, I will scream out oh so loud.

I will face that moonlit beam , and ill whisper to my God
Give me wings please, and teach me how to fly,
I want to leave (in my dream), Leave these trails that I've trod
I can't stand it anymore, and I cry.

So much pain, so much sound , of such grief, so much blood,
I can hear the screams of comrades getting near ,
Walls are closing all around, Squeezing, sucking like the mud
Draining all from me that God and I hold dear.

How easy it would be, to just drop from this earth
Through the jungle’s misty tangle – disappear
And that breeze that from the sea , brought my soul here at my birth
Take my body now, but let my soul stay here.

2020hindsight
29th-October-2006, 03:40 PM
http://www.absolutelyrics.com/lyrics/view/bee_gees/new_york_mining_disaster_1941/
I wonder if this song rings truer and more meaningful - at least to Aussies - post Beaconsfield. (but probably to yanks as well).

NEW YORK MINING DISASTER 1941
by the Bee Gees.

In the event of something happening to me,
there is something I would like you all to see.
It's just a photograph of someone that I new.
Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide, Mr. Jones.

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
or have they given up and all gone home to bed,
thinking those who once existed must be dead.

AUSSIE version, post Beaconsfield:-

I keep straining my ears to hear a sound.
Maybe someone is digging underground,
AND WE'VE BEEN posted on the pub-wall "LOST AND FOUND"!!
and so many beers set up - we might get drowned!!.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200610/s1775332.htm

Mr Webb was at a workplace safety forum today with survivors from other major workplace disasters. He spoke about carrying plenty of baggage since Beaconsfield, and how the task of writing a book about the ordeal brought it all back to him and Mr Russell. "We sort of had a bad time when we went to write a book," he said. "We thought, what a good idea, we'll write a book, and not sort of thinking of the implications of writing a book as in reliving the moments and Larry. "That was a pretty rough week."

If ever I meet those blokes (Brant Webb and Todd Russell), I'll be asking them to go shares in a lottery ticket.

2020hindsight
29th-October-2006, 08:04 PM
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_read.html
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_dunbar.html
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Aegean/6732/files/valor_barton.html (be warned - this is a long poem)
Some great poems that came out of the Americal Civil War. - the mothers and the minorities.

http://www.diggerhistory.info/pages-heroes/monash.htm
Interesting to read about Sir John Monash - (some say he won WWI) :-
http://www.theage.com.au/news/Reviews/Monash-The-outsider-who-won-the-war/2004/11/25/1101219665809.html?from=moreStories (Monash: The outsider who won the war)

Field Marshal Montgomery, the famous British army commander in the Second World War (a junior officer in the First World War), later wrote: "I would name Sir John Monash as the best general on the western front in Europe. "

"The main thing is always to have a plan; if it is not the best plan, it is at least better than no plan at all". Monash

Monash wanted to move away from what he considered to be outdated British tactics, believing that "the true role of infantry was not to expend itself upon heroic physical effort, not to wither away under merciless machine-gun fire, not to impale itself on hostile bayonets, but on the contrary, to advance under the maximum possible protection of the maximum possible array of mechanical resources, in the form of guns, machine-guns, tanks, mortars and aeroplanes; to advance with as little impediment as possible; to be relieved as far as possible of the obligation to fight their way forward".
"Monash's first battle as corps commander, a minor one at Hamel, was a spectacular success. The battle plan combined an innovative approach to the use of aviation and armour with the most detailed artillery and administrative preparations yet. This was but the first of a series of great victories, on which Monash's reputation as a great commander now rests. His next battle was a larger one, incorporating all the innovations of Hamel, at Amiens on 8 August 1918. Few battles of the war were so successful, the Australians and Canadians driving all before them. Some 7,925 prisoners were taken and 173 guns were captured was the corps rolled over the German gun lines. In the wake of the victory, Monash was created a Knight Commander of St Michael and St George (KCMG) by King George V in a ceremony at his headquarters at Bertangles."

Monash clashed with the British theorist, Lieutenant General Sir Ivor Maxse over the role of technology. Maxse still thought in terms of a battalion's strength being in its manpower, and that a battalion of 900 was essential. Monash believed that its strength was in its firepower, and had calculated that a battalion of 700 would be just as effective, as the majority of its firepower came from is automatic weapons. Events proved Monash correct.

The role of the Australian Corps in 1918 was indeed a remarkable one. Comprising only 9.5% of the BEF, it captured 18.5% of the German prisoners, 21.5% of the territory and 14% of the guns captured. This represented an effectiveness 1.95, 2.23 and 1.47 times that of the British Army average.

In 1930 he was conferred with the full rank of General, the first Jew in any army to attain that rank. Monash was once described by British Prime Minister David Lloyd George as ‘the most resourceful General in the British army.’ The Times correspondent Liddell C Hart assessed that Monash would have become commander-in-chief of the combined Allied forces had the war lasted beyond 1918.

AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI OI OI

PS Readers who cling to the simplistic view that British commanders in World War I were bunglers and butchers will find comfort in the hoary old story of Allied infantry as "lions led by donkeys", a story now retold with Monash instructing the donkeys how to win a war. Others, I fear, will recognise another example of what Robert Rhodes James called "a kind of nationalistic paranoia". - ahhh bugga it , SO WHAT
AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI OI OI

2020hindsight
29th-October-2006, 08:39 PM
At this time of year, we are preparing both for the Melbourne Cup - and Remembrance Day - Let's remember both ;)
Cut to the fourth verse of the poem below if you are in a hurry - East London (lol - need a new compass) East London to a shattered-Luftwafe-demolished-brick, you will recognise it.;)
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm
http://www.anzacs.org/fallen.html


Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), the poet and art critic, was born in Lancaster in 1869. He worked at the British Museum before going to war, having studied at Trinity College, Oxford where he won the Newdigate poetry prize. Whilst on the staff of the British Museum he developed an expertise in Chinese and Japanese art.

Aside from his best known poem For The Fallen (1914), most notably the fourth stanza which adorns numerous war memorials, Binyon published work on Botticelli and Blake among others. He returned to the British Museum following the war. His Collected Poems was published in 1931.

FOR THE FALLEN
Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

See Also :-
http://www.rockies.net/~spirit/remember.html (Canadian)
PS Good luck on the Cup. - just... spare a thought for the diggers ;)

Wowo Ive learnt somethin - the correct words are "nor the years contemn" , initially I thought it was a typo :)
http://www.wewillrememberthem.co.uk/ - hey the Poms think it's condemn as well - I dont feel so bad after all ;)

2020hindsight
29th-October-2006, 09:19 PM
http://www.anzacday.org.au/anzacservices/ADcommemservice/hymns.html

LEST WE FORGET (Recessional)
Rudyard Kipling

God of our fathers known of old
Lord of our far flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine -
Lord God of hosts be with us yet
Lest we forget - lest we forget.

The tumult and the shouting dies
The captains and the kings depart
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice
A humble and a contrite heart
Lord God of hosts be with us yet
Lest we forget - lest we forget.

Even the second verse of "Austrayl-yins all eat ostriches" ;)

LOL. if you want the full hymn - try this one.
http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/index.htm

PS The church maintains (probably correctly ?) that "Thine ancient sacrifice" applies to JC and not to the fallen.
Incidentally Recessional = a hymn that accompanies the exit of clergy from church - everyone knows that lol - I've known that for oooh - 3 minutes ;)

If you're real keen check also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recessional_%28poem%29

http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/Epitaphs.htm
Best Kipling you've ever read!!


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.

AN ONLY SON
I have slain none except my Mother. She
(Blessing her slayer) died of grief for me.

2020hindsight
29th-October-2006, 09:52 PM
RAPED AND REVENGED
Rudyard Kipling

One used and butchered me: another spied
Me broken - for which thing an hundred died.
So it was learned among the heathen hosts
How much a freeborn woman's favour costs.

Whilst this is strictly written in a war setting, I wonder if other more recent commentators realise that rape is a no-no.
http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Poetry/Anthology/Kipling/Epitaphs.htm
(almost the last poem)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ode_of_Remembrance = the twofold origins of the Ode of Remembrance.

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 01:00 PM
Wowo Ive learnt somethin - the correct words are "nor the years contemn" , initially I thought it was a typo :)
http://www.wewillrememberthem.co.uk/ - hey the Poms think it's condemn as well - I dont feel so bad after all ;)
We need a volunteer - someone brave enough to ask the RSL which is correct , contemn (meaning nor the years despise / scorn)
- or condemn (nor the years blame / find guilty). :)
PS If you havent guessed I have a lot of time for diggers and the RSL. - just dont have enough courage for this mission.
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm :2twocents

WHEN DUTY MEETS FLOOD

An order came through on the phone to young Jimmy, Some Digger up Darling way - just back of Bourke -
"And hurry son, pack it and send it by sundown, Without it I'm sunk 'cause the pump just won't work."
"It fits on the handle, the one that you push on, The pulling side's perfect - I don't need the kit !
There's no sense in wasting 'cause wanting can follow, The rest of it's pristine - I just need one bit"
"The price is outrageous - what, two dollars fifty! - But Noah's on standby, my back's to the wall -
I think it's the model before the Big Mopper, Before World War 1, son - when duty was all."

Now, floods had been raging for nigh on a fortnight, The whole of the Darling was deeply immersed,
But Jimmy decided he'd do as was bidden - What Diggers would do if the shoes were reversed.
He donned an ole trenchcoat and Wellies and waders, He fitted his scooter with waterwings too,
Like James Bond's intrepid amphibious duckling, He set off through rain that was falling like stew.

He ploughed through the creeks that were running a banker, He raced along cliffedges, floods on all sides.
He dodged the great deluge of cascading debris, He island-hopped treetrunks mid waterfall rides.
And after a night of incredible courage And hundreds of miles through the torrents and churn,
Eureka - he shook the old hand of the Digger, And ooohh - what a grin he received in return.

"Now sit with me son while I demonstrate will power
learnt pumping trenches at each bugle call."
....
He fitted the part, and he pumped till the flood
receded by inches, then metres, then mud,
with blisters on blisters he finally stud -
and smiled through loose dentures like bull chewing cud,
....
"A breeze after Flanders - no bullets no blood -
But that was when duty was all."

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 08:39 PM
I liked that comedian a month or two back- Commenting about trends in music -

60's :- Songs you could sing along with :-
http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/shrek/imabeliever.htm
http://www.stevesbeatles.com/songs/love_me_do.asp
a few protests thrown in :- Dylan, Baez, PPM, Seekers etc etc

Really good songs when we're crowded around the piano for a singalong at the retirement home - whenever that may be :)....

BUT Can't you just imagine the kids of the Naughties (2000's), i.e. modern kids , singing along around the piano with walking sticks and wobbly old voices:-
"F*** y** I won't do what you tell me
F*** y** I won't do what you tell me " - :)
http://www.ratm.net/lyrics/kil.html

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 09:05 PM
http://www.amazon.com/Rehearsals-Retirement-Gunfight-Carnegie-Hall/dp/B00004YL2J/ref=pd_sim_m_7/102-7499340-0833719
click the song – it plays a verse or two ;)

Disc 1 - song 10 - Rehearsals for retirement (not that I can afford to retire for 20 years)
Disc 2 is by far the best XX better.
Mona Lisa, Buddy Holly, Elvis, A Fool such as I etc ;)

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 10:04 PM
THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE

http://web.cecs.pdx.edu/~trent/ochs/lyrics/there_but_for_fortune.html
Includes the French version – appears to have followed from the English original – for a change. Phil's comments about this song from Sing Out: "Based on the saying, 'There but for the grace of God,' the song was written while driving to Lincoln, Nebraska. This is one of the few cases in which I had the melody written first and was able to write the words in less than ten minutes. …There are some live records of Phil introducing this song as being written by Joan Baez... this is a joke; Phil did write it.


http://www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin_board/20/messages/548.html
THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD GO I - "On seeing several criminals being led to the scaffold in the 16th century, English Protestant martyr John Bradford remarked, 'There but for the grace of God, goes John Bradford.' His words, without his name, are still very common ones today for expressing one's blessings compared to the fate of another. Bradford was later burned at the stake as a heretic."

Typical example (from the web - or a thousand headlines from newspapers) of how this phrase is used nowadays - not quite the “pure” interpretation as intended by Phil Ochs, or expressed by Joan Baez or Marianne Faithfull or PPM etc I suggest (But this casual comment on "true talk" is delightfully candid, and probably pretty accurate I guess):-


http://truetalk.typepad.com/truetalk/2004/12/there_but_for_f.html
Simply put: the rewards of "cheating" are now so great, "playing fair" seems impossible for many of us. I don't believe it's because they are "morally inferior" human beings. I believe it's because we're creating a world that is increasingly difficult for "morally average" human beings to navigate.
And so, I reflect back on Baez's lyrics for that great song:

Show me the prison, Show me the jail
Show me the prisoner whose life has gone stale
And I'll show you a young man, With so many reasons why,
There, but for fortune, go you or I. You or I.

...and thank my lucky stars that, as a morally average human being, I don't have to deal with the kind of temptations so many face.

http://www.shmoozenet.com/yudel/mtarchives/001433.html
I know there’s a lot of Dylan in the air these days, and I’m happy about that…. But … I found myself thinking about someone else, an almost-forgotten contemporary of Dylan: Phil Ochs.

Show me an alley, show me a train,
Show me a hobo who sleeps out in the rain,
And I’ll show you a young man with so many reasons why,
And there but for fortune may go you or I ….

You have to hear it, of course; you have to hear its aching Blakean simplicity and urgency. In a way, it has a classical purity—and when I say “classical,” I mean a going back to basics, back to Sophocles and the role that fortune and character play in man’s fate. As a song, it’s a sentiment that serves as a kind of Rorschach test, (bilaterally symmetrical inkblots; subjects state what they see in the inkblot ) a defining revelation about how one views the unfortunate of the world.

Typical Newspaper Headline :- Leader, Saturday April 12, 2003, The Guardian

There but for fortune
Only the UN can restore order in Iraq

There is no single explanation for the looting and lawlessness which has swept through Iraq's cities in recent days, etc etc

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 10:46 PM
The heart has its reasons which reason does not understand. Blaise Pascal 1623 - 1662 (and toast can have raisins, and the raisins dont understand why they're there either :confused: )

The world is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel . Horace Walpole 1717 - 1797 (The world is a western to those who "think", and a thriller to those who are "sexy", and an anticlimax to those that just "think" they're "sexy").

In each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. Diversity of character is due to their unequal activity. Ambrose Bierce. ( I watched this girl walk past the other day, and the tiger said "look at that ass", and then this bludy pig and I had a fight over her, and then I spent the "night" in "gale".)

2020hindsight
30th-October-2006, 11:54 PM
MY MATE, WILL SHAKESPEARE
let’s DisaPpear inTo some Shakespeare Verse
And see if we can make the margins rhyme,
At worst, we’ll make them marginally worse
At best, mark you, we’ll probably mark time,
McDonaldbain, Macbeth, McDad, McDave
Four Big Macs of their day say last goodbyes,
For bony thinner Shakespeare, one last rave,
(For Thicker-Shakes, it’s ninety cents with fries).

Example – “harken digger!, wherefore dagger!”
“dog-gone it Doug? Again you’re on your ear?”
“I’m stabbed, I’m stuffed, I step, my final stagger,
‘Twill be ‘twards the fridge for one last beer.”
My guess is that you get the picture clearly -
You’re not obtuse, and these are not acute
The cute ones I suspect were written beer-ly
The obtuse ones I flushed right down the chute.

Hamlet soliloquising:- To be or not to be that is the question
The bloody answer seems to be the hitch
Ahhh great – a coin – bet - “heads or tails?”, Sebestion
We’ll either go home poor or filthy rich.

Hamlet Reproaching the Queen:- Such an act that blurs the grace betrothed
Of modesty; calls virtue hypocrite
Makes marriage vows as false as dicer’s oaths
Ahh – double 6 !!! well now we’re in the **** !!

Macbeth:- If done, when ‘t is done, then ‘t were well, done quickly
Participants contributing as one,
Now “up and doing” for the well done quickie
And alternating “down and being done”.

Macb:- Is this a dagger which I see before me?
The handle toward my hand – come let me clutch!
Ahhh no , it’s just that dead-cheap Scotch you pour me
And some dead Scotsman had me by the crutch.

Macb:- I’ve Done the deed – did You not hear a noise?
Lady Macb:- I Heard the owl scream and the cricket’s cry!
Macb:- Reminds me, I should Be out with the boys
and What’s the score?
Lady Macb:- – bout 2 for 25.

Merchant of Venice:- The quality of mercy is not strained
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven
I just wish mercifully it bloody rained
Before our team got ducks, and all eleven.

The Tempest:- We are such stuff as dreams are boldly made of
And our little life is rounded with a sleep
I just wish I could turn the neighbour’s maid off
Instead of counting 50,000 sheep.

Midsummer Night’s Dream:- The course of true love never did run smooth
A bit like my old Chev, it needs some flattery
You miss ‘em when they’re missing - that’s the truth
(Maybe I’ll check the spark, and then the battery.)

Romeo and Juliet:- But soft, what light from yonder window breaks
It is the east and Juliet is the sun
Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon
Ahhh – let’s just go to my place, have some fun.

Romeo: What shall I swear by?
Juliet: Do not swear at all
Or if thou wilt swear by thy gracious self
And if thou wilt, Viag-aras on call -
And swearing - wash your mouth – soap’s on the shelf.

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet
So Romeo would were he not Romeo called
Still smell like rotting fishheads round his feet.

Twelfth Night (Duke on Music):- If music be the food of love play on
Give me excess of it – and surf and sun!
The appetite may sicken and so die
But me, I’m sticking round for some more pie.

Julius Caesar (Mark Anthony):- Friends Romans Countrymen, lend me your ears
I’ve gone and left my hearing aid at home
And futile if I’m deaf to rousing cheers
And damn it all, the best seats in the dome.

And Brutus was an honourable man
So buy his snakeoil – 20 bucks and bottled
But Mark the word of Anthony, his fan,
You turn your back, you’re liable to get throttled.

For I have neither wit nor words nor worth
Action nor utterance, nor the power of speech
To stir men’s blood - except perhaps in mirth
Or when my bloody beer is out of reach. ;)… etc etc

-----------------------------------

AND SO FROM HOUR TO HOUR …
From Billy Shakespeare’s “As You Like It” (Jacques):-

And then he drew a dial from his poke….
And looking at it with lacklustre eye
Says very wisely “It is ten o’clock……
Thus may we see” quoth he “how the world wags..”

“Tis but an hour ago since it was nine
And after one hour more ‘twill be eleven”
And 9 hours hence ‘twill be mmmm ….err….nineteen ?
And 87 prior ‘twas only …seven.?

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot
And thereby hangs a tale and lots of tripe
And such words mean the least when there’s a lot.

The question is I guess which is the faster
Which, ripening or rotting, takes the lead
The thing determines which one is the master
Is whether we eat onions or birdseed.

And so we “let er rip” - if given rope,
And reap our wild oats where the wild oat grows,
And under grip of grape we probably grope,
But who-the-Hell remembers days like those.

And so we pass through life like someone blind,
Or live to make a pass at someone blond,
And so we stretch out here our wayward mind,
And way-out minds in stretcher wards respond.

And so ducks search with bill and two web feet
We search the web to duck or foot the bill
And so beetroot and corn and sugarbeet
It’s corny but you can’t beat sugar still.

We laugh up high, or chortle near the grass,
Or just say “hi” or “ ‘lo” when laugh’s a chore,
The moral? lest a door we hopeful pass? -
Just hope to pass on mor-a-less a-doored!

We gaze half glazed into our crystal balls
And ball into our crystal, whining tears,
And tare into our wine in waterfalls,
And fall from swinging crystal chandeliers.

And so we hourly quote the bloody raven,
And so we rave and party with the owl,
And so we foul up days spent daylight saving,
And save the nights for something really foul.

We “will” the clock to scamper through the daytime,
But will the clock slow down when it is night ?
There “won’t” be any clocks up there in “praytime”,
So “clock on” friends, delight in all de’ light.

Forget what I was drinking when I wrote this - damn it all, Ive tried to remember SOOO many times ;)
I should expain it's a poem about daylight saving, as the last verse clearly explains.
Sorry folks - I read this quote " a little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king - Emily Dickinson 1830 - 1886." (trouble here is that mad kings tend to catch real bad cases of that particular flue) I think I sorta got carried away with the concept. :o

"most men are within a finger's breadth of being mad - Diogenes 412 - 323 BC" and then ... "men have different width of fingers - 2020 "

2020hindsight
31st-October-2006, 07:53 AM
PARENTS BLESSINGS.

Here Child some wine for the dust on your tongue
Pride of our vineyard, kissed by the sun,
And bread that was made by your mother - my wife -
To a recipe old as the gospel of life.

And also some how-to's and where-to's and whys,
Some figures and facts and a few white lies,
Some rules you'll find useful, and some you'll amend,
And some you'll reject, and others you'll bend.

All that is a matter for you and the years,
And the forests of life that have yet to be cleared,
But hidden with love in this bread and this wine,
Forget you not this single line

That our hopes for you are a life fulfilled,
And of forests of wheat on fields well tilled
Where the sun rises hearty and sets with a goal
For tomorrows of hope and a happy soul.....

Life is our gift to you, sweet child of mine,
Go live it , and here....
Some bread and some wine. :)

2020hindsight
31st-October-2006, 11:32 PM
TRANSLATIONS
I wish to introduce you to the website http://translation2.paralink.com/ which very kindly translates things into other languages for you.
Here I have to be candid - I can speak barely three words of French (namely Eiffell Tower, and Peugeot) , but...

I went to the famous translation website - famous? well my teenage daughter says - it's dead simple dad - just go to this bludy website and stop hassling me ..... and it came up with the following translation of Dusty Springfield's Colouring Book:-
a) the English
b) the French
c) the English as recycled - lets call it the Fringlish, TAKE 1
d) ditto TAKE 2

PS I am reminded of the story of the engineer who used a computer to translate "hydraulic ram" into Russian , and it came out the equivalent of "water buffalo".


a) the English
MY COLOURING BOOK
http://agnetha.net/ALBUMS/SONGS/mcb.html
Dusty at her lustiest


MY COLOURING BOOK
For those who fancy colouring books - And lots of people do
Heres a new one for you
A most unusual colouring book - The kind youll never see
Crayons ready?
Very well - Begin to colour me

These are the eyes that watched him as he walked away
Colour them grey
This is the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue

These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow - Colour them empty now
These are the beads I wore
Until she came between
Colour them green

This is the room that I sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobodys seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please

This is the man whose love I depended upon
Colour him gone


b) In FRENCH:-
http://babelfish.altavista.com/babelfish/trurl_pagecontent?lp=en_fr&url=www.lyricsfreak.com%2Fd%2Fdusty%2Bspringfield% 2Fmy%2Bcolouring%2Bbook_20043818.html

Crayons prêts ? Crayons ready?

Pour ceux que la coloration de fantaisie réserve
Et un bon nombre de gens
Heres un neuf pour vous
Un livre de coloration le plus peu commun
Le youll aimable ne voient jamais
Crayons prêts ?
Très bien
Commencez à me colorer

Ce sont les yeux qui l'ont observé pendant qu'il marchait loin
Colorez-les gris
C'est le coeur que la pensée il serait toujours vraie
Colorez-le bleu

Ce sont les bras qui l'ont tenu et touchent lui
Perdu il de façon ou d'autre
Colorez-les vides maintenant
Ce sont les perles que j'ai portées
Jusqu'à ce qu'elle soit venue entre
Colorez-les verts

C'est la salle que je dors dans et marche dedans
Et pleurez dans et cachez dedans
Que personne, nobodys vus
Ah, la colorent isolée, svp

C'est l'homme du dont l'amour j'ai dépendu
Colorez-l'allé


c) In FRINGLISH:-

For those who fancy colouring books
And lots of people do
Heres has new one for you
In most unusual colouring book
The kind youll never see
Pencils ready?
Very well
Begin to colour me (So far so good - Realist has the girl thinking he's born in down town Paris)

These are the eyes that watched him whizz he walked away
Colour them grey
This simple percentage the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue

These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow
Colour them empty now
These are the beads I wore
Until she dopes between
Colour them green

This simple percentage the room that I sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobodys seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please

This simple percentage the man whose coils I depended upon
Colour him gone


d) FRINGLISH TAKE 2:-
.....
It is the arms which held it and touch it
Lost it of a manner or of other one
Colour them spaces now
It is the pearls which I carried
Until it comes enter
Colour them greens
...
It is the man of the on whom love I depended
Colour it gone"

;) Gotta get the website on a good day -
PS Spare a thought for Realist trying to chat up some Dutch girl with his multilingual talents lol. Still maybe her French is as good as his.

PS I've seen Last Tango in Paris -No wonder French people spend so much time making grunting noises etc - nothing else they say makes any sense !! lol

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 01:10 AM
http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/l/lesmiserableslyrics/redandblack-theabccafelyrics.html
Red - the blood of angry men!
Black - the dark of ages past!
Red - a world about to dawn!
Black - the night that ends at last!

TEAM COLOURS

There's a green that you find on a Wallaby’s shirt,
With it's various faded, and various dirt,
-And the overlaid gold of the wattle tree,
-And “Australia Fair” sung almost in key,
-And the mem-ries flow back to my wonky knee,
-(And the barroom throws flack at the wonky TV)
And my senses on special alert !!
...
But I doubt a non-Aussie ' d be able to see
The passion to what I referred.

And the same thing happens for English teams,
When the red rose blooms and they dream their dreams,
-And no quarters asked and no quarters given,
-And the teams and the fans find their “reason for livin”
-When the six backs line up in seventh Heaven,
-(and the six packs line up from Dover and Devon)
And Life is much more than it seems.
.....
And the flags are hoisted like madmen – Driven to
Swinging sweet chariot screams.

And the Kiwi’s black magic it runs in their blood,
Like the silver fern in the South Island mud,
-And the black from the depths of their pupilled eyes,
-And the warpaint pitch, and the warrior cries, -
-And the haka-filled nostils like apple pies
-(I don’t mean in content, I mean in size)
and their teeth, full tattooed by stud.
.....
But the point I would make is the fans all rise
When the AllBlack and Visitors “thudd-d”.

For the team is worth more than the sum of the parts,
And there’s something remains when the team departs,
-And the fans dream their dreams in colours that burn,
-And they sleep in their graves with their flag and their urn,
-And they’ll be the same when next life they return,
-(Green and gold, or red rose, or silver fern)
Cos the colours are seen with their hearts;
.....
“Just a colour you say? an excuse to play?”
Nuh - it’s where a REAL life starts.

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 01:33 AM
TRANSLATIONS
I wish to introduce you to the website http://translation2.paralink.com/ which very kindly translates things into other languages for you.
Dusty Springfield's Colouring Book:-
a) the English
b) the French
c) the English as recycled - lets call it the Fringlish, TAKE 1
d) ditto TAKE 2

PS Just for fun I translated Fringlish TAKE 2 into French - THEN back to English - call this :-


e) Fringlish Take 3
It is the arms which held it and contact it
Lost it of a way or of other one
Colour them areas now
It is the pearls which I carried
Until it comes enter
Colour them les vegetables
...
It is the homme at first depends
Colour it party "

and finally this is what happens when you go once more but via Spanish ( i.e. English > French > Spanish > English)
:-


FRINGO-SPANIOLA Take 4
They are the arms that had it and the contact this
Lost that thing about a route or of other one
Coloréelos the regions now
It is the pearls that I took
Until he comes they enter
Coloréelos the vegetables
...
He is the man he depends at first
Coloréelo the party "

Wow - those French and Spanish girls sure have a way with words lol.
Sweatheart ... sing me that song about the vegetables again ..pppffft.. lol

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 07:05 PM
The King And I Lyrics -
SOMETHING WONDERFUL (LADY THIANG)

This is a man who thinks with his heart,
His heart is not always wise.
This is a man who stumbles and falls,
But this is a man who tries.

This is a man you'll forgive and forgive,
And help protect, as long as you live...
He will not always say
What you would have him say,
But now and then he'll do
Something
Wonderful.

He has a thousand dreams
That won't come true,
You know that he believes in them
And that's enough for you.

You'll always go along,
Defend him where he's wrong
And tell him, when he's strong
He is
Wonderful
He'll always
Needs your love
And so he'll get your love.
A man who needs your love
Can be
Wonderful.
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/the-king-and-i-something-wonderful-lyrics.html
I was thinking.. although this was written about an arguably difficult person ( in the form of the Siamese King) - I wonder if it applies for others - (and I want to propose this as humbly as possible), I was thinking of home carers for instance (you brave and tireless people). "Every now and then , he'll do something wonderful". :2twocents

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 07:54 PM
A WALK WITH BUDDHA

Little flower,
Waving in the breeze...you've got me on my knees... I need a favour please.
Teach me on symmetry...teach me your reality...live and breathe with me -
Share my existence. :70:

Little butterfly,
Winging gently by... wanderer on high... painting on the sky.
Where's it being planned?... where's the promised land?... take my outstretched hand -
Share my existence.

Fellow traveller,
Walk with me this mile...chat with me a while...maybe share a smile...
Moderation friend, salutation friend, toleration friend,
Share my existence.

Little cloud,
Content to just recline... rollover... realign...hey point me to the sign.
Teach my mind to soar...trip the cages door...say , is there any more
... or just existence? :engel:
Share my existence...
Share our existences.

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 08:56 PM
This one is a bit like the Kookaburra poem - seriously trivial.
Probably inspired by Kendalls Bellbirds
http://www.mountainman.com.au/kendall.html
Read the Whipbird before the Bellbird ;) - people are not happy when they are subjected to such anticlimaxes ;)

THE WHIPBIRD AND HIS WHIP

Sometimes I get lethargic and I pause for mental snack,
It's not I'm short of energy or anything I lack,
It's just that I can daydream like I'm on the bloody crack,
"Get up" he calls , "get out there on the track!
Until you've done a day's work DONT COME BACK!!"

And sometimes two or three of them will take up chorus chants,
As if I'm supposed to drop all else and do a little dance,
I do my best, get out of bed, and pull on coat and pants,
I do my best to shape up and advance,
Or do the hero thing and take a stance.

Sometimes I'm writing, - stare "half willed" - and anchored to the spot,
And feeling like the ink has spilled and it's one giant blot,
I hear this bird, this postel sh**, I mean this pistol shot,
That little bird who whips with all he's got,
"THIS MUTINY WILL END!" - like Bligh on pot!.

I hear that small task-master's call afloating from the creek
And then I start again afresh - with smile upon my cheek.
I love that little whipbird for his sense of humour streak
I love his motivation and mystique
That little crack that echoes from his beak.

He pricks your poet's conscience with his little bit of fun
He makes you feel as useless as a blind man with a gun
Although that's one sure way to get the sighted men to run,
I'm only tempry blinded by the Sun,
And Mother Nature melting all as one…
[ And Mother Nature calling to her son.]

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 09:10 PM
HOW DO YOU MEASURE LOVE, GRASSHOPPER?

General:-
How do you measure love, grasshopper? is it Something you weigh on a scale,
or Something you rate as “par” or “above”, or Something you buy on sale,
is it Light that is only revealed when its lost, or the Source from whence it once shone,
or the Depth of some fathomless hole - and its cost – that is Only revealed when it’s gone.
sure the Depths of that darkness are real and yet,
you Don’t know the odds until bets are bet,
you’ll Know what I mean if you’ve lost a pet
who was Loved and then moved on.

Pet:-
as a Pet-owner then, is it energy given to Mutual wagging of tails,
or do Horse-lovers judge the worth of their love, by the Height of some steeplechase rails,
or the “Heil-boss-well-met” when you put on their reins (and it never rains but it hails ;)),
or just Sad that you miss ‘em - extinction or kiss ‘em – including koalas and whales.
sure the Depths of that love are tested so oft,
when they Piss on the daisies, or buck you right off,
but you Miss em like hell with that last mortal cough,
and if That isn’t love, I’ll eat snails.

Close Friend:-
as a Friend might surmise, is it waveheight blue? on a Sea otherwise inert?
or Moisture contained in a breeze over dew, that was Otherwise dusty and dirt?
some Lilt in a voice like a laughing trill, that was Otherwise prone to blurt,
or the Tilt of faces wanting nil, but a Friendly aversion to “hurt”.
and the Salt of a tear wiped off a cheek,
and a Whisper in ear, just - “friendly speak”,
and Hands holding hands for a day - or a week,
and Eyes that don’t want to avert.

Lover:-
as a Lover might claim, does some bell ring aloft, that Deafens all else for miles,
or some Pure sweet smell of some rosebud soft, that Blooms like the beaming of smiles,
is it Fire that is quelled by naught but flood, - praps a Flood sweeping caution and fear,
or a Compass that somehow gets into your blood, and you Steer where your heart wants to steer.
there’s a Maze of paths that all become one,
like kaLeidoscopes, or a bottle spun,
and Total impromptu, it prompts you to run,
with a Steering wheel heart and a CHEER.

Married Couple (Then and Now lol):-
How do you measure love, grasshopper? – the Height to which you can jump?
the Breadth of your arms as you run to engage, or your Lips when you crash with a thump,
or in Quieter years with their autumnal hue, when the Red blood like good wine mellows,
or some Blacksmith’s hearth glowing old but true, and Only our memories for bellows.
no more Half-crazed-entreating like harpstring’s hum,
no more Pitter-patter-beating of bongo drum,
you just Pat her on the seating, and you call her “mum”
and False teeth get entwined with jellos. ;)

2020hindsight
1st-November-2006, 11:23 PM
I am 100% confident that we can all relate to this one ;) :-
cheers 2020.

LONG LOST FRIENDS

I Wonder what happened to "long lost Bill", cos I Haven't had message or card,
we Never were much with phone or quill, since those Jamcans and string in the yard, ;)
must be Twenty odd years since we last shook hands, twenty Years since we laughed and sparred,
and I'm Not sure that anyone understands, we were Mates with the same brush tarred.
.....and I Haven't heard hide nor hair of the man, and my Conscience is taking it hard.

it's Not like the mailman was scalped by Injuns, or Cobb and Co's broken a dray,
or the Windjammer's lost amidst mutinous winge-ings, or Shipwrecked and drowning in spray,
no Pirates who hide in the Indies Dutch, made the Postman walk the plank
guess we Just forgot how to keep in touch, and we've Only ourselves to thank.
......but the Friendship's still there and worth just as much, and the Trust is still safe "in the bank".

ahh, we Both go about (no doubt) our bussiness, for our Daily morsel of bread,
there's Mowing the lawn and the daily dizziness of Keeping a roof overhead,
and no Doubt our ships will collide one day, (and I hope 'fore our time runs out),
and we'll No doubt fight for the right to pay, for the First of many a shout.
.....how we've Changed so little; yet much to say - and those Old times to talk about.

I Find it really (yet yearly) amusing, that we Let this happen at all,
that we Gamble the risk of permanent losing such Friends through no reason at all,
blame the Pseudo race through the daylight hours, and the Changing faces around us,
and the Memories - vivid yet fading flowers - that Again will bloom'n astound us ;)
.....and the Friendship estranged, rekindled for hours, and our Tardiness will confound us.

we'll both Wonder what happened to Tom and Vince, and all those mates of our youth,
we were Kinsmen akin to the Student Prince, though our Singing was more uncouth,
no Doubt we'll meet up after changing some tyre, so the Course of true friendship runs smoother,
and the Stress of the meeting will no doubt require some Liquid refreshment for soother.
.....and some Ale to put out our conscience's fire, "and to Absent friends - here's to ya!".

a Procession of parted and "discarded" mates, go Drifting on past my brain,
no Doubt we'll meet up at the Pearly Gates, and I'll Catch up with most again,
but ..Just in case I'm delayed in the sack, or some Traffic jam up in the sky,
I'll Take the precaution of trying to track down these Souls BEFORE I can fly,
....Now let's see, - he's a Smith - and he's from across town, till he Moved to some place near Bondi ( or was it Bulli, or maybe Wolvi ? ;)

If this poem gets anyone thinking about sending Xmas cards this year then I hope that someone is me - I'm the world's worst. :)

2020hindsight
2nd-November-2006, 08:53 PM
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.

Fear and childhood. :)
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/the-king-and-i-i-whistle-a-happy-tune-lyrics.html
Here's a song from the King and I - makes a change from "F*** y** I wont do what you tell me" lol - my kids are SOO sick of me using that example of modern music lol. But it's a great song if you have young kids ;)


Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune, So no one will suspect , I'm afraid.

While shivering in my shoes , I strike a careless pose
And whistle a happy tune , And no one ever knows , I'm afraid.

The result of this deception , Is very strange to tell
For when I fool the people , I fear I fool myself as well!

I whistle a happy tune , And ev'ry single time
The happiness in the tune , Convinces me that I'm not afraid.

Make believe you're brave , And the trick will take you far.
You may be as brave, As you make believe you are, etc etc.

Here's another old favourite - I had to sing this every flaming night to my kids when they were young. (I have two boys btw) - AND YET to this day they act "as a team" ;)- DESPITE my hopeless singing voice lol.

http://www.rich.durge.org/rolf/boys.html

In 1969, during a tour of Arnhem Land with his wife and daughter, Rolf briefly stayed with a man called Ted Egan. Ted sung him this song, which Rolf recorded on tape. When he got back to England and talked his television producer into using the song, Rolf discovered he had lost the tape! Rolf rang Ted, twelve thousand miles away in Canberra, and got him to sing the song over the phone. Alan Braden arranged the song for the TV show, and the audience reaction was so marvellous that Rolf decided to record it. This song was top of the hit parade for seven weeks over Christmas 1969.

Two little boys had two little toys ,Each had a wooden horse
Gaily they played each summer's day , Warriors both of course
One little chap then had a mishap , Broke off his horse's head
Wept for his toy then cried with joy , As his young playmate said

Did you think I would leave you crying, When there's room on my horse for two
Climb up here Jack and don't be crying , I can go just as fast with two
When we grow up we'll both be soldiers , And our horses will not be toys
And I wonder if we'll remember , When we were two little boys

Long years had passed, war came so fast , Bravely they marched away
Cannon roared loud, and in the mad crowd , Wounded and dying lay
Up goes a shout, a horse dashes out , Out from the ranks so blue
Gallops away to where Joe lay , Then came a voice he knew

Did you think I would leave you dying , When there's room on my horse for two
Climb up here Joe, we'll soon be flying , I can go just as fast with two
Did you say Joe I'm all a-tremble , Perhaps it's the battle's noise
But I think it's that I remember , When we were two little boys

Do you think I would leave you dying , There's room on my horse for two
Climb up here Joe, we'll soon by flying , Back to the ranks so blue
Can you feel Joe I'm all a tremble , Perhaps it's the battle's noise
But I think it's that I remember , When we were two little boys

PS I have heard a theory - not at all sure how true or generally applicable - that SOMETIMES (once? twice?) the drummer boys were spared - to be the one to return to tell their superiors of the massacre.

2020hindsight
2nd-November-2006, 09:13 PM
Speaking of my hopeless singing voice - (doesn't stop me from trying incidentally - especially when I'm walking the dog at night. I wrote this over a few nights of walking past a particular set of gum trees in our winding tree lined street - where there is this streetlight and lots of shadows of branches ;)

"An analysis of life is never complete without contemplation of the inevitable." ;) - quote by.. (buga'ed if I know - lets' say anon)

PRAPS AS I’M SINGING ONE MORE TONE-DEAF TUNE

Praps it will be on a cold grey morn, When I have to face my last test,
Praps it will be as some child is born, And placed on some warm mother's breast;
Praps only then as the fog is lifted,
I'll get to see where my lifeboat has drifted,
Get to give thanks for this time Ive been gifted,
Move on from blissful to bless'd.

Maybe like Tennyson, tide turning out, Maybe as sandbags cave in,
Maybe I'll learn what it's all been about, and find a new meaning of win;
Maybe alone, as I sit and wonder,
Hopefully smile at each joy and blunder,
Score one last goal - as the skids go from under -
A well-earned penultimate grin.

Praps in the midst of banana and cream, or Walking barefoot through dry sand, - or
As I reflect on some child-held dream, or dream how I held my child's hand;
Maybe while lost in the joy to have been -
Loved and been loved, sensually keen -
Even found warmth on the internet scene -
It's left me e-sensually tanned ;).

Praps it will be on some City to Surf, enJoying its pure afterglow,
Praps while I rest on some warm sunlit turf, or Crash in some dumper's cool flow;
Praps when the sensual stuff's at it's height,
That's when St Peter appears bathed in light, - (I'm
Hoping he'll tell me I got it half right, ;) )
And that's when he'll say "mate, let's go".

A streetlamp - perhaps amongst bluegums - gives up, and Shadows revert to the moon, and
In that calm setting I'm walking the pup, and Singing one more tone-deaf tune;
Praps as it flickers, my song ends abrupt, or
Once again damned middle C goes corrupt,
The shadows change watch – my Last Supper supp’t
But… Preferably later than soon . :)

2020hindsight
2nd-November-2006, 09:56 PM
Of all the songs that can be "gender-bended" for a singer of tfhe opposite sex - the easiest would have to be "SHE" by Aznavour. I mean all the female singer has to do is swap HE for SHE (more or less). even the phrases are "unisexual" (assuming there's such a word):-

"HE may be the beauty (feminine) or the beast (masculine)
may be the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell (unisexI guess lol)
HE may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
HE may not be what HE may seem
Inside HIS shell.... "

- dead simple. Twice as many artists, twice the royalties lol - clever or what. :- http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsa/aznavour.html
(this site includes a few bars of Aznavour singing).

SHE (Tous Les Visages de L'Amour)
Written by Charles Aznavour and Herbert Kretzmer

She may be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell....

She, who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows in the past
That I remember 'till the day I die

She maybe the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take the laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
She....She , Oh, she....

AN EXAMPLE OF A SONG THAT IS DIFFICULT TO TRANSLATE BETWEEN SEXES.
BY CONTRAST , lol - I had an uncle who used to sing the song below ;) - He was a WWII vet, a funny funny craggy hairy-chested joke-telling bloke - dairy farmer no less - and lol, UNLESS he sang this song to the cows - each in turn - they wouldn't let down their milk !! I must have heard him sing this 100,000 bludy times lol - one for each cow that I saw him milk ( a small percentage ;)). Why am I prattling on like this - well - maybe it'll give a farmer out there a smile ;) - poor bugas need an excuse -any excuse at the moment.

http://www.lyricsdownload.com/edith-day-alice-blue-gown-lyrics.html

MY SWEET LITTLE ALICE BLUE GOWN

In my sweet little Alice blue gown,
When I first wandered down into town,
I was so proud inside,
As I felt every eye,
And in every shop window I primped, passing by.

A new manner of fashion I'd found,
And the world seemed to smile all around.
'Til it wilted, I wore it,
I'll always adore it,
My sweet little Alice blue gown!

Ahhh, guess you just had to be there ! :)

BTW - if anyone ever wants words of a favourite song , - just go to Google and request "Shiek from Scrubby Creek lyrics" - example only !! lol - you will I am sure not be interested in that particular song ;)

PS http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsa/
is particularly good - you get to hear many of the songs sung.

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsb/baddiel.html
Here's a nonsense one about the Poms, gotta feelin it toggles between screens when you click on "3 lions" - enjoy - ignore, lol whatever.
PS Half the websites are USA in origin - have never heard of Rolf Harris - they do however know Roy Rogers and the Richeous Bros lol

2020hindsight
2nd-November-2006, 10:39 PM
Ive already posted this on Bronte's "Advertisement" thread - but what the heck - It is, as I said there , my THEME SONG lol.
http://humor.beecy.net/menwomen/mansong/

2020hindsight
2nd-November-2006, 11:47 PM
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,
...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.
Btw, I wrote this poem soon after the East Timor massacres.
Having read of the nuns etc killed in their churches - on their knees in prayer - cowardly acts that defy explanation or understanding - I added the following verse ...

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 Moslem school
- and machettes for swords, make it all the more brutal
and for drumbeats, the psalms of "the Lamb".

Here I should quickly add - Xanana G is soo quick to forgive and forget - what a moral GIANT that man is !!! :)

2020hindsight
3rd-November-2006, 12:17 AM
I'm off to bed ;)
b4 I go - this flaming website is as old as I am lol. Even has Winifred Atwell's "somebody stole my gal" - reminds me of country dances I used to go to - "gentlemen, select your partners for an "evening three step" lol"

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsa/excerpts/
adios amigos
:viking: :goodnight

2020hindsight
3rd-November-2006, 09:23 PM
Here's one I wrote - well started - on a flight from Wellington to Sydney - where you virtually fly at "just faster than the sun" , great flight incidentally, especially at dawn. Of course you gain two hours .. 2 WHOLE HOURS ! It's like gaining 2 hours of life !! Wait'll you get to my age lol. Amateur hour yet again folks. (PS I could add that the rising sun on the clouds is a pretty sight on this flight - these words dont come close to HIGH FLIGHT of cors ;) - "danced the sky on laughter silvered wings" etc)

THE PARANOID TRANS-TASMAN PILOT

well in Wellington it's raining and it's 6am and dark,
and the Brakes relax their straining and the roaring motors bark,
and the Pilot points us skyward, with a chuckle half suppressed
through the Atmospheric firewood as he swings her to the west.

and it's Way back there behind the sea a gentle glow appears,
and the Pilot cunning- mindedly grins quickly back and sneers,
and he Speeds towards the ebony like burglar to his den,
as Werewolves seek remedy from sun that turns them men.

then in Peaks of sleeping vapour, speckled patterns start to glow,
like an Early morning paper or some brail the wind might know,
and the Clouds may drift at harespeed - but they're greying on the top,
and he Leans to boost his airspeed, and he checks his toupee's mop.

now a Sky of mushrooms-random start to grow into the light,
and some Tailfin shadows tandem streak across the wing stretched tight
while the Rest of us are yawning he is stretching out his day,
while the World prepares for morning he is trying to run away.

and he Charges ever racing , teardrop wingfront still in shade,
with the Sun relentless pacing and our screaming intake blade,
we've been Flying for 3 hours, yet his clock says only one ;)
and he grins "who said those powers might have left me for my son?!"

it is Seven as he touches down on Sydney airport's pitch,
and he's Cheated full 2 hours in his race across "the ditch",
and I Heard the pilot said it as he walked into the day,
"That's two Hours I'll keep on credit till I fly the other way!"

"praps I'll Spike the hostie's sherry, lie a bit about my years,
make my Toupee super hairy, whisper nothings in her ears,
precious Two hours - how I dread it, yet I've fought off going grey!!
- damn it All I'll quickly shed it if I fly the other way".

2020hindsight
3rd-November-2006, 10:12 PM
Here's one about man's appetite for killing animals (Lex Talionis, A moral discourse)- and the challenge to man to give them a fair fight - like one bullet - a bit like the Deerhunter - but hunting a bear outside its cave.

LEX TALIONIS
Adam Lindsay Gordon.

To beasts of the field, and fowls of the air, and fish of the sea alike,
Man's hand is ever slow to spare, and ever ready to strike;
With a licence to kill, and to work our will, In season by land or by water,
To our heart's content we may take our fill of the joys we derive from slaughter.
.........

Shall we, hard hearted to their fates, thus soft hearted shrink from our own,
when the measure we meet is metred to us, when we reap as we've always sown,
Shall we who for pastime have squandered life, who are styled "the Lords of Creation",
Recoil from our chance of more equal strife , and our risk of retaliation?
....

But you've no remorseful qualms or pangs, When you kneel by the grizzly's lair,
On that conical bulllet your sole chance hangs, 'Tis the weak ones advantage fair,
And the shaggy giant's terrific fangs are ready to crush and tear.
Should you miss, one vision of home and friends, five words of unfinished prayer,
Three savage knife stabs, and so your sport ends
In the worrying grapple that chokes and rends :-
Rare sport, at least, for the bear!"

.......................................
Gee I like those words ;) man being courageous for once. IMHO, part 1 of the poem ends here ... but he continues ... albeit excerpts given below....with some fatalism, and contemplation of a sudden death such as this, ("sunderings " = as in "rent asunder"), and perhaps man "in his blindness" doesn't understand that death is "less bitter" than he imagines - (incidentally Adam Lindsay Gordon finally killed himself with a bullet in a wattle grove, after being duped into believeing he could claim his father's inheritance back in England - and ending up broke) :-

Short shrift! sharp fate! dark doom to dree! (=endure)
Hard struggle though quickly ending!
At home or abroad , by land or sea,
In peace or war, sore trials must be,
And worse may happen to you or to me,
For none are secure and none can flee,
From a destiny impending.

..
Then those who listen to sinking ships
To despairing sobs from their lov'd one's lips,
Where the green wave thus slowly shatters,
May long for the crescent shaped claw that rips
The bison into ribbons and strips
And tears the strong elk to tatters.

Oh ! sunderings short of body and breath !
Oh! 'battle and murder and sudden death!'
Against which the Liturgy preaches;
By the will of a just, yet a merciful Power,
Less bitter, perchance, in the mystic hour,
(When the wings of the shadowy angel lower),
Than man in his blindnes teaches!

2020hindsight
3rd-November-2006, 10:33 PM
from THORA'S SONG
Adam L Gordon

waiting and watching ever, longing and lingering yet
leaves rustle and corn stalks quiver, winds murmur and waters fret,

no answer they bring no greeting, no speech save that sad refrain
no voice save an echo epeating , he cometh not back again

NOTES on ALGORDON 1833 - 1870

I can mimic the man as a writer, though I'm out of my class a a wit
though he'd give me black eyes as a fighter , though a far tougher student of "grit"
and his rhythms uplifting were lighter , and his syllables just seem to knit
and I find to upkeep with the blighter , that I need my infinitives split.

..
a giant of galloping rhymers, a legend of galloping steeds
forgive any awkward firstliners , and forgive him of any misdeeds
a champ of the prince and the peasant , a genius student of creeds
and Plato and Latin texts pleasant , - this planter of poetic seeds.

...
ahh to have half the skill of this master , or a fifth of his poetic brain
or to write as well slower or faster, or just have him around once again,
whilst most quotes like the breakers disperse, or they melt like sea froth in the rain
his bad and his worse and his worst , are beyond the best Ill attain.

from YE WEARY WAYFARER FYTTE VIII

Question not but live and labour, till yon goal be won,
helping every feeble neighbour, seeking help from none
Life is mostly froth and bubble , two things stand like stone
KINDNESS in another's trouble , COURAGE in your own.

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 11:20 AM
Let's change tac here ... On Optimism :-
I have this theory that it's important not to have your expectations set too high :-

MY EXCITING YEAR

Gee but I’ve had an exciting year, Now I’m 12 further months down the track,
The Pis-de-Resistance, the Force-Majeure, Was my compost heap - out the back.
The thing reeks of rhubarb and rotten old peels, And mushing old radish and grubs,
And I have to stand guard cos the neighbour steals , - .. BUT (ha) there’s more in my bathroom tubs.
(Ha, fooled HIM)

Gee but I’ve had an exiting year , With my mild athlete’s foot and my gout,
And my ingrowing toenail that used to grow in , And suddenly chose to grow out.
It’s things like that, right out of the blue , That make life just so worthwhile ;)
And I thank Heaven hourly, yes it’s true , And my toes break into a smile
(now to work on their breath!)

Gee but I’ve had an exciting year , With my waterworks problems mended,
I now use the toilet just once after beer , Before it was “ open-ended”,
The doctor explained “it’s like taps need their washers , And firehoses need their cock..”
The poor bugger standing there wearing galoushes , And me trying hard not to mock.
(taps needing washers indeed lol).

Gee but I’ve had an exciting year , With this book that I read about Russia
The 4000th page was perhaps a bit dreer, And the 5000th went down the flusher,
But all in all t’was a brilliant read, (By the end I needed an usher)
And it’s tripped my desire for travel (and weed), And for snow, and for girls named Natusha.
(well I guess it doesn’t really matter what her name is, as long as she
can say “President thingo” with that sexy accent).

Gee but I’ve had an exciting six months , Since my snoring was finally sorted,
Nights were an endless procession of grunts , And Lord only knows what I snorted.
But now it’s all over I’ve had my neck fixed , And I wear these tight jocks on my fork,
And if that doesn’t work (results are mixed) , Then my wife has this bloody great cork.
(The jocks usually just change up to G minor – we call it the G string).

Gee but Ive had an exciting 6 weeks , Leading into the Festive Season,
My ‘puter’s been swearing in Latin and Greek , And there’s sparks from the top for some reason,
The screw on the back is all stripped and seized , But ;) now I’m only teasin’, -----
I know how to fix a stripped screw ! - in the dark !!
And next year it’s “Strip-Tease-and-Seizin!!”

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 11:50 AM
Folks since we've managed to put on 100 odd posts between us lol, I'm assuming that no-one has gone back to check some of the originals - so I'm reposting this one that Julia posted :-


"Sad Aunt Madge"

As the cold winter evenings drew near
Aunt Madge used to put extra blankets
over the furniture, to keep it warm and cosy.
Mussolini was her lover, and life
was an outoffocus rosy-tinted spectacle.

but neurological experts
with kind blueeyes
and gentle voices
small white hands
and large Rolls Royces
said that electric shock treatment should
dothe trick
it did...

today after 15 years of therepeutic tears
and an awful lot of ratepayers' shillings
down the hospital meter
sad Aunt Madge
no longer tucks up the furniture
before kssing it goodnight
and admits
that her affair with Mussolini
clearly was not right
particularly in the light
of her recently announced engagement
to the late pope."

- Roger McGough

Ignoring the last line about the engagement lol (funny or what) - the fact that they take (TRY to take? - limited success here lol) the "dreams" out of people like Madge. - can't be right surely. (speaking as a potential canditate here - better put my arguments out in the open, before this bit of mental "flue" gets any worse lol, - the doctor just said he's going "straight" out to get me a "jacket" - at least I think that's what they said ?!).

Reminds me of the one about "we do not have the same sense of awe and appreciation and majestic reverance for a rainbow as a native - or a young child - because we understand what causes it, light refraction, all those things we learn about in school. - Sad - We have lost as much as we have gained in the process." :2twocents

Stuff it all ...lets have a fight here, scientists take the red corner, philosophers the rainbow coloured corner!! (why do I think there wont be any takers lol )

PS should I have said "Scientists the black and white corner" maybe? - better watch out here I might find "Faith" lol. - gonna be difficult fighting myself whilst representing both corners - maybe that's the source of all these voices I keep hearing. ;)

Lol - nice to see that Madge still kisses the furniture good night btw, even if it isnt tucked up in covers. ;)

Bronte
4th-November-2006, 11:53 AM
Excellent thread RichKid,
My contribution:

SEA FEVER by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


Submitted to memory many years ago.....
Some great poetry here 2020
Thank You :)

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 01:02 PM
Bronte - the SEA , I love it !! Did a bit of sailing - three yacht trips - here's some verses (again from memory) - let's call em extracts from a poem I wrote that went on for bloody pages - seriously I was stoked at the time - about 6 pages - after sailing from Philippines to Palau - while a typhoon was going from Palau to Philippines lol - spending a few days trying to dodge the thing - in the end we pretty much went through the eye lol - weird, wind coming from East, waves from North etc (i.e. 90 degrees) - things changing so quickly. Incidentally I doubt that much of the following is the actual words I wrote at the time - but when you experience an emotion like that you never forget "the mood" ;)


THE SEA

Out with the wind and a crested sea , Out with the forces wild
Out with the gods that have tested me, So oft since a sawn-off child
Out with the spray and the will to be free, Out with this verse half-compiled, lol
Out with the love of the "verb to be", and to Hell with the lubber's life mild.;)

Flapping of sail and the masthead sigh, And the wail of a tort-stay-note
power unfathomed to landlubbers shy, Power that grips on your throat -
Traces of sky as one gunnel rides high, While the other is thrashing the moat
As it ploughs through the sea, it is do-or-die , And its man against god against boat.

Ahh the moon can look down with her virgin's frown, on the likes of you and me,
She's accused of making some folk fall down, in a "swoon", so refined, "to a tee..."
.........
But ahh the sea, the mighty sea, the ever pregnant sea
that makes love with each tide, like a newly wed bride , and pregnant she ever will be.!!

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 01:42 PM
woops , - forgot which hemisphere, lol. better correct it b4 I'm caught out.
anticlockwise means mmm, lets see , big hand on the three, mmm, and the waves comes from where the wind used to be so - shudda been
"wind from west, waves from north" ;)
PS sometimes the sea is becalmed - has a touch of the doldrums lol - I guess on those occasions she's saying she has a headache - and isn't really interested in love today - still I'd prefer to wait for her mood to pick up, - permitting sail - that to resort to a power boat.;)

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 03:44 PM
THE FORSEEABLE AND THE UNFORSEEABLE FUTURE

I plan to head out across the bar, while the tide is at optimum full,
and to take on THOSE waves, I can see where they are, that are charging in like a bull,
Then....
I'll guess that I'll kick her..., which way? maybe straight?, maybe rips are from windward or lee?
Cos those factors are fickle - I'll have to wait, That's as far as I can foresee.

Way out there there's bound to trial and panic, curry and flurry, why shout it?
And what can we do? you'll just go insanic, why hurry to worry about it?
And most would agree that most of the time, that life's an aggreeable smoocher,
And it's wasted worry to dread the climb to an unforseeable future.

And maybe twill be on a starboard tack and maybe twill be on a port,
But at least and at last I'll hopefull come back, and it won't all have been for naught,
Who knows I might need a week in dry dock, for the odd repair (or a suture),
But..
I'm hopefully strengthened from shake and shock, for the next unforseeable future.

2020hindsight
4th-November-2006, 04:13 PM
THE RAINBOW LASSOO

I have this little question mark that twists my brain around,
It's triggered by a misty park, where drops of rain abound,
Like - why the rainbow isn't tethered pot to elusive pot?
- permitting me to reap wet weathered
- GOLD beyond that hedgerow hethered !
- GOLD beyond my dreams full feathered !!!
SADDLE BAGS ALL BULGING LEATHERED !!!!!
MINE!! ALL MINE !!, THE LOT!!!!!

The leprechauns they laugh they lilt, they steal the rainbows anchors,
(and only if you're free from guilt , you see these gilt-edged bankers)
they much prefer us red and blue , and running in the mist
- and out there with a big lassoo
- and chasing rainbows me and you
- and doing things that madmen do
and shaking clench- ed fist!

- and buying shares in oil and goo
- alternate cries of "Whopp de DO!!"
- and weeping when we're in a stew
I think you get the ghist. ;)

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 12:21 AM
EINSTEIN EXPLAINED IT QUITE SIMPLY.

Newton believed if you sat under apple trees, Apples would fall on your head,
Personally I can relate to that theory, Gladly I’d take it as read.
Einstein went on to say, if one explodes, then E = m times c ‘sqed’,
So .. now I chew apples exceedingly gently, and bunches in treetops I dread.!!

Old Galileo would take up his telescope, Stare at the shadows on Venus,
Calmly predicted the sun was the centre, (inStead of some Pope or his 'genus' **),
[ editors note - ** = those ambivalent about going to heaven can improvise ]
Einstein went on to say - stare out for long enough, Something quite horrid and heinous, the
Back of our heads somehow comes into view, and - Turn around quickly - we’ve seen us!!

Harrison mastered the Royal Naval timepiece, his Clocks milli - second to none,
One twin-son sailor could trip to the tropics, (you Just point the clock to the sun),
Einstein went on to explain in great detail - that Were this twin shot from a gun, then
Speed-of-light-logic decrees when he flew past, his Brother was old but him young!!

I like the idea of fishing, Spin a few yarns and wide tails,
I like to make-believe holding my fishes to Show they were damned nearly whales,
Einstein would have me face forward, (Given the windspeed in gales),
Otherwise fishes would foreshorten speedwise, iMagine elliptical scales !!

Black holes are mean cosmic cannibals, Eating up prodigal suns,
Light rays refuse to escape from their surface, mmm -Much like my burnt raisin buns,
Einstein explained it quite simply, "Teaspoonfuls weigh in the tons",
Denser than rockcakes, - can you imagine it ??! - Crushed by a handful of crumbs!!

Then there’s our old friend Prof Heizenburg, He of uncertainty theory,
States in a nutshell precision in speed means that Place and position get bleary,
That should imply a policeman might cry, even make cycle cops teary!
"Sir you were booked at precisely mack 1.5....Streetname’s been entered as ‘??query’". !!

Hard to imagine how they would have felt, exPlaining to men (stubborn mules!),
After they’d preached of their blackholed, uncertaintized, relative, fringe-dwelling rules,
Can’t you just picture it, Einstein and Herzy, Wobbling around on barstools,
"Audience laughed ven there vasn’t a joke, - Mein Gott!! vott a kreat pack of fools!". ;)

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 12:54 AM
LESSONS FROM THE INMATES OF THE ARK

Teach me (first steps) how to count, teach me ABC,
Teach me M that stands for monkey, how to climb a tree;
-Teach me 'bout the 3 small pigs,
-Warn of wolves and Mr Bigs,
-How to join in playground gigs,
Bullies, friends and me.

Take a tired tardy tortoise, take a boasting hare,
Teach me that a puffed-up chest is just a bag of air;
-Teach me how to persevere,
-Dawn till dusk till goal is clear,
-Humbly face flamboyant sneer,
Bravely face a dare.

Take a slab of sleeping grizzly, take some bullhorns large,
Teach me when to hibernate, teach me when to charge;
-Teach me horse’s flowing manes,
-Over fields where freedom reigns,
-Teach me Clydesdale’s willing chains,
Pulling on a barge.

Teach me porpoise sense of humour, leaping sunlight beams,
Teach me antlike industry to play my part in teams;
-Teach me canine gratitude,
-Cute koala attitude
-Longitude and latitude of
Gum-tip flavoured dreams.

As my education blossoms, teach me ways of dove,
Teach me truth and honesty as seen from up above;
-Teach me to out-fox the beagle,
-Teach me to out-dove the eagle,
-Teach me gentle, teach me regal,
Teach me how to love.

Let me learn to sing with whales, echo-friendly bark,
Teach me twenty thousand tales of inmates of the Ark;
-Let me learn to know them better,
-Whether whale or Irish setter,
- Make “EXTINCT” a silent letter-
Then I’ll disembark.

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 01:00 AM
I'm just posting a few poems here that I have already posted in other threads. Trust that's ok Joe. This is one I wrote after I tried to sell imported solar powered windmills etc (toys) in the 80's - lost a lost of money- the concept was a bit new then - I'm a hopeless salesman lol - but maybe I learnt a better lesson. ;)

THE SUNSHINE SALEMAN

Lady would you like to buy the soul of a sunrise, Chirping from the treetops, yodelling its birth;
Melt in the mellow of its crystal fragrance - Christened with a dewdrop - Guess how much it's worth.
Well....Normally they retail for about ten a penny, Depending on the packaging and somewhat on the style,
But.. mmm. 'Sposing that you promise to embrace it just a moment,
It's yours...for the price of a wakening smile.

Lady can I tempt you with the nectar of a noontime , Listen to the honeybees, busy buzzing by..
"Bright gold sunshine lady, hug yourself an armful , Flowers at your ankles, Fire in the Sky"
Well.. Normally again it is really quite expensive, Litres cost a Lire, and a gallon costs three,
But .. mmm 'Sposing that you promise to look just once skyward,
and Tune in to the laughter.. then its all yours free.

Lady have you watched in the sobbing of a sunset , How Apollo staggers , how his blood spills,
Nestles in his grave in the far horizon , Bitter sweet death in the western hills.
Now.. Best price I can give you on the master's magic - Last rites included - is a dime for two;
But.. mmm 'Sposing on your face I see just one tear of gratitude -
My sale has been rewarded, and that tear will do.

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 01:05 AM
This one also posted elsewhere. I always wanted to say "tone up the E string and tone down the hate" - but as usual there were constraints imposed due to squeezing it into a "few lines of verse". ;)

HOW DO YOU JUDGE

How do you judge a small boy, born in bedlam, and brought up on bullet and bomb,
And forced to take sides since his age 4 or 5, with rebel or junta or com -
how Different from sons who grabbed rusty old guns, and told to report to the Somme?
yet They were our heroes - Aussies or Austrian, Prussian or Polish or Pom?
Empathy mate, he’s a victim of fate,
Teach him guitar 'stead of military gait,
Half a chance gladly, he'd tone down the hate
Gladly swap rifle for song.

How do you judge when a father steals bread, and feeding his child’s his objective,
How do you measure the pain in his head, against some divine law directive,
how Different from coots who wear grey flannel suits, and somehow avoid the detective?,
and Rob us all blind, and yet they can find a loophole from public invective?.
Empathy, friends, for the child must be fed,
Half a chance, gladly, he's elsewhere instead,
Tolerance, friends, the alternative's ‘dead ‘
and Hunger is hardly elective.

How do you judge an old man wearing rags, who reckons he lived to the letter,
Alternative place or alternative race, it all could have been so much better,
Alternative time he’d be getting by fine, instead he’s a vagrant and debtor,
how Different from chaps where the dice won perhaps? - but dice have made him a regretter.
Half a chance gladly he’d rise from the mud,
Guilty but huge mitigations m’lud,
Empathy - there but for fortune’s my blood (brother)
Him wearing rags, me jet setter.

What do we do with this empathy savoured, and tolerance practiced in kind?
Live 20 lives which are various-flavoured, and give twice the kindness you find,
Only so much that one mortal can do - even one kindness-inclined,
Only so much - but a thought born of fairness will help keep your goalposts aligned -
Follow the truth (and on this never budge)
Constantly giving your conscience a nudge,
Walk a brief mile in his shoes, don't prejudge, (and let)
Prejudice wither on vine.

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 01:37 AM
Rather than continue to "repost" poems already here on other threads - here's a new one - light hearted for a change ;) (I should add - they don't come any lighter than this lol)

THE X-RATED GOSSIP MAGAZINE

there's this Mag that they sell at the Best and Less, X-Rated and full of hot gossip,
but Y one would buy it is anyone's guess, I'd rather play poker or tossup!
"what Happens in back seats"; "Madonna with big teats", and "Harry caught kissing the cooks",
please Lord, will the tell us, the reason they sell us, these Twisted excuses for books!

I Read just one story, half love yarn, half war-y, and Three-quarteres sad soapie serial,
he Kissed her, he pissed her off, then it got gory, now Ain't that just front page material !
he Fed 'er on stir fried, and bed er on Smerfhide, he Lead 'er on something quite shameless,
and Julia roberts has a "habit" with hobbits, and - She was so totally blameless!

this Mag's monthly feature - some lessons to teach ya - "have Sex on a sixty foot swing" !
one Problem, uncanny, if you fall on your fanny, it Loses a bit of its zing!
and Features on lost love, and creatures who lust love, and Filmstars caught bonking in trees,
and Liz takes here chance with her eighteenth romance, and Britney plays rabbit for cheese.

the Centrepage folds out - with "Tom Cruise just holes out, with new girlfriend Miss "such-and such"
and There's sweet Nicole at the Hollywood Bowl, all gift-wrapped with bows round her crutch, -
each Cameraman fights for exclusive first rights, to a Weekend of snipering royals,
a Pat for red setter, he met her, he let her, - and, ooops, now she's sporting these boils.

the Pages are usual-ly filthy from prying, from fingers of curious wowsers,
too Stingy to offer to actual buying both Petrol and "goss" "at the bowsers";
"bill's Marriage has split up"; "some Stage girl's ass lit up"; and "Tommy Jones straddling his wife",
the Sleeze they could edit out- she-Said-it, he let-it-out, C'Mon there lads - please .. "GET A LIFE!"

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 01:43 AM
Finally one about discipline! and today's disobedient kids! and electric eels !! - (those things used for unbocking sewer pipes) ;)

CORN KERNELS FOR THE COLONEL

i’ve Just come from wrestling an electric eel
down the Side where the loo flush goes
it’s One of those jobs where you work by feel
with a Peg on the end of your nose
then you Wash your hand – and you wash your hands –
And then, after you burn you clothes,
then you Wash em again – and again – and again,
Then? You wash em again I suppose.

now to Recap slightly, when I was a lad
i was Forced to eat my corn,
and to Chew it up well, or my folks got mad,
and it Couldn’t be thrown on the lawn,
and if Needs be – DISCIPLINE such as it was -
i was Locked in the loo till I ate it
so i Ate it all up, as much as it was
(though i Still close my eyes and hate it).

my unDisciplined kids have been told “CHEW YOUR CORN”
yet – There, floating past, today,
was a Grain pristine as the day it was born
not Chewed – not any which way –
so NOW, there’s a RULE – and Im gonna be strict !!
that i Stand and inspect at the drain
and if ANY darned grain flushes by intact
They can damned-well chew it again !!

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 02:16 AM
TYPICAL OLD FASHIONED LOVE AFFAIR - 16th CENTRURY.

they Met in their teens when the world was green, and their Heads were impetuous yet,
and the Sad forebodings to them unseen, of Montague and Capulet,
and it Grew from fling to zing to keen, to Flames of eternal debt,
till those Flaming brothers intervene, on behalf of the the Gang and the Jet.

at Threat from the mother, of pain to the other, they Parted reluctant sad,
one Day had elapsed - how they missed one another, to a frenzy bordering mad!!,
"THIS SHOULDER", he pleaded to bullying brothers, "CUT IT OFF!! if you so abhore them !!
for it's Wet from her teardrops cried in her blubbering, Sobs - and I ADORE THEM!"

"Cut off my hands!" he insisted again, for they Only want to mould her!
"Cut off my arms!" while I'm locked in this den, for they only want to enfold her!,
"CUT OUT MINE EYES!! poor excuses of men, for they only want to behold her,
"and Do it all now in preference to then - 'fore I Get another hour older."

.............
Well.. she Pictured it all in her fair young mind , that he'd Been severely reduced,
Legless, shoulderless, armless, blind - and she'd STILL NOT been seduced !!
"Poison me brothers!", she said to her kin -.... "ahhh Give that cup here you great NONG!"
then she gulped it - twas real !! - the poison went in !!,
THEN ...the trick knife didn't go "sprong" !!!!!.

Bleeding and pleading and dying and dead, pitied and sorely shaken up,
her Last dying gasp as he leant o'er her bed..
............."Today too late I have waken up"
"Of COURSE they were right !! I now confess, when they Said it would all end in strife,
and i TRIED to tell you - but oh NOOO, you knew best!!....Bloody men, bloody mess, bloody life.!!"

After which ...HE leant back, bellowed "HELL WITH THE REST, SAINT PETER!! who needs formal wife!!
Please mate - best honeymoon suite - two guests!!!" ,
......... and he plunged in his heart with his knife. ;)

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 05:56 PM
One for the forthcoming Ashes matches - apologies it's a bit long, but difficult to drop off any verses without losing the plot - (the doctor sez I lost the plot a long time ago) ;)

JIMMY AND THE BULL (TEQUILA MOCKING BULL)

young Jimmy Bean was third bat for the local cricket team, and When he put on baggy hat, he’d always rise like cream,
and When he took the field he’d turn a nightmare to a dream, a Little overfull of self-esteem - ……
but…Want some action ? – call for Jimmy Bean.!

now Tommy Sly had been twelfth man for 13 years or more, he’d Tired of bringing drinks out for that tiresome-stuffed-shirt-bore,
he’d Tired of faking niceties with ever-grinning jaw, but Tommy knew of Jim’s Achille’s flaw – ….
as Two-pot-screamers went, he'd win for sure !

when Chance came he was ready, how revenge would taste so sweet, he Waited till young Jimmy was full thirsty from the heat,
he Knew that Jimmy loved to gulp the icy liquid treat -… he Filled the bottle with tequila neat,
..........and Watched and waited from his ringside seat.

young Jim was none the wiser as he took a giant sip, he Drained the bottle ultra dry, and licked the final drip,
“that Water’s something elsh, my boy”, he slurred his final quip, and Tommy grinned and bit his upper lip;…..
“I strangely feel I'm on Safari trip”.!!

in Midst of pinkish elephants, he cursed and shook his head, “the Sights you see in Summer ! – must’ve fallen outta bed! ”
and draggng bat, he took the field, his eyeballs flashing red, “oK schaps, lesh resume the mash”, he said,….
“so Led err rippp!!” :silly: - and in the bowler sped.

as Ball came zooming into sight, tequila took control, he Suddenly wore Spanish tights in some weird Bullfight role,
and instantly his hanky changed to Matador’s red stole!! he Cried “OLE” and whirled his cloak with soul -…..
and Wickets smashed as redball took its toll.

a Burping hiccup bubbled up and, staring bleary-eyed, the Laughing fielders doubled up with chuckles he espied.
and No way any Matador could tolerate his pride, so Trampled on – He took a giant stride,……
and Kicked the nearest fielder up the Clyde.

“now Hang orn, thatt's nort cricket!!” said the umpire with a pout, “and Furthermore, when bails come orrff you’re very clarely out!!”;
“ahh – Don’t tork bulldust” said young Jim “Thas not what itsh about !!
"There’s bludy BULLS man, BIG ONES all about!!
This calls for men of courage – hearts of Stout!!!”

...............
It Happened that a Brahman bull escaped that very day, and Wandered to the cricket pitch and into Jimmy’s fray,
and Half the fielders soiled their pants, and some went instant grey, and as the other players ran to pray ,
DEFIANTLY, ALONE JIM YELLED .... “OLE!!!”

the Bull caught sight of Jim’s mad stare, and hanky in the sun, and Clawing dust returned the dare, and snorted like a gun,
and Rounded on this Don Quixote with his 20 ton, and Thundered down the bowler’s starting run, !!
and Thundered down the 20 yards as one. !!

With head like charf, and legs like mince, and feeling not one pain, Jim Sidestepped unconvincingly, as steed went past like train,
and Poked it with a wicket when it charged in yet again, and yet again “take that , and that", yelled “touché” with each feign
and finally the poor ole bull it did a hamstring strain, and Finally ….it chose to just - abstain……..,
“next Time” it puffed “I’ll pick on someone sane”!.

from Safe-enclosured clubhouse floor, high in the Member’s stand, the Other teammates watched in awe at Jimmy’s efforts grand,
and Now he’s hailed as hero for his mighty courage gland, and No more bulls nor “Cloud Nine Cuckoo Land”,….
and Neat tequila’s definitely banned.

at Day’s end Jim knew little – just one God Almighty blurr, the Pitch was deeply furrowed and the whole thing strewn with fur,
but Jimmy argued gallantly a case of “Force Majeure”, and Next week they resumed at “where-we-were” ….
that Drink’s-break – when young Jim began to slur.

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 07:34 PM
ALCOHOL vs ADRENALIN

Thoughts on Jimmy's courage :-
1. Courage is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue that it is always respected, even when it is associated with vice - Samual Johnson 1709-1784(or drunken stupidity in Jimmys case ;) )
2. The more wit, the less courage. - Thomas Fuller 1608 - 1661 (someone once told me that the best I could hope for was 50-50, i.e. half-courage, and half-wit.)
3. Courage is walking naked through a cannibal village - Leonard Louis Levinson - (whereas a half wit walks fully clothed into a shower).
4. The nation had the lion's heart. I had the luck to give the roar. - Winston Churchill. (and he was pissed a lot of the time ;)) - imho sir. - sorry irrelevant and irreverant ;)
5. In the following, Gordon compares two types of courage, one from the stimulant of the bottle, one from the stimulant of the "saddle tree" (I would say a comparison of alcohol vs adrenelin :- the second you like to remember - the first you strictly cant forget because you cant bludy remember it in the first place !!) :-

on Booze vs Exhileration :-
from YE WEARY WAYFARER, FYTTE III
A Treatise on the Vine Tree vs the Saddle Tree. - Adam Lindsay GORDON

I reMember some words my father said, when I was an urchin vain,
god Rest rest his soul in his narrow bed, these ten long years have 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 a gallant horse, what he never would dare alone,
beCause he exults in a borrowed force, and a hardihood not his own.

and it May be so, yet this difference lies 'twixt the vine and the saddle-tree,
the Spurious courage that drink supplies, sets our baser passions free,
but the Stumulant which the horseman feels when he gallops fast and straight,
to his Better nature most appeals and charity conquers fate.

as the Kindly sunshine thaws the snow, even malice and spite will yield
we could Almost welcome our mortal foe, in the saddle by flood and field
..........
now Tell me for once old horse of mine grazing round me loose and free,
does your Ancient equine heart repine for a burst of such companie...

2020hindsight
5th-November-2006, 10:11 PM
THE HORSE's PERSPECTIVE !!
How strongly can I recommend you read this poem. ? let's just say it is a classic - the horse's perspective of a cavalry charge. !! ;)
"And there may be more links ’twixt the horse and his rider
Than ever your shallow philosophy guess’d. "

Herewith some excerpts :-
http://whitewolf.newcastle.edu.au/words/authors/G/GordonAdamLindsay/verse/SeaSpraySmokeDrift/kettledrum.html

LAY OF THE LAST CHARGER (A.L, Gordon)

one Line of swart profiles and bearded lips dressing,
one Ridge of bright helmets, one crest of fair plumes,
one Streak of blue sword-blades all bared for the fleshing,
one Row of red nostrils that scent battle-fumes.
........

One was there leading by nearly a rood,
Though we were racing he kept to the fore,
Still as a rock in his stirrups he stood,
High in the sunlight his sabre he bore.

Suddenly tottering, backwards he crash’d,
Loudly his helm right in front of us rung;
Iron hoofs thunder’d, and naked steel flash’d
Over him—youngest, where many were young
..........

our Numbers were few, and our loss far from small,
they could Fight, and, besides, they were twenty to one;
we were Clear of them all when we heard the recall,
and Thus we returned, but my tale is not done.

for the Hand of my rider felt strange on my bit,
he Breathed once or twice like one partially choked,
and Sway’d in his seat, then I knew he was hit;—
he Must have bled fast, for my withers were soak’d,

and Scarcely an inch of my housing was dry;
i Slacken’d my speed, yet I never quite stopp’d,
ere he Patted my neck, said, “Old fellow, good-bye!”
and Dropp’d off me gently, and lay where he dropp’d!

ah, Me! after all, they may call us dumb creatures—
i Tried hard to neigh, but the sobs took my breath,
yet i Guess’d gazing down at those still, quiet features,
he was Never more happy in life than in death.

..........
scoff, Man! egotistical, proud, unobservant,
since I with man’s grief dare to sympathise thus;
why Scoff?—fellow-creature I am, fellow-servant
of God, can man fathom God’s dealings with us?

the Wide gulf that parts us may yet be no wider
than That which parts you from some being more blest;
and there May be more links ’twixt the horse and his rider
than Ever your shallow philosophy guess’d.

you are Proud of your power, and vain of your courage,
and your Blood, Anglo-Saxon, or Norman, or Celt;
though your Gifts you extol, and our gifts you disparage,
your Perils, your pleasures, your sorrows we’ve felt.

we, Too, sprung from mares of the prophet of Mecca,
and Nursed on the pride that was born with the milk,
and Filtered through “Crucifix”, “Beeswing”, “Rebecca”,
we Love sheen of scarlet and shimmer of silk.

we, Too, sprung from loins of the Ishmaelite stallions,
we Glory in daring that dies or prevails;
from ’Counter of squadrons, and crash of battalions,
to Rending of blackthorns, and rattle of rails.

in All strife where courage is tested, and power,
from the Meet on the hill-side, the horn-blast, the find,
the Burst, the long gallop that seems to devour
the Champaign, all obstacles flinging behind,

to the Cheer and the clarion, the war-music blended
with War-cry, the furious dash at the foe,
the Terrible shock, the recoil, and the splendid
bare Sword, flashing blue, rising red from the blow.

..............
did he See? could he feel through the faintness, the numbness,
while Linger’d the spirit half-loosed from the clay,
dumb Eyes seeking his in their piteous dumbness,
dumb Quivering nostrils, too stricken to neigh?

and What then? the colours reversed, the drums muffled,
the Black nodding plumes, the dead march and the pall,
the Stern faces, soldier-like, silent, unruffled,
the Slow sacred music that floats over all!

......

it May be,—we follow, and though we inherit
our Strength for a season, our pride for a span,
say! Vanity are they? vexation of spirit?
not So, since they serve for a time horse and man.

they Serve for a time, and they make life worth living,
in Spite of life’s troubles—’tis vain to despond;
oh, Man! WE at least, WE enjoy, with thanksgiving,
god’s Gifts on this earth, though we look not beyond.

you Sin, and you suffer, and we, too, find sorrow,
perChance through your sin—yet it soon will be o’er;
we Labour to-day, and we slumber to-morrow,
strong Horse and bold rider!—and who knoweth more?

insider
6th-November-2006, 12:28 AM
Beans BEans they're good for your heart
the more you eat the more you fart

CHARMING ;)

insider
6th-November-2006, 12:34 AM
You can try different variations...

shares shares they're good for your heart
the more you buy the more you fart :p:

2020hindsight
6th-November-2006, 12:43 PM
Beans BEans they're good for your heart
the more you eat the more you fart CHARMING ;)
Lol, vitamin F mate - works a charm.

FOOD for ACNE and ZULUS.

If we read what we're pitched, food is protein-enriched
So we'll flatten our feeble opponents,
And its only a matter - without getting fatter -
(and planning and forethought - and fish without batter)
of feeding our fragment components.

Once a vitamin A kept my acne at bay
now a B helps my back in romance,
and a vitamin C keeps me calmly carefree
- but a D makes me drop all and dance.
And a vitamin E keeps my eyelids goo-free
and an F keeps be flatulent - frugal,
and a G helps my golf, helps my hipsters revolfe,
And an H helps me swim like Geoff Hugal.

And a J keeps the jetpropelled motor in tune,
and a K keeps me kool under stress,
and the L lets me love neath the ivory moon
till the Missus's makeup's a mess.
For the Potion of life is a passionate wife,
and a Quid for each time that I've said it,
and a vitamin T is the tonic we see,
(assuming no crosseyes and sobriety)
when we wink to each other - on credit.

And if that doesn't work, then Viagras the lurk
As the smiling results are attested.
Or - there's one final lulu - that's used by the Zulu,
(they sell it in drums called "labido refueloo")
(it's made from the bladders of warthog and mooloo)
[editor's note:...large herbivore, moos, rhymes with zulu]
(it was much in demand by those men who play "pu-loo"
[editor's note:...snobbish game played on horses,ditto]
...
but careful, you might be arrested.

2020hindsight
6th-November-2006, 09:30 PM
I don't know if you remember, but the latest war on Iraq was announced just b4 the Daylight saving weekend, 2003. - when the clocks are wound back 1 hour. Like, we live the same 60 minutes twice. (like in the autumn/fall - as in "Spring forward, Fall back").

THE HOUR OF WISDOM

What did you do with THAT hour, my friend
That they granted us all last night?
The "lonnng" weekend that they give us each year
When they tell us the clocks just aren't right?
Well, me, I dreamt me a word : "de-ja-vise"
Its a mixture of de, ja, and vu,
And the verb to be, and the will to be wise,
And the skill to revise in review.

So at 2am Mickey's big hand is wound back
And a full 60 minutes is turned,
And I dreamt the next hour, every thought intact,
Cos I'd done it before and I'd learned.
- Like at 1.15a the first time round,
I stood on a floorboard that creaked
So at 1.15b, there was no single sound,
- I knew where to tread cos Id peaked.

And at 1.20a I took the left road,
And at 1.20b took the right,
And at 1.30a I found myself lost,
And at 1.30b saw the light.
And at 1.40a the words came out wrong,
And at 1.40b they were kinder,
And in all "second takes" I rewrote my mistakes,
Where I’d tied up my thumb as reminder.

With this power, we get it so right, my friend
So different when second guessed,
But the word only lasted THAT hour, my friend
And I’m back in confusion confessed.
There was just one more - they were closing the door
On my dream that was turning to smoke,
Cos with one second more - someone started a war,
And the second time round,
...I just cant be sure,
...Did they do it again, please please I implore,
Noooooooooooo, my wisdom was gone
....I awoke.

PS It was only "Fall" for Sth hemishere - maybe USA didnt have the luxury of such a hour of wisdom. :confused:

123enen
6th-November-2006, 09:44 PM
Found this on the web. Written by a 14 year old girl.


"HI, my name is Cortney Creamer. I live in Mansfeld Ohio. I am 14. Here is a poem I wrote.

Was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
And to see just who in this home did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight I did see
No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the mantle just boots filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds.
A sober thought came through my mind.

For this house was the home of a soldier.

once i could see clearly, the soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
the face was so gentle, the room in such disorder
not how i pictured the home of a soldier.

was this the hero of whom i'd just read?
curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that i saw this night
owed their lives to these soldiers all willing to fight.

soon, round the world the children would play
and grownups would celebrate a bright christmas day.
they all enjoyed freedom each month of the year
because of the soldiers like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold christmas in a land far from home.
the very thought brought a tear to my eye
i dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and i heard a rough voice,
"santa don't cry, this life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, i don't ask for more
my life is my god, my country, my corps.
the soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep
I couldn't control it, i continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still
and we both shivered from the night's cold chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.

then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure whispered, "carry on santa, it's christmas day: all is secure.
"one look at my watch and i knew he was right.
"merry christmas my friend and to all a good night.""

2020hindsight
6th-November-2006, 11:46 PM
Found this on the web. Written by a 14 year old girl.

Gr8 poem 123 - I think I'd add the word "allegedly" written by 14 yr old.

Why do I think probably older? 15 at least lol?
words like "corps" - of course tieing Santa to recognition of the military ... mmm incrediblly politically savvy kid lol.

eg "I fight for freedom, i don't ask for more
my life is my god, my country, my corps."

BUT I'd prefer not to be the one to get political on this thread tho:)
We've gotta try to keep at least one thread around here neutral to that sorta thing.
Gr8 poem mate - lets assume 14 yr old, and very patriotic - as kids tend to be in USA. - Not much different to CJ Dennis's "Digger Smith" - and soldiers who returned home from WWI to live a reclusive life. (poor bugas - we owe em bigtime) post #49 :-

"But there was debts we can't repay
Piled up on us one single day --
When that first list come out.
There ain't no way to pay that debt.
Do wot we can - there's somethin' yet"

PS wierd isn't it - If that poem had started "my name is charlie and I live in Bourke" then I probably wouldnt have challenged it as I did - what is it about US credibility at the moment? - I probably owe that kid from Ohio an apology :(

2020hindsight
7th-November-2006, 12:44 AM
seriously trivial cra* this one ;) - but then again maybe some housewife out there can empathise with this poor chicken lol.

MOTIVES OF ROAD CROSSING CHICKENS

Why did the chicken cross over that road? There's one I've pondered before -
Can't recall what the right answer was then, Sure that I'm still quite unsure.
Maybe a poem can discover the cause, Sprawling in wild speculation;
Superimpose some old jaywalking laws, Cross-refer chicken migration.

Easiest answer is this side's pecked out, There it's much greener and wormier;
Lacking such evidence this is in doubt, Why not adventurous journeyer?
Praps it's a call from a far distant friend, Drives on each homesickened leg;
Praps in her henhood her heart needs to mend, Henhood regression to egg.

Praps she's rebelled, tired of munching on meal, Spitting out eggs in some hut;
'Part from the fact that it drains all her zeal, Eggs are a pain in the butt.
Praps she read somewhere that traveled minds broaden, Gain almost mystic dimension;
Praps she's discovered some gap in the cordon, Praps pure escape's her intention.

Praps she's just itchin' to leap from some kitchen bench, Worldly ways make worldly wise;
Praps its an eyeful of Eiffel inspires her, That and a hundred odd spires.
Praps she's just tired of a life passing by, like Trucks on a long endless run;
Beethoven had just one UNfinished symphony, She's now Hell bent to have none.

Who knows "the why" in that small chicken breast, Prancing on drumsticks like Sherpas?
But ..
Certain I am that its genesis rests in some Fowl :cool: or impeckable :) purpose.

2020hindsight
7th-November-2006, 09:34 PM
GOLD BLUDY FEVER

Johnny found a gold pan , lying near a stream,
Johnny shook some mud around & thought he saw a gleam,
Pulse became a Latin dance and life a grinning dream,
Since then Johnny's featured in a mental health scheme.!! -
Double check the barricades and lock the little lever,
Johnny's gotta bad case of gold bludy fever.

Billy found a slot machine and stuck in twenty cents
Watched eleven little lemons line up like a fence
Coin-tray just kept overflowing, even filled the Gents,
Billy got a funny look… - then popped his common sense !!-
Straight jacket over here, he's singing like a diva,
Here's another case of the gold bludy fever.

Dave and missus found a seat be-side the roulette table
"Check out all the colours here!" he said to his Mabel,
Put on all his chips like a tower of bludy Babel, and
THAT's where it landed! - and they all became unstable.!!
Tie em up with two inch rope and hide the meat cleaver,
Two more blatant cases of the gold bludy fever.

Molly found a ticket in a lot-to draw,
Headed home and kicked the TV, guess what sight she saw?,
There were all her numbers rolling out the little door,
Now she's in a home crying "MORE MORE MORE!!"
Pick up any telephone and tell the nice receiver,
”GIVE A BLUDY MISS TO THE GOLD BLUDY FEVER".

Get a dose of common cold, lasts about a week,
Get a dose of flu' you'll find you're temporary "meek",
But get the ole gold fever, you'll go madder than a Shiek,
And then it's all downhill my friend, you're past your bludy peak.!!
Work from nine to five my friend, like eager bludy beaver,
Forget the bludy gold or you'll catch its bludy fever.

2020hindsight
7th-November-2006, 10:04 PM
TRICKS I PICKED UP AT THE BOOKSHOP

Once at the bookshop I spied a wee book - "How to get wealthy - Please buy it"
Nothing to lose so I took a wee look - Spasms took hold and my ears and nose shook, Hip-pocket nerve just came right off the hook ,
Cross-eyed I yelled out " I'LL TRY IT !!".

Next morning early I jumped out of bed, with Gold pan and ripe for adventures
Ran to some creek where some local path lead , Swirled the pan twice and then threw back my head , "Gold EVRYwhere !!!... woops - forget what I said" ,
There staring back were my dentures...

Tried the casino (I'd practiced my dice) , Craps table onslaught my plan,
Thought to myself well a 6 would be nice , Shane-Warne-like runup with spin should suffice , After I'd leg-breaked three chairs, then two vice
squad and , Bouncers appeared - and I ran.

Next door had bandits (one armed) like a zoo , (no members badge so I made up one)
Found me a lever, said "this one will do" , Lemons went blurring past, oranges too , No coins came out so I staged a small coup,
Half-nelson tortured, it paid up one.

Walking back homeward I found me a school , Held on some Sundays on corners
Some call it "Two-up" - all male as a rule , Someone said "throw the coins skyward you fool" , Heaved , and they landed in some neighbour's pool,
I Left them all looking like mourners.

Ready to give up, I found some old shares, Thrown out - some company was folding ;
Went to the board meeting , one of three there , Someone elected me GM and Chair , Next day they struck oil god-Only-knows-where ,
Four million bucks I was holding. !!

so…..Now I am writing my own book (or three) , "How to get wealthy - I did it"
..."Carefully constructed, this book holds the Key, Follow the wisdom and rules to a tee".. (Some say that luck played a small part for me ,
- But don't expect me to admit it.) ;)

2020hindsight
8th-November-2006, 08:34 PM
SEVEN DAYS TO MAKE IT, SEVEN DAYS TO BREAK IT.

On Monday I woke to a world of “green”
And I walked in a forest grand,
And the trees were as tall as I’d ever seen,
So I felled the whole lot with one hand;

On Tuesday I thought about CO2,
But the weather was too damned hot,
So I sat in my airconditioned zoo,
And I revved ‘em for all that they’ve got;

On Wednesday I looked at my acres of dust,
and my bores and my roots and my toil,
But I must've screwed up cos a salty crust
was killing my rooted soil.

On Thursday I drove in my 5 litre bus,
Cos there’s plenty of oil!! – it’s my turn !!
And the birds can get plastered with thick black pus,
And so what if the oilwells burn;

On Friday I didn’t recycle because
I treated it all as a joke…….
And on Saturday, Hell, the wheels fell off,
And on Sunday ……it went up in smoke.

2020hindsight
8th-November-2006, 09:10 PM
THE QUANDARY OF THE SILENT TREE IN THE FOREST,

if a “Tree should fall” in some far off sprawl,
was a Sound made unless it was heard??
if I live, deaf and dumb, in the bush unsawn,
do I Sing my songs undeterred,
and if Song to be sung isn’t heard to be sung,
is it Song or merely mime?
and if Mime isn’t seen, is it mime or dream,
and if Dream, is it mine or thine??

2020hindsight
8th-November-2006, 09:41 PM
REUNION OF MANKIND

supPosin’ you found a Blarney stone, that granted one wish if you ask
like a Gifted year on permanent loan , and nothin too great a task,
I Wonder which option of thousands we’d choose , and if Bronze or silver or gold
or Affairs of the heart or courage or booze, or Whether it’s humble or bold.

a Family reunion is one thought that comes , to Mind – coz it matters to me
and my Granfathers’ dads and my grandmothers’ mums , and Back through the family tree,
and Each little branch and leaf and twig , and Paleozoan “thing”
and Peasant and pauper and pirate and prig , and Kinsman and knight and King.

for my Grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather’s dad , was a Grandson himself in his day,
and I’m Sure that he finds it a wee bit sad , that he Didn’t meet us on the way,
so we’d Give him a place at the head (near the men’s) , with a Big stick to bang on the ground
and a Hearing aid maybe and bifocal lens , and a Map of the world that is round.

and we’ll Roll the dice for a year long since gone , and the Theme would regress to suit
but the Gallery of offspring would still tag along , and could Watch to discuss and to “root”
“good to Meet you old man”, “take a seat here near Gran” , “what an honour madam to shake hands”
“wow the Same nose and chin”, “why, hellooo Gunga Din”, “my-o My ! – from so many far lands”.

and we’d Chat on regardless for months at a time , and of Things that we’d learnt from life
with Grandpa Neandathol learning to mime , and Promising “me no club wife”,
and Attillah the Hun would be served only “lights” , and he’d Grin at his varied descendants
with some Businessmen there mid the fiercest fights , and some Nun’s here adjusting their pendants.

yep I Reckon I’d really enjoy such a year , if my Wish could come true as described
but withOut it I’ll just have to smile through my beer , and to Talk to my “fellow-imbibed”
and to Listen to strangers and people I meet , - no Help from such kind wishing wells
and in Any case, .....;)
Hell, the “man in the street” , is Probably one of my rels!!!. :)

(SURE to be one of my rels, more like, lol)
PS Everything's relative as they say.
Where I come from everyone's a relative as well.
Go to family reunions to pick up chicks lol.

2020hindsight
8th-November-2006, 11:14 PM
ADVICE TO AN HEIR TO FICKLE FORTUNE

Son I recall a good year maybe two -you were just a child at my knee
and the land that we see which Ill give to you is the same that was given to me
In those years my boy we'd just fenced the back paddock with gum posts and strained the barbed wire
But then son no sooner we laid down the mattock - than that was the year of the fire.

Son I recall when we built the top shed, and we'd spent all our funds on planting
The sun got so hot that the calves dropped dead, and the dogs just sat around panting
We watched as the shoots came up and then wilted, and fell back as infants slain
And that was the year that the billabong silted, and the first of ten without rain.

Son I must leave now, good luck on this plot, just bury me, six feet of toil
Near where my father was laid to rot, though his soul lives on in this soil
The year that he died son, the rainclouds went mad, and wept till the land became mud
And it kept on raining till good turns bad - and that was the year of the flood.

Son I must leave now, good luck on this plot, I hope it gets kinder with time
Son dont forget that the sheep must be shot, when the salty ground looks like lime
Son dont forget that the first sign of strife is dead trees - like those over there -
And son, for God's sake - though it costs you your life - dont pass to your son to bear.

....
son, make a vow on the kiss of your wife ...dont pass to your son and heir.

2020hindsight
9th-November-2006, 07:18 PM
http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/j/joseph15191/pharaosdreamexplained406661.html
Speaking of biblical predictions of drought durations etc...and of course the grasshopper mentality of preparing for it.
When you sing this you have to impersonate Elvis - Hencewise (I guess?) it's titled the Song of the King ;)

SONG OF THE KING (to JOSEPH)

Well I was wandering along by the banks of the river - When seven fat cows came up out of the Nile, uh-huh
And right behind these fine healthy animals came - Seven other cows, skinny and vile, uh-huh
Well the thin cows ate the fat cows which I - Thought would do them good, uh-huh
But it didn't make them fatter like such - A monster supper should
Well the thin cows were as thin - As they had ever, ever, ever been
.....
Well this dream has got me baffled - Hey, Joseph, won't you tell me what it means?
Well you know that kings ain't stupid - But I don't have a clue
So don't be cruel Joseph - Help me I beg of you

Well I was standing doing nothing in a field out of town - When I saw seven beautiful ears of corn, uh-huh
They were ripe, they were golden and - You've guessed it, Right behind them came seven other ears, Tattered and torn, uh-huh -
Well the bad corn ate the good corn - They came up from behind yes they did
Now Joseph here's the punch line - It's really gonna blow your mind, baby -
Well the bad corn was as bad as it had ever, ever ever been -
....
Well this dream has got me all shook up - Treat me nice and tell me what it means....
Hey, hey, hey Joseph !!!!
Won't you tell poor old Pharaoh !!!!
What does this crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy dream mean?
Oh, yeah


PHARAO's DREAM EXPLAINED (JOSEPH)

Seven years of bumper crops are on their way - Years of plenty, endless wheat and tons of hay
Your farms will boom, there won't be room - To store the surplus food you grow
After that, the future doesn't look so bright - Egypt's luck will change completely overnight
And famine's hand will stalk the land - With food an all-time low
Noble king, there is no doubt - What your dreams are all about
All these things you saw in your pajamas - Are a long range forecast for your farmers
And I'm sure it's crossed your mind -What it is you have to find
Find a man to lead you through the famine - With a flair for economic planning
But who this man could be
I just don't know - Who this man could be
I just don't know - Who this man could be
I just don't know

2020hindsight
9th-November-2006, 09:17 PM
THE PERSON WHO NEVER MADE A MISTAKE

they Call him the guy immune from mistakes, he's one of the brightest of men,
he Watches his wife as she irons and bakes , and scalds her hand yet again,
"how Stupid" he said to her "I don't come close, to even the slightest burn!!"
so she Tied his leg to the ironing board post, and told him politely "YOUR TURN!"

i've Paid for the right (though through different toil ;)), to make my share of mistakes
and for Every gold ounce (or barrell of oil) I dug up a mountain of fakes
and so Many live castle-bound, drawbridge-raised, and hope it will all "go away",
and they Fear a decision and easily phased, with the risk of it going "a-gley".

and the Man who never made one mistake, made NAUGHT (or somehow deferred em),
or the Poli that never lost one debate, it's prob'ly cos no-one heard em,
- there's No-one who erred not once in his life,
- be it Staunch theologian - or surgeon with knife
- be it Howard or Blair ....
......... or Dubya's wife!!
reductio ad absurdum.

2020hindsight
9th-November-2006, 11:01 PM
Andrew Lloyd Webber . You hear the songs - they are brilliant in themselves!! - the words are also magic ;)
As for the second poem "past the point of no return" - I'd say even Lord Byron never got close to this sorta passion lol. ;)

PS When they bring the Phantom to Sydney, at least we'll have enough in the budget to get the poor ole Phantom a full mask and not just a half like he had to make do with in Melbourne ;)l


WISHING YOU WERE SOMEHOW HERE AGAIN - (Lloyd Webber)

You were once my one companion . . .you were all that mattered . . .
You were once a friend and father - then my world was shattered . . .

Wishing you were somehow here again . . .wishing you were somehow near . . .
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here . . .

Wishing I could hear your voice again . . .knowing that I never would . . .
Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could . . .

Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental,
seem, for you, the wrong companions - you were warm and gentle . . .
Too many years, fighting back tears . . .Why can't the past just die . . .?

Wishing you were somehow here again . . .knowing we must say goodbye . . .
Try to forgive . . .teach me to live . . .give me the strength to try . . .

No more memories, no more silent tears . . .No more gazing across the wasted years . . .
Help me say goodbye

http://www.lyricsdownload.com/webber-andrew-lloyd-the-point-of-no-return-lyrics.html
PAST THE POINT OF NO RETURN (ditto)
PHANTOM:-...

Past the point of no return - no backward glances:
the games we've played till now are at an end...
Past all thought of "if" or "when" - no use resisting:
abandon thought and let the dream descend...

What raging fire shall flood the soul?
which rich desire unlocks its door?
What sweet seduction lies before us...?

Past the point of no return, the final threshold -
what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?
Beyond the point of no return...

CHRISTINE
You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,
to that moment where speech disappears into silence,
silence...

I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why...
In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining,
defenceless and silent - and now I am here with you:
no second thoughts, I've decided, decided...

Past the point of no return - no going back now:
our passion-play has now, at last begun...
Past all thought of right or wrong - one final question:
how long should we two wait, before we're one...?

When will the blood begin to race,
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?
When will the flames, at last consume us...?

BOTH
Past the point of no return, the final threshold -
the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn...
We've passed the point of no return...

PHANTOM
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime...
Lead me, save me from my solitude...

Say you want me with you, here beside you...
Anywhere you go let me go too -
Christine, that's all I ask of (you)...

TELL ME ON A SUNDAY (ditto)

Don't write a letter - when you want to leave
Don't call me at 3 a.m. -from a friend's appartment
I'd like to choose how I hear the news
Take me to a park that's covered with trees - Tell me on a Sunday please

Let me down easy, no big song and dance - no long faces, no long looks
no deep conversation
I know how I want you to say goodbye -
Take me to a zoo that's got chimpanzees - Tell me on a Sunday please

Don't want to know who's to blame - It won't help knowing
Don't want to fight day and night - bad enough you're going
Don't leave in silence - with no word at all
Don't get drunk and slam the door - That's no way to end this
I know how I want you to say goodbye
Find a circus ring with a flying trapeze - Tell me on a Sunday please

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 08:04 PM
Greatest contradiction of the 20th Century - How Michael Crawford could play the role of Frank in "some Mothers do have em - and also the Phantom.
- and as he said "also in West Side Story - but , just like the Phantom, they wanted me to play a Jet" - funny funny dude and so bludy talented ;)
Man's a genius! And when he sings any of Webber's songs (brief sample only in previous post) ... sheesh - such artistry. (imho)

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 08:09 PM
DON’T FOLLOW ME, I'M LOST

Don't follow me, I'm lost-
Unless you want to try to find, Some freedom from the daily grind, Some place where you can stretch your mind
Or like a salad tossed.

Don’t follow me, I jaywalk,
I usually have my pup in tow, Or viceaversa - hard to know, "Philosophising" as we go
our "easy-lead-astray walk".

Don’t follow me, I'm lost,
I'm walking through a jungle green, The vines are like Jack's tangled bean, It's like a towering wide-eyed dream
Into a land of moss.

Don’t follow me, I'm spaced out,
‘Specially on a sunny day, When dogs and men come OUT TO play, and poetry comes INTO play
and all is interlaced.

Don’t follow me, I'm lost,
Especially when the sunlight rays, Are torchlights through the leafy maze, And as I walk through greens ablaze
It's like a Heaven crossed.

Don’t follow me, I'm dizzy
I force myself to make the time, To taste the fruit of every vine, These gifts of all the Gods combined
And weren't they ever busy.

Don’t follow me, I'm lost,
Especially when I stand in ferns, Just where the creekbed gurgling turns, The soulfood that my heart so yearns
And I am left engrossed.

Don’t follow me, I turn,
When even puppy shows concern, Some relic there, some Grecian urn, I let the trekking brief adjourn
I let the memory "burn".

Don't follow me, I'm drunk
Intoxicated by the sound, Of Mother Nature all around, And Buddha chanting through the ground
the mantra of a monk.

Don’t follow me, I stray,
My puppy tugs, her eyes are glowed, She's chasing leaves back up the road, The next life she'll be frog, me toad -
If Buddha gets his way.

Im sorry if these rude retorts
Have caused offence - on second thoughts..
By all means walk with me - but know
That "lost" is standard "Way-To-Go".

By all means walk with me - and yes,
I'm lost, and love it I confess,
I kneel at Nature's altar… blessed,
And (when I'm lost)… I'm twice caressed.
....

And (when I'm lost)… obsessed.

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 08:29 PM
SPIDER AT DUSK

'Twas almost dark when I got home from work, for my customary walk in the bush,
Just a brief exchange with my god - and a gork - and the joy of the evening shush,
And the leaves were moist from a drizzle of rain, and the air was crisp and fresh,
But there.... confronting my face - so plain, was a dewy and spidery mesh.

I knew my dinner was cooking at home, it was bound to be more than I need,
and this poor little spider was forced to comb the forest air for a feed,
And had I not seen him, his web so exposed, and completely blocking my path,
His chances of rebuilding web 'fore he dozed, would be zilch in that aftermath.

Imagine the work of that web in the sky (for the scrappy meal of a moth),
maybe Three foot wide, maybe five feet high, to break it, imagine the wrath,
My dinner would be a lump of beast, and some corn and some pasta and salad,
And the sad comparison - moth to feast - and to break it! how cruel and invalid.

I surveyed his workmanship there in the gloom, - and WHAT had i done today?
and a voice said "Loafer! - return to your room!, and EARN your curds and whey!"
And I turned and returned to my evening chores (for the day had been far from productive),
But at least I had learnt one of Nature's laws, from my eight legged friend, so constructive.

.....
I had learnt the WILL of those cute hairy paws,
The patience and SKILL in that gossamer Gauze
Bob the BRUCE, you DILL! Go win your wars !
...
It was all so damned instructive !!!;)

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 10:56 PM
Way back there (#40) I posted a poem that my dad might have written to me. Here I guess is a reply of sorts. - I mention it purely because it is surely a common wish, a common phenomenon, a common "dream" - to look at a photo of someone who has "shuffled off this moral coil", and to "will them back, if willing could". - Hopefully I avoid being maudlin ;) - (as in "excessively sentimental" , dictionary.com) - last thing I intend. Photo was black-and white . There was also a tree that he sketched - also black-and-white. I guess the conclusion is that most memories are in black-and-white, whereas life is in colour.

THE BLACK AND WHITE PHOTO

I stand now where my father stood,
When he sketched through that autumn hot,
And I’d will him back if willing could,
But it can’t, so I’ll will him not;
But I’d love to have watched him pencilling tones
And his ink, and his softer side,
And to tell him the colourful comfort zones,
When I wear his name with pride.

I gaze now where my father gazed,
Where stood that majestic tree,
Unlike its sketch, now almost erased,
Now a black and white memory;
Just a hint of its former handsome self,
That he sketched as he “convalesced”
And subject and author, like shoemaker’s elf
Have departed at first light, blessed.

I gaze back now at his photo’s gaze
Beside his sketches so wise
And his varied tones in their various greys
And the flashes of light in his eyes,
It’s as if his final sketch was himself,
Like a leaf from that autumn tree,
But it sits, black-and-white, on a lonely shelf,
With his father before him – and me.

The corner is dimly lit – near the phone
And I smile expecting a ring,
But those beautiful colours of autumn are gone
Now the winter awaits a spring;
It’s a waste of good time, and I shouldn’t so think,
But I long to take out the glass pane,
And I long for some magical life-coloured pink
And to paint Dad - and tree - again.

Just some magical life-giving life-coloured ink
That would pour while we laughed in the rain.

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 11:38 PM
THE RUGBY RAINBOW

in Art, it’s the black of a deep despair, or Otherwise various purples,
in the Bush it’s the charcoal that follows the flare, in Banking it signifies surplus,
in Magic - the colour of evil or error, in Metals the colour of lead,
but in Rugby the colour of Kiwi terror, cos the Buggers are raw-meat-fed.

in Art it’s the green of youth and trees, and there’s Much in spring it resembles,
to the Greeks (long ago) it meant victories, in Precious stones, its emeralds,
to Some, the symbol of grass and jokes, when the Traffic lights work, it means “GO”,
on the Rugby field, it’s those Wallaby blokes, and the Smoke when their earlobes glow.

in Art, gold’s the glow of Apollo’s Sun, the Gilt of a valued letter,
while Yellow might mean, well, foolish or fun, the Deeper the gold, it gets better, ;)
in Spain it’s the executioner’s cloak, and he’s Deaf to the cries for mercy,
and for Omelettes you need a broken yoke, and for Rugby supreme - a gold jersey.

in Art it’s the colour of blood or gore, of Fortitude, courage, or bold,
in Love, it’s the colour of deep or pure, or our Heart as we reach to enfold,
in Metals the colour of iron annealed, the Weapons with which we make war,
and in Rugby the rose of the men of steel, as the Balmy tonsils roar.

in Art it’s the colour of purity, truth, just as Jesus is painted in whites,
in Precious stones, it’s the pearl in its booth, one of Nature’s most beautiful sights,
in Metals, its silver, but let’s not suppose that Second best prize is conceded,
cos in Rugby its covered with blood - and a rose, and bare Flesh, before they’re defeated.

so they Take to the field, and the crowd is immersed, with their Colours “nailed to the mast”
and Who is the first to yield to thirst? and Who is the last to outlast?
and they Smash, and they crash, and they make their dash, and it Blurrs in one bloody great “blue”
cos it’s All about having a bloody great bash, in a Bloody great “rainbow stew”.

2020hindsight
10th-November-2006, 11:55 PM
THERE'S PUDDLES IN THE CREEK

There's puddles in the creek Mum and there's music in the air,
The dog has gone so loopy it's out-looping Fred Astaire
And I'm not talkin jive, I'm talking Highland fling with flair
So fling your shoes and join her flight from care, -
The God of dogs has heard her little prayer.

There's puddles in the creek Mum and it's London to a brick,
It's full of extra vitamins, we'll never more be sick,
It looks and tastes like caramel, you close your eyes and lick,
At least it's wet, at least it doesn't stick
So come and dance the ankle-tapper quick.

There's puddles in the creek Mum and a few of 'em are linked,
The crows are crowing loudly it’s the best they've ever drinked,
The grass is green as dollarsigns just when we thought we're sinked,
The brinksmanship's the closest that we've brinked
I just wish dry old creekbeds were extinct.

A week ago the creekbed was a pile of thirsty stones
A lizard oversunbaked here, and that's his pile of bones
But now the creek is humming like a choir of Xylophones
And birds and lizards staking out their zones,
A mad cacophony of joyous tones.

There's puddles in the creek Mum, and the drought has "sorta" broke
Its just as well cos we were next to go right up in smoke
We almost had to tell the bank to go to hell (and stoke)
And pack up camp and join the city folk
But thanks to puddles that was just a joke.

There's puddles in the creek Mum and the dust has left the trees,
The air is full of moisture and a pleasant zephyr breeze,
The creek smiles as I humbly bend and muddy up my knees …
And meanwhile dog lines up a tree and pees -
No longer need the trees chase dogs for these.

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 08:04 AM
Here's another letter (1920) from one of those winging bushies - asking for a handout :)
(Henry Lawson to Clarence James Dennis)
http://www.library.usyd.edu.au/libraries/rare/lawson/dennisfull.html

By the way, here's another earlier letter (1915) - where Dennis asks Lawson for a hand. "written in response to Dennis's request for Lawson to write the Foreword to the first edition of The Sentimental Bloke". Helping old buddies out ;)
http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/denniscj/letters/tocjd/hl19150326.html

I guess since Dennis has no descendants, he was fairly wealthy, whereas Lawson wasnt - the squirrel and the grasshopper I guess. ;)


http://www.cultureandrecreation.gov.au/articles/lawson/
Lawson was born on the Grenfell goldfields in New South Wales on 17 June 1867. He was the son of a Norwegian seaman, Niels Larson, who later changed his name to Peter Lawson.

In Henry's early years, the family lived on a poor selection in the Mudgee district. Lawson suffered from deafness and was often teased as a result.

His parents separated in 1883, and Henry moved to Sydney with his mother, Louisa. It was there that Louisa began publishing the feminist newspaper The Dawn.

Colin Roderick , who published a biography of Lawson called Henry Lawson: a life, suggests that Lawson suffered from manic depression and sought refuge from his mood swings in alcohol. Died in 1922

Interesting that in that first letter above, Lawson puts the case that he needs bush clobber - because he would be ASHAMED to go about in a suit looking like a someone from the city. With some of the attitudes us cityfolk have expressed about the bush, I would be too lol.

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 08:52 AM
Clarence (Clarrie or Den) Michael James Stanislaus Dennis was born in Auburn, South Australia on September 7, 1876, to James Dennis and his second wife Catherine. For reasons that are unclear, though which are probably due to the boy's and the mother's ill-health and frailty, Dennis was looked after in his early years by his mother's aunts who lived nearby. In 1883, James Dennis took up the lease on a hotel in Gladstone in South Australia's mid-North and, a couple of years later, moved again, this time seven miles further north to the township of Laura, and the Beetaloo Hotel.

Dennis's mother died in 1890 leaving his father with 3 sons and a hotel to look after. This was never going to work successfully so two of Kate's unmarried sisters left their home in Mintaro (in the Clare Valley) and moved to Laura to help with the children's upbringing. For some time in his teens Dennis attended the Christian Brothers' College in Adelaide but had returned to Laura by the age of 17. At that time he took a job as a clerk to a local solicitor, and it was during this period that he published his first poem, when 19, titled "The Singular Experiences of Six Sturdy Sportsmen" - which concerned the exploits of Dennis and a group of his mates when lost in the Beetaloo Hills just outside Laura. The verse was published in the local Laura newspaper The Laura Standard. Some time later he worked on the staff of the Critic, an Adelaide weekly newspaper. By the age of 21 he was back in Laura working as a barman in his father's hotel, .....
etc etc - left Laura for Broken Hill in NSW. etc became writer for Bulletin etcetc. heaps of books. etc - At least you know where he learn this okker'isms. ;)

e.g. "Fellas of Australia, blokes and coves and coots,
shift your bludy asses, move your bludy boots
get a bloody move on, and get some bloody sense
and learn the bloody art of self de-bloody fence! "
(for memory and probly full of inaccuracies. Also from memory written leading into WW1)

Here's a poem he wrote for kids:-

THE ANT EXPLORER

Once a little sugar ant made up his mind to roam--
To fare away far away, far away from home.
He had eaten all his breakfast, and he had his ma's consent
To see what he should chance to see and here's the way he went--
Up and down a fern frond, round and round a stone,
Down a gloomy gully where he loathed to be alone,
Up a mighty mountain range, seven inches high,
Through the fearful forest grass that nearly hid the sky,
Out along a bracken bridge, bending in the moss,
Till he reached a dreadful desert that was feet and feet across.
'Twas a dry, deserted desert, and a trackless land to tread,
He wished that he was home again and tucked-up tight in bed.
His little legs were wobbly, his strength was nearly spent,
And so he turned around again and here's the way he went--
Back away from desert lands feet and feet across,
Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss,
Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky,
Up a mighty mountain range seven inches high,
Down a gloomy gully, where he loathed to be alone,
Up and down a fern frond and round and round a stone.
A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam,
He staggered up the garden path and popped back home. ;)

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/16251/16251.txt
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/16251
If you want the full book I suggest download the 103kB uncompressed version

chops_a_must
11th-November-2006, 07:02 PM
Sorry, but I enjoy Ginsberg:

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between... :o :o :o

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 07:37 PM
Sorry, but I enjoy Ginsberg:

[I]I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,


Sheesh - seriously mmm different lol.
Well sure is a change from the ANT EXPLORER bak there lol.

Here's one I wrote when I was a bit younger - quoted here from memory... just the ghist - It's bludy depressing (bit like yours lol). Sorry I can't condone drugs ;) I have seen a friend of one of my teenage sons go down with schizophrenia - I've also spoken to Afghan friends who say that it's well known that heavy users end up as mental cripples, - I specially can't condone CIGARETTE companies who are no better than common pushers imho.

THE PUSHER

In the hurly burly torture - down the backstreets of debauchery
malevolent and menacing the pusher makes his way
they say he's blind to agony, the bodies on the balconies
the dirt and the depravity, the victims of his play.

The hookers dotted on the street they watch his progress sunken cheeked
a few shake uncontrollably, they call him by to deal
one blind to caution counts her bills from laddered stockings edged with frills
and gets her shot of countless kills, her brow sweats with its feel.

.........
The morning sun across her floor reveals an arm stretched out for more
a needle still impinging, and a tiny pinhole "gash"
She's neither sad, nor strictly soiled - she's simply :( "had her old age foiled"
they carry her outside uncoiled - while pushers count their cash

chops_a_must
11th-November-2006, 07:56 PM
I agree, and that is actually pretty good, I must admit.

Well, if you look at the problems with amphetamine use, as compared to opiate addiction, like the afghans have trouble with, I would rather deal with the opiate problems. (I'm guessing the schizophrenic was a speed addict.)

Not only are you more likely to develop mental problems on speed, you are likely to die in your 30s of heart problems. Bill Burroughs for instance, a well known heroin addict, lived into his 80s. The longevity of opiate addicts doesn't seem to be as much of a problem.

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 08:04 PM
Well, if you look at the problems with amphetamine use, as compared to opiate addiction, like the afghans have trouble with, I would rather deal with the opiate problems. (I'm guessing the schizophrenic was a speed addict.)
It was only pot m8 - This is a common misconception - pot is perfectly capable of inflicting "split personalties". (well that's the bottomline, but..)

They go on about subtle stupid distinctions that the pot only "TRIGGERED" the disease - it was already there as a latent problem - But the bottom line? the kid wouldn't have the problem today (nor in the future) if he'd stayed away from pot.

You wanna know what a lovely kid he was? how talented? And by contrast .. now? - the medications help of course ;) - and he's still a fighter. But my wife and this kid's mother have cried together many times :(

PS - here's something I posted on another thread :- "all my arguments with "fuddy duddy oldies" in those days defending it (pot) were also nonsense. Weed is not recommended! Sorry If you're a hash smoker - but thats one of the lessons life has taught ME at least."

PPS As much as I'm enjoyinag a CONVERSATION in here lol, I wonder if drugs are getting off the subject of poetry - maybe deserve a THread of their own IF anyone wants to continue it

- I was trying to keep the site a-political ;) as if that theory's got a snowball's chance in Hell around here lol. (see #45 if you're interested in a long winded poem that says the same thing but takes half an hour to say it lol)

chops_a_must
11th-November-2006, 08:37 PM
Marijuana
Five percent of long term users,
Will end up getting mental bruises.
Would it not have come to the fore?
Maybe, but it was not there before.

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 08:38 PM
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/DennisCJ/tabid/682/Default.aspx

Here's one of Dennis's later posts ( must be ;) the Harbour bridge was only built in 1932 from memory - well after WW1 when he became famous anyways. Concerns a dream in which Dennis chats with Gov Phillip about Sydney's growth - while looking at the bridge from Lady Macquarie's chair . This is an excerpt only;)

I DIPS ME LID CJ Dennis, Except only.

I'd strolled about the town for 'arf a day
Then dragged me carcase round the 'arbor way
To view the Bridge from Dame Macquarrie's Chair
Then parks me frame, an' gits to thinkin' there-
Thinkin' of older days; an' I suppose
I must 'ave nodded orf into a doze.
Nex' thing I knoo, ole Phillip come an' sat
Beside me, friendly like, an' starts to chat.

"Young sir," 'e sez. "You, too, in sheer amaze
Look upon this, and hark to other days,
An' dream of this fair city's early start.
In which ('e bows) I played my 'umble part-
My 'umble part - a flagpole an' a tent."
"Come orf!" sez I. "You was a fine ole gent.
Reel nob. I've read about the things you did.
You picked some site." ('E bows. I dips me lid).

"Young sir," 'e sez. "I've dwelt in spirit 'ere
To watch this city waxin' year by year:
But yesterday, from a mere staff, a tent,
Wonder on wonder as the swift years went-
A thrivin' village, then a busy town,
Then, as a stride, a city of renown.
Oh! what a wondrous miracle of growth
Think you not so?" "Too right," I sez. "My oath!"

"I've watched, young sir," 'e sez. "An' I 'ave feared
Sometimes; feared greatly when ill days appeared.
Yet still they fought and wrought. I had small need
To doubt the great heart of this sturdy breed.
Black war has come. Yet, over half a world,
Their sons into that bloody fray they hurled
And still they triumphed. Still their lodestar shone."
"Sure thing," sez I. " They kep' on keepin' on."

"Young sir," 'e sez. "The tears well in my eyes
When I behold von arch that cleaves the skies -
That mighty span, triumphant, where we view
My old friend Darwin's vision now made true:
'There the proud arch, Colossus-like, bestride
Yon glittering stream and bound the chafing tide!
'Twas so he dreamed a few short years agone.
Spoke truly, sir; they keep on keeping on." ... etc

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 09:05 PM
Marijuana
Five percent ....
Lov it lol - good one ;)

PS If I ruled the world - lol - every post in here would contain SOMETHING in either poetry or prose - BUT one man's idea of prose is another man's idea of ...mmm .. a ramble through the dictionary lol.

Like the bloke who put down the phone book after a couple ofdays reading ..."mmm interesting set of characters !!! , but the plot was a bit thin ;)"

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 10:03 PM
Apologies to that funny dude who sings this on the Optus ad lol (you know the one - Great Wall of China...mm to keep out the err RABBITS - yep big problem rabbits .. in China"
http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/i/ivebeeneverywhere.shtml

1. AUSTRALIAN VERSION: (Geoff Mack) (1959)

Well, I was humpin' my bluey on the dusty Oodnadatta road,
When along came a semi with a high and canvas-covered load.
If you're goin' to Oodnadatta, etc etc

Cause I've been everywhere, man,
I've been everywhere, man.
etc etc

I've been to Tullamore, Seymour, Lismore, Mooloolaba,
Nambour, Maroochydore, Kilmore, Murwillumbah,
Birdsville, Emmaville, Wallaville, Cunnamulla,
Condamine, Strathpine, Proserpine, Ulladulla,
Darwin, Gin Gin, Deniliquin, Muckadilla,
Wallambilla, Boggabilla, Kumbarilla,
I'm a killer.
....etc etc

I've been here, there, everywhere
I've been everywhere

********************
2. I'VE BEEN EVERYWHERE, Kiwi Version , Adapted by John Grenell 1966

Well I was hitching a ride on a winding Hokitika road etc etc
...I've been to
Kaparoa Whangaroa Akaroa Motueka
Taramoa Benmore Pongaroa Horoeka
Rimutaka Te Karaka Whangarei
Nuhaka Waimahaka Motuhura Waikaka
Motonui Hokonui Papanui Wainui
Matawai Rongotai Pikowai I'm a guy.
Ch. I've been everywhere, man . . .

..... Taupo Timaru Oamaru Tihoi
Awanui Wanganui Pauanui lot o' hooey

..... Waitaki Pukaki Taranaki Te Kauwhata
Ropata Ikowai Waitemata what's the matter.

....... Tapanui Porinui Tawanui Otahuhu
Ruatapu Mosgiel Whareroa that's for sure.

....... Waimea Waharoa Dannevirke Ngahere
Gordonton Oban Kingston how ya been. etcetc

********************
3. I'VE BEEN EVERYWHERE - Johnny Cash version

I was totin my pack along the long dusty Winnamucka road
When along came a semi with a high canvas covered load
If your goin' to Winnamucka, Mack with me you can ride
... etc

I've been to:
Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota
Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota
Whichta, Tulsa, Ottowa, Oklahoma
Tampa, Panama, Mattua, LaPaloma
Bangor, Baltimore, Salvadorm, Amarillo
Tocapillo, Pocotello, Amperdllo
I'm a Killer

Devil's Lake, Crater Lake
For Pete's Sake

Diamondtina, Pasadena, Catalina
See What I Mean(a)

Souix City, Cedar City, Dodge City
What A Pity

************************
4. BUT lol.....the BEST by a country mile would have to be this one by a stupid idiot named Bond... lol - Graham Bond - no not the bloke with the amphibious jetski that flies - the one with the boxing glove and the Shirley Temple wig lol. Pretty talented bloke for an architect ;) - and that's high praise comin from an engineer lol.
Check out pages 6 and 7 of this lead ;) :-
http://www.naa.gov.au/publications/memento/pdf/memento31.pdf
Youuuuuuuu Guessed it . lol

Ive been tooooo...............
...........
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong Wollongong
etc etc

annnnnddddd.................
...........
Dapto !!! :)

PS comparing the Aus and the Kiwi and the US versions - you'd have to say the the aboriginal and maori placenames are more "suited" with their multiple syllables.

2020hindsight
11th-November-2006, 11:22 PM
http://www.everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=1173517
The Aunty Jack Show was one of Australia's best loved television sketch comedy series, running from 1972 to 1973 on Australia's national broadcaster ABC. In the anarchic vein of Monty Python, its title character was a motor-cycling transvestite boxer. At the end of each show, the moustachioed Aunty Jack would make the terrifying statement:

Goodbye, me little lovelies! And don't forget to tune in next week to the show, because if you don't, I'm going to come round to your house, and I'm going to rip your bloody arms off. And I will too. Don't forget it.

At risk of involuntary amputation from a hirsute hermaphrodite, (LOL) all of Australia watched in nervous fear. After the first episode went to air, the ABC received over a thousand complaints from its traditionally conservative audience regarding the violent drag queen. According to director Maurice Murphy, the show only survived because the children of ABC executives pleaded for a stay of execution.

The Aunty Jack Show starred Grahame Bond as Aunty Jack, Rory O'Donoghue as Thin Arthur, John Derum as Narrator, and Sandy Macgregor as Flange Desire. Also involved in the production was Peter Weir, who went on to become director of Picnic at Hanging Rock, Gallipoli and Dead Poet's Society. The second series saw the departure of John Derum and the introduction of of Garry McDonald, who played Kid Eager, and introduced Australia to the character of Norman Gunston.

In a testament to Australia's musical preferences and the ongoing popularity of the show past its denouement, the album Aunty Jack Sings Wollongong was released in 1974. The single and theme song from the series Farewell Aunty Jack reached Number 1 and stayed in the Australian music charts for 22 weeks.


FAREWELL AUNTY JACK Grahame Bond, Rory O'D

Farewell, Aunty Jack, We know you'll be back
Though you're ten feet tall you don't scare us at all
You're big, bold and tough, But you're not so rough
There's a scream as you plummet away

Aunty Jack: Goodbye, me little lovelies!
And don't forget to tune in next week to the show,
because if you don't, I'm going to come round to your house,
and I'm going to rip your bloody arms off.
And I will too. Don't forget it.

She rides a black bike
Aunty Jack: I do.
And drives through the night
She's big, round and fat but don't dare tell her that
Aunty Jack: I bloody well aren't!

Else she'll turn so mean
Her glove starts to gleam
There's a scream as she plummets away
Aunty Jack: Do you want a good smack in the mouth?

crazy drummer goes crazy at this point..- really starts "losing it"....
guitar says .....If he goes I'm goin with him ..!!!
(sorry that was from the muppets lol.......)
forget I said that ;)



OOOHHHHHHHHHHHH FAREWELL Aunty Jack
Don't you know you'll be back
Though you're ten feet tall you don't scare us at all
You're big, bold and tough
But you're not so rough
There's a scream as you plummet away

Actually Rory O'Donoghue was a bludy good singer ;)

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 05:32 PM
GRANPA'S HOKEY POKEY KNEE

My ole Granpa was "the man", legs were somewhat horseback- bowed,
Born beside the passing Ghan, where the Channel Rivers flowed,
I recall but little of him, just his grin said "pleased to meet ya"
Body mainly bone and skin, - then this knee that sorta featured.

One thing I recall for sure, Granpa's knee was "in your face"
He would line up with the door, knee would line up any place,
Knee would do the hokey-pokey when he put his best foot forward,
Buckle like a hinge that's broke, then he'd grin and "hokey" doorward.

Used to ride a horse "full bore" - was he larrikin or lawman(?),
Like the Henry Lawson Law, "make 'em buck and teach 'em Mormon"
Used to pick the rabid horse, cigarettes for when it rears,
Make the bucker show remorse, "light it as it changes gears".

Once I asked my Gran the question, how he came to be this way,
How his knee was sorta destined, to flip-flop twixt "Z" and "K",
Gran explained he'd been a party to a pub-floor test of strength,
Two men push and pull so hearty till some knee decreased in length !!!

Wide-eyed, childlike, this amazed me, Pubfloors conjured scenes of woe,
Thoughts of bent knees sorta phased me, - made a mental note "say no!!"
....
Now Im older I feel certain - twas his lifestyle catching up
Granpa probly crashed while flirtin - tryin to get his car to buck.

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 05:38 PM
WALLS

you Find them lining rooms and halls, Of houses boasting warmth within,
First things first when freedom calls - Get yourself a set of walls, Home to memory's scribbled scrawls,
Get a timber skin.

the Sentiments of those inside , can Permeate each wooden pore,
Listen as the memories ride -Round this room they laughed and cried, Listen as some blushing bride,
was Carried through the door.

and Maybe bumps where children fell, Babies first steps, wide-eyed wonder
Thrills that you can almost smell, Leaping hearts remembered well, Little signs of "show-and-tell",
Childhood memories boom like thunder.

Sometimes too you see walls wince, and Catch a breath, some subtle pain -
Loved ones who have moved on since, Read the walls for subtle hints, Old eroding finger prints
that Won't return again.

and Sometimes too you hear them sing, Where Courage overcomes the sigh,
Hear the happy sleighbells ring , When they do their Xmas thing, Feel the warmth that carols bring
from Happy passers-by.

and Maybe empty houses now - Walls can only reminisce,
Fondest greetings, welcome, ciao, Cutest curtsey, gentle bow, Danced embraces, lover's vow,
Sealed with gentle kiss.

and Then there's Hamlet's ghostly Dad, Countless more who nightly walk -
Apparitions crude and sad, Hide in walls of any "pad", Never speaking - drive you mad!!
Ahh, if only walls could talk ;)

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 05:41 PM
INSTINCT SOULS and BIRDDOGS

I spied a brown hawk on a hovering stalk, As he straightened and swooped for some feast,
And I wondered who learned him, and what birthright earned him, The power and skills of the beast,
And it’s London to brick that he knew as a chick, Or perhaps from some parent deceased,
That you swoop or you die, with a sharp beak and eye, As your latent hawk skills are released.

I saw a white dove, that pure symbol of love, Who so gracefully slipped through the sky,
And she flew to her nest, to the ones she loved best, That her hungry young tribe wouldn’t cry,
And I watched oh so slow, as they formed a small row, On a wee little branch nearby,
And from somewhere within came a flight instinct grin - They somehow decided to fly!.

My dog watched them both with a soft whimpered oath, And she stopped in her tracks in the dirt,
-- Tail as straight as a die, -- and one foot bent and high ! Like a motionless arrow alert.
And I haven’t a clue where she learnt what to do, But it wasn’t from me that’s a cert,
And I guess some subliminal signal from mum, Has entrenched and refused to revert.

We learn half our ways under parental gaze, The other half’s there on day one,
And millions of creatures have dozens of features, And all someone’s daughter or son,
The lion kills true, as his parent’s did too, With a soul - cruel - akin to a gun,
While the soul of a deer knows only to fear, And its legs know only to run.
..............
And hawk and dove and parents may die , But the soul will live on in the son.
..............
And the soul of the dog knows to serve, and to try, And to lick at your hand – and have fun. ;)

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 05:47 PM
Serious amateur hour with this one ;)
A PUPPY's PERSPECTIVE

The wrought iron men have their i(r)on the (w)rorts, and real estate's real overstated,
and Hollywood's all about sex on the screen , and sex on a screen's overrated,
…..But puppies know only to live by one rule - to serve and deserve us - we're fated.

The Bond market's marked down with undies and jocks, with most of the stockbrokers broke,
The stocktaker's taken most all of the stocks, and comedy's 'coming a joke;
…..But my little puppy's in love with my socks, the same smell that makes the kids choke. ;)

The Railways are off the rails, ferries are sunk, and Airlines are up in the air.
The trams can't think laterally, taxis talk bunk, and driving is driving us spare;
…..But my little puppy she nests in my junk, and smiles at the foot of my chair.

And vet'rinry service has gone to the dogs, and retailing tails out of fashion,
and dogfood's rejected by most thinking mogs as "goo" and/or "lacking in passion";
…..But my little dog friend, she smiles as she bogs in, ecstatic with life and her ration.

The weight losing outlets are making a loss, and tree-lopping's sure hit its peak.
While wholesaling holes keeps a council job poss-ible, backyard's are gettin real bleak;
…..But - find an old bone - and she's straight to the boss, and plants a big lick on my cheek.

When Pamela Anderson takes to the floor, the nightclub's in need of a lawman,
Her knockers have broken three ribs and a jaw, and KO'ed three grooms and a doorman;
…..But wagging a tail when you stand side-by-paw, is real and sincere as a Mormon,
…..So puppies remind us of good times of yore, So puppies make princes of poormen.

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 05:54 PM
And more amateur yet ... (if you can believe it) - might give someone a smile , who nose, someone out there might be REALLY desperate for a joke? lol.

SCHREK One-Point-Five

now This is a story you just may have heard -
it’s aBout “Sleeping Beauty Meets Frog”
this Witch spiked her schnapps, she was shaken not stirred,
she was OFTEN in trouble - or trouble deferred -
that Night she was OFF’N her face we’ve heard !! now she’s Sleeping it OFF ON a log.
(and a low log at that - How else is the frog going to jump up to her, stupid?)

she Lay with such beauty so superimposed - and he Hopped on her nose and he smiled
her Eyes were like – were like – well, actually closed - (she’d Been asleep probly six months he supposed)
and Only the hint of a snore as she dozed,
and her Hair? well – six months? - superwild (of couse it was wild! – cripes you’re stupid!)!.

the Frog carefully turned to see lips so red
- by Now slime all over her face
and he Pictured them frogmarching up to be wed
and he Pictured them both in his slimy-creek-bed
(well – her place, or mine, whatever - some of ‘em get so fussy)
and he Pictured the wonderful offspring they’d shed
off- Springing all over the place. (And stop jumping on your sister).

and Yes - as he leant out to kiss her so soft
and Yes (sigh) - at the moment of fusion
as he Dreamt of the girls he had wined, dined or troughed
(that’s eating at McDonalds – with or without fries - haven’t you been around?!)
- as the Six months of BO presented a waft -
as a Bloody great flash from some Heavenly loft
went off “BOOM” - so too the illusion.!! (sheeeesh).

cos she Wasn’t a frog and she wasn’t a girl
and she Didn’t have glamour bestowed
“well Hi – my name’s Toadstool - she sat with a whirl
and Come here you gorgeous, you frog-a-al-pearl
I Much prefer action than poems and spirl
cos I’m Just one horny young toad!”.

and they Jumped and they humped all the way to the sunset
their Thighs became massive from kickin’
till they Sadly ran into a Chef from the gunset
and in Time they became, well, the toast of the funset
- and Poetry wise, well, the toast of the punset -
and their Drumsticks? they toasted like chicken.

so if Ever you’re eating a French coussine
and you’re Trying out frog’s legs and snail
just reMember the moral – when the future’s unseen
and you’re Kissing a blind date that might just turn green
that you Might get so horny and dangerously keen
that your Getaway means might fail!
(that’s his legs for chrissake stupid! – do I have to explain everything)!.
so the Fairy’s tailend ?– tale ends? woops - I mean
So the End of this fairy tale.

And dont bludiwell larf - or I'll jump right outta this monitor! ....and rip your bludy arms off!! - specially you, stupid.!!

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 07:53 PM
PS before you read too much here - I would summarise this as an unsuccessful attempt to translate Nessum Dorma into English ;) (but to be fair, you at least get a ghist I spose lol)


TRANSLATIONS ... website http://translation2.paralink.com/ which very kindly translates things into other languages for you.
....PS I am reminded of the story of the engineer who used a computer to translate "hydraulic ram" into Russian , and it came out the equivalent of "water buffalo".
Sadly I had to go Italian > Russian > English.
Gotta feeling that we've ended upwith another "hydraulic ram/buffalo" here lol

NESSUM DORMA, ITALIAN:-

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
***Tu pure, o PrincipeSSA,***
Nella tua fredda stanza guardi le stelle,
Che tremano d'amore e di speranza!

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,
Il nome mio nessun saprà!
No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò,
Quando la luce splenderà!

Ed il mio bacio scioglierà.
**Il silenzio che ti fa miA!**

[Choir:] Il nome suo nessun saprà!
E noi dovrem ahimè morir, morir!
Dilegua o notte!
Tramontate, stelle!
Tramontate, stelle!
All' alba vincerò!
Vincerò! Vincerò!


NESSUM DORMA, RUSSIAN :-

Никакой спите! Никакой спите!
*** Ты также, или Принцесса, ***
В твоей холодной комнате он смотрел на звезды,
Что дрожат любви и надежды!

Но моя тайна закрыта во мне,
... etc etc

*************
NESSUM DORMA, ENGLISH

Any sleep! Any sleep!
*** You also, or Princess, ***
In your cold room it looked at stars,
That shiver love and hope!

But my secret is closed in me,
My any name will know!
No, no, about your mouth I it shall tell,
When light splendera!

And my kiss will dismiss.
** Silence which is done to you by mine! **

[Kojr:] Its any name will know!
And we dovrem ahime to die, die!
Dilegua or night!
Tramontate, stars!
Tramontate, stars!
In a dawn I shall be on

"Tramontate stars ???" lol

"No, no, about your mouth I it shall tell, When light splendera!" - oh you sweet talker you lol.

PS Here's another clue :- Dictionary.com gives no help for "tramontate", BUT
"transmontane". means :-
1. being or situated beyond the mountains.
2. beyond the Alps as viewed from Italy; transalpine.
;) - so I guess that's what they mean - like, the stars are somewhere over in Switzerland lol.
?? maybe he's saying " pis* off to Switzerland stars !!" ?

2020hindsight
12th-November-2006, 08:14 PM
http://www.sing365.com/music/Lyric.nsf/Nessun-Dorma-lyrics-G4/366FEAA32DCB5D9B48256FCF0014153D

Found a better translation ;)

NESSUM DORMA

No man will sleep! No man will sleep! (elsewhere "no one must sleep")
No man will sleep! No man will sleep!
You too, o Princess,
in your virginal room, (elsewhere "cold room"?)
watch the stars
trembling with love and hope!

But my secret lies hidden within me,
no one shall discover my name!
Oh no, I will reveal it only on your lips
when daylight shines forth!
And my kiss shall break
the silence that makes you mine!

Nobody will discover his name
And we shall have to die, alas! Die!

Depart, o night! Set, you stars!
Set, you stars! At dawn I shall win! (elsewhere "I shall conquer")

2020hindsight
13th-November-2006, 08:25 PM
THE ECONOMY

I live up on a mountain far away from all the strife
We live beside a fountain, there’s just me and Flo me wife
- Some dollar coins for countin when we play a round of whist
- But even those could go and not be missed
- there’s options like strip poker – get me ghist ;)

I grow me own potatoes and I make potato wine
It tastes a bit like bathwater (at least the bath was mine)
- The other day I braved the world and took a trip to town
- I read the bloody headlines with a frown
- Some Noah says we’re all about to drown!

“Economy’s in chaos and the whole things built on sand
The mindset of a yo-yo held by some sadistic hand
- The bubbles gonna burst unless the pressure cooker melts
- And bulls must learn to tighten up their belts!!
- And bears should stay asleep – or they’ll be pelts!!"

I raced back home to missy and I called an urgent meeting
I chaired (well strictlly woodlogged – cos it’s what we use for seating)
- “That’s it my dear there’s no more bloody bubble baths round here
- They’re gonna burst – and somehow that means fear.
- And – er - careful with the pressure cooker, dear."

And as for bulls we have a few we use em for their excrement
We use it on the cornpatch like I read in the Ole Testament
- Well HELL I fitted them with belts- till they stopped making goo!!
- (Maybe economists should be belt fitted too.
- They’d maybe stop to think before they moo.)

I called in five economists and they gave five opinions
And one more to adjudicate – a sixth – (of fifteen trillions)
- And – JUST before the meeting ended and they all departed
- Then SUDDENLY !! the bull-belt broke and farted!!
- This GIANT MOOing - like the earth had parted !!!
..........
(And that's the best opinion since we’d started.!)

They all said “ HELL an omen!" And they grabbed their mobile phones
“buy TLS and West Australia" – all excited tones
- “and don’t stop there – buy USA - and England and Japan!!"
- And next day ? guess what paper headlines ran? ;)
- “The markets up bigtime – and to a man!!

So now they ring me sometimes – ask me what’s my bull’s advice?
Commissions just keep pooring in , it's great, my beer’s on ice:)
- And sometimes too they give me tips- like, swap your shorts for longs,
- But Jesus, then they’re mixed up with me thongs!!
- And good news is , strip poker's going strong ;)

2020hindsight
13th-November-2006, 09:18 PM
Franklin D. Roosevelt: Happiness is not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort. (like when you get out of bed on the other side !!)

Izaak Walton: Look to your health; and if you have it, praise God, and value it next to a good conscience; for health is the second blessing that we mortals are capable of; a blessing that money cannot buy. (well I'll give you a case of bourbon and a packet of marlboro for good health for a start cough cough)

Jane Austen: Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does. (ahhh - it's music to my ears when friends ask me for a fifty till payday;))

Ralph Waldo Emerson: Money often costs too much. (yep - yesterday I paid 3 perfectly pristine bigmac vouchers for a stupid 10 bucks!!)

Thornton Wilder: Money is like manure; it's not worth a thing unless it's spread around encouraging young things to grow. (kids - get away from that manure and tomato-looking-bush thingy!! and come over here and study your maths!!)

Henry Fielding (1707 - 1754) If you make money your god, it will plague you like the devil. (This from a man who hadn't even heard of AUSTRALIA !! let alone the ASX!! lol - "will plague you like PLAQUE without colgate!!")

C K Chesterton: The golden age only comes to men when they have forgotten gold. (and where they hid their easter eggs!)

Pablo Picasso: I'd like to live like a poor man - with lots of money. (and a coupla billionaire concubines thrown in? - whose dad owns a paint supply shop)

Albert Camus: "It's a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think that they can be happy without money." (In that case call be a snob ;))

Richard Armour :-
The money talks,
I'll not deny,
I heard it once,
It said "goodbye" ;)
(and it usually adds "and I'm not coming BACK!!)

2020hindsight
14th-November-2006, 08:05 PM
Here's a poem about an old house painter named John. I met him when he advertised to sell his manual car - turned out he needed to get an automatic - because one shoulder had cancer. Then, lol rather than take things easy, he fitted this new car with power steering, - and helped us with any problems we had with his old car as well :). The fact that the car he sold us was a bit of a lemon (through bad luck as much as anything) is irrelevant - we got to meet John ;)
(PS he particularly didnt like the new style petrol pumps becos you couldnt buy just a few components to repair them ;) that old car was held together with wire and hundreds of home made bits he'd invented lol)

OLD JOHN

I first met Old John on a downhill slope, Though you’d barely know it to meet him,
A painter, enthused and brimming with hope, And a wonderful grin in his greeting,
And he sold me a car, well an old bomb at least , Though to him was like a blood brother,
And we chatted like guests at a wedding feast, As ones overcome by a youthful yeast, And each nut and each bolt in the rusty old beast
Triggered stories of this or the other.

And I bargained him down a few bucks on his price, Nine fifty ($950) the deal was set,
I didn’t exploit him, the man was too nice, But the petrol gauge said “barely wet!”
It was one of those cars where the value ranged, In phase with the gas level reading,
But I sensed it then that my life would be changed, Priorities questioned and rearranged, And my newfound friend would soon be estranged,
And his time was rapid receding.

He used to spar with a punching ball, Yet he had the kindest laugh
Till his shoulder refused to heed the call , And hung like a thin bag of charf
And he’d made a bench of wood in the shed, Where his tradesman skills were vented,
And a vegie patch with a broadbean bed, And the spare parts strewn where the brakes were bled, And you’d watch your step and you’d watch your head
Or you’d likely get em dented.

The reason he’d sold me his ‘Maggie’, his mate, Was an upgrade to automatic,
Cos his shoulder was just a bit lame of late, And his gearstick skills quite erratic,
“This is Sally” he said “my NEW Sigma wagon, And the twin except for the gears,
But she’s not up to Maggie, her chin keeps sagging, It could be the carby I carved from a flagon - , And here’s some spare parts all wrapped in raggin
- And the parting, it brings me to tears.”

Well the first week home the Welshplug blew, And the head cracked something cronic,
And the oil turned into a milky stew, And it coughed with a plague bubonic,
And Old John came round and helped us to strip, The motor – each element parted,
“That’s the crankshaft boys, where the horses grip, Ahh listen – the music as oildrops drip, And watch that that old timing gear doesn’t slip
Or we’ll never get her restarted.

Then a month went past and the gearstick broke -Came out like a magic wand,
If you hadn’t met John you’d suspect a sick joke, And you’d start to think you’d been conned,
But I ran into John in the hardware shop, And he said, ‘Wow! Let’s go look!
Cos I bet it’s the blue nut stripped and gone pop, By the way those beans are a fine fine crop, Any walls to paint? Any trees to lop?”
- But he knew that car like a book.

He was right of course and we fixed it up , Right there on our kerbside lawn,
Just a hint of remorse that he’d sold his pup, But no hint for himself to mourn,
And his shoulder now needed power steering, And he’d worked it out and he’d fitted it,
And I found it so blessedly warm and endearing, That his attitude grew from courage not fearing, And despite the bell of his sixth (6th) round nearing,
He’d tackled the task and outgritted it.

Then a month (last week) a call from his brother, And sadly he had to relate,
That Old John passed away and from what I can gather, He’d known of his imminent fate,
Yet each time I met him his eyes just glowed, With a grin and a “How are the boys?
Would you like the house painted? or furrow hoed? Or a horse to be broken ? or front lawn mowed? And How’s old Maggie sharing the load?
- She was one of my favourite toys.”

I can see him in overalls – patches sewed, With all of his gentle poise,
Just the kindest man – and how much it showed, And painting the gates of his new abode, And cracking some winged chariot’s code,
And adjusting its tappet noise. :engel:

2020hindsight
14th-November-2006, 11:10 PM
Another lady who has made a real go of life , (and who also incidentally sang "No Regrets" with tons of soul), probably the sexiest thing to come out of Wales since Jonah lol, and also had a gr8 sens of humour (see last song) :-


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirley_Bassey
Bassey was born in Tiger Bay, Cardiff to a Nigerian father who was a seaman, while her mother came from Yorkshire, Northern England. She grew up in the notorious working-class district of Tiger Bay, Cardiff, as the youngest of seven children. Her father left when she was two years old.

Bassey first found employment packing in a local factory when she left school at the age of fifteen. She enjoyed singing while she packed enamel pots, and to supplement her wage she sang in local pubs and clubs. In 1953, she signed up for the revue Memories of Jolson, a musical based on the life of Al Jolson. She next took up a professional engagement in Hot From Harlem, which ran until 1954.

By this time Bassey had become sick of show business, and had become pregnant at 16 years old with her daughter Sharon, so she went back to waitressing in Cardiff. However, in 1955, a chance recommendation of her to Michael Sullivan, a Streatham-born booking agent, put her firmly on course for her destined career. He saw talent in Bassey, and decided he would make her a star. She toured various theatres until she got an offer of the show that put her firmly on the road to stardom, Al Read's Such Is Life. While she starred in this show, Philips A&R and record producer Johnny Franz spotted her on television, became impressed, and offered her a record deal.

Bassey recorded her first single, entitled "Burn My Candle", and Philips released it in February 1956, when Bassey was just nineteen. Owing to the suggestive lyrics, the BBC banned it, but it sold well nonetheless

Can't understand that !! See if you can see what's suggestive about it ?? :- ;)

http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/b/burnmycandle.shtml
BURN MY CANDLE (AT BOTH ENDS) (Parker)
Shirley Bassey

Who's got a match for a strikin', Don't say it all depends
Who wants to help me burn my candle, at both ends

Who's got a light he's hidin', under a bush or fence
Who wants to help me burn my candle, at both ends

It's possible, it may not last a night
While it burns, what a wonderful light

Who'd like to play with fire , After they make ammends
Who wants to help me burn my candle, at both ends

Who doesn't mind a reaper, after he's sewn wild oats
Who wants to take a chance and help me, burn my boats

Who's not a look, then leaper , Wanting a warning note
Who wants to take a chance and help me, burn my boats

There's 'S' for Scotch, that's so direct , And for straight and simple sex
"I" for invitation to, a close relationship with you
"N" for nothing bad nor less, "S-I-N", that's sin, I guess

Who's got a good ignition, Waiting for dividends
Who wants to help me burn my candle, at both ends

It may not last, but it's all in the game, my friend
And while it burns, what a fabulous flame

Who has an inhibition, Who has a notch, that's on the handle
Open my door, and spun the scandal
Who wants to help me burn my candle, at both ends!


http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/music/sites/shirleybassey/
She says...
"Nobody's doing what I do. And the voice, sometimes it even takes me by surprise. I think, "God, where does it come from?" Nobody in my family sings, nobody from my mother's side. We don't know about my father's side. There was probably some ancestor out there chanting for rain with this powerful voice centuries ago."
We say...
Goldfingaaaah! All hail the diva - Dame Shirley from Tiger Bay
.............
History Repeating's success was consolidated in 2000 when EMI released Diamonds Are Forever - The Remix Album, which saw some of her biggest hits reworked by artists including Groove Armada, Nightmares On Wax and Mantronix. Apparently, the Queen was a big fan of the album - so much so that the very same year she decided to make Shirley a Dame.

A mother and grandmother with a self-confessed love of glamour, Dame Shirley still returns to Wales for occasional performances - she topped the bill at the opening of the Welsh Assembly in 1999, and performed the anthem World In Union with Bryn Terfel for the Rugby World Cup in 2000. It's a pretty safe bet that Wales - and the world - has yet to hear the last of that voice.

http://www.mp3lyrics.org/s/shirley-bassey/nobody-does-it-like-me/
IF THERE'S A WRONG WAY TO DO IT

If there's a wrong way say it, and a right way to play it. Nobody does it like me!
If there's a wrong way to do it, A right way to screw it up! Ha! Nobdody does it like me!
I've got a big loud mouth, I'm always talking much to free.
If you go for tact and manners, better stay away from me!
If there's a wrong way to keep it cool, a right way to be a fool, Nobody does it like me!

I hear a love song or ballad, I toss like a salad. Nobody tosses like me!
And when my evenings get tougher, I just take two buffein' And drink a hot cup of tea!
Last night I met an old aquaintence, at a fancy corner pub,
He said 'come on let's have some supper,' then he used my credit-club!
If there's a wrong way take a guy , the worst way to make a guy! Nobody does it like me!

If there's a wrong bell I ring it. A wrong note I sing it! Nobody does it like me!
If there's a problem I duck it. I don't solve it I just muck it up! Nobody does it like me!
And so I try to be a lady, I'm no lady I'm a fraud! And when I talk like I'm a lady, What I sound like is a broad!
If there's a wrong way to get a guy, the right way to lose a guy! Nobody does it like me!

Nobody does it NO! Nobody does it, Nobody does it like me.

What a great Dame she is !!

Heaps of other brilliant songs of course :- (I who have nothing, Send in the clowns, The first time ever I saw your face etc etc)
http://www.mp3lyrics.org/s/shirley-bassey/
http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Boulevard/8612/shirley.html
http://www.channel4.com/history/microsites/R/real_lives/shirley.html - she ignores racial slurs and bigotry in Wales and USA

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 07:55 AM
There was that quote by a prime minister initialls MF that "life wasn't meant to be easy" - subsequently comedians have added "cheesy, breezy, sneezy etc"

I think I heard Fraser correctly once when he explained it was something from a quote attributed to Methuselah (Bible? play?) where he is talking to a young boy, and he adds "But son, it can be MAGNIFICENT!"

Like finding the punchline to a joke many years later. I guess when you're 969 yrs old like Methuselah, you'd hava few memories - even if your short term memory was bound to be a bit dodgy ;) :2twocents

PS wonder what he died of? - cigarettes finally caught up with him? - maybe a punchup with a Palestinian? - maybe trying position 347 one night?

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 08:19 PM
PS wonder what he died of? - cigarettes finally caught up with him? - maybe a punchup with a Palestinian? - maybe trying position 347 one night?
Or maybe position 969 with his wife and his sister-in-law ?
You know, you shouldn't push your luck on these astrologically significant milestones!!
Make a mental note people !!! - take it easy on your 969th birthday !!! - check Genesis for the gaudy details !!

ahh to hell with making it rhyme ;) - its happy hour!

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 09:07 PM
Scotsman have a nack for the romantic :- Robert Louis Stevenson' s Tomb in the hills above Apia, Samoa has the following Epitaph:- such a romantic place , such a great island, in the middle of such a great ocean as the Pacific ;) - lol and about as far away from "the rest of civilisation" as you could get - I was lucky enough to spend a few years there- scuba, hanggliding, sailing - really tough life;).

"Under a wide and starry sky
dig my grave and let me lie,
glad did I live and gladly die
and I lay me down with a will

Here be the words you grave for me
"Here he lies where he longed to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea
and the hunter home from the hill."


THEN AGAIN lol - Here's one of Robbie Burn's poems ;) PS Why is it that the Scots seem to make "a Haggis" sound like .. well... a Tasmanian Devil at least lol. (PS this is pretty offal poetry - unless you're into haggis that is ;))

TO A HAGGIS (Robbie Burns)

Fair fa' (*portion) your honest, sonsie (pleasant) face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon (above) them a' (all) yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel (well) are ye wordy (worthy) o'a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies (loins) like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn (spoon) for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak (devil take) the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes (bellies)belyve (subsequently)
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist (most) like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw (sicken) a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic (such) a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre (over) his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody flood or (before) field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap (as in , the clapper in a mill) in his walie (ample) nieve (fist) a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking (watery) ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer
Gie (give) her a haggis!

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 09:25 PM
Such a great poem this one ;) - sorry folks, been attacking the home brew again lol. http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.shtml - only a truly "soft" heart could empathise with a mouse lol.

"That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! "

"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!"

Man's both a gentleman - and a genius ;)

To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, 1785
ROBBIE BURNS

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell-
Till crash! the cruel coulter past, Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men, Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

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!

PS go to that website - you get a translation for the scottish stuff ;)
eg bickring brattle = hurrying run
murdring pattle = murdering spade, etcetc :)
laith = loath repugnant

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 11:20 PM
Then for a light hearted note :-
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/monty-python/


ERIC The Half A Bee Lyrics
Monty Python

A one... two-- A one... two... three... four...
Half a bee, philosophically, Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be , Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see?

But can a bee be said to be, Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee, Due to some ancient injury?

La dee dee, one two three, Eric the half a bee.
A B C D E F G, Eric the half a bee.

Is this wretched demi-bee, Half-asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie? No! It's Eric the half a bee!

Fiddle de dum, Fiddle de dee, Eric the half a bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee, Eric the half a bee.

I love this hive, employee-ee, Bisected accidentally,
One summer afternoon by me, I love him carnally.

He loves him carnally, Semi-carnally.
The end.

Cyril Connelly? No; semi-carnally!
Oh.......
Cyril Connelly. [whistling]


BRUCES' Philosophers Song
Monty Python

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant, Who was very rarely stable
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar, Who could think you under the table

David Hume could out-consume, Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine, Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel

There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya, 'Bout the raising of the wrist
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed

John Stuart Mill, of his own free will, On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill
Plato, they say, could stick it away, Half a crate of whiskey every day

Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle, Hobbes was fond of his dram
And René Descartes was a drunken fart, I drink, therefore I am

Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed, A lovely little thinker
But a bugger when he's pissed

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/monty-python/every-sperm-is-sacred.html
lets not go there lol. - DYOR lol.

2020hindsight
15th-November-2006, 11:33 PM
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/monty-python/lumberjack-song.html


LUMBERJACK Lyrics - Monty Python

I never wanted to do this job in the first place! I... I wanted to be...
A LUMBERJACK!
(piano vamp)

Leaping from tree to tree! As they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! With my best girl by my side!
The Larch! The Pine! The Giant Redwood tree! The Sequoia! The Little Whopping Rule Tree! We'd sing! Sing! Sing!

Ooohhhhhhh, :)..............I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day.

CHORUS: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day.

I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lava-try.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin' And have buttered scones for tea.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch, He goes to the lava-try.
On Wednesdays 'e goes shoppin' , And has buttered scones for tea.

CHORUS
I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing, And hang around in bars.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps, He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing , And hangs around.... In bars???????

CHORUS
I chop down trees, I wear high heels, Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie, Just like my dear papa.

Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels
Suspendies?? and a .... a Bra???? (spoken, raggedly) What's this? Wants to be a *girlie*? Oh, My!
And I thought you were so rugged! Poofter!

CHORUS
All: He's a lumberjack, and he's okaaaaaaayyy..... (BONG)
Sound Cue: The Liberty Bell March, by John Phillip Sousa.
-or-
================================================== ========Dear Sir,
I wish to complain on the stronglyest possible terms about the previous
entry in this file about the lumberjack who wears womens' clothes. Some of
my best friends are lumberjacks, and only a FEW of them are transvestites.
Yours faithfully,
Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong, Mrs.
P.S. I have never kissed the editor of the radio times.

bludy idiots lol. - No-one should get away with this irreverance !!! Furthermore, all lumberjacks should wear veils from now on !!! lol

2020hindsight
16th-November-2006, 12:04 AM
Lol - It's so hard to restrict oneself to just a few of these - please DYOR lol.
http://www.lyricsdepot.com/monty-python/
DECOMPOSING COMPOSERS - Monty Python

Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on, And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again, And Elgar doesn't answer the door.
Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh, Whilst composing a long symphony,
But one hundred and fifty years later, There's very little of them left to see.

They're decomposing composers. There's nothing much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven, But Beethoven cannot hear you.

Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninov, Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal,
But nowadays, no one will serve them, And their gravy is left to congeal.
Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds, With their highly original sound.
The pianos they played are still working, But they're both six feet underground.

They're decomposing composers. There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to Debussy, But there's not much of him left to hear.

Claude Achille Debussy-- Died, 1918.
Christophe Willebald Gluck-- Died, 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber-- Not at all well, 1825. Died, 1826.
Giacomo Meyerbeer-- Still alive, 1863. Not still alive, 1864.
Modeste Mussorgsky-- 1880, going to parties. No fun anymore, 1881.
Johan Nepomuk Hummel-- Chatting away nineteen to the dozen with his mates down the pub every evening, 1836. 1837, nothing.

sorry - lol - i'M rofl LITERALLY lol.. funny funny dudes. - adios amigos

wayneL
16th-November-2006, 12:59 AM
20/20 Empty your PM's, it's full!

2020hindsight
16th-November-2006, 08:03 AM
20/20 Empty your PM's, it's full!
thort you were saying I was full there. ;) - I was only half full. lol. When I'm full I start on the "Barrack Room Ballads" . thanks btw.

2020hindsight
17th-November-2006, 10:29 PM
This one concerns the predicament of "a reluctant and rather grumpy optimist"...based on a bloke I know down the road lol

WHY THE GRASS IS GREENER - THE RELUCTANT OPTIMIST

Why is the grass so God-damned green, since I decided to smile,
Pain in the ass that it grows so keen, and all on account of my dial,
Kick the damned dog, and stone the damned crows, I’m so sick of starting that mower,
Maybe I’ll frown and sort out the bastard, and then it’ll grow a bit slower.

Why is the sky so God-damned blue, since I decided to laugh
Bloody hot sun, and mowing too, it’s enough to make you barf,
Dog in the way – I could’ve kicked her – making mountains of charf,
Next person gets in the way of my Victa, I’ll cut the bastard in half.

I wanna know why the sun in the morning has got this God-damned hue,
I wanna know why the world without warning can wake to a dream come true
Tell me each day why my God-damned re-borning gets christened with God-damned dew,
Christ it gets tiresome each perfect dawning, It’s enough to make you spew.
:(

2020hindsight
17th-November-2006, 10:34 PM
COMPULSIONS

I'm a compulsive collector, hoard every chance that I get,
I've got garages and attics just brimming with things that "that I'll get to use yet"
My wife and I have a wager (I got to choose what was bet)
If I can use but just one of those items - she buys me an old concord jet.

I'm a compulsive corrector, stick in my beak for a dime,
When people tell me a poem or a joke, I join in the punchline - or mime,
People have asked me to P off, go find some mountain to climb,
But I just accept it a gesture of fun, and tell 'em their gestures should rhyme.

I'm a compulsive door-locker, windows spring-loaded with mace,
Step on my doormat, a beartrap slams shut and a boxing glove smashes your face,
Someone complained to the courthouse - "Twenty days slammer Your Grace?", well
Now I've a sign on the jailbars exclaiming "KEEP OUT !! 'cos this is MY place".

I am compulsively friendly, say "hello" more than is wise,
(Henry the eighth had a little in common but he preferred headless goodbyes).
I like proposals on first dates, caught one last week by surprise,
Then she explained we were already married - so THAT's where I'd seen those blue eyes.
(There before me - when I put on my specs, was the love of all my nine lives).

I'm a compulsive backgammoner, chasing small stones round a board,
Also I like to re-read all the classics like Milton and my gran'ma Maude,
TV then features in our house, footy show here is adored,
So Heaven for me is to read while I backgammon, hearing my footy team's scored.

I find compulsions are good things, let's me fill in idle hours,
Whether it's running around in the nud, or climbing up transmission towers,
No doubt there'll be a big setback, when Buddha turns off my life-powers,
Finally succumbed - there I'll lie at my rest - compulsively pushing up flowers.

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 12:27 PM
THE GHOST OF THE GUM

there’s an Old tree that stands in the gardens botanic
a Gift from some generous tree-god organic
‘twas Standing there long before steamships Titanic
- or tallships – or Cook, or Endeavour.
- and Long before white men so clever.

now Outwardly dead as a dodo on dope
or a Doorbell whose donger has lost its short rope
and the Average spectator would rule out all hope
- and Cut it up blocksize - and toss’em
- those Stark limbs, so long without blossom.

now the Arbor - technicians consider it’s plight
(but they Don’t think like trees – they can only think “white”)
“it’s Chainsaws at dawn – though it fought a good fight …
- and sadly it’s timely to sever”
- A new voice warned….. “Never say never!!”.

“Touch not one stick!!” boomed the new voice aloud !
(they Looked around quick – ‘twas a Tree-god with shroud!)
“It’s one of the last of a clump that once towered
- Now ashes to fungus I fear
- but This one still lives!” – (…….and they sneer).

then the Spirit he pointed- a hollow branch high ,
to a Bee hive that buzzed in that bright autumn sky
and he Smiled with the mirth of a man bout to cry
- you could Hear the small bees give a cheer!.
- (as if some had been boozing on beer.)
…………

and That’s what they did, ;) the white arboritsts choice -
whether Real or imagined they heard the tree’s voice
and alThough the tree’s dead – you can still hear the noise
- of those brave little wings on the breeze
- to the blossoms of neighbouring trees. 

i still Go to the park – sometimes wander on by
and Yesterday heard that old ghost in the sky
“where the Bees from my tree suck, there also suck I
- much as Life can live on in our son
- and our friends and ourselves are as one.”

and So too a man can live on past his prime
(to the Point where he’s out of his tree half the time)
ride these circles of Life (and to hell with the rhyme)
- like this circle we call planet earth
There were trees watching on (but no sign of a dime) ;)
- giving shade at - that Adam boy’s - birth.

PS The notice at the base of the tree points out that this is a VERY SPECIAL TREE - one of the oldes t on the site - kept because of bees, possums etc.
The aboriginals used to call the gums the "supermarket tree" (lol - didnt know there were supermarkets back then ;) ) - because they were used for canoes bark for wrapping, animals honey for drinking etcetc - to say nothing of warclubs ;)

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 12:49 PM
PS The notice at the base of the tree points out that this is a VERY SPECIAL TREE - one of the oldes t on the site - kept because of bees, possums etc.
The aboriginals used to call the gums the "supermarket tree" (lol - didnt know there were supermarkets back then ;) ) - because they were used for canoes bark for wrapping, animals honey for drinking etcetc - to say nothing of warclubs ;) - This is near the Henry Lawson Gate in the Sydney Botanic Gardens.

Sorry if this borers you ;) I took the kids down there once when the bamboo flowered (several year back now) - only happens once every 100 years, I said !!! you'll LOVE it I said !!! - they were dead bored ;) - they've never trusted my opinion of "this you've GOTTA see!!" ever since lol.
PS I think I clawed back a few browny points on the day in question by getting them a Cheeseburger at the bludy Golden Arches restaurant - sheesh, kids!!

Here's a PS to the previous poem.- an alternative ending - from an earlier draft ;).

THE BLACK MAN's VERSION
“this here Tree – we would call it a “market place tree”
you may Call it a “red gum” – I guess we’ll agree
cos we “re(a)d” it each day for the honey of bee
- and Canoes and for possums and grubs
- and for Shade, and for hunting men’s clubs.

and we Used it for woomeras! - spears like a gun!
at Roos that went jumping where Pitt and George run
and Birds that would nest - and that was such fun
- cos we Knew that our god was in health
- and we Loved our black lives and our wealth.

that Tree, said the black, is the last to still stand
by this Small winding track on this small block of land
and the Mountains of history’s hourglass sand
- since that Day ….that a ship sailed past
- and it meant that we’d “honeyed” our last.

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 02:11 PM
Thanks to WayneL for posting this on the music thread - I'm just adding the words - only a few songs have lyrics that stand up to close , distant, or any scrutiny whatsoever, but these are gr8.

WHEN YOU SAY NOTHING AT ALL
Alison Krauss

It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word you can light up the dark
Try as I may I could never explain
What I hear when you don’t say a thing

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes sayin’ you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all

All day long I can hear people talking out loud
But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd
Old mr. webster could never define
What’s being said between your heart and mine

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 02:49 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bNfay6HiUo
Gee whiz this Utube website is good.!! (and gettin better daily) ;)
(I have this problem - maybe everyone does, but I only know a small percentage of the words of even my FAVOURITE songs) - half the time I have no bludy idea what they're saying - even after 125 playings of the song.
AT LAST between Google and Utube - the problem can be solved ;)

- and as Bindi Irwin said after her dad's service - I was even allowed to move my finger across the words on the page. - what a gr8 kid

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 03:10 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HywZvIHCr7A
Lol here's a 6 year old - impersonating a man - impersonating a madman ;)

CERVANTES
May I set the stage? I shall impersonate a man.
Come, enter into my imagination and see him!
His name... Alonso Quijana... a country squire,
no longer young... bony, hollow-faced... eyes
that burn with the fire of inner vision. Being
retired, he has much time for books. He studies
them from morn to night and often through the
night as well. And all he reads oppresses him...
fills him with indignation at man's murderous
ways toward man. And he conceives the strangest
project ever imagined... to become a knight-errant
and sally forth into the world to right all
wrongs. No longer shall he be plain Alonso Quijana...
but a dauntless knight known as -
Don Quixote de La Mancha!

DON QUIXOTE
Hear me now Oh thou bleak and unbearable world,
Thou art base and debauched as can be;
And a knight with his banners all bravely unfurled
Now hurls down his gauntlet to thee!
I am I, Don Quixote, The Lord of La Mancha,
My destiny calls and I go,
And the wild winds of fortune Will carry me onward,
Oh whithersoever they blow.
Whithersoever they blow,
Onward to glory I go!

SANCHO PANZA
I'm Sancho! Yes, I'm Sancho!
I'll follow my master till the end.
I'll tell all the world proudly
I'm his squire! I'm his friend!

DON QUIXOTE
Hear me, heathens and wizards , And serpents of sin!
All your dastardly doings are past,
For a holy endeavor is now to begin , And virtue shall triumph at last!

(Don Quixote and Sancho Panza mount their horses and set out along a road)

am I, Don Quixote, The Lord of la Mancha,
My destiny calls and I go,
And the wild winds of fortune , Will carry me onward,
Oh whithersoever they blow!
...............
Whithersoever they blow,
Onward to glory I {we} go!

For a laugh:) - here it is in Korean
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iraVWQu3Zf8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zo9BLwjZJzk&NR - Orchestral

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 04:28 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjR5xFZxZK8

IF YOU LOVE ME
(Hymne À L'Amour) (M. Monnot / E. Piaf / G. Parsons)

If the sun should tumble from the sky
If the sea should suddenly run dry
If you love me, really love me
Let it happen darling, I don't care

Shall I catch a shooting star
Shall I bring it where you are
If you want me to, I will.
You can set me any task
I'll do anything you ask
If you'll only love me still

When at last, our life on earth is through
I will spend eternity with you
If you love me, really love me
Let it happen darling, I won't care

Also "No Regrets"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzJjbHAlMVI

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 04:30 PM
A few songs from Shirley Bassey :- (most of which already have the words posted on this thread).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waXPGFBm2CM
burn my candle

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SG3XBzUdKX8&search=Shirley%20Bassey%20Writer%20Parker%20Diva%2 0ICON%20Bewitching%20Provocative%20Artist%20Perfor mer%20Entertainer%20Vocalist%20Belter%20Count%20Ba sie
if there’s a wrong way

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PmxkB5AvpY&search=Shirley%20Bassey%20Writer%20Parker%20Diva%2 0ICON%20Bewitching%20Provocative%20Artist%20Perfor mer%20Entertainer%20Vocalist%20Belter%20Count%20Ba sie
comedy skit JE T'AIME with Freddy Star – {Watch it through to the end if you can ;)}

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VP-y7Ye9VkU&search=Shirley%20Bassey%20Writer%20Parker%20Diva%2 0ICON%20Bewitching%20Provocative%20Artist%20Perfor mer%20Entertainer%20Vocalist%20Belter%20Count%20Ba sie
If you go away

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaViFrXt1-o&search=Shirley%20Bassey%20Writer%20Parker%20Diva%2 0ICON%20Bewitching%20Provocative%20Artist%20Perfor mer%20Entertainer%20Vocalist%20Belter%20Count%20Ba sie
Land of My Fathers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vV7YKL-Ckk&search=Shirley%20Bassey%20Writer%20Parker%20Diva%2 0ICON%20Bewitching%20Provocative%20Artist%20Perfor mer%20Entertainer%20Vocalist%20Belter%20Count%20Ba sie
duet withTom Jones

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 05:18 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtsMcGaNk9k
OLIVE TREE
Seekers near Sprinkbrook (pretty close to my old stomping ground).

Tell me white dove where will I find the olive tree (sure aint in the middle east!!)
for just one branch Id search my whole life through (I'd settle for just an olive off the bludy thing!)
I've heard them say a greener land is waiting there ( where they dont have global warming)
where people wait and find that dream come true (and only a few of their nightmares)

high flying dove please lead me and Ill follow you (provided you stay pretty close to the helicopter)
above the clouds beyond the stormy sea (lets limit ourselves to Tasmania for the time being)
I long to share a world of sweet contentment there (make that Fiji)
in that bright land where grows the olive tree. (Melbourne? - coupla daze, BUUdiful ;)) (well as many Greeks as Athens, even if the olive trees seem to hav dipped out),

(copied from song titles sorry for duplication - but this still qualifies as poetry imho;))

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 05:29 PM
Billie Holiday
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQTWVgKZtlg&mode=related&search=

Hereshe is at the age of 4 singing the same song (Strange Fruit):- (o boy, my kids were learning three blind mice at that age)."smell 'v burning flesshhhh"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCJDuHRujjE&mode=related&search=


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billie_Holiday
Billie Holiday (April 7, 1915 – July 17, 1959), also called Lady Day (and born Eleanora Fagan Gough), was an American singer, generally considered one of the greatest female jazz voices of all time, alongside Sarah Vaughan and Ella Fitzgerald.

Early singing career
According to Billie Holiday's accounts, she was recruited by a brothel, worked as a prostitute, and was eventually imprisoned for a short time. It was in Harlem in the early 1930s that she started singing for tips in various night clubs. According to legend, penniless and facing eviction, she sang "Body and Soul" in a local club and reduced the audience to tears. She later worked at various clubs for tips, ultimately landing at Pod's and Jerry's, a well known Harlem jazz club. Her early work history is sketchy, though accounts say she was working at a club named Monette's in 1933 when she was discovered by talent scout John Hammond (see "Billie Holiday." Black History Month Biographies. 2004. Gale Group Databases. 1 Mar, 2004).

Hammond managed to get Holiday recording sessions with Benny Goodman and booked her for live performances in various New York clubs. In 1935 her career got a big push when she recorded four sides that became hits, including "What a Little Moonlight Can Do" and "Miss Brown To You". This landed her a recording contract of her own, and from 1935 to 1942 she laid down masters that would ultimately become an important segment of early American jazz. Sometimes referred to as her "Columbia period" (after her label), these recordings represent a large portion of her total body of work.

During this period, the American music industry was still moderately segregated, and many of the songs Holiday was given to record were intended for the black jukebox audience. She was often not considered for the 'best' songs of the day, which were reserved for white singers. However, Holiday's style and fresh sound soon caught the attention of musicians across the nation, and her popularity began to climb. Peggy Lee, who began recording with Benny Goodman in the early 1940s, is often said to have emulated Holiday's light, sensual style.

In 1936 she was working with Lester Young, who gave her the now-famous nickname of Lady Day. Holiday joined Count Basie in 1937 and Artie Shaw in 1938. She was one of the first black women to work with a white orchestra, an impressive accomplishment at the time.

The Commodore Years and "Strange Fruit"
Holiday was working for Columbia in the late 1930s when she was introduced to a song entitled "Strange Fruit," which began as a poem about the lynching of a black man written by Abel Meeropol, a Jewish schoolteacher from the Bronx. Meeropol used the pseudonym "Lewis Allen" for the work. The poem was set to music and performed at teachers' union meetings, where it was eventually heard by the manager of Cafe Society, an integrated nightclub in Greenwich Village, who introduced it to Holiday. Holiday performed the song at Cafe Society in 1939, a move that by her own admission left her fearful of retaliation. Holiday later said that the imagery in "Strange Fruit" reminded her of her father's death, and that this played a role in her persistence to perform it. She approached Columbia about recording the song, but was refused due to the subject matter of the song. She arranged to record it with an alternate label, Commodore, Milt Gabler's alternative jazz label in 1939. She would record two major sessions at Commodore, one in 1939 and one in 1944. Although there were far fewer songs recorded with Commodore, some of her biggest hits were under this label, including "Fine and Mellow", "I Cover the Waterfront" and "Embraceable You". "Strange Fruit" was highly regarded and admired by intellectuals, and is in a large part responsible for her widespread popularity. "Strange Fruit's" popularity also prompted Holiday to record the type of songs that would become her signature, namely slow, moving love ballads.

It is widely conjectured that this is the period where Holiday first began what would become a long, and ultimately fatal, history of substance abuse. Holiday stated that she began using hard drugs in the early 1940s.
... etcetc one sad story :( When she sings the blues, you know she's been through many a purple patch.
She only lived to be 44, (probably about this Utube recording?) most of her men were into domestic violence, and she was in drugs, you name it.

STRANGE FRUIT Lewis allen

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop. :(

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQtDqh7RTXI&mode=related&search=
lousy video, but happier at least ( and relevant?)

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 07:54 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clClMhI-cBY
LOL - this one's a bit confused - Christine (from Phantom) singing (tenor) Nessum Dorma (from Puccini's "Turnadot") to the Phantom ;) Today the part of Christine is played by Luciano Pavarotti lol. Words are back there somewhere, but I repeat them anyway.... and take the analysis a bit further:- ..
(courtesy of Google and YOUTUBE!!! - If you ask me Youtube was worth every CENT of that 2.2 billion USD that Google paid for it !!! BRILLIANT!)

What is it about this song!! and these words !!! Here are two brief features which use Nessum Dorma as background:- ice skating :) ; and 9/11 :( respectively. Perhaps it’s the ending words “I shall conquer”? or maybe just the magnificent tenor tonsils. ?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nq-iv3FQDsY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoKZn65-1jA

Here's an excellent Google site which analyses the song, its meaning, and its literal words (although I suspect words don't count for much in opera - these sorta words are designed for the heart to hear).


http://home.earthlink.net/~markdlew/comm/turandot.htm
(the words and meaning of Nessum Dorma) call for a bit of discussion, I think.

The libretto of Turandot doesn't translate easily because it's so heavily poetic. Not just the lyrics, but the entire plot, which (as many befuddled listeners have complained) doesn't make much sense if taken too literally. Forgive me if I recap most of the plot, but the poetry of the aria is too tied up in the story not to discuss it....

As you probably know, Turandot is the beautiful cold-hearted femme fatale princess who lures love-struck princes to their death. Anyone who wants to marry her is asked three riddles: If he answers them right he gets to marry her, but if he doesn't he is beheaded. This is stated at the very beginning of the opera as "the law" ("La legge è questa:"). It is not so much a government decree as a mythopoetic law, almost like a magic spell, which no one in the kingdom -- not the emperor, not Turandot, not the ministers -- can go against.

In the first act Calaf, the "Unknown Prince", rings the gong, signifying his declaration as a suitor to Turandot. In the second act he correctly answers the three riddles. According to the law, Turandot now has to marry him, even though she doesn't want to. But instead of claiming his prize, Calaf now poses a riddle of his own, saying to her: Tell me my name before morning, and at dawn I shall die. ("Dimmi il mio nome, prima dell'alba! E all'alba morirò!")
Take this literally and it's a dumb move on his part -- he's already won, why should he give her another chance to get away? -- but of course nothing in this opera makes sense if taken literally. Naturally, the Prince's statement is poetic. Furthermore he WANTS to "lose" the game; he wants her to tell him his name and he wants to "die." Besides being another instance of the Lohengrin/Rumpelstiltskin guess-my-name game (which can be traced to religious beliefs of pre-Christian Germany) the Prince is telling Turandot of his true goal. (Notice that he does not say "IF you guess my name....") He doesn't want her to marry him reluctantly; he wants to defeat her cold-hearted defensiveness and have her fall in love with him. This is, in fact, exactly what happens at the end of the opera, and the metaphors are quite explicit. The veil which Turandot wears (and which Calaf rips) is described as "cold" ("fredda"), for instance.

So when the Prince poses the riddle, the name he refers to is not "Calaf", but rather the name she will ultimately give him: "Amor" ("Love"). That is, he wants her to love him. This, incidentally, also makes sense out of the scene where Liù is killed. When Turandot orders Timur to reveal the name, Liù says, "The name that you seek I alone know." ("Il nome che cercate io sola so.") Huh? Timur doesn't know his own son's name?? Literally, of course he does know; but poetically, Liù's statement is correct, because she's the only one who is in love with the Prince.

Where the Prince says "then I shall die", he really means "die" in the sense of lose himself completely to true love. Yes, I know, death-equals-love sounds like a pretty perverse metaphor, but it's a persistent one (and more common in Romance languages than it is in English). For an example in English (albeit written by an Italian), when Laetitia in The Old Maid and the Thief sings, "O sweet thief, I pray, make me die," she isn't hoping that he'll murder her....
The aria "Nessun dorma" is near the beginning of Act 3. At the end of Act 2 Turandot hasn't yet figured out all this love poetry business, and still thinks that she just has to get someone to reveal the Prince's name and then she can chop off his head. So she puts out a decree that no one in Peking is allowed to sleep until the name is revealed.

Act 3 opens in gloomy night with lugubrious chords in the orchestra (technically, minor chords with augmented 7ths and 11ths). Some heralds are announcing Turandot's decree, "Tonight no one in Peking sleeps" ("Questa notte nessun dorma in Pekino"), and the chorus gloomily repeats the words "no one sleeps" ("nessun dorma"). In the first words of his aria, the Prince is repeating the words of the chorus. The G major chord that opens the aria is the first optimistic-sounding chord we've heard since intermission and it breaks through the gloom like the light of dawn.
The translation, finally:

The Prince:-
No one sleeps, no one sleeps...
Even you, o Princess,
In your cold room,
Watch the stars,
That tremble with love
And with hope.
But my secret is hidden within me;
My name no one shall know, no, no,
On your mouth I will speak it*
When the light shines,
And my kiss will dissolve the silence
That makes you mine.
Chorus :-
No one will know his name
And we must, alas, die.
The Prince:-
Vanish, o night!
Set**, stars!
At daybreak, I shall conquer!

* "Dire sulla bocca", literally "to say on the mouth", is a poetic Italian way of saying "to kiss." (Or so I've been told, but perhaps a native speaker can confirm or deny this.) I've also been told that a line from a Marx Brothers movie -- "I wasn't kissing her, I was whispering in her mouth" -- is a conscious imitation of the Italian phrase.
** "Tramontate" literally means "go behind the mountains", but it's the word Italians use for sunset and the like. It's also a word Turandot uses after Calaf kisses her: "E l'alba! Turandot tramonta!" ("It's dawn, Turandot descends!") This suggests yet another mythopoetic theme which pervades the Turandot libretto -- the sun god's defeat of the moon goddess -- but I won't get into that....

Elsewhere:-

“Puccini's last opera was left unfinished at his death, and what he had intended to be a final, transcendent love duet was completed by a younger colleague, Franco Alfano. In Peking's Imperial Palace, the fatally beautiful Princess Turandot receives unlucky suitors from far and wide, who must answer three riddles to win her hand—or die. Calaf, son of the exiled King Timur of Tartary, is struck with Turandot's beauty, and ignoring protests from his father and Liù, the servant girl who loves him, he matches wits with the princess. Although he guesses the three riddles, Calaf offers his life to Turandot if she can discover his secret name. Searching the city in vain, the princess finally tortures faithful Liù, driving her to suicide. Faced with Liù's sacrifice and Calaf's stern devotion, Turandot crumbles, and weeping in Calaf's arms, she declares that his secret name is Love.”

2020hindsight
18th-November-2006, 09:22 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qS5JkZr0tB8
I for one will NEVER hear a better song that this !! JESSE
Janis Ian wrote this for her cat I believe - but personally I love this (although I hate cats lol). Janis (Ian) plays the piano for Shirley (Bassey) in this one. (wonder why she leaves the outside light on for a cat lol?)

JESSE
Jesse, come home , There’s a hole in the bed
Where we slept , Now it’s growing cold
Hey Jesse, your face , In the place where we lay
By the heart, all apart , It hangs on my heart.

And I’m leaving the light , On the stairs.
No, I’m not scared , I wait for you.
Hey Jesse, I’m lonely , Come home.

Jesse, the floors , And the boards
Recalling your steps , And I remember too
All the pictures are fading . And shaded in grey
But I still set a place , On the table at noon.

And I’m leaving the light , On the stairs.
No, I’m not scared , I wait for you.
Hey Jesse, I’m lonely , Come home.

Jesse, the spread on the bed , Is like when you left
I’ve kept it up for you. , And all the blues and the greens
Have been recently cleaned , And they’re seemingly new
Hey Jes, me and you.

We’ll swallow the light , On the stairs
We’ll do up my hair ,And sleep unaware.
Hey Jesse, I’m lonely , Come home.

Here's another she (Janis Ian) wrote "when she went through an awkward stage of her life - when she was short with curly dark hair ;)":- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2IGt-3IBPI
"And those whose names were never called , When choosing sides for basketball."

AT SEVENTEEN
I learned the truth at seventeen , That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles , Who married young and then retired.
The valentines I never knew , The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful , At seventeen I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces , Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home , Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say come dance with me , and murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems , At seventeen.
.............................
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs , Whose name I never could pronounce
said, Pity please the ones who serve , They only get what they deserve.
The rich relationed hometown queen , Married into what she needs
A guarantee of company , And haven for the elderly.

Remember those who win the game , they Lose the love they sought to gain
Indebentures of quality , And dubious integrity.
Their small town eyes will gape at you , in dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received , At seventeen.
............................
To those of us who know the pain , Of valentines that never came,
And those whose names were never called , When choosing sides for basketball.
It was long ago and far away , The world was younger than today
And dreams were all they gave for free , To ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game and when we dare , To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone , Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say, come dance with me , and murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me , At seventeen

2020hindsight
19th-November-2006, 12:12 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEDz8NG3p-g
Japanese girl sings “at 17”
Evidence that Janis Ian had a big following in Japan.- perhaps due to her perfect diction ?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmHXRJMxYCQ
tea and symphany.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdiLbw4JC94&mode=related&search=
janis ian – black and white
http://www.janisian.com/lyrics/BlackAndWhite.pdf
Really good stuff ( if you liked Martin Luther King I guess).


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Janis_Ian
Janis Ian (born on April 7, 1951) is a Grammy Award-winning American songwriter, singer and multi-instrumental musician.

Biography
Born Janis Eddy Fink in a Bronx hospital, she was primarily raised in New Jersey and briefly attended the New York City High School of Music & Art. At thirteen years old, she legally changed her name from Janis Eddy Fink to Janis Ian, the last name coming from her brother's middle name. She had a successful singing career in the 1960s and 1970s, recording into the 21st century.

At the age of 15, Ian legally emancipated herself from her parents and also wrote and sang her first hit single, the song "Society's Child (Baby I've Been Thinking)", which told the story of an interracial romance forbidden by the narrator's mother and frowned upon by her peers and teachers. Produced by melodrama specialist George "Shadow" Morton and released three times between 1965 and 1967, "Society's Child" finally became a national hit the third time it was released, after Leonard Bernstein featured it in a TV special titled Inside the Rock Revolution. The song's lyrical content was too taboo for some radio stations, and they withdrew or banned it from their playlists accordingly. Allegedly at least one radio station that played it was burned to the ground in protest. In the summer of 1967, "Society's Child" reached #14 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was also #1 or top 10 in several key cities across America.

Apparently "Society's Child" was too hot for Atlantic Records as well at the time. Ian relates on her website that although the song was originally intended for Atlantic and the label paid for her recording session, the label subsequently returned the master to her and quietly refused to release it. Years later, Ian says, Atlantic's president at the time, Jerry Wexler, publicly apologized to her for this. The single and Ian's 1967 self-titled debut album were finally released on Verve/Forecast; her album was also a hit, reaching #12. In 2001, "Society's Child" was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame, which honors recordings considered timeless and important to music history.

Her most successful single was "At Seventeen", released in 1975, a bittersweet commentary on adolescent cruelty and teenage angst, as reflected upon from the maturity of adulthood. "At Seventeen" received acclaim from record buyers - it charted at #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and #1 on the Adult Contemporary chart - and critics, as it won the 1975 Grammy for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, beating out the likes of Olivia Newton-John and Helen Reddy. Ian performed "At Seventeen" as a musical guest on the very first episode of Saturday Night Live in October 1975. The song's parent album, Between the Lines, also hit #1 and earned a platinum certification for sales of one million copies.

..........
One other country where Ian has achieved a surprising level of popularity is Japan (and South Africa).
............
Ian finally resurfaced in 1993 with the album Breaking Silence, its title a reference to having "come out" as a lesbian and acknowledged the rumors about her sexuality that had been circulating for nearly two decades.
..............
Ian currently lives in Nashville, Tennessee, with attorney Patricia Snyder, whom she married in Toronto, Canada on August 27, 2003.

http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=2568 (mainly comments on Society's Child) eg
Janis was 13 when she began working on this, 14 when she finished. ..This song is about an interracial romance. Janis was living in an all-black neighborhood in East Orange, NJ, where she was one of 5 white kids in the school. She explains: "I saw it from both ends. I was seeing it from the end of all the civil rights stuff on the television and radio, of white parents being incensed when their daughters would date black men, and I saw it around me when black parents were worried about their sons or daughters dating white girls or boys. I don't think I knew where I was going when I started it, but when I hit the second line, 'face is clean and shining black as night,' it was obvious where the song was going."
Janis: "I don't think I made a conscious decision to have the girl cop out in the end, it just seemed like that would be the logical thing at my age, because how can you buck school and society and your parents, and make yourself an outcast forever."
Janis didn't write this about a particular person: "My parents were the complete opposite of the parents in the song. They wouldn't have cared if I married a Martian, as long as I was happy... I felt bad for my Dad because everyone assumed he was a racist."
...........
"For most of the '90s, Janis dropped this from her set list because no one wanted to hear it, but then a lot of people who grew up listening to it started coming to her shows and asking for it. Many of these people were Vietnam veterans who heard the song because it was widely played on Radio Free Europe and on US military bases.
....This was inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame in 2001. "

http://lyrics.ivory.org/societyschild.html
SOCIETY'S CHILD

Come to my door, baby, Face is clean and shining black as night.
My mother went to answer you know, That you looked so fine.

Now I could understand your tears and your shame, She called you "boy" instead of your name.
When she wouldn't let you inside, When she turned and said , "But honey, he's not our kind."

She says I can't see you any more, baby, Can't see you anymore.

Walk me down to school, baby, Everybody's acting deaf and blind.
Until they turn and say, "Why don't you stick to your own kind."

My teachers all laugh, their smirking stares, Cutting deep down in our affairs.
Preachers of equality,
Think they believe it, Then why won't they just let us be?

They say I can't see you anymore baby, Can't see you anymore.

One of these days I'm gonna stop my listening, Gonna raise my head up high.
One of these days I'm gonna raise up my glistening wings and fly.

But that day will have to wait for a while. Baby I'm only society's child.
When we're older things may change, But for now this is the way they must remain.

I say I can't see you anymore baby, Can't see you anymore.
No, I don't want to see you anymore, baby.

Sorry, can't find the youtube for this song. (but not bad for a 14 year old yes?)

As for her being gay? - anyone that talented can be whatever they like imho.

2020hindsight
19th-November-2006, 01:21 AM
Seems the seekers just registered that name in time – before “Thrill seekers, attention seekers, asylum seekers, ghost seekers, etcetc – takes a long time to sort em on google - and also on youtube ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My5_zSu_LQw Colours of my life – Seekers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEhCOaIpLow a world of our own

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HDXX2zjmLM georgie girl

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pasicxU6tq4 when will the good apples fall

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtsMcGaNk9k olive tree

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rm1XYUAfhu8 the carnival is over

I have already posted the words for "a world of our own" - those words that gave such heart to those orphan kids - I wont duplicate yet again. HECK - three comments!!

1. the demarcation lines between "poetry", "lyrics" and "songs" are getting really blurred (and always were), and
2. since when do you have to type poetry? - it was originally all handed down by the spoken word - the "bards" etc ;) - (my excuse for not getting any words for these songs); and
3. You all know the bludy words anyway !

(ps Judith D is singing happier songs at 25 (born 1943, colours of my life recorded 1968) than Billy Holiday was at 4 !! - o boy - times were tough in "the South")

new girl
19th-November-2006, 10:55 AM
This thread has been good to me. Having lost a family member to cancer, witnessed the struggle of another family member with schizophrenia and gone through two miscarriages myself in the last five years, the words posted by some of you on this thread were, to say the least, healing. Don't get me wrong, I live a fantastic life. God’s been good to me and the smiles on my two healthy childrens' faces wipes all the bad memories away :)

I always find a positive in any situation. I think this is the best way to cope and since I hate dwelling on the past, especially if it's hurtful, the one I choose to take with me from this thread and would consider my favorite would have to be HE:

HE (Tous Les Visages de L'Amour)
Written by Charles Aznavour and Herbert Kretzmer

He may be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay
He may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

He may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell
He may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
He may not be what he may seem
Inside his shell....

He, who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
He maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows in the past
That I remember 'till the day I die

He maybe the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take the laughter and his tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where he goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
he.....he , Oh, he.....

2020hindsight
19th-November-2006, 11:11 AM
This thread has been good to me. Having lost a family member to cancer, witnessed the struggle of another family member with schizophrenia and gone through two miscarriages myself in the last five years, the words posted by some of you on this thread were, to say the least, healing. Don't get me wrong, I live a fantastic life. God’s been good to me and the smiles on my two healthy childrens' faces wipes all the bad memories away ..... the one I choose to take with me from this thread and would consider my favorite would have to be HE:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CY5vCHMuapY = to harry potter lol - true this is SHE rather than HE but close. I'm sure Bassey sings "HE" but can't find it on youtube (as yet). the author gets the credits anyways.

http://www.salon.com/people/feature/1999/07/15/aznavour/ :- "My shortcomings are my voice, my height, my gestures, my lack of culture and education, my frankness and my lack of personality." So wrote the 26-year-old French singer and songwriter Charles Aznavour one night in 1950, drunkenly brooding over his stalled career. Nothing, he concluded, could be done about his unorthodox voice, whose rasp and keening "Oriental" quality were so different from the smooth, insouciant style of that era's popular chansonniers. Nor was there any solution to the 5-foot-3 Aznavour's height problem: His one attempt to rectify the situation, when he wore elevator shoes for a New York nightclub performance, had been a tragedy of clubfooted slapstick. His frankness: another hopeless case. "I am incorrigible ... I say 'merde' to anybody, however important he is, when I feel like it." ;)

Interesting that both Aznavour and Piaf are knee high to a French Poodle.

Incidentally - also not bad ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdbE4Ddd0gU = the hymn of the same name - complete with karioki wall words (gotta be Polynesia , Tonga maybe (or Hawaii or Samoa etc), round building = Fale, love their church, I attended once in Tonga - and didnt haver any money to contribute to the bowl lol (was on a yacht and didnt carry money) - so they called out in a loud voice "and the Palangi = whiteman, gives us NOTHING" lol)

PS the poem about the miscarriage I wrote for my wife - she was in hospital and very depressed (as you can imagine) - so I wrote it the night it happened ;) our first child. (we now have 3 healthy kids to make up for it:))
I have to be careful with that poem. Showed it to someone at work , and turns out they've a number of miscarriages, and no kids to show for it :(
PS - another way to look at it I suppose - so WHAT if I lose on the ASX !!! ;)

2020hindsight
21st-November-2006, 10:05 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3oO3lbBGJQ - peter paul & mary - with the author Pete Seegar.

At 3m57s , Pete Seegar says " way back in 1955, I came across three lines out of a famous book:-

"where are the flowers? the girls have plucked them
where are the girls? they are all married
where are the men? they're all in the army"

I did not REALISE when I put the song together, an ancient ancient question was phrased so poetically" :)

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE
words and music by Pete Seeger
performed by Pete Seeger and Tao Rodriguez-Seeger

Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing
Where have all the flowers gone? Long time ago
Where have all the flowers gone? Girls have picked them every one
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone? Long time passing
Where have all the young girls gone? Long time ago
Where have all the young girls gone? Taken husbands every one
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone? Long time passing
Where have all the young men gone? Long time ago
Where have all the young men gone? Gone for soldiers every one
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time ago
Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time passing
Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time ago
Where have all the graveyards gone? Covered with flowers every one
When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn?

2020hindsight
21st-November-2006, 10:27 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmwYpC-s40w&mode=related&search= Mark Wills (who authored) Dont Laugh At Me (see also song lyrics thread for PPM version) - nice song ;)

Also (similar sentiments) there but but for fortune :-
5 stars:-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWPOxb2n0Q8 = there but for fortune , marianne faithfull

3 stars:-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iw4xAvm_DXE =there but for fortune , ppm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrSU571JETk = ditto , joan baez

2020hindsight
21st-November-2006, 11:27 PM
http://www.abc.net.au/news/arts/articulate/200611/s1793635.htm - palin proud of python

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zey8567bcg&mode=related&search= lumberjack song (words posted back there somewhere ;))

LOL - here's Realist speaking Dutch lol:-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_Gn6a3WbYw&mode=related&search=

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DkqU-uWojc&mode=related&search= sacred etc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xe1a1wHxTyo = the four yorkshiremen ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6Lq771TVm4&mode=related&search= =parrot complaint

2020hindsight
22nd-November-2006, 12:09 AM
.... - peter paul & mary - with the author Pete Seegar.

At 3m57s , Pete Seegar says " way back in 1955, I came across three lines out of a famous book:-

"where are the flowers? the girls have plucked them
where are the girls? they are all married
where are the men? they're all in the army"

I did not REALISE when I put the song together, an ancient ancient question was phrased so poetically" :)

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE .. etc


Sorry I had the wrong Youtube lead back there
:hide:
Try again lol - apologies (getting crosseyed).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLe9pJSRas0

2020hindsight
23rd-November-2006, 01:34 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43J-gYOnLoI

LIGHT ONE CANDLE
Peter Yarrow- ©1983 Silver Dawn Music ASCAP

Light one candle for the Maccabee children
With thanks that their light didn't die
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied
Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand
But light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker's time is at hand

chorus:
Don't let the light go out!
It's lasted for so many years!
Don't let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears.

Light one candle for the strength that we need
To never become our own foe
And light one candle for those who are suffering
Pain we learned so long ago
Light one candle for all we believe in
That anger not tear us apart
And light one candle to find us together
With peace as the song in our hearts ....(chorus)

What is the memory that's valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What's the commitment to those who have died
That we cry out they've not died in vain?
We have come this far always believing
That justice would somehow prevail
This is the burden, this is the promise
This is why we will not fail! .....(chorus)

Don't let the light go out!
Don't let the light go out!
Don't let the light go out!

It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness (Chinese Proverb). - PS I think that was before the days of global warming ;) These days its better to keep cursing the darkness, - so what if you bump into a few things.

As someone posted elsewhere (on youtube - with this song)...
"Light one candle for the strength that we need
To never become our own foe".

Also with chords:-
http://members.cox.net/billandleann/candle.htm

2020hindsight
23rd-November-2006, 12:21 PM
Concerning the previous post / song, and the opening line...
"Light one candle for the Maccabee children" - where Maccabee = children of Israel.....
Whilst I'm confident that PP&M were not trying to digress from the peace theme in 100% of the rest of their repertoire, It would have been nice if the words of the song was a bit more .. mmm, cosmopolitan...
Hence I have added the following verse for PP&M to consider next time they sing it ;)

PS a couple of points - 1. they are probably referring to the Holocaust of course."right to exist was denied".
2. As Golda Mair said "there won't be peace until we learn to love our children more than we hate our enemies"

Light nine candles for the Middle East children , born into one giant jail, !
comPeting disasters, their Crucifix rafters, their Mosque floors, and Walls where they wail !!,
FORGET the hereafter!, Let's wish em some LAUGHTER!, and lessen the load on their nails, !!!
Let's walk with these candles, a mile in their sandals! ANd THEN PRAPS ..
the VANDALS will...

syncopated head toss of those magic, point-underlining blonde Traver's locks ;)

FAIL!!!!!! :2twocents

2020hindsight
23rd-November-2006, 08:56 PM
Question. I wonder what the Korean translation (subscript) says lol.
"Light one candle for the Macadamia children"....? ;)

2020hindsight
23rd-November-2006, 09:07 PM
Here's a pretty hopeless poem - you could probably argue that it's only half completed ;)
THE IRONY OF HALF COMPLETION

Some days while on a bushwalk I may find some time to kill,
I read a bit of scribbley gum to give my heart a thrill,
I find a feather maybe or some modern ballpoint quill,
And jot some notes till soul has had its fill - Of appetising philosophic krill.

Today I thought I'd pick up any glass I spied around,
An old coke bottle maybe cos there's plenty to be found,
And there - beside the pawprint of my little puppy's bound,
Were several nasty pieces on the ground, - A trap perhaps? For human or for hound?

Some bushcare group had been this way, an honourable pack,
They'd probably found them several paces from the trusted track,
And one had had the bright idea to make a little stack,
And then collect them on the journey back, -And then? Their memory cells went out of whack.

And one was jagged bottle-end a nasty speculator,
An ambush left by terrorist or maybe puppy-hater?
But more than likely some good deed that he would "finish later",
This well intentioned cruel procrastinator - Awakening this sleeping alligator.

Malevolent these razor teeth, this nest of nasty blade,
And innocent the spreading fern that hid them in half-shade,
And fortunate for me the warning glint a sunbeam made
And pure good luck my puppy's paw's not splayed -A bloody paw for carelessness - some trade !

It's hard to make some sense of it, especially set to verse,
By half completing something we just make the matter worse,
The act of half completion can turn kindness to a curse,
And half-completed irony turns terse. - This bushcare ranger danger in reverse.

And so we make these errors that so complicate a life,
These open-ended projects that come back to give us strife
These multi-headed dragons that we slew with trusty knife
But left one head to multiply a-rife
So next time - slay the dragon AND his wife!!

2020hindsight
23rd-November-2006, 10:37 PM
THE SPEED OF LIGHT and other matters affecting the Nuclear Debate.

that Paddy Murphy (crazy fool) – we’d had a beer or three
we'd Done the Guinness - done the fight - not once did we agree
and Then the conversation turned to nuc-lere energy
and Whether speed of light was “c” or “z”
and Whether "m-c-squared" was "E" or "D".

young Paddy said he’d prove it that the experts had it wrong
he Asked the publican for torches –two – and nice and strong
and Then we stood at each end of the bar (bout ten foot long)
and Then he says “GET SET ” (like some King Kong)
and Then he yelled “LETS GO ! - the timer’s on!!”

he Switched his torch on – I did too, as soon as I saw “light”
deSpite the fact that he was sloshed and I was “almost” tight
we Timed that light-beam back and forth and got it pretty right
- then Checked the numbers way into the night.
- and Let the torches cool down out of sight.

and Finally we proved it – “C’ was nowhere near as big
300 thousand Klicks per second !! – (minus zag and zig)!!!
“this Speed of light is 'bout as fast as Jim O’Lauchlan’s pig !!
said Paddy when he finished doing trig,
or Maybe twice as fast as Irish jig!.

they Can’t get THIS right, what’s their chance of working out the watts?
and Power and amps and stuff like that that ties us all in knots
they Orta concentrate on sums like “join the bloody dots”
or Doin “crosswords made for tiny tots”.!!
the Speed of light's officially EIGHT KNOTS!!

you Ask me they should stick to doing basic algebraic
and Dirty coal - and stuff like that – allegedly archaic
it’s Dirty maybe ( dad would come home looking quite opay-ique)
but Hek this other stuff is "archi-tra-ic”
....
(so me and Paddys gone photo-voltaic ;) )


http://www.colorado.edu/physics/2000/waves_particles/lightspeed_evidence.html How has the speed of light been measured?

That's a very good question. In the early 17th century, many scientists believed that there was no such thing as the "speed of light"; they thought light could travel any distance in no time at all

Galileo disagreed, and he came up with an experiment to measure light's velocity: he and his assistant each took a shuttered lantern, and they stood on hilltops one mile apart. Galileo flashed his lantern, and the assistant was supposed to open the shutter to his own lantern as soon as he saw Galileo's light. Galileo would then time how long it took before he saw the light from the other hilltop. And then he could just divide the distance by the time to get the speed. Did it work? Nope. The problem was that the speed of light is simply too fast to be measured this way; light takes such a short time (about 0.000005 seconds, in fact) to travel one mile that there's no way the interval could have been measured using the tools Galileo had.

So what you'd need is a really long distance for the light to travel, like millions of miles. How could someone set up an experiment like that?
Well...during the 1670's, the Danish astronomer Ole Roemer was making extremely careful observations of Jupiter's moon Io. Roemer was able to calculate a value for the speed of light. The number he came up with was about 186,000 miles per second, or 300,000 kilometers per second.
etc etc
(almost spot on!!!! - not bad for the 1670's sheesh)


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speed_of_light
The speed of light in a vacuum is an important physical constant denoted by the letter c for constant or the Latin word celeritas meaning "swiftness". It is the speed of all electromagnetic radiation in a vacuum, not just visible light.

In metric units, c is exactly 299,792,458 metres per second (1,079,252,848.8 km/h). Note that this speed is a definition, not a measurement, since the fundamental SI unit of length, the metre, has been defined since October 21, 1983 in terms of the speed of light: one metre is the distance light travels in a vacuum in 1/299,792,458 of a second. Converted to imperial units, the speed of light is approximately 186,282.397 miles per second, or 670,616,629.384 miles per hour, or almost one foot per nanosecond

I guess the time to travel the length of Paddys bar would have been ten nanoseconds. or 10

Reminds me - 299-gigametres per second is 1.079 tetrametres per hour!!
Bloke at work is going to buy a computer with a 1 tetra-byte hard drive!!. These days we boast - "My computer's got two Gigs!!!"
Tomorrow we'll be saying "That's nothing - My computer's got two Tets!" ;)

2020hindsight
24th-November-2006, 12:56 AM
War Speeches etc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhYiv6wFBaM =WC comes to power

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0JsPXg-e1s = Winston Churchill "we shall fight on the beaches" - recorded excerpt of speech. (words below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idEUzGrewlM&NR = roosevelt warns of danger if nazis win 1940

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yr-IYTH7okQ&mode=related&search= =hitler - I suggest turn it off after 1 minute max - seriously boring.!

WC ON HISTORY:-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhYiv6wFBaM&mode=related&search=
"Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, "This was their finest hour.""
also
"History will be kind to me for I intend to write it."

WC ON PERSEVERENCE:-
"We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old."

WC ON PURPOSE:-
Behind them - behind us- behind the Armies and Fleets of Britain and France - gather a group of shattered States and bludgeoned races: the Czechs, the Poles, the Norwegians, the Danes, the Dutch, the Belgians - upon all of whom the long night of barbarism will descend, unbroken even by a star of hope, unless we conquer, as conquer we must; as conquer we shall.

GWB ON TIDES:-
I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?" --George W. Bush, asked if the tide was turning in Iraq, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006

WC ON TIDES:-
The gratitude of every home in our Island, in our Empire, and indeed throughout the world, except in the abodes of the guilty, goes out to the British airmen who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, are turning the tide of the world war by their prowess and by their devotion. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mm60ZIVnXZw&mode=related&search=
the present in colour - the memories (nightmares on this occasion) in black and white.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wqy85jz5lcY&mode=related&search= winston summary

2020hindsight
24th-November-2006, 01:04 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSNOr26ZbrQ&mode=related&search= so what if its about Beckham and co - the same sentiments apply for the ashes


"for without victory there IS no glory...we shall fight on the pitches, we shall SING on the terraces, we shall watch in the pubs!! - and on the plasma screens!! we shall never surrender" CMON ENGLAND lol.

pacer
24th-November-2006, 01:18 AM
There was a bloke from Perth,
That thought more than he was worth.
He made a big plunder
Not a big blunder..

And is now sitting here...
and smiling in wonder.........:)

You guys here give me the motivation and fortitude to cary on and realy enjoy the trading game....Love you all heaps, even if some of you are tossers!.....lol

2020hindsight
24th-November-2006, 01:38 AM
there once was a man from nantucket lol :goodnight
Hey pacer, big job coming up in Tauranga - $500 million worth of bridges and stuff - btw nothing to do with investment in ASX ;)

By the way - did you like the story (post #197) of Galileo and his assistant - standing on hills 1 mile apart flashing at each other ;) - Bludy Italians- never change.lol

2020hindsight
24th-November-2006, 02:42 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgf2FeEe0sI&mode=related&search=

HAVE YOU BEEN TO JAIL FOR JUSTICE
©2000 Anne Feeney (BMI)

Was it Cesar Chavez or Rosa Parks that day?
Some say Dr. King or Ghandi
Set them on their way
No matter who your mentors are
It’s pretty plain to see
That if you’ve been to jail for justice
You’re in good company

Have you been to jail for justice?
I want to shake your hand
‘Cause sitting in and laying down
Are ways to take a stand
Have you sung a song for freedom
Or marched that picket line?
Have you been to jail for justice?
Then you’re a friend of mine

You law abiding citizens
Come listen to this song
Laws are made by people
And people can be wrong
Once unions were against the law
But slavery was fine
Women were denied the vote
While children worked the mine
The more you study history
The less you can deny it
A rotten law stays on the books
‘til folks with guts defy it!

Have you been to jail for justice?
I want to shake your hand
‘Cause sitting in and laying down
Are ways to take a stand
Have you sung a song for freedom
Or marched that picket line?
Have you been to jail for justice?
Then you’re a friend of mine

Well the law is supposed to serve us
And so are the police
When the system fails
It’s up to us to speak our piece
We must be ever vigilant
For justice to prevail
So get courage from your convictions
Let ‘em haul you off to jail!

Have you been to jail for justice?
I want to shake your hand
‘Cause sitting in and laying down
Are ways to take a stand
Have you sung a song for freedom
Or marched that picket line?
Have you been to jail for justice?
Then you’re a friend of mine
Have you been to jail for justice
Have you been to jail for justice
Have you been to jail for justice
Then you’re a friend of mine

2020hindsight
24th-November-2006, 07:44 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cu8JFzSdHn8 = tonite , west side story (relative amateurs)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEY1-v3i98w&mode=related&search= pofessionals (Placido Domingo, Julia Migenes )

The following extract fromWestSide Soryincludes some of this song, but not exact match.
http://www.seeklyrics.com/lyrics/West-Side-Story/Tonight.html

ANITA Anita's gonna get her kicks Tonight.
We'll have our private little mix Tonight.
He'll walk in hot and tired, So what?
Don't matter if he's tired, As long as he's hot Tonight!

TONY Tonight, tonight, Won't be just any night,
Tonight there will be no morning star.
Tonight, tonight, I'll see my love tonight.
And for us, stars will stop where they are.
Today The minutes seem like hours, The hours go so slowly,
And still the sky is light . . . Oh moon, grow bright, And make this endless day endless night!

RIFF I'm counting on you to be there Tonight.
When Diesel wins it fair and square Tonight.
That Puerto Rican punk'll Go down. And when he's hollered "Uncle" We'll tear up the town!
(RIFF, TONY, and MARIA sing simultaneously)
RIFF So I can count on you, boy?
TONY All right.
RIFF We're gonna have us a ball.
TONY All right.
RIFF Womb to tomb!
TONY Sperm to worm!
RIFF I'll see you there about eight.

PS post #115 also refers ;)
TYPICAL OLD FASHIONED LOVE AFFAIR - 16th CENTRURY.

they Met in their teens when the world was green, and their Heads were impetuous yet,
and the Sad forebodings to them unseen, of Montague and Capulet,
and it Grew from fling to zing to keen, to Flames of eternal debt,
till those Flaming brothers intervene, on behalf of the the Gang and the Jet. etc etc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8kQN5MmrFc&mode=related&search= =last scene of west side story

2020hindsight
25th-November-2006, 01:21 AM
Here are a few songs and links associated with the Olympic movement. (and by inference, multiculturalism). Great ideals - but I suspect some of these ideals only surface every 4 years . :2twocents (PS Most of these clips are only worth 20 or 30 seconds worth of viewing - with the possible exception of the 2000 Special Olympics.;) ......watch all 40 seconds of this one!.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd3anxVMgZY&mode=related&search= kids at 1996 Atlanta Olympics

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poSEND5N_lk = 2000 sydney
“family of children, we come from many different lands" A lousy song to listen to but the lyrics are pretty unambiguous on the subject of tolerance etc.

UNDER SOUTHERN SKIES (Nikki Webster)
Lyrics by Maria Millward, Music by Damien Halloran

There's a peace in our hearts and a hope in our hands,
We're the family of children; we come from many different lands.
Our time is just beginning; our race is yet to run,
But if you will take us with you, then we have already won.

Chorus: Under the southern skies, Together in this land,
Every voice in celebration, A family hand in hand!
Under the southern skies, As one we rise,
And turn our eyes to see, All the wonder of the future
In a world of harmony.

There's a great spirit rising from the desert to the sea.
As it sweeps across this southern land it calls to you and me:
We're the dreamers and the dreaming; we're the face of things yet to come.
Every child can be a hero if our world can live as one.

Chorus:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Y9k-U67FNg&mode=related&search= =they make you feel different, Special Olympics 2000

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Q0yhOPO510&mode=related&search= athens 2004

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqdwdYV2F0I = 2006 winter Olympics

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xhxh3expV10&mode=related&search= chinese Olympics 2008

2020hindsight
25th-November-2006, 06:56 PM
A KIND RELEASE AMONGST FRIENDS

we’re Gathered here, my final test, to let me hold your hand,
one Final heartbeat in a breast that’s brave but undermanned,
I’ve Lost all strength, my mortal soul can’t face this savage land,
- I’ve Seen God through this portal hole unmanned,
- how Fast my footing sinks, how quick the sand.

we’re Gathered here, no more no less, to watch my curtain draw,
my Soul seeks haven from this mess, these whips that leave it raw,
a Gentler place where slopes are easy, walking’s not a chore,
- my Knees are tired of crawling cross THIS floor,
- i See a roadway west, and mercy’s law.

they Say that men are thankful when our wings take off at last,
they Say that its more tranquil when our standard flies half mast,
but Please my friends, no flags for me, no tears, no cannon blast,
- i Smile to think of days of laughter past ,
- just Think of me some times - when reel is cast.

just Think of me when you - perhaps - do things we used to do,
or When we walked through life’s strange maps – or how to tie your shoe,
or How we used to watch the stars - or maybe make a brew ,
- or Maybe when you advertise for crew,
- i’ll Be there should you need a tip or two.

i’m Dying here much prouder, flanked by friends - I’ve made my peace,
and Heaven’s call is louder, thanks, this merciful release,
i’m Passing through these clouds and banks of cumulus and fleece,
- now Flanked by friends, soon flanked by winter geese,
- and Pure white doves with halos in the breeze.

i Watched the sunrise dawning – but I can’t do that a-gen,
there’s Something bout the morning – when the pain is ten times ten,
and Add to that the conscience pains I cause to fellow men,
- how Many lives can my life here upend,
- though Friends like you are oak that never bend.

i Heard the laughing kookaburra - farmer’s dawn refrain,
but Couldn’t plough my crooked furrow – though you took the strain,
i’m Fitted now with wings of love, and taken off the chain ,
- you’re Free my Clydesdale friends, take off your rein,
- i Move on now to find a higher plain.

i Love you folks, I love your jokes, I love your salty eyes,
i’ve Loved my life, with all its strife, to Hell with shy goodbyes!
FAREWELL my friends, here’s luck, adieu, where I go peace will lie,
- and When we meet again in time, I’ll try
- to Recall all the jokes I’ve learnt on high.

Yes, surely, I’ll run into you, in time,
and surely then we’ll laugh again – sublime.;)

constable
26th-November-2006, 11:36 AM
A KIND RELEASE AMONGST FRIENDS

we’re Gathered here, my final test, to let me hold your hand,
one Final heartbeat in a breast that’s brave but undermanned,
I’ve Lost all strength, my mortal soul can’t face this savage land,
- I’ve Seen God through this portal hole unmanned,
- how Fast my footing sinks, how quick the sand.

we’re Gathered here, no more no less, to watch my curtain draw,
my Soul seeks haven from this mess, these whips that leave it raw,
a Gentler place where slopes are easy, walking’s not a chore,
- my Knees are tired of crawling cross THIS floor,
- i See a roadway west, and mercy’s law.

they Say that men are thankful when our wings take off at last,
they Say that its more tranquil when our standard flies half mast,
but Please my friends, no flags for me, no tears, no cannon blast,
- i Smile to think of days of laughter past ,
- just Think of me some times - when reel is cast.

just Think of me when you - perhaps - do things we used to do,
or When we walked through life’s strange maps – or how to tie your shoe,
or How we used to watch the stars - or maybe make a brew ,
- or Maybe when you advertise for crew,
- i’ll Be there should you need a tip or two.

i’m Dying here much prouder, flanked by friends - I’ve made my peace,
and Heaven’s call is louder, thanks, this merciful release,
i’m Passing through these clouds and banks of cumulus and fleece,
- now Flanked by friends, soon flanked by winter geese,
- and Pure white doves with halos in the breeze.

i Watched the sunrise dawning – but I can’t do that a-gen,
there’s Something bout the morning – when the pain is ten times ten,
and Add to that the conscience pains I cause to fellow men,
- how Many lives can my life here upend,
- though Friends like you are oak that never bend.

i Heard the laughing kookaburra - farmer’s dawn refrain,
but Couldn’t plough my crooked furrow – though you took the strain,
i’m Fitted now with wings of love, and taken off the chain ,
- you’re Free my Clydesdale friends, take off your rein,
- i Move on now to find a higher plain.

i Love you folks, I love your jokes, I love your salty eyes,
i’ve Loved my life, with all its strife, to Hell with shy goodbyes!
FAREWELL my friends, here’s luck, adieu, where I go peace will lie,
- and When we meet again in time, I’ll try
- to Recall all the jokes I’ve learnt on high.

Yes, surely, I’ll run into you, in time,
and surely then we’ll laugh again – sublime.;)
Nice one 2020 brought a tear to my eye.

2020hindsight
28th-November-2006, 11:43 PM
Met this Kiwi poet/songwriter, techhead, computer whizkid, happens to have a Degree in Theology. Has produced a CD with 13 exceptional songs - Bludy genius - really good lyrics, and great songs as well. Here’s one of the simple ones.

WHAT IS GOOD
Copyright Tim Page

Take him out the back and shoot him!
he’s adMitted that he’s done some wrong
but reMember as you pull the trigger
That you’ve done the same thing all along.

Legislation says that we can stone her
so That’s what we’re gonna do
it Doesn’t matter that we’re all
Guilty of the same thing too.

he has Shown you what is good
and what He would advise of you
to Treat them justly, to show his mercy
with a Measure of humanity too.

Checking out the spec in your eye
stop Looking at the plank in mine
I Only want to see you, I can show you
I can show you where you’re out of line

Waiter there’s a fly in my soup
but the Camel I don’t really mind
to See it would be to concede
This is just a case of the Blind leading the blind.

he has Shown you what is good
and what He would advise of you
to Treat them justly, to show his mercy
with a Measure of humanity too.

2020hindsight
1st-December-2006, 07:41 AM
I posted this on the lyrics thread - but just in case you missed it ;)
THIS is a case where the moral of the story whacks you between the eyes - and yet not a word is spoken :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfQMJtilOGg = steven bradbury

2020hindsight
1st-December-2006, 07:59 AM
Latin proverbs.

I wonder how you'd translate " today I did a Bradbury" into Latin ;)
or maybe
"when youre down in trouble and your shares are heading south - and nothin , nothin is goin right - just close your eyes, and pray for a bradbury"

btw, Ducati (if you get around to reading this) - howdy I'd be interested to know what that latin means .. "Multa renascentur quae iam cecidere, cadentque Quae nunc sunt in honore" .

Speaking of Latin quotes , I'd invite anyone to post mottos etc.

There's one I like (from memory).. something about ..."fortes fortunes aduuvaat" - but I'm bound to have misspelt it, and spellcheck just went into meltdown, ..."fortune favours the brave."

I give it 50-50 chance of actually being true in life, lol. But I like the concept. If ever I'm brave - eg with a stock purchase - and it doesn't pay off - then I take comfort in the fact that it wouldve worked if only I was buying shares in the Latin stock exchange. :(

The one that I DO know works in life is "luckamus fortunes aduuvaat" ... which means "fortune favours the lucky" :)

new girl
1st-December-2006, 08:18 AM
Latin proverbs.

I wonder how you'd translate " today I did a Bradbury" into Latin ;)
or maybe
"when youre down in trouble and your shares are heading south - and nothin , nothin is goin right - just close your eyes, and pray for a bradbury"

btw, Ducati (if you get around to reading this) - howdy I'd be interested to know what that latin means .. "Multa renascentur quae iam cecidere, cadentque Quae nunc sunt in honore" .

Speaking of Latin quotes , I'd invite anyone to post mottos etc.

There's one I like (from memory).. something about ..."fortes fortunes aduuvaat" - but I'm bound to have misspelt it, and spellcheck just went into meltdown, ..."fortune favours the brave."

I give it 50-50 chance of actually being true in life, lol. But I like the concept. If ever I'm brave - eg with a stock purchase - and it doesn't pay off - then I take comfort in the fact that it wouldve worked if only I was buying shares in the Latin stock exchange. :(

The one that I DO know works in life is "luckamus fortunes aduuvaat" ... which means "fortune favours the lucky" :)

Well, you're brave and lucky, both in real life and on this forum, so cheer up :)

oh, and talented.

2020hindsight
1st-December-2006, 12:59 PM
Well, you're brave and lucky, both in real life and on this forum, so cheer up :)
Well lately Ive been lucky youre right - considering I started this investing at the top of the peak in May ;) As for courage- there's a fine line between courage and stupidity lol.

Speaking of Latin, I understand that they're going to make a trilogy based on "Gladiator" with Russell Crowe playing in all three parts.
a) In Gladiator I he is MAXIMUS,
b) In Gladiator II he is MIDDLEMUS, and
c) In Gladiator III he is MINIMUS!
(just doesnt inspire the same gladiatorial overtones, does it, lol)

Google gave me websites by the score eg:-
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Latin_proverbs
eg
"A Deo rex, a rege lex
but Presidents are spicks and specks"

Translation: "The king is from God, the law from the king". Attributed to James I of England

new girl
1st-December-2006, 01:12 PM
Well lately Ive been lucky youre right - considering I started this investing at the top of the peak in May ;) As for courage- there's a fine line between courage and stupidity lol.

Speaking of Latin, I understand that they're going to make a trilogy based on "Gladiator" with Russell Crowe playing in all three parts.
a) In Gladiator I he is MAXIMUS,
b) In Gladiator II he is MIDDLEMUS, and
c) In Gladiator III he is MINIMUS!
(just doesnt inspire the same gladiatorial overtones, does it, lol)

Don't tell me about May, I panicked and sold, didn't lose but could've made much more :( and hence the broker. As for being stupid, I think you have enough common sense for that :)

Russell's latest movie (can't remember the name) is different, I kinda liked it. I have a soft spot for Crowe, sh$%@t singer though :)

2020hindsight
2nd-December-2006, 09:59 AM
AUSSIE CITIZENSHIP TEST

Id like you all to raise your hand and sing the national anthem -
But firstly have a gander - look at all the rest and count'em
If any of you reckon that there's more in here than 4???..
then sorry but youve failed test one - and there's the flaming door.

Now crowd around the three of you and here's a simple question
how many times has Shane Warne been accused of bold incest-ion
And also how do googlies fly when he is on his metal?
You've No idea? well sorry love, try next year's test my petal.

Now...two of yous, and one more test - The Kelly gang was how big?
I'm sorry these are so damned easy - (thats a bludy dig )
1000 you say - damned if I know, - that sure sounds too many !
So sorry mate youre out as well, its surely less than twenny.

OK mate congrats, last one, promise - for the koala bear,
Repeat for me the words intact of "Vance Australia Square"
"Australians all eat ostriches?" - well that'll do for now..
Now here's your piece of fancy paper - face the queen and bow ...

I'd post the :2twocents icon, but think this one barely ranks as 1c. ;) still maybe someone out there is desperate for a bludy smile.

ps see if you can avoid a SMILE AT THIS :-
priceless
http://www.unoriginal.co.uk/footage81_4.html laughing babies

I invite RIR (repartee in reply):-
here's a start
a) overheared in nursery.. will someone tell those bludy quads to SHUDDUP! sheesh its 9.30am in the MORNIN!
b) - over to you folks ;)

ps you know the one about the girl who was listening to a lecture when the speaker mentioned "retartee", - 'you know' said the speaker 'the art of giving quick witty answers, frequently attributed to Oscar Wilde. can anyone think of any examples..'.... quick as a flash her arm goes up..." yep!! my boyfriend he's real good at repartee too. like the other day at the movie cinema, we're waqlking across to our seat in the dark, someone says, "hey get outta my way, I can't see" .. so quik as anything my boyfriend, he's real good at repartee', she hurriedly smiles and continues ' he turns around and says "get fu** ed!!'

ps - newgirl ;) mornin - yep I agree about russell crowe - hell of an actor , and also his singing voice sounds like nothin you'd find in heaven. ;)

2020hindsight
2nd-December-2006, 10:01 AM
WHEN RETARTEE COMES OUT TO PLAY

Sometimes my mind goes walkabout - Through awkward words of yesterday
It loves repeat re-talkabout , When repartee comes out to play.

I dream my words can be re-said , and crowds are there to hear my quips
(instead my dog just tilts her head , and ponders why I move my lips).

My witless banter real-time mode , in daylight rusts at every cog
when witnessed , quickly overloads , I dream of "run" but barely "jog".

Like somewhere some girl called me bold- , In "wit-review" I whirled in jigtime
then flamencoed to her shoulder , "fancy tripping? " .... then tripped bigtime.

Then she mocked my nose as "beak" , Wit-reviewed I answered grinning
"Like we should be ...cheek to cheek" , 'stead I stood there double chinning.

Summary, in realtime screening , Cruel reality is this -
Repartee escapes my meaning , aims impressive , scores a miss.

So I have my thoughts to thank , for filling up this jumbled head
Messy mish-mash memory bank , of Clever things I never said.

So I live much time reviewing , Things I would have liked to say, -
When lost chances keep accruing , Repartee comes out to play.

2020hindsight
2nd-December-2006, 10:04 AM
These are quotes rather than repartee, but..

http://www.unoriginal.co.uk/oscar-wilde-quotes.html oscar wilde quotes

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. . - Oscar Wilde

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. - Oscar Wilde

A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain. -Mark Twain

2020hindsight
3rd-December-2006, 01:48 PM
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Latin_proverbs
eg "A Deo rex, a rege lex" Translation: "The king is from God, the law from the king". Attributed to James I of England
There are also some "mock quotes":-

Carpe jugulum ..Translation: "Go for the throat."
The title of a Terry Pratchett novel and the motto of the Von Magpyr family of vampires in that novel.

Carpe noctem. ...Translation: "Seize the night."
Dean Koontz, Seize the Night (1998) Also a title of a song in the Jim Steinman musical Tanz der Vampire

Carpe pugam. ...Translation: "Grab ass."
Cave ne ante ullas catapultas ambules. ..If I were you, I wouldn't walk in front of any catapults.

Da mihi sis bubulæ frustrum assæ, solana tuberosa in modo gallico fricta, ac quassum lactatum coagulatum crassum. ...Translation: Give me a hamburger, french fries, and a thick shake.

Nil illegitimi carborundum. ..Don't let the bastards grind you down.
Carborundum is the brand name of a commercial abrasive. See wikipedia Illegitimi non carborundum.

Nil significat, nil oscillat. ..It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.
Romanes eunt domus ..Translation: A sentence scrawled on a wall by an Israelite in Monty Python's Life of Brian, intended to mean "Romans go home." A Roman soldier catches him at it, ridicules the bad grammar ("Some people called Romanes, they go, the house?!") and forces him, not to remove it, but to correct it to Romani ite domum.

Veni vidi velcro. .. I came, I saw, I got stuck.
Veni vidi visa. ..I came, I saw, I bought.
Veni, vidi, vegi. ..I came, I saw, I had a salad.
(Veni vidi concreti .. I came, I saw, I concreted?)

Roccaturi te salutant! ...Those about to rock salute you!
Semper ubi sub ubi, ...Always wear underwear.
The Latin is literally "always where under where", the joke is to read "wear" for "where".

Other sites to check meanings etc :- http://proverbs.bestlatin.net/
http://www.findia.net/ - finally had success looking for meaning of
"dum vivimus, vivamus"
....
ahh got it ;) "while we live let us live" . (you seem to have to type in the entire quote when you enquire - not just the first couple of words) ;)
http://www.bartleby.com/81/5471.html
http://www.ltscotland.org.uk/nq/resources/rsascottishart/imagedetails/dumvivimusvivamus.asp

2020hindsight
3rd-December-2006, 02:12 PM
http://www.bartleby.com/81/5470.html = dum spiro, spero = while I breathe, I hope.
This was apparently also quoted when Spiro Agnu made a few stupid decisions, emphasis on "dum" ;)
http://www.scstatehouse.net/studentpage/motto.htm
also the motto of south carolina. (apparently)

2020hindsight
3rd-December-2006, 02:41 PM
sad one about a horse that dies whilst jumping.

Thus I speak, and force a laugh, - That is half a sneer and half - An involuntary groan,
In a stifled tone—
........
"With a flash that ends thy pain,
Respite and oblivion blest
Come to greet thee. I in vain -
Fall: I rise to fall again: -
Thou hast fallen to thy rest—
And thy fall is best!"

(must've caught him on a bad day - not sure I'd agree - I'd prefer to keep the cycle of "falling and rising and falling again and etc" going for a while...- but beautiful words nonetheless)

THE LAST LEAP (Adam Linbdsay GOrdon)

ALL is over! fleet career, - Dash of greyhound slipping thongs,
Flight of falcon, bound of deer, - Mad hoof-thunder in our rear, - Cold air rushing up our lungs,
Din of many tongues.

Once again, one struggle good, - One vain effort;— he must dwell
Near the shifted post, that stood - Where the splinters of the wood, - Lying in the torn tracks, tell
How he struck and fell.

Crest where cold drops beaded cling, - Small ear drooping, nostril full,
Glazing to a scarlet ring, - Flanks and haunches quivering, - Sinews stiffening, void and null,
Dumb eyes sorrowful.

Satin coat that seems to shine - Duller now, black braided tress
That a softer hand than mine - Far away was wont to twine, - That in meadows far from this
Softer lips might kiss.

All is over! this is death, - And I stand to watch thee die,
Brave old horse! with bated breath - Hardly drawn through tight-clenched teeth, - Lip indented deep, but eye
Only dull and dry.

Musing on the husk and chaff - Gathered where life’s tares are sown,
Thus I speak, and force a laugh, - That is half a sneer and half - An involuntary groan,
In a stifled tone—

‘Rest, old friend! thy day, though rife - With its toil, hath ended soon;
We have had our share of strife, - Tumblers in the masque of life, - In the pantomime of noon
Clown and pantaloon.

‘With a flash that ends thy pain, - Respite and oblivion blest
Come to greet thee. I in vain - Fall: I rise to fall again: - Thou hast fallen to thy rest—
And thy fall is best!’

By the way, go to this website - you can cycle through Gordons poems :- "NEXT / PREVIOUS etc" also many other poets etc. Gr8 site. ;)
http://www.bartleby.com/249/20.html

I think these are all the 204 Australasian poems on that site:-
http://www.bartleby.com/249/

2020hindsight
3rd-December-2006, 02:56 PM
Speaking of the ashes series ... - you'd have to say the Aus - Brit thing is a pretty interesting relationship ;) Here's a poemwritten by an old politician (who I personally never knew wrote poetry) - damned good imho.
http://www.bartleby.com/249/4.html
FATHERLAND
By Sir Henry Parkes

THE BRAVE old land of deed and song,
Of gentle hearts and spirits strong,
Of queenly maids and heroes grand,
Of equal laws,—our Fatherland!

Though born beneath a brighter sun, 5
Shall we forget the marvels done,
By soul outspoken, blood outpoured,
By bard and patriot, song and sword?

Forget how firm and true our sires,
Still lighted by their battle-fires, 10
’Gainst kingly power and kingly crime,
Long struggled in the darkened time?

How in a rolling sea they stood,
Where every wave was freemen’s blood,—
Shall we forget the time of strife, 15
When freedom’s only price was life?

Shall Cromwell’s memory, Milton’s lyre,
Not kindle ’mong us souls of fire,
Not raise in us a spirit strong—
High scorn of shams, quick hate of wrong? 20

Shall we not learn, Australians born!
To smile on tinselled power our scorn,—
At least, a freeman’s pride to try,
When tinselled power would bend or buy?

The brave old land of deed and song, 25
We ne’er will do her memories wrong!
For freedom here we’ll firmly stand,
As stood our sires for Fatherland!

Poem #1 by William Charles Wentworth is somewhatsimilar - herewithsome excerpts ... (first mention of Warragamba in poetry ?)
http://www.bartleby.com/249/1.html
From ‘Australasia’
....
Where Warragamba’s rage has rent in twain 15
Opposing mountains, thund’ring to the plain,
No child of song has yet invoked thy aid,
’Neath their primaeval solitary shade,—
Still, gracious Pow’r, some kindling soul inspire
To wake to life my country’s unknown lyre, 20
That from creation’s date has slumbering lain,
Or only breath’d some savage uncouth strain,—
And grant that yet an Austral Milton’s song
Pactolus-like flow deep and rich along,—
An Austral Shakespeare rise, whose living page 25
To Nature true may charm in ev’ry age;—
And that an Austral Pinder daring soar,
Where not the Theban Eagle reach’d before.

(surely that would be Gordon)

And, O Britannia! shouldst thou cease to ride
Despotic Empress of old Ocean’s tide;— 30
Should thy tam’d Lion—spent his former might—
No longer roar, the terror of the fight;—
Should e’er arrive that dark, disastrous hour,
When, bow’d by luxury, thou yield’st to power;—
When thou, no longer freest of the free, 35
To some proud victor bend’st the vanquished knee;—
May all thy glories in another sphere
Relume, and shine more brightly still than here:
May this—thy last-born infant—then arise,
To glad thy heart, and greet thy parent eyes; 40
And Australasia float, with flag unfurl’d,
A new Britannia in another world!

funny, never thought of Australia as being UK's "last-born infant" before ;)

2020hindsight
3rd-December-2006, 09:32 PM
Gordon was influenced by Byron amongst others.
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG, 1808
Lord Byron

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rest below:
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: sheesh that's good imho!!

While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship is all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on - it honors none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one, - and here he lies.

http://englishhistory.net/byron/contents.html

1. On the subject of Lord Byron, heres a painting "in Albanian dress , 1835
http://englishhistory.net/byron/images/byronphillips.jpg
This portrait commemorates Byron's famous adventures in Albania. It can be viewed at the National Portrait Gallery, London."

2. and also one of his father , Capt John ('mad jack') Byron http://englishhistory.net/byron/images/byronfather.jpg
the notes say "John died at Valenciennes in 1791, most likely a suicide. Later, Byron would tell friends that his father had cut his own throat. It is more likely he died from tuberculosis or an overdose. Interestingly, John had an incestuous relationship with his sister Frances Leigh, later the mother of Colonel George Leigh who became the husband of Byron's half-sister and lover, Augusta."

lol and I thought mine was a dysfunctional family.. "incest, a game the whole family can enjoy" ;)

3. On the subject of Gordons POSSIBLE PLAGEURISM of Byron, the intro to his "Bush Ballads" says ...
"Readers of "Sea Spray and Smoke Drift" however will not need anyone to point out how closely at times Gordon followed his "model" in these earlier poems. But here as in all these estimates of his obligations to other poets, we would not have it understood that Gordon plagiarised from Byron or anyone else. There are points of contact in the poet and the poems, but such plageurism always vindicates itself . The truth is, that not once nor twice , nor here nor there, is an idea or a figure borrowed; but that Gordon in his youth passed, as many poets have done, so under the spell of Byron's vital vigourous flowing verse, and picturesque personality that it became impossible not to reproduce him. "

4. On the subject of FIRST DRAFT IS GOOD ENOUGH. Gordon was like Byron in another aspect as well .. "the vice of impromtu work which , like Byron, Gordon steadily refused to polish, to file, or to furbish. Byron said in this connection, 'I am like the tiger ; if I miss the first spring, I go crawling back to my jungle. There is no second. I can't correct and I won't'. It was after this fashion that Gordon wrote."
speaking of which, I found this totally irrelevant youtube ;) :-
http://www.unoriginal.co.uk/footage102_1.html tiger attack
(that tiger sure can camouflage himself - also I've no idea how this video ends, but don't envy the bloke in the driver's seat.)

PS I just like this style of poetry . a) because it rhymes, b) because the language is easy to understand and c) usually at least sentimental (if not romantic). - the concept of the worth of a dogs friendship etc.

Went to a poets club meeting once. - Some of the poems went on for 20 bludy minutes ! sheesh. - and for most of that time I was diving back and forward through a dictionary to see what they were on about lol.

2020hindsight
4th-December-2006, 11:37 PM
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/GoodgeWT/tabid/841/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1210
OUGH!’ A Fonetic Fansy
WT Goodge (‘The Colonel’)

The baker-man was kneading dough
And whistling softly, sweet and lough.
Yet ever and anon he’d cough
As though his head was coming ough!
‘My word!’ said he, ‘but this is rough;
this flour is simply awful stough!’
He punched and thumped it through and through
As all good baker’s always dough!
‘I’d sooner drive,’ said he, ‘a plough,
Than be a baker anyhough!
Thus spake the baker kneading dough;
But don’t let on I told you sough!

as Homer would say ... Dough!!

2020hindsight
4th-December-2006, 11:46 PM
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/OgilvieWilliamHenry/tabid/703/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1163
HIS EPITAPH (He alwas Rod to Win)
By Will Ogilvie

On a little old bush racecourse at the back of No Man’s Land,
Where the mulgas mark the furlongs and a dead log marks the stand,
There’s a square of painted railings showing white against the loam
Where they fight for inside running as they round the bend for home;
Just a lonely grave and graveyard that are left to Nature’s care,
For the wild bush-flowers that brighten it were never planted there;
No monument or marble that will speak his praise or blame,
No verse to tell his story and no mark to prove his name.
But carved upon the white rail that is weather-worn and thin
Is the simple, roug-hewn legend: HE ALWAS ROD TO WIN!

Some poor, uncared-for jockey-boy, who never earned a name –
It’s the boys who “ride to orders” who can find the road to Fame;
And the flowers and marble head-stones and the wealth of gear and gold
Are the prizes of the riders who will “stop them” when they’re told!
Just a whisper at the saddling; “He’s the only danger, Dan,
That’s the boy will try to beat you – stop him, any way you can!”
Just a crowding at the corner and a crossing in the straight,
And a plucky little horseman who is “pulling out” too late;
A heavy fall, a horse is loose – and a lightweight carried in –
A shallow grave, a railing and: “HE ALWAS ROD TO WIN!”

Some brave, brown-handed comrade who has learned the rider’s worth
Has carved those rough words o’er him for the eyes of all the earth;
And though few may chance to pass him as he lies in simple state,
Those few will hold him honoured by the friendship of his mate.
And when, in Life’s keen struggle, we shall fight for inside place,
When they crowd us at the corner and we drop from out the race,
When the ringing hoofs go forward and the cheering greets the best,
And the prize is for the winner, and the red spurs for the rest,
May we find some true-heart comrade, when they’ve filled the last clods in,
Who will carve these words above us: HE ALWAS ROD TO WIN!

And another poem by Will Ogilvie - about Breaker Morant no less ( another who "Rod to Win")
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/OgilvieWilliamHenry/tabid/703/Default.aspx?PageContentID=1162
HARRY MORANT By Will Ogilvie

Harry Morant was a friend I had , In the years long passed away,
A chivalrous, wild and reckless lad, A knight born out of his day.

Full of romance and void of fears, With a love of the world’s applause,
He should have been one of the cavaliers , Who fought in King Charles’s cause.

He loved a girl, and he loved a horse, And he never let down a friend,
And reckless he was, but he rode his course With courage up to the end.

“Breaker Morant” was the name he earned, For no bucking horse could throw
This Englishman who had lived and learned, As much as the bushmen know.

Many a mile have we crossed together, Out where the great plains lie,
To the clink of bit and the creak of leather – Harry Morant and I.

Time and again we would challenge Fate, With some wild and reckless “dare”,
Shoving some green colt over a gate, As though with a neck to spare.

At times in a wilder mood than most , We would face them at naked wire,
Trusting the sight of a gidyea post , Would lift them a half-foot higher.

And once we galloped a steeplechase , For a bet – ’twas a short half-mile
While one jump only, the stiffest place , In a fence of the old bush style.

A barrier built of blue-gum rails , As thick as a big man’s thigh,
And mortised into the posts – no nails – Unbreakable, four foot high.

Since both our horses were young and green, And had never jumped or raced,
Were we men who had tired of this earthly scene, We could scarce have been better placed.

“Off” cried “The Breaker”, and off we went , And he stole a length of lead,
Over the neck of the grey I bent , And we charged the fence full speed.

The brown horse slowed and tried to swerve, But his rider with master hand
And flaming courage and iron nerve , Made him lift and leap and land.

He rapped it hard with every foot , And was nearly down on his nose;
Then I spurred the grey and followed suit , And, praise to the gods – he rose!

He carried a splinter with both his knees , And a hind-leg left some skin,
But we caught them up at the wilga trees , Sitting down for the short run-in.

The grey was game and he carried on , But the brown had a bit to spare;
The post was passed, my pound was gone , And a laugh was all my share.

“The Breaker” is sleeping in some far place , Where the Boer War heroes lie,
And we’ll meet no more in a steeplechase – Harry Morant and I.

2020hindsight
5th-December-2006, 12:09 AM
STATION SONGS AND DROVING DITTIES
By Breaker Morant

'Station songs and droving ditties'! Strung together on the track
Far away from coastal cities In the droving days-outback;

Some on distant water-courses 'Neath the blazing Northern sun,
When returning with the horses To a far North-western run;

Some were fashioned in the gloaming While the morrow's damper cooked;
Some were penned by rivers roaming Where the wily fish was hooked;

Ere the midday 'quart' was ready And an hour was slow to pass
Whilst the nags were feeding steady On the ripening Mitchell grass;

Or, when horse-bells chimed and tinkled Where the feed was drenched with dew,
And the wintry white stars twinkled High above in heaven's blue.

Then-of stockwhips' ring and rattle In the range-some memory flashed;
Or of night-rides after cattle When the gidya branches crashed.

And a rhyme perchance I've come by Recollecting some past ride-
When we trapped the fing brumby On the Southern Queensland side.

Jingles!-neither good nor clever- Just a rover's random rhymes,
But they'll serve their turn if ever They recall the old bush times,

When a bushman, in his leisure, Reads them 'neath the shady pine;
Or they give one moment's pleasure To some old bush mate o' mine!
............................................

Also
THE BRIGALOW BRIGADE , (etc)
Bt Breaker Morant

There's a band of decent fellows
On a cattle-run outback-
You'll hear the timber smashing
If you follow in their track;.....
.................

The Brigalow Brigade are
Fastidious in their taste
In the matter of a maiden
And the inches of her waist;

She must be sweet and tender
And her eyes a decent shade-
Then her Ma may safely send her
To the Brigalow Brigade.
........... etc
...

You will see the options for all Breaker's Poems (as posted) on right hand side of his photo. The man was well known to be a larrikin of course - and not above doing the early morning flit to get out of paying for his lodgings etc :)

Here's a stack of other poets as well :-
http://www.bushpoetry.com.au/masterpoets/MasterPoetsHome/tabid/626/Default.aspx

2020hindsight
5th-December-2006, 11:13 PM
Before leaving the topic of bushies and their poetry ...
here's one that floats up from my subconscious .. passed down from word of mouth...originally from my granpa who was a larrikin himself ;)

Somehow a priest and a larrikin drover are having this debate - and each are asked to make a sentence with Timbuktu in it. (forget the details).

So the Priest says (very politely and reverendly):-
"I've been a preacher harf my life, I've preached through toil and trial and strife,
I've preached to the many , and preached to the few, I've even preached in Timbuktu!!"
and gently resumes his seat, feeling very happy with himself

So the larrikin drover has to respond...thinks hard . .. finally his eyes light up and he responds....

"ME AN TIM A'DROVIN WENT
WE HAD THREE SHIELAS IN OUR TENT
mmm
THEY WERE THREE , and mmm
WE WAS TWO, so, mmm
;) I BUCKED ONE , AND TIMBUKTO!!"

(ahh guess you had to be there lol)

2020hindsight
5th-December-2006, 11:17 PM
the following was obviously written under the grip of some extremely intoxicating grape.
WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A WINDBREAK EXPERT

What do you do with a Windbreak expert when the expert is a-busy breaking wind
W.d.y.d.w.a Tinhead roofer when the roofer’s head is busy being tinned,
W.d.y.d.w.a Sinbinned half-forward when the forward claims he only half sinned.
And W.d.y.d.w.a Spindoctor agent when the aging fellow’s doctoring a spin.

What do you do with a……
Back spin bowler when the bowler’s busy spinning on his back
Crack sharp shooter when the shooter’s busy sharpening his crack
Wacky wittle wabbit when the wabbit are a-wittlin’ its wack
Sacked poli-tician when the ‘ticians are makin’ Polly in the sack.

What do you do with a……
Daredevil stuntman when the stuntman’s out a-devilling his dare
Scare monger journo when the journo’s out there mongering a scare,
Tare weight re-checker when the checker’s reaching back to fix a tear,
Bare back jumper when he’s out the back and busy jumpin’ bear.

What do you do with a……
Fly fishing angler when he’s angle-ing to fishing with his fly
Lie detector copper when the copper is detector-ing a lie
Pibald palimino when your pal is a-balding like a pie
Rhyebread loaf when the loafer’s busy breeding in the rhye.

What do you do with a……
Morse code cracker when the coder is a-crackin on his morse
Force fed Jeddi when he’s out there a-feeding on the Force
Horse float designer when he’s busy out designing floating horse
Course record holder when the holder’s out recording something coarse.

What do you do with a……
Lousy imitator when he’s busy out there imitating lice
Ice cream confection when the ice confection’s busy creaming ice
Mighty mouse fanatic when he’s busy out there fanning mighty mice
Rice paddy farmer when the farmer’s out there paddying his rice.

What do you do with a…
Roman gladiator when the gladiator’s glad –e- ate in Rome
Foamrubber mattress when the mattress is a-rubbing on the foam
Disco dancefloor when your discs are floored and saying “take me home!”
Poetry tribunal when the ‘bunal is as trying as this poem.

new girl
5th-December-2006, 11:40 PM
"He was beautiful"

He was beautiful
Beautiful to my eyes
From the moment I saw him
The sun filled the sky
He was so, so beautiful
Beautiful just to hold
In my dreams he was springtime
Winter was cold
How could I tell him What I so clearly could see
Though I longed for him
I never could be free
It was beautiful
Knowing now that he cares
I will always remember moments we shared
Now it's all over Still the feelings ling' on
For my dream keeps returning
Now that he's gone
For it was beautiful Beautiful Beautiful to be loved

2020hindsight
5th-December-2006, 11:53 PM
Don't you love that last stanza... ;)

.......Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride!
Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true,
And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!

A PROUDER MAN THAN YOU, by Henry Lawson

If you fancy that your people came of better stock than mine,
If you hint of higher breeding by a word or by a sign,
If you're proud because of fortune or the clever things you do --
Then I'll play no second fiddle: I'm a prouder man than you!

If you think that your profession has the more gentility,
And that you are condescending to be seen along with me;
If you notice that I'm shabby while your clothes are spruce and new --
You have only got to hint it: I'm a prouder man than you!

If you have a swell companion when you see me on the street,
And you think that I'm too common for your toney friend to meet,
So that I, in passing closely, fail to come within your view --
Then be blind to me for ever: I'm a prouder man than you!

If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean,
While 'tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been,
Do not risk contamination, save your name whate'er you do --
`Birds o' feather fly together': I'm a prouder bird than you!

Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide
Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride!
Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true,
And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!

new girl
6th-December-2006, 12:18 AM
"NEVER, NEVER, NEVER"

I'd like to run away from you
but if you never found me I would die
I'd like to break the chains you put around me
but I know I never will

You stay away and all I do
is wonder why the hell I wait for you
but when did common sense prevail for lovers
when we knew it never will?

Impossible to live with you
but I know I could never live without you
For whatever you do,
I never never never Want to be in love with anyone but you...

You make me laugh, you make me cry
you make me live, you make me die for you
you make me sing, you make me sad
you make me glad, you make me mad for you

I love you, hate you, love you, hate you
but I want you til the world stops turning
For whatever you do,
I never never never Want to be in love with anyone but you...

2020hindsight
6th-December-2006, 01:05 AM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyY8QkKMEig&mode=related&search= never never ;)

chops_a_must
6th-December-2006, 03:45 PM
One of my favourites, and relevant to that anti muslim thread:

We Are Accused Of Terrorism
We are accused of terrorism
If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland
That is scattered in pieces and in decay
In decadence and disarray
About a homeland that is searching for a place
And about a nation that no longer has a face

About a homeland that has nothing left of its great ancient verse
But that of wailing and eulogy

About a homeland that has nothing in its horizons
Of freedoms of different types and ideology

About a homeland that forbids us from buying a newspaper
Or listen to anything
About a homeland where all birds are always not allowed to sing
About a homeland that out of horror, its writers are using invisible ink

About a homeland that resembles poetry in our country
Improvised, imported, loose and of no boundaries
Of foreign tongue and soul
Detached from Man and Land, ignoring their plight as a whole

About a homeland to the negotiating table moves
Without a dignity or shoes

About a homeland
That no more has steadfast men
With only women therein

Bitterness is in our mouthsin our talkin our eyes
Will draught also plague our souls as a legacy passed to us
from ancient times?

Our nation has nobody left, even the less glorified
No one to say "NO" in the face of those who gave up our
homebread and butter
Turning our colorful history into a circus

We have not a single honest poem
That has not lost its virginity in a ruler's Harem

We grew accustomed to humiliation
Then what is left of Man
If he is comfortable with that?

I search the books of history
For men of greatness to deliver us from darkness
To save our women from fires' brutality

I search for men of yesterday
But all I find is frightened cats
Fearing for their souls
From the authority of rats

Are we hit by national blindness
Or are we suffering from color blindness

We are accused of terrorism
If we refuse to perish
Under Israeli tyranny
That is hampering our unity
Our history
Our Bible and our Quran
Our prophets' land
If that is our sin and crime
Then terrorism is fine

We are accused of terrorism
If we refuse to be wiped out
By barbarians, the Mongols or the Jews
If we choose to stone the fragile security council
Which was sacked by the king of caesuras

We are accused of terrorism
If we refuse to negotiate the wolf
And reach out for a *****

America is fighting the cultures of Man
Because it lacks one
And against the civilizations because it needs one
It is a gigantic structure but without a wall

We are accused of terrorism
If we refuse current times
Where America the arrogant the mighty the rich
Became a sworn interpreter of Hebrew.

--Nizar Kabbani

new girl
6th-December-2006, 08:50 PM
One of my favourites--Nizar Kabbani

Wow Chops, interesting that you know of Nizar Kabbani, I didn't think he's that famous in the west. He's mainly known for his romantic poetry (really nice stuff). How do you know of him if you don't mind me asking?

2020hindsight
6th-December-2006, 10:08 PM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nizar_Qabbani
thanks chops and ng - interesting ;) . his smile is a good start ;)
Hell, one way or another we have to become more cosmopolitan !!

Lol , although I can tell you now, I'll never understand Egyptian music ;) - different scale for a start! - NOTHING like our music.
- don't know which is worse !! - Chinese or Egyptian or Thai or etc, lol ). Thai is like a bull in a crockery shop !! with a stack of mad drummers on crack thrown in ;)

new girl
6th-December-2006, 10:22 PM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nizar_Qabbani
thanks chops and ng - interesting ;) . his smile is a good start
Hell, one way or another we have to become more cosmopolitan !!

Lol , although I can tell you now, I'll never understand Egyptian music - different scale for a start! - NOTHING like our music.
- don't know which is worse !! - Chinese or Egyptian or Thai or etc, lol Thai is like a bull in a crockery shop !! with a stack of mad drummers on crack thrown in

2020 ;)

You left me no choice :D seriousley though, where did you hear egyptian music??? this thread IS becoming cosmopolitan, you're right (nailed it as usuall)!!! Actually more like ARABIC and what's "hilariously ironic" is that both of you aren't (I think). This whole thing is starting to feel a little weird.

ps: It's almost like "Valuing the intangible? Measuring the incalculable?" don't you think chops ;)

another ps: I agree 2020 Thai music and chinese music is definately something you won't find in heaven :)

2020hindsight
6th-December-2006, 10:34 PM
2020 ;)

you left me no choice :D seriousley though, where did you hear egyptian music? this thread IS becoming cosmopolitan you're right. actually more like ARABIC and what's "hilariously ironic" is that both of you aren't.

ps it's almost like "Valuing the intangible? Measuring the incalculable?" don't you think chops?
and/or "the inscrutible smile on the Sphinx?" maybe ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0xBuTEiCoM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abd_el-Halim_Hafez
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_of_Egypt etc -

"instruments: the ney and the oud. Double clarinets and lyres were played from around 3500 BC, while percussion instruments were added to orchestras by 2000 BC. However, there is little notation of Egyptian music before the 7th century AD, when Egypt became part of the Muslim world."

there are those veils again ;) Must've been very relaxed mufti's in these days .!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCZoyh6I5Kk&mode=related&search=
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5vqWnhGAew&mode=related&search= (interesting music lol)

new girl
6th-December-2006, 10:45 PM
and/or "the inscrutible smile on the Sphinx?" maybe ;)

2020

This thread is becoming too deep, intellectual and a little lefti for my liking, let's go back to romance please :remybussi

ps light type of kiss, something a mufti would approve of don't you think?

new girl
6th-December-2006, 10:56 PM
and/or "the inscrutible smile on the Sphinx?" maybe ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0xBuTEiCoM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abd_el-Halim_Hafez
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_of_Egypt etc -

there are those veils again ;) Must've been very relaxed mufti's in these days .!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCZoyh6I5Kk&mode=related&search=
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5vqWnhGAew&mode=related&search= (interesting music lol)

Un-what i feel when i'm excercising-BELIEVABLE!! 2020, you always manage somehow to surprise me, how do you know of abd-el halim?? people, this thread has to be renamed!!!!

ps those veils are very dear to me :)

2020hindsight
6th-December-2006, 11:34 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0zAkMRfPfY - speaking of cosmopotitan blokes :) With A Little Luck - Paul McCartney & Wings

2020hindsight
7th-December-2006, 12:06 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 :(

Any assistance much appreciated - but don't waste too much time on it ;) - could be it isn't on google for instance - or possibly slightly different name (?) - but I was hoping someone just might happen to have a copy.

PS the original references to "ground zero" seem to have been coined at Hiroshima. (?)

PPS After the war, the Japanese invented monsters like Godzilla - fire breathing etc - even the term "shadow man" is frequently used - but the meaning has changed over the years. o Boy, you reckon that those bombs had a major effect on the Japanese psyche or what !!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ynO9_EGZCw

new girl
7th-December-2006, 12:12 AM
googled Nizar Qabbani looking for some of his work in english


In "Diary of an Indifferent Woman," he writes as a woman:
I want to escape from my own skin
from my own voice, from my own language
and stray like the fragrance of gardens
I want to flee from my own shadow
and from all addresses

"The Book of Love" is worshipful and timeless.
The name of my love.
I wrote it on the water.
I did not know
That the wind rushes by without listening,
That names dissolve in the water.

He also asks: "What is Love?" Then he humorously explains how he cannot change the woman he loves for she is "a storm trapped in a bottle."
I write
to save the woman I love
from the cities of no poetry,
of no love
the cities of frustration and gloom
I write to make her a misty cloud
Only woman and writing
Save us from death.

2020hindsight
7th-December-2006, 12:56 AM
googled Nizar Qabbani looking for some of his work in english

yep - and what's more, better a storm in a bottle - than a storm in a teacup ;)

chops_a_must
7th-December-2006, 02:17 AM
Wow Chops, interesting that you know of Nizar Kabbani, I didn't think he's that famous in the west. He's mainly known for his romantic poetry (really nice stuff). How do you know of him if you don't mind me asking?
After I was looking at a lot of work by Averroes I went looking for other arabic literates. He was one that came up.

nelly
7th-December-2006, 02:22 AM
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Willie

nelly
7th-December-2006, 02:28 AM
by Robert Louis Stevenson


I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.


The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.


He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!


One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

chops_a_must
7th-December-2006, 02:29 AM
2020 ;)

You left me no choice :D seriousley though, where did you hear egyptian music??? this thread IS becoming cosmopolitan, you're right (nailed it as usuall)!!! Actually more like ARABIC and what's "hilariously ironic" is that both of you aren't (I think). This whole thing is starting to feel a little weird.

ps: It's almost like "Valuing the intangible? Measuring the incalculable?" don't you think chops ;)

another ps: I agree 2020 Thai music and chinese music is definately something you won't find in heaven :)
Yeah, I have no arabic blood at all.

In this sense it is. Although it is not without meaning. THERE IS SOMETHING OUTSIDE THE TEXT.

But have either of you heard Turkish music? It's standard time signature is in 9/8, crazy. The Dave Brubeck Quartet did a song in 9/8 to pay homage. This of course was the first band to bring 5/4 to the masses with Take 5.

I'll have a rant about the importance of The Dave Brubeck Quartet some other time. ;)

nelly
7th-December-2006, 03:50 AM
Yeah, I have no arabic blood at all.

In this sense it is. Although it is not without meaning. THERE IS SOMETHING OUTSIDE THE TEXT.

But have either of you heard Turkish music? It's standard time signature is in 9/8, crazy. The Dave Brubeck Quartet did a song in 9/8 to pay homage. This of course was the first band to bring 5/4 to the masses with Take 5.

I'll have a rant about the importance of The Dave Brubeck Quartet some other time. ;)

Hi ya....Please do...I await.......not quite with bated breath but you know what I infer......yes?

chops_a_must
7th-December-2006, 04:17 AM
Hi ya....Please do...I await.......not quite with bated breath but you know what I infer......yes?
DONE!

nelly
7th-December-2006, 04:23 AM
coool....2morrow then...am tired and have workee 2morrow....sorreee....2day!
seeya...[afterwork]
Cheerful...
p.s. am really interested!

2020hindsight
7th-December-2006, 08:15 AM
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
...To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. Willie
and Willie again ..
"and so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, and so from hour to hour we rot and rot ;)"

PS thanks for the Robert L stevenson "lill shadow" poem - nice and light after the other topic I concede. now for the " Shadow San" part ( as in "mister shadow" or "shadow man") ;) - post #138. Just that it was highly recommended to me by someone, and neither of us can find it. :2twocents

But hek whether we find the poem or not, the concept is still spooky. imho
"and so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, yet in a brilliant FLASH we instant rot" !!

new girl
7th-December-2006, 11:12 AM
Yeah, I have no arabic blood at all.

In this sense it is. Although it is not without meaning. THERE IS SOMETHING OUTSIDE THE TEXT.

But have either of you heard Turkish music? It's standard time signature is in 9/8, crazy. The Dave Brubeck Quartet did a song in 9/8 to pay homage. This of course was the first band to bring 5/4 to the masses with Take 5.

I'll have a rant about the importance of The Dave Brubeck Quartet some other time. ;)

chops

1- So what makes you interested in arabic poetry? is it the politics side of things?
2- WAHT IS OUTSIDE THE TEXT I WONDER :rolleyes:
3- WHAT :confused: I dont't get the 9/8, 5/4-5 at all, please explain. I have to tell you, I'm not as intellectual and deep as you and 2020 are.

ps: english is my second langauage, please use simple words when responding ;)

more ps: I prefer Qabbani's romantic poetry, can you please post us something in english if you can find any, thanks.

2020hindsight
7th-December-2006, 12:32 PM
I dont't get the 9/8, 5/4-5 at all, please explain.
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 ;)