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About LinkBacksHe who thanks but with the lips
Thanks but in part;
The full, the true Thanksgiving
Comes from the heart.
~J.A. Shedd
He who thanks but with the lips
Thanks but in part;
The full, the true Thanksgiving
Comes from the heart.
~J.A. Shedd
Ah! on Thanksgiving day....
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before.
What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye?
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?
~John Greenleaf Whittier
May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey plump,
May your potatoes and gravy
Have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off your thighs!
~Grandpa Jones
Hymn To Her lyrics
Def FX Hymn To Her - YouTube
Ishtar
Hecate
Isis
Kali
Persephone
Venus
Aradia
Diana
Astarte
Athene
Demeter
Bast
Medusa
Morgana
Mother, your earth is in my blood
Soil and water, one
I am born of the primordial soup
Cooked in the crater of your great womb
Energised in the presence of your opposite
You fill his heart of emptiness
And you are within me inside my reality
I bathe in your dream waters
Cerridwen
Shakti
Shekina
Tara
Tiamat
Arachne
Freya
Gaia
Lilith
Artemis
Ariadne
Aphrodite
Morrigan
Durga
Yoni, he stares there wondering about conquering
Will I fuck it? Will I eat it? Will I kill it?
If he bathes in your blood you will turn him to stone
Like his lifeless cities and the memory of his-story
The wars fought over that is 'twixt your legs
Yet your blood is shed for life, not death
Virgin, complete unto yourself - not celibate
YIKES!! that one is DEEP Robitty!!!!
THOSE WHO LOVE
Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile, inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride,
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.
I had never heard that song before. Pyoko's choice.Originally Posted by babe
Neither had I but this is Poetry...not musical lyrics site! *L*I had never heard that song before. Pyoko's choice.
Oops!Neither had I but this is Poetry...not musical lyrics site! *L*I had never heard that song before. Pyoko's choice.
Somewhat similar at times. I'll be forced to write a poem as punishment now.
Babe, relax. In Canada we consider that foreplay.You weren't supposed to tell them we had hot monkey sex!! Sheesh!!!!
Sorry I didn't realize I'd interrupted a turkey segment.
For a somewhat silly poetic diversion, I tip my hat to Frank Jacobs who wrote poems for Mad Magazine, that are poems just the same.
Bats
Bats are creepy; bats are scary;
Bats do not seem sanitary;
Bats in dismal caves keep cozy;
Bats remind us of Lugosi;
Bats have webby wings that fold up;
Bats from ceilings hang down rolled up;
Bats when flying undismayed are;
Bats are careful; bats use radar;
Bats at nighttime at their best are;
Bats by Batman unimpressed are!
What me worry?
ahahahahhahah ya brat!!Babe, relax. In Canada we consider that foreplay.You weren't supposed to tell them we had hot monkey sex!! Sheesh!!!!
Sorry I didn't realize I'd interrupted a turkey segment.
She who could bind you
Could bind fire to a wall;
She who could hold you
Could hold a waterfall;
She who could keep you
Could keep the wind from blowing
On a warm spring night
With a low moon glowing.
Sara Teasdale
"She who could bind you
Could bind fire to a wall;
She who could hold you
Could hold a waterfall;
She who could keep you
Could keep the wind from blowing
On a warm spring night
With a low moon glowing."
There was my one and only,
My number one.
My whole world spun on her axis,
My breath, my blood, my heart.
Time has past, the fire has freed the wall,
The waterfall has fallen,
The wind has done it damage,
Summer has arrived Babe.
So Says the Boss
I'm the boss
You do not cross
The king of my domain
For the day
No work, all play
Is found in my refrain
Love to eat
The prime of meat
So sad 'til I get some
'Tis so sweet
And such a treat
Boy, they can be so dumb
Hate to dress
Give me caress
No bother with the slime
Have to dig
In it real big
Archaeology time
When I'm beat
I have a seat
Take my favorite spot
No compete
It's so complete
Out of my royal cot!
Here to stay
I love to lay
Napping is not a farse
I'm a dog
Who's a couch hog
So move your big fat arse!
ODE TO A HAGGIS
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
You pin wad 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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, rich!
Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive
Bethankit hums
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle
Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!
....
not mine, of course. just another gift from Robbie
Anyone in here celebrate Burns night?
I would live in your love as the
sea-grasses live in the sea,
Borne up by each wave as it passes,
drawn down by each wave the recedes:
I would empty my soul of the dreams
that have gathered in me.
I would beat with your heart as it beats,
I would follow your soul as it leads.
Sara Teasdale
Spellbound (a winter poem)
by Emily Brontë
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
The Wise Woman Sara Teasdale
She must be rich who can forgo
An hour so jeweled with delight,
She must have treasuries of joy
That she can draw on dan and night,
She must be very sure of heaven----
Or is it only that she feels
How much more safe it is to lack
A thing that time so often steals.
I know what you mean.
I just remember one poet learned in my university.
A Red Red Rose
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That’s sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
It is very beautiful.
It is also an old folksong.....from the UK.....I sing it.
DEW Sara Teasdale....
I dream that he is mine,
I dream that he is true,
And all his words I keep
As rose-leaves hold the dew.
O little thirsty rose
O little heart beware,
Lest you should hope to hold
A hundred roses' share.
This is good.This is nothing short of poetic genius!
Thanks....I liked it too!This is good.This is nothing short of poetic genius!
AGE Sara Teasdale (I have the collection) chuckle
Brooks sing in the spring,
And in the summer case;
I who sang in my youth
Now hold my peace;
Youth is a noisy stream
Chattering over the ground,
But he sad wisdom of age
Wells up without a sound.
I like her words too. Where I grew up there was a river not a brook, but it became ingrown into my psyche too. Even now I long for the river and choke-up when the "the sad wisdom of age Wells up without a sound".
Last edited by Robittybob1; December 20th, 2013 at 11:44 AM.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail
And Pour the waters of the Nile
On every shining scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcome little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws.
Lewis Carroll from "Alice in Wonderland"
That poem seems to paint a very glossy picture of the deadly killing machine.
It always did.That poem seems to paint a very glossy picture of the deadly killing machine.
Very familiar poem via "Alice in Wonderland".
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest 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 hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes 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, 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 cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
~Wilfred Owen
I've heard of it, but never read it.It always did.That poem seems to paint a very glossy picture of the deadly killing machine.
Very familiar poem via "Alice in Wonderland".
Mine eyes have seen the Glory of the coming of the Lord ...
It's probably allegorical - but I don't know what it would be referring to.
I am far closer to Owen than Ward.
I like that poem, Red Panda.
If you like Wilfred Owen, you might like Siegfried Sassoon as well.I like that poem, Red Panda.
Oh my...I just located a website showcasing his poetry. I'm grateful to you for telling me of this great poet...merry Christmas to me!If you like Wilfred Owen, you might like Siegfried Sassoon as well.I like that poem, Red Panda.
''A Wanderer''
When Watkin shifts the burden of his cares
And all that irked him in his bound employ,
Once more become a vagrom-hearted boy,
He moves to roundelays and jocund airs;
Loitering with dusty harvestmen, he shares
Old ale and sunshine; or, with maids half-coy,
Pays court to shadows; fools himself with joy,
Shaking a leg at junketings and fairs.
Sometimes, returning down his breezy miles,
A snatch of wayward April he will bring,
Piping the daffodilly that beguiles
Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring.
And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles
Up the green world he wanders like a king.
Siegfried Sassoon
Oh heavens!!! You need to read the book...it's delightful!I've heard of it, but never read it.It always did.That poem seems to paint a very glossy picture of the deadly killing machine.
Very familiar poem via "Alice in Wonderland".
Emily Dickinson
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse my the poorest tak
Without oppress of toil;
How fugal is the chariot
That beats a human soul!
You're a bit pissed tonight babe!
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
There was an old man Zinjanthropos
Who's search for God seemed quite hopeless,
Always on The Science Forum
Alone or with the entire quorum,
He has now resigned to Zen hocus pocus.
Nope...new keyboard....different computer...I shall be making many typo's!You're a bit pissed tonight babe!
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
I rarely get "pissed"and if I do..,run for the hills....as in TEMPER!
Hey I like Zinny but actually quite clever words
He knows I like him too. His avatar cracks me up. He could be a young lad all I know, but the poem was to his avatar.Hey I like Zinny but actually quite clever words
And I don't know if he is into Zen Meditation but all said and done it's just a silly limerick.
I thought it might have been put down to the rains in California, making the grapes grow ....Nope...new keyboard....different computer...I shall be making many typo's!You're a bit pissed tonight babe!
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
I rarely get "pissed"and if I do..,run for the hills....as in TEMPER!
Dean Martin - Little old wine drinker me - YouTube
Robittybob, RobittybobThere was an old man Zinjanthropos
Who's search for God seemed quite hopeless,
Always on The Science Forum
Alone or with the entire quorum,
He has now resigned to Zen hocus pocus.
Robitty Bobitty Bobitty Bob
Like poor Jean Valjean
With his dignity gone
A quintessential Les Miserables
Last edited by zinjanthropos; December 23rd, 2013 at 08:12 PM.
Thanks for such a wonderful appraisal "Upton Sinclair described the novel [Les Miserables] as "one of the half-dozen greatest novels of the world,"
If only my poetry was as good!
There was an old codger called Zinjanthropos
Whose iambic pentameter was truly atrocious
Always on The Science Forum
Alone or with the quorum,
Though once written his words were quite ferocious.
No rain here..clear, cold and gorgeous in the redwoods!I thought it might have been put down to the rains in California, making the grapes grow ....Nope...new keyboard....different computer...I shall be making many typo's!You're a bit pissed tonight babe!
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
I rarely get "pissed"and if I do..,run for the hills....as in TEMPER!
Dean Martin - Little old wine drinker me - YouTube
damn a limerick contest!
Where is the limerick about Babe in the Redwoods?
Swans sing before they die----'twere no bad thing
Should certain persons die before they sing.
Samuel Taylor Colerridge
The song I've sung was just for you,
Troubled by the phlegm on my larynx ...
I need more lemons, cut and stew
Must make more of Babe's Lemon drinks.
I partook of the lemons
Cut and stewed
and the reason why
I wanted to clear my vocal chords
then throw the rinds to the sky
I hear your songs loud and clear,
Not only did Santa pass me by,
N'even an annoying ice cream truck,
Robittybob's throat expels total bad luck.
Over 8 years I can happily say
I've averaged less than one post a day
But some think it a crime
To be here all the time
Yet their post count will blow mine away
Merry Christmas Robittybob. My gift to you is in the form of advice..... Don't bother trying to %@#$%@#$ because if you do then @*&#%$^#%$ disappointed. I hope you get this because there's been some interference in cyberspace tonight.
That was rather poetical!Over 8 years I can happily say
I've averaged less than one post a day
But some think it a crime
To be here all the time
Yet their post count will blow mine away
Merry Christmas Robittybob. My gift to you is in the form of advice..... Don't bother trying to %@#$%@#$ because if you do then @*&#%$^#%$ disappointed. I hope you get this because there's been some interference in cyberspace tonight.
Have a good one, and yes I won't drink and drive. I'll take a taxi instead!
Merry Christmas Zinjan...
Last edited by Robittybob1; December 25th, 2013 at 03:53 AM.
There once was an old vet named Bob / A pseudoscientific nutjob / his latest new "theory" / invokes the query / "Why do the mods tolerate this knob?".
Last edited by PhDemon; December 25th, 2013 at 09:39 AM. Reason: typo
I once had a mascara named fluff
Not to be applied to my muff
It came off in clumps
My lashes in lumps
and false lashes
I tied to my head!
The word form known as limerick
Borders upon scientific
To match meter and rhyme
With some meaning sublime
Three in a row is a 'Hat Trick.'
My toes are a glory oh dear....
Off which I've heard much from my peers
Not ever a pedicure
My toes are not galore
But I have 50 minutes so free!
There was an old tech called PhDemon,There once was an old vet named Bob / A pseudoscientific nutjob / his latest new "theory" / invokes the query / "Why do the mods tolerate thus knob?".
??????????????????????
?????????????
?????????????
??????????????????????
dratt there are just no suitable words rhyming with Demon!
Haven't you got better things to do?
I'll have a go then...
A poster known as P H Demon
Had a penchant for logic and reason.
When confronted with shite
Would declare: "That's not right!"
And embark on a crank hunting season!
Not me!
OK it is pretty good and it nearly rhymed. It would have been perfect if Dave's name was Treason. So on the whole it was a failure.I'll have a go then...
A poster known as P H Demon
Had a penchant for logic and reason.
When confronted with shite
Would declare: "That's not right!"
And embark on a crank hunting season!
Not me!
There was a young girl from Australia
Who painted her ass like a dahlia
The picture was fine
And the colour devine
But the scent on the whole was a failure
Last edited by Robittybob1; December 25th, 2013 at 01:41 PM.
One comment below the poem had this to say "I am sure the first version I read, sixty years ago, went ". . .kills by dozens And then eats his red-brown cousins." Anybody know about that? (It is better: squirrels do not kill trees)."
We don't have squirrels here. So whether by eating nuts you are killing "Potential trees"? Is that the meaning?
They sound like a pest so no wonder someone shoots squirrels. What is the real story?
Perhaps the meaning is that the grey squirrel 'trees' (traps up a tree) his red-brown cousins and then eats them, rather than killing the trees. The meaning changes by the punctuation.One comment below the poem had this to say "I am sure the first version I read, sixty years ago, went ". . .kills by dozens And then eats his red-brown cousins." Anybody know about that? (It is better: squirrels do not kill trees)."
We don't have squirrels here. So whether by eat nuts you are killing "Potential trees", is that the meaning?
They sound like a pest so no wonder someone shoots squirrels. What is he real story?
OK thanks scheherazade. I hadn't known that hunting by trapping up a tree was called by the term "trees". The poem sounds more logical that way.Perhaps the meaning is that the grey squirrel 'trees' (traps up a tree) his red-brown cousins and then eats them, rather than killing the trees. The meaning changes by the punctuation.One comment below the poem had this to say "I am sure the first version I read, sixty years ago, went ". . .kills by dozens And then eats his red-brown cousins." Anybody know about that? (It is better: squirrels do not kill trees)."
We don't have squirrels here. So whether by eating nuts you are killing "Potential trees"? Is that the meaning?
They sound like a pest so no wonder someone shoots squirrels. What is the real story?
This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
I would agree that this poem points out that squirrels are of dubious nature, not at all adverse to killing and eating their own kind, and then leaves it for the reader to question how this differs from the espoused virtues of Christianity.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
The totality of the poem, to me…is that the squirrel is just ‘being a squirrel,’ doing as squirrels do. But, the ‘Christian’…shoots the squirrel…because the squirrel is a pest in his eyes. So…the poet is sarcastically and subtly getting the point across that the ‘Christian’ will often say ‘love your enemy,’ but he doesn’t really mean it. I think it’s an extraordinarily clever poem.
I thought that might have been the reason Beer chose the poem. I am a Christian and get involved with killing thousands of animals every day. Animal welfare and humane killing methods are an important parts to consider.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
None of those animals are our enemies either. The keeper has to do his job and so do we.
The story that has always remained with me was the legend that during the "Maori wars" when the Europeans came to colonize NZ and bring Christianity to the the Maori, during one of these battles a Maori (woman?) fetched water for the injured dying enemy soldiers and gave them water to drink.
Battle of Gate P
Was it Heni Te Kiri Karamu (Jane Foley)?
Thirty-four years after the battle Heni Te Kiri Karamu (1840-1933) (also known as Heni Pore, Jane Russell and Jane Foley) claimed that it was she who gave Booth water. Heni Te Kiri Karamu declared that, being part-European, she was not under the tapu that forbade Māori women to fight in battle and therefore was allowed to stay and fight beside her foster brother Neri at the Battle of Gate Pā. In February 1898 a Bay of Plenty Times article included a personal letter to her (dated 3 December 1897) by New Zealand Wars veteran Captain Gilbert Mair (1843-1923) supporting her claim: ‘When I first visited the Bay of Plenty shortly after the engagement, I heard from all sides that it was you who had given poor Colonel Booth and other dying soldiers water. Both Colonel St. John and Dr. Manley mentioned your name, and later on while at Maketu; Dr. Nesbitt, who was then R.M., gave me fuller details... Colonel Booth told him just before his death how he had been succoured most tenderly by a woman during that dreadful night’ (Mair, as cited in Bay of Plenty Times, 1898, p.3). Curiously, nowhere in Mair’s definitive work on the Battle of Gate Pā (first published in 1926) does he mention Te Kiri Karamu’s story. In the Bay of Plenty Times on 22 April 1898 the following note from the editor appeared; ‘We have had conversation with two natives wounded at the Gate Pā fight, Renata and Hone Taharangi, of the Ngaeterangi tribe, and both distinctly and emphatically deny that even one woman was present’ (p. 2). There is a brass plaque to Heni Te Kiri Karamu and a stained glass window at the Memorial Church of St George in Gate Pā
haha, I hadn't thought of that....perhaps. But, the poem has greater significance than the Christian killing the squirrel. My opinion. I think it is more of what the squirrel represents. You kill thousands of animals, daily? Why?I thought that might have been the reason Beer chose the poem. I am a Christian and get involved with killing thousands of animals every day. Animal welfare and humane killing methods are an important parts to consider.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
None of those animals are our enemies either. The keeper has to do his job and so do we.
In my case "meat". Humans want to eat meat that has been healthy, hygienically and humanely slaughtered.haha, I hadn't thought of that....perhaps. But, the poem has greater significance than the Christian killing the squirrel. My opinion. I think it is more of what the squirrel represents. You kill thousands of animals, daily? Why?I thought that might have been the reason Beer chose the poem. I am a Christian and get involved with killing thousands of animals every day. Animal welfare and humane killing methods are an important parts to consider.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
None of those animals are our enemies either. The keeper has to do his job and so do we.
Checkout ~ A Poetry Thread ~
Ah, I see. It has to be difficult at times, your role.In my case "meat". Humans want to eat meat that has been healthy, hygienically and humanely slaughtered.haha, I hadn't thought of that....perhaps. But, the poem has greater significance than the Christian killing the squirrel. My opinion. I think it is more of what the squirrel represents. You kill thousands of animals, daily? Why?I thought that might have been the reason Beer chose the poem. I am a Christian and get involved with killing thousands of animals every day. Animal welfare and humane killing methods are an important parts to consider.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
None of those animals are our enemies either. The keeper has to do his job and so do we.
Checkout ~ A Poetry Thread ~
Poem about civil rights, I think Naomi’s work is exceptional. Enjoy.
MIDWAY, by Naomi Long Madgett
I've come this far to freedom and I won't turn back
I'm climbing to the highway from my old dirt track
I'm coming and I'm going
And I'm stretching and I'm growing
And I'll reap what I've been sowing or my skin's not black
I've prayed and slaved and waited and I've sung my song
You've bled me and you've starved me but I've still grown strong
You've lashed me and you've treed me
And you've everything but freed me
But in time you'll know you need me and it won't be long.
I've seen the daylight breaking high above the bough
I've found my destination and I've made my vow;
so whether you abhor me
Or deride me or ignore me
Mighty mountains loom before me and I won't stop now.
I am very sentimental in nature, and I can't read that story about Gate Pa and not have a tear in my eye.Ah, I see. It has to be difficult at times, your role.In my case "meat". Humans want to eat meat that has been healthy, hygienically and humanely slaughtered.haha, I hadn't thought of that....perhaps. But, the poem has greater significance than the Christian killing the squirrel. My opinion. I think it is more of what the squirrel represents. You kill thousands of animals, daily? Why?I thought that might have been the reason Beer chose the poem. I am a Christian and get involved with killing thousands of animals every day. Animal welfare and humane killing methods are an important parts to consider.It's a poem (I believe) highlighting the hypocrisy of ''Christianity.'' ''Love your enemy,'' yet the 'Christian' shoots the squirrel. So, the squirrel must not have been an enemy, it infers. So...the squirrel was...a 'friend?' lol Love your enemy, when it's convenient, I guess is what the poem is revealing about his view on Christianity.Why do you think it is clever wegs?This is a clever poem...thx for posting it, Beer w/Straw.
None of those animals are our enemies either. The keeper has to do his job and so do we.
Checkout ~ A Poetry Thread ~
And then I think of the animals - they have to have fresh drinking water available too.
One of the first things I did was to study the animals for any signs to tell me if they knew what was about to happen to them. But there was nothing (sheep and cattle) but with pigs they tell me it's different.
Sorry for the format...It doesn't appear that way, until I post it. :/
If Colyer can do it than anybody can write a country song lyric. Takes only a few minutes.
This morning I found my furniture
Outside on the lawn
I guess it means my baby
More than likely wants me gone
Should have stayed home last night
Instead of getting stewed
Seems no one wants a cowboy
Who walks home in the nude
I wish I could remember what I did
The day was such a blur
Beers and whiskies did the trick
Plus seven hours with her
I ask myself if it was worth
My pants, my shirt , my shoes
My money and the rent cheque
It's enough to sing the blues
Chorus:
So I really must know
Do I get another chance?
I really get the feeling
That we have a true romance
Not that I deserve it
Yet you know one thing is true
There ain't no better lovin
Than what I can give to you
So now I come a knockin' on
Your bedroom's pane of glass
Despite the fact I'm holding a
Pizza box against my ass
I see your night light all aglow
You're watching your TV
You see my sheepish grin and laugh
Because you threw away the key
Please forgive me darling since
You are my one and only
So take me back before you get
All sad, depressed and lonely
The truth is that you want me still
I am your lover boy
No woman ever throws away
Her very favorite toy
Repeat:
So I really must know
Do I get another chance?
I really get the feeling
That we have a true romance
Not that I deserve it
Yet you know one thing is true
There ain't no better lovin
Than what I can give to you
Last edited by zinjanthropos; December 26th, 2013 at 08:28 PM.
I hesitated to 'like' that ^^, but it is rather catchy.
After such years of dissention and strife,
Some wonder that Peter should weep for his wife
But his tears on her grave are nothing surprising
He's laying her dust, for fear of it rising.
Thomas Hood
I was ginger born
'Cause I was ginger bred
I'll always be ginger
Because of my head.
(not my poem)
Another quipy classic from my father, the grand patriarch ...
My Job
It's not my job to run the train
The whistle I cannot blow;
It's not for me to say how far
The train's allowed to go.
I'm not allowed to blow off steam
Nor even clang the bell,
But let the damn thing jump the track
And see who catches hell!
PS — Five-Nines were the German 5.9-inch shells used to shoot gas at the enemy in WWI.
Yes.
In an earlier draft he even has the noise of them landing.
lol @ ‘ginger bred’ …nice play on words.
Here's to you wegs: To the tune of Love and Marriage
wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies
Go together like two caged canaries
If this, is not obsession
Then it's borderline depression
wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies
Winged pixies that the wind just carries
With wands, dispensing magic
Don't swat that itch, it could be tragic
Fly, fly, fly away to Neverland
It's your destination
Say hi, hi, hi to little Tinkerbell
It's sweet, imagination
wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies
All the way from the star Antares
And if, they're wearing green skirts
Then one might be,
She might just be,
She might just be
Julia Roberts.
December 27th, 2013, 11:09 PM
Another often- recited poem by my philosophical patriarch. I particularly enjoy the vivid imagery. There are a number of variations of this poem on the Internet. Although they have the same aabb rhyme pattern, the number of lines in each stanza varies, and some have couplets missing or added (who knows?). Wikipedia attributes it to the 19th Century American poet Retta Brown, apparently the niece of a reformed alcoholic named Tom Gray.
Tom Gray's Dream
(or The Hell-Bound Train)
Tom Gray lay down on the barroom floor,
Having drunk so much he could drink no more.
So he fell asleep with a troubled brain,
To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.
The engine with blood was red and damp,
And brilliantly lit by a brimstone lamp;
An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,
While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.
The boiler was filled with lager beer;
And the Devil himself was the engineer.
The passengers made such a motley crew —
Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew.
Rich men in broadcloth and beggars in rags,
Handsome young ladies and withered old hags,
Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white,
All chained together — a horrible sight!
The train rushed on at a fearful pace
And sulfur fumes burned hands and face;
Wilder and wilder the country grew
Faster and faster the engine flew.
Loud and terrible thunder crashed,
Whiter, brighter lightning flashed;
Hotter still the air became
Till clothes were burned from each shrieking frame.
Then in the distance there rose such a yell,
"Ha! Ha!" croaked the Devil, "we're nearing hell."
Then oh, how the passengers shrieked with pain,
And begged of the Devil to stop the train!
But he capered about and sang with glee,
And laughed and joked at their agony.
"Faithful friends, you have done my work,
And the Devil can never a payday shirk.
You have bullied the weak, you have robbed the poor,
And a starving brother turned from your door;
You have laid up gold where the canker rusts,
And given free vent to your fleshly lusts;
You have justice scorned and corruption sown,
And trampled the laws of nature down;
You have drunk and rioted, murdered and lied,
And mocked at God in your hell-born pride.
You have paid full fare, so I'll carry you through,
For it's only right you should get your due.
Why, the laborer always expects his hire;
So I'll land you safe in the lake of fire.
Where your flesh shall roast in the flames that roar,
And my imps torment you more and more."
Then Tom awoke with an agonized cry,
His clothes soaked with sweat, his hair standing high;
And he prayed as he never had prayed before
To be saved from drink and the Devil's power;
And his prayers and his cries were not in vain,
For he never more rode on the hell-bound train
Aw! What a delightfully funny fairy poem!
ON A DOCTOR NAMED ISSAC LETSOME
When people's ills, they come to I;
I physics, bleeds and sweats 'em.
Sometimes they live, sometimes they die;
What's that to I? I. Letsome
ON A DENTIST
Stranger, approach this place with gravity:
John Brown is filling is last cavity.
A Fairy Song
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
William Shakespeare
A thieving locksmith died of late
And soon arrived at heaven's gate.
He stood outside and would not knock
Because he meant to pick the lock.
The optimist fell ten stories;
At each window bar
He shouted to his friends:
"All right so far."
I meant to do my work today--
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
Ad a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
So what could I do but laugh and go?
Richard LeGallienne
I meant to do my work today--
But babe babe sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
So what could I do but laugh and go?
Only 30 minutes till 2014!
Only another 22 hours!! *S*I meant to do my work today--
But babe babe sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
So what could I do but laugh and go?
Only 30 minutes till 2014!
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