I shall do the same....good night! xQuote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
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I shall do the same....good night! xQuote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
another one bites the dust!Quote:
Originally Posted by Al Fowler
Now im going to have that song in my head all night.....bloody ultra tri babe.:rolleyes:Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
Nee bother here just covered in dustQuote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
Surprised Han hasnee told me off wi this one
Quote:
Originally Posted by Al Fowler
:D:D night :D
Don't start on the "stay up latest" game.. I always lose and then feel like crap the next day!!!Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
Quote:
Originally Posted by dominion
if I logged on every time I got no sleep you'd all lose!!
Just to throw some quality into the dubious 'poetry' so far served up :D
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 impostors 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!
I prefer a bit of Wilfred Owen and his mate Sasoon, they can tell it like it is.
Good one Stolly. In a different mood he also wrote this, one of my favouritesQuote:
Originally Posted by Stolly
The Children
1914-1918
('The Honours of War' - A Diversity of Creatures)
These were our children who died for our lands; they were dear in our sight.
We have only the memory left of their home-treasured sayings and laughter.
The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, but not to another's hereafter.
Neither Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right.
But who shall return us the children?
At the hour the barbarian chose to disclose his pretences,
And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us,
The first felon-stroke of the sword he had long-time prepared for us -
Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences.
They brought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us.
Those hours which we had not made good when the judgement o'ercame us. They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our learning Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning
Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour -
Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed upon her.
Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them.
The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemption:
Being cured, they returned and endured and achieved our redemption. Hopeless themselves of relief, till death, marvelling, closed on them.
That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was given
To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven -
By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the wires -
To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes - to be cindered by fires -
To be senselessly tossed and re-tossed in stale mutilation
From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation.
But who shall return us our children?
Last night's limerick conversation makes hilarious reading. Tea's post (no. 23) made me laugh out loud, as did the increasingly desperate attempts of Emmilou and Hanneke to establish some order and teach the rudiments of prosody at the same time...
Perhaps a collaborative sonnet is best avoided, though.
Yes I too had a few chuckles this morning reading their missives, whilst some (not E and H), obviously needed some additional tutoring in the finer points of limericking;), you could not but applaud their enthusiasm. I only wish I could have stayed up, I'd have sorted them out, maybe :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Tussockface
Does anyone dare start it again though?
There once was a woman from ealing:
I love this poem,this will get you inspired to go out and run off into the hills
Have you gazed on naked grandeur
where there’s nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley
with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence?
Then for God’s sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.
Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert’s little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills,
have you galloped o’er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa?
Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild — it’s calling you.
Have you known the Great White Silence,
not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map’s void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is,
can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild — it’s wanting you.
Have you suffered, starved and triumphed,
groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
“Done things” just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors,
heard the text that nature renders?
(You’ll never hear it in the family pew).
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things –
Then listen to the Wild — it’s calling you.
They have cradled you in custom,
they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you’re a credit to their teaching –
But can’t you hear the Wild? — it’s calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There’s a whisper on the night-wind,
there’s a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
Like it Fleeter, who wrote it, or is it yours:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Fleeter
[QUOTE=Darth domain;168649]
There once was a woman from Ealing
Who liked to lie down on her ceiling
[QUOTE=Deejay;168653]She was massively tall.Quote:
Originally Posted by Darth domain
Robert ServiceQuote:
Originally Posted by Deejay
Sadly not mine :D
[QUOTE=Al Fowler;168656]and loved swollen balls:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Deejay
Sorry fell asleep, PSP in hand. Looks like I missed a cracker!:(Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
[QUOTE=Darth domain;168682]Which is why she found softie so appealingQuote:
Originally Posted by Al Fowler
What does the 'PS' stand for?Quote:
Originally Posted by southernsoftie
Playstation silly and the final p for portable (not penis ;))Quote:
Originally Posted by Tussockface
You say that very confidently, Stolly. Were you round there last night? ;)
Pretty Small;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Tussockface
New limerick:
I once joined a fell-runner's forum...
Even though it wasn't quite a quorum...Quote:
Originally Posted by southernsoftie
and I tried to behave with decorum,Quote:
Originally Posted by southernsoftie
but it all went amiss,
I was taking the piss,
while they argued the AGM quorum.
The views were misguided...Quote:
Originally Posted by dominion
Stop showboating!Quote:
Originally Posted by Mud
For i was enlighted (Is that a word - it sounds good anyway so ill post it. :rolleyes:)Quote:
Originally Posted by southernsoftie
I once joined a fell-runner's forum
Even though it wasn't quite a quorum
The views were misguided
For I was enlighted
To post with a little decorum
What else rhymes with Forum?
Bore 'em
Store 'em
Ignore 'em
Sore bum?Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Fat tum?
Coke and rum?
Dum dum?
Spider, spider, on the wall,
You think your clever, but you know fcuk all,
That wall your climbing, has just been plastered,
And now your stuck, you silly b@st@rd!!!!!:D
And after that daftness, brought back from Australia by my niece, here's some proper poetry, love this poem, seem to remember it's one of Stolly's favourites too.
[IF]
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 impostors 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 all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath 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!
Suddenly I remebered this and looked it up. Don't know about anyone else but as I go grunting about in the hills and the countryside this poem captures some of what its about
Dylan Thomas - Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heyday of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it, was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.