I'm fairly certain I've never had one. I prefer crispsOriginally Posted by Mossdog
I'm fairly certain I've never had one. I prefer crisps
Poacher turned game-keeper
Ha ha...that's funny. Nice haiku DT. I hated figs for ages because I'd only ever had dried ones and then a lady in a market in Mexico gave me a fresh one to try and it was gorgeous. They are strange things though, they definitely feel kind of fleshy.
I'm fairly certain I've never had one. I prefer crisps
I get figs and dates mixed up. I think it's dried figs that my mate Jamie (NotOnUrHelly) like to eat on ultras
Poacher turned game-keeper
I enjoyed the fig poems tonight and I am fond of fig rolls
Johnny Weissmuller Dead in Acapulco
Apart possibly from waving hello to the cliff-divers
Would the real Tarzan have ever touched Acapulco ?
Not with a one-hundred-foot vine.
Jungle Jim maybe, but the Ape Man never.
They played a tape at his funeral
In the Valley of Light cemetry of how he had sounded
Almost fifty years back giving the pristine ape-call,
Which could only remind all present that in decline
He would wander distractedly in the garden
With his hands to his mouth and the unforgettable cry
Coming out like a croak -
This when he wasn't sitting in his swim-trunks
Beside the pool he couldn't enter without nurses.
Things had not been so bad before Mexico
But they were not great.
He was a greeter in Caesar's Palace like Joe Louis.
Sal, I want you should meet Johnny Weissmuller.
Johnny, Mr Sal Volatile is a friend of ours from Chicago.
With eighteen Tarzan movies behind him
Along with the five Olympic gold medals,
He had nothing in front except that irrepressible paunch
Which brought him down out of the tree house
To earth as Jungle Jim
So a safari suit could cover it up.
As Jungle Jim he wasn't just on salary,
He had a piece of the action,
But coming so late in the day it was not enough
And in Vegas only the smile was still intact.
As once it had all been intact, the Greek classic body
Unleashing the new-stile front-up crawl like a baby
Lifting itself for the first time,
Going over the water almost as much as through it,
Curing itself of childhood polio
By making an aquaplane of its deep chest,
Each arm relaxing out of the water and stiffening into it,
The long legs kicking a trench that did not fill up
Until he came back on the next lap,
Invincible, easily breathing
The air in the spit-smooth, headlong, creek-around-a-rock trough
Carved by his features.
He had six wives like Henry VIII but don't laugh,
Because Henry VIII couldn't swim a stroke
And if you ever want to see a true king you should watch Weissmuller
In Tarzan Escapes cavorting underwater with Boy
In the clear river with networks of lights on the shelving sand
Over which they fly weightless to hide from each other behind the log
While Jane wonders where they are.
You will wonder where you are too and be shy of the answer
Because it is Paradise.
When the crocodile made its inevitable entry into the clear river
Tarzan could always settle its hash with his bare hands
Or a knife at most,
But Jungle Jim usually had to shoot it
And later on he just never got to meet it face to face -
It was working for the Internal Revenue Service.
There was a chimpanzee at his funeral,
Which must have been someone's idea of a smart promotion.
And you might say dignity had fled,
But when Tarzan dropped from the tall tree and swam out of the splash
Like an otter with an outboard to save Boy from the waterfall
It looked like poetry to me,
And at home in the bath I would surface giving the ape-call.
Clive James
That's not only an interesting but a little bit sad poem Alf, but educational too. Thanks!
In my usual spirit of procrastination, I was reading poetry instead of cellophaning and sending off prints and I liked this.
A Thunderstorm in Town
She wore a 'terra-cotta' dress,
And we stayed, because of the pelting storm,
Within the hansom's dry recess,
Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless
We sat on, snug and warm.
Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain,
And the glass that had screened our forms before
Flew up, and out she sprang to her door:
I should have kissed her if the rain
Had lasted a minute more.
Thomas Hardy
Just seen your time Rev, brilliant!! Well done.
I was there flogging my self into the ground!! Bloody hard work into a git strong wind
Cheers Hes', Im amazed how well ive recovered, legs feel only a little sore which im pleased wit
Wild nights - Wild nights!
Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!
Emily Dickinson
Am Yisrael Chai
Morning
Deborah Ager
We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle
You know how it is waking
from a dream certain you can fly
and that someone, long gone, returned
and you are filled with longing,
for a brief moment, to drive off
the road and feel nothing
or to see the loved one and feel
everything. Perhaps one morning,
taking brush to hair you'll wonder
how much of your life you've spent
at this task or signing your name
or rising in fog in near darkness
to ready for work. Day begins
with other people's needs first
and your thoughts disperse like breath.
In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
before day begins all the world
gradually reappears car by car.
Am Yisrael Chai
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