Thank you Richard. What drug do you use? Is it available worldwide.Originally Posted by Richard Shlong
Thank you Richard. What drug do you use? Is it available worldwide.
Yes. Available in all good retail, hardware and car showrooms. When you get to the counter, whisper in the cashiers ear "Shlongy sent me for the special stuff".
If you've seen the comedy serious "The League of Gentleman", you may be aware of "Special Meat". Please don't take that by mistake. Its mine, I've got it on order and I'm saving it for the Sunday roast. Take the drugs though. Enjoy it. Hold it. Love it. Yeaaaaaaaaaaah.
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left
Cause I've been blasting and laughing so long,
That even my mama thinks that my mind is gone
But I ain't never crossed a man that didn't deserve it
Me be treated like a punk you know that's unheard of
You better watch how you're talking and where you're walking
Or you and your homies might be lined in chalk
I really hate to trip but I gotta loc
As they croak, I see myself in the pistol smoke, fool
I'm the kinda G the little homies wanna be like
On my knees in the night saying prayers in the streetlight
Susan Boyle?
Its good, but its not right.
How high are the tide marks by the way?
"No Sun outlasts it's sunset...but will rise again and bring the dawn" - Maya Angelou
Has anybody got any poems for me to review?
I've called this - Walkers Cheese and Onion Chrisps
The littlest Christmas tree,
lived in a meadow of green,
Among a family,
of tall evergreens,
He learned how to whisper,
the evergreen song,
with the slightest of wind,
that came gently along.
He watched as the birds,
made a home out of twigs,
and couldn't wait till,
he too was big.
For all of the trees,
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who's so strong.
"I hate being little",
the little tree said,
"I can't even turn colors,
like the maple turns red",
"I can't help the animals,
like the mighty old oak",
"He shelters them all,
in his wide mighty cloak".
The older tree said,
"Why little tree you don't know?
The story of a mighty king,
from the land with no snow?"
Little tree questioned,
"A land with no snow?"
"Yes!" said old tree,
"A very old story,
from so long ago".
"A star appeared,
giving great light,
over a manger,
on long winters night.
A baby was born,
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love,
over all things."
"He lived in a country,
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life,
to save all of man.'
Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the
happiest grin,
"We're not just trees,
but a reminder of that day,
there's a much bigger part,
of a role that we play!"
"For on Christmas eve,
my life I'll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they'll adorn me in trim,
this all will be done,
in memory of him".
"Among a warm fire,
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I'll find my great end,
then ever so gently,
he'll come down to see,
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me".
"So you see little tree,
we are not like the oak,
who shelters all things,
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
who's colors leave many,
standing in awe".
"The gift that we give,
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him".
The little tree bowed,
his head down and cried,
and thought of the king,
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift,
can anyone give?
Then to lay down your life,
when you wanted to live.
A swelling of pride
came over the tree,
Can all of this happen?
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind,
that he's never alone?
With this thought, little tree,
began singing with glee,
Happy and proud,
to be a true Christmas tree.
You can still hear them singing,
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas,
and that one holy night.
Out came the sun and drier up all the rain
Now incy wincy spinder went up the spout again!
Clear Sky
July 1918
Giuseppe Ungaretti
After so much
mist
one by one
the stars
unveil
I breathe in
the cool air
that the colour of the sky
gives me
I know I am
a passing
image
Caught in an immortal
circle
Like it. Glad to see you're back Freckle.
Morning
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.
Deborah Ager
Am Yisrael Chai
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