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3/20/2017 5:03:23 PM
Posted: 6/20/2002 8:14:55 PM EDT
[Last Edit: 6/20/2002 8:16:00 PM EDT by Katana16j]
The Maker, at Creation's birth, With living things had stocked the earth. From elephants to bats and snails, They all were good, for all were males. But when the Devil came and saw He said: "By Thine eternal law Of growth, maturity, decay, These all must quickly pass away And leave untenanted the earth Unless Thou dost establish birth" -- Then tucked his head beneath his wing To laugh -- he had no sleeve -- the thing With deviltry did so accord, That he'd suggested to the Lord. The Master pondered this advice, Then shook and threw the fateful dice Wherewith all matters here below Are ordered, and observed the throw; Then bent His head in awful state, Confirming the decree of Fate. From every part of earth anew The conscious dust consenting flew, While rivers from their courses rolled To make it plastic for the mould. Enough collected (but no more, For niggard Nature hoards her store) He kneaded it to flexible clay, While Nick unseen threw some away. And then the various forms He cast, Gross organs first and finer last; No one at once evolved, but all By even touches grew and small Degrees advanced, till, shade by shade, To match all living things He'd made Females, complete in all their parts Except (His clay gave out) the hearts. "No matter," Satan cried; "with speed I'll fetch the very hearts they need" -- So flew away and soon brought back The number needed, in a sack. That night earth range with sounds of strife -- Ten million males each had a wife; That night sweet Peace her pinions spread O'er Hell -- ten million devils dead!
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:18:01 PM EDT
Could you paraphrase?
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:26:30 PM EDT
I've always loved this one: Fatty and Skinny went to bed. Fatty rolled over, and Skinny was dead.
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:28:26 PM EDT
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:29:31 PM EDT
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:30:48 PM EDT
The best poem of all time hands down: [url]www.geocities.com/~spanoudi/poems/horatius.html[/url]
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:39:44 PM EDT
To keep this thread on a serious note: Roses are red Violets are blue I'm schizophrenic And so am I
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:47:59 PM EDT
[Last Edit: 6/20/2002 8:48:53 PM EDT by echo6]
I've always liked Kipling. My favorite is "the young British Soldier The last stanza is fiting of the current times methinks The Young British Soldier When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier. Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, So-oldier OF the Queen! Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: A soldier what's fit for a soldier. Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . . First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts -- Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts -- An' it's bad for the young British soldier. Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . . [cont}
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:49:29 PM EDT
[cont} When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt -- Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, An' it crumples the young British soldier. Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . . But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead, An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . . If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; Be handy and civil, and then you will find That it's beer for the young British soldier. Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . . Now, if you must marry, take care she is old -- A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told, For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, Nor love ain't enough for a soldier. 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . . If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! -- Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both, An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . . When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck, Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to your front like a soldier. Front, front, front like a soldier . . . When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich, An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . . When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, The guns o' the enemy wheel into line, Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, For noise never startles the soldier. Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . . If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, And wait for supports like a soldier. Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . . When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. Go, go, go like a soldier, Go, go, go like a soldier, Go, go, go like a soldier, So-oldier of the Queen!
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 8:50:21 PM EDT
There was a young girl of Samoa Who determined that no man should know her. One young fellow tried But she wriggled aside, And spilled all the spermatozoa.
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:05:26 PM EDT
There once was a man from Nantucket...
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:08:38 PM EDT
Sorry Katana...but you HAD to have known this would happen. [:O)]
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:10:16 PM EDT
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose. [USA]
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:11:24 PM EDT
Originally Posted By Hank: is it me or is that basically a man's wife joke? it is good, though!
View Quote
Yeah Hank...it's about MY wife. Where'dja get the horns, man? Izzit calcium deposits??
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:21:03 PM EDT
Link Posted: 6/20/2002 9:29:38 PM EDT
No, I didn't know. I thought he just drank too much milk when he was a kid. Wow. I'll bet dooor-to-door salestypes don't bug Hank too much.
Link Posted: 6/21/2002 5:48:27 AM EDT
From Wilfred Owen: Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned out 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 gas-shells dropping softly 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 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.
Link Posted: 6/21/2002 5:50:19 AM EDT
Was forced to learn this one in eight grade. Still with me even now: Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. 'Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!' He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. 'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
Link Posted: 6/21/2002 5:57:15 AM EDT
[Last Edit: 6/21/2002 5:57:41 AM EDT by rogerb]
One of my more recent favorites, author is only 16. The Planes Of September The people walked about the land They mused their dreams, they made their plans Souls moral and false, natures careless and kind Jarred rudely awake at the quarter of nine Innocents evolved into terrorists and timber, Black was the smoke from the planes of September So the people, they stopped, they shuddered and cried They screamed at the scandal of safety defied They listened to lectures and rumors of war Felt the confusion, watched the doom-numbers soar They saw reason scorch in evil's hot embers Bright were the flames from the planes of September So symbols were bashed and humanity burned History sighed and another page turned The people had fallen, face down in the dust Would they arise to be strong as they must? Be assured that they shall, as they mourn and remember The rage, death and hope from the planes of September ~ Jessica Purser, 16 years old
Link Posted: 6/21/2002 6:13:29 AM EDT
"[url=eserver.org/poetry/light-brigade.html]The Charge of the Light Brigade[/url]," by Alfred Lord Tennyson "[url=www.artofeurope.com/yeats/yea10.htm]Easter, 1916[/url]," by William Butler Yeats
Link Posted: 6/21/2002 6:30:19 AM EDT
In the Beginning First Man: I think, I think I am, therefore I am, I think. Establishment: Of course you are my bright little star, I've miles And miles Of files Pretty files of your forefather's fruit and now to suit our great computer, You're magnetic ink. First Man: I'm more than that, I know I am, at least, I think I must be. Inner Man: There you go man, keep as cool as you can. Face piles And piles Of trials With smiles. It riles them to believe that you perceive the web they weave And keep on thinking free.
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 5:26:07 AM EDT
The Staff Officer plans, The Logitician provides, and the General says when to begin... But the killing is done, and the battle decided, by the work of much younger men.
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 6:30:45 AM EDT
IF you are a father of sons then by all means at an early age you should be reading the poem IF to them. Break it out every once in awhile and live by it.
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 6:53:38 AM EDT
The Hollow Men T. S. Eliot (1925) I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men. II Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer -- Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom III This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. IV The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 10:14:47 AM EDT
Both too long to quote here: Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner -legrue
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 6:44:57 PM EDT
From Shel Silverstein: Chester go to school one day and said "Durn, I growed another head!" The teacher said, "It's about time you knowed, the word is 'grew' instead of growed."
Link Posted: 6/22/2002 7:20:36 PM EDT
I won't post any of my Psychotic poetry here (promice to self). Eric/Tyler
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