ASF Poetry Thread

2020hindsight said:

Fiery Jack - Ye Jacobites
YE JACOBITES BY NAME (rewritten by Robbie Burns)

Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name,
Your fautes I will proclaim,
Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear.

What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang?
A weak hand and a strang,
A short sword and the lang,for to draw.

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife?
To whet th' assassin's knife
Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bludie war?

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone,
Adore the rising sun,
And leave a man undone, to his fate.

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extra verse....

Ye Jacobites by name, don yer kilt, don yer kilt;
Ye Jacobites by name, don yer kilt;
Ye Jacobites by name,
if fornication's your game :casanova:
or when your ass is on flame, don your kilt.

PS read somewhere that the kilt is the ideally practical choice for a highland man - perfectly adapted for fornication and diarrhoea

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2007/10/05/2051401.htm Australian diggers honourably laid to rest
Posted Fri Oct 5, 2007 6:28am AEST

Five Australian World War I soldiers have been re-buried with full military honours in a Commonwealth war cemetery in Belgium. The men's remains were discovered in September last year during digging for a new gas pipeline.

DNA testing and historical research recently confirmed two identities as Private Jack Hunter from Queensland and Sergeant George Calder from Victoria.

It is believed they were killed in the battle of Polygon Wood, 90 years ago last month, which was part of the treacherous three-month long Passchendaele campaign.

In a moving service at the Buttes New British cemetery in Zonnebeke, West Flanders, the five caskets were interred with full military honours.

Australia's Governor-General, Major General Michael Jeffery, praised the diggers, saying they had been fighting to preserve a way of life based on the Australian adage of a fair-go for all.

He says the forensic work done to identify two of the five men needs to be commended.

"Some remarkable historical detective work in Belgium and Australia have helped end 90 years of uncertainty for two Australian families," he said.

"Sergeant George Calder and Private John Hunter can now be laid to rest under their own names."

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A BURIAL SITE TO GO WITH THE MEDAL

Five Anzacs have been found in Flanders, two have been ID’ed
their 90 year old photographs look on as they are freed
there’s healing for that stumpy branch that constitutes that tree
their family’s, and the nation's – for they died for you and me

they’ve been granted just a little luck to have a look around
it beats a nigh-on-century of lying in the ground
I wonder what they’d think of things a second time around
I wonder if they’d think the things they fought for have been found.

no longer just a medal stuck behind some aging glass
no longer unknown soldiers pushing up some foreign grass
no longer just some “metal stuff” ignored each time I pass.
no longer an unanswered and unanchored piece of brass

your future died a week before this medal’s die was cast
since then you’ve lain a vassal in a battlefield so vast
a bullet holed your uniform the day you breathed your last
a hurried service buried by some road the years have passed.

does it matter that that medal isn’t cast in solid gold
does it matter that their feet were facing forward brave and bold
heck yes! for if we paid them what their sacrifice was worth
we’d have long since had to sacrifice our corner of the earth

for us they put their fears aside, for us they tempted fate
for us their kissed their photo-ed bride, then charged some gun with mates
at least they’re found, a grave at last, and named albeit late
Jack Hunter and George Calder – at last you lie in state.

what matters in this story is - this story ISN’T closed
what matters? – what has happened to the world as those five dozed
have things they fought for happened? or just hypocrites exposed
or now (as then) is it just the just men, die with justice juxtaposed.

Inspiration for this poem ? - it is intended as a response to Leonard Cohen "Take this Waltz"
I can honesty tell you I have no idea what he is talking about in that poem lol
https://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=210186&highlight=waltz#post210186

Apparently he copied Frederico García Lorca
(here are the two poems side by side ..)
http://www.webheights.net/speakingcohen/waltz.htm

Take This Waltz
(After Lorca)

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost --
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.
etc

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Apparently he copied Frederico García Lorca , viz:-
Little Viennese Waltz

In Vienna there are ten little girls
a shoulder for death to cry on
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.
etc

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FROM BUSH BAND TO ORCHESTRA, ACCORDING TO A PLAN

I used to go to dances in a bushwacked bygone day
a clumsy mix of prances while some 3 man band would play
my hair was bushy, wild yet bland, but bushy was ok
but bushiest of all ? the band!! it sounded like pure hay

the pianist he sounded pissed, but still he kept a tune
it sounded like a blend of Liszt and a sex starved wild baboon
I never quite could comprehend how he got the whole damned room
to resonate around the bend and the seats would “hertz” with each boom

the drummer then accomp’nied him - not sure if he followed or lead
he sounded like a reject from that group the Grateful Dead
he’d often lead the singing, and “elope with the words as if wed”
though it sounded more like an antelope that had fallen out of bed

the saxophone took out top billing (according to his rating)
a sexy moan that could be quite chilling – or sound like elephants mating
was mainly Beatle mania – as they crawled from behind some grating -
he’d blast a tune, the girls would swoon, (cos they’d had a whole week waiting)

the MC used to join in with a song to thrill us all
was something like an episode of “all creatures great and small”
but he’d mix up all the square dance steps with such a confusing call
now I know why it’s called ‘ballroom’ – sheesh - we’d be tied up in a ball !

I must have spent a fortune on those dance admission fees
the mem-ories worth twice as much – they gave me “dancing knees”
I must have heard a million times “select your partner please”
for gypsy tap or barn dance, - or just share half cultured fleas.

we’d trip the light fantastic, though fantastic it was not
a few of us were hopeless, and the rest had lost the plot
but slowly of so slowly we learned that damned gavotte
(we pretended we were goalies ‘bout to face an eight yard shot)

……………….

the moral of this story is I then became a man
and all these clumsy three-steps had been fashioned to a plan
swap jeans for fancy cummerbund, read orchestra for band
I whirled a ballgowned princess, and her name (I recall) was … forget.

Sting - Until
Now there's a great poem / song / waltz / concept lyrics here :-
https://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=187750&highlight=waltz#post187750

Frederico García Lorca ...
Amazing what you can discover with google and wiki ...

Cohen has described Lorca as being his idol in his youth, and named his daughter Lorca Cohen for that reason

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federico_García_Lorca

Federico García Lorca (June 5, 1898 – August 19, 1936) was a Spanish poet and dramatist, also remembered as a painter, pianist, and composer. An emblematic member of the Generation of '27, he was killed by Nationalist partisans at the age of 38 at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War.

.....Although not shown for the first time until the early 1930s, in 1926 Lorca wrote the play 'The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife', which was a farce based on the relationship between a flirtatious, petulant wife and a henpecked shoemaker.
......In 1931, García Lorca was appointed as director of a university student theatre company,

When war broke out in 1936, García Lorca left Madrid for Granada, even though he was aware that he was almost certainly heading toward his death in a city reputed to have the most conservative oligarchy in Andalucía. García Lorca and his brother-in-law, who was also the socialist mayor of Granada, were soon arrested. He was executed, shot by Falange militia on August 19, 1936. The executioner is reputed to have said "I fired two bullets into his **** for being a queer." Lorca was thrown into an unmarked grave somewhere between Víznar and Alfacar, near Granada. There is a large controversy about the motives (personal non-political motives are also suggested) and details of his death. The dossier compiled at Franco's request has yet to surface.

The olive tree near Alfacar where Lorca was shot as it was in 1999. Many people had left quotations from his works in its branches. Location: 37ο14' N. 3о33' W [3]

The Franco regime placed a general ban on his work, which was not rescinded until 1953 when a (heavily censored) Obras completas was released. That Obras did not include his late Sonnets of Dark Love, written in November 1935 and performed only for close friends ”” these were lost until 1983/4 when they were finally published. It was only after Franco's death in 1975 that García Lorca's life and death could be openly discussed in Spain.

In 1968, Joan Baez sang translated renditions of Lorca's poems, "Gacela Of The Dark Death" and "Casida of the Lament" on her spoken-word poetry album, Baptism.

In 1986, Leonard Cohen's English translation of the poem "Pequeño vals vienés" by García Lorca reached #1 in the Spanish single charts (as "Take This Waltz", music by Cohen). Cohen has described Lorca as being his idol in his youth, and named his daughter Lorca Cohen for that reason.

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Federico Garcia Lorca asesinado por el fascismo (his assassination)

Federico Garcia Lorca - a song / poem

One thing's for sure - Leonard Cohen would have had a few more joints than this bloke (even if those two poems, Take this Waltz etc, are similar at the end of day)

I post this purely for completion of this checkout of this sidetrack..
Joan Baez apparently recited this poem - one of Frederico's
(still pretty weird if you ask me )
Introduction with the poem 'Ghazal of Dark Death' by Federico Garcia Lorca.

Apologies to Shirley Bassey's "GOOD BAD BEAUTIFUL"...

THOUGHTS AFTER WATCHING THE NEWS

I've seen good
but bleeding Buddhists
- mankind's "better side"

I've seen right
and Gods of might
and Western law

I've seen need
and Gods of greed
and thin-veiled genocide

I've seen spin
(coalition's kin)
and Gods of War

Since your reign
the number slain
has truly multiplied

I've seen gods
of love replaced
by warlike Mars

your spaceship gents
contains some tents
and even food supplied

good luck on Mars
(amongst the stars)
and "bon voyage"

should Burmese generals rule? a valid question!
legitimate as valid questions come,
but here's an illegitimate suggestion....
those bastards killed those monks and then played dumb!

Charles Kingsley "Young and Old" Poem movie animation

Charles Kingsley (1819-1875) was born in Devon in the west of England and was the son of a vicar. He studied at University college London, before finishing his studies at Magdalene College, Cambridge. .... married .........argued that religion and politics were intertwined ..... ..writing The Water Babies in 1862 (from which this poem is taken);.....

The joys of youth and the grim prospect of old age are something we all must bare, but lets hope we have enough joyful memories so that in our old age we can look back and enjoy the happiness of once being young.

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Young and Old

When all the world is young, lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home, and take you place there,
The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there,
You loved when all was young.

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Def Poetry Jam - Alicia Keys - POW

If anyone saw "Adventures in English" tonight
the following is an extract...

Background :- Wickliffe wrote the first English Bible (see lollards). For his sins he died, was dug up by the priests of the day - bones removed, burned, and his ashes scattered in the Avon..

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wycliffe
http://www.bartleby.com/100/pages/page483.html

As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear
Into the Avon, Avon to the tide
Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas,
Into main ocean they, this deed accursed
An emblem yields to friends and enemies
How the bold teacher’s doctrine, sanctified
By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed. 1
Ecclesiastical Sonnets. Part ii. xvii.To Wickliffe.

Note 1.
In obedience to the order of the Council of Constance (1415), the remains of Wickliffe were exhumed and burned to ashes, and these cast into the Swift, a neighbouring brook running hard by; and “thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Severn, Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main ocean. And thus the ashes of Wickliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over.”—Thomas Fuller: Church History, sect. ii. book iv. paragraph 53.

What Heraclitus would not laugh, or what Democritus would not weep?… For though they digged up his body, burned his bones, and drowned his ashes, yet the word of God and truth of his doctrine, with the fruit and success thereof, they could not burn.—Fox: Book of Martyrs, vol. i. p. 606 (edition, 1611).

“Some prophet of that day said,—
“‘The Avon to the Severn runs,
The Severn to the sea;
And Wickliffe’s dust shall spread abroad
Wide as the waters be.’”
Daniel Webster: Address before the Sons of New Hampshire, 1849.

These lines are similarly quoted by the Rev. John Cumming in the “Voices of the Dead.” [back]

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After Wickliffe came Tyndale - who also had to hide overseas whilst he dared to translate the bible into English, "the language of the ploughboys"
killed for doing so.

William Tyndale (sometimes spelled Tindall or Tyndall) (ca. 1494–1536) was a 16th century Protestant reformer and scholar who translated the Bible into the Early Modern English of his day. Although a number of partial and complete Old English translations had been made from the 7th century onward, Tyndale's was the first to take advantage of the new medium of print, which allowed for its wide distribution. In 1535 Tyndale was arrested, jailed in the castle of Vilvoorde outside Brussels, Belgium for more than a year, tried for heresy and treason and then strangled and burnt at the stake in the castle's courtyard

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Following the publication of the New Testament, Cardinal Wolsey condemned Tyndale as a heretic and demanded his arrest[citation needed].

Tyndale went into hiding, possibly for a time in Hamburg, and carried on working. He revised his New Testament and began translating the Old Testament and writing various treatises. In 1530 he wrote The Practyse of Prelates, which seemed to move him briefly to the Catholic side through its opposition to Henry VIII's divorce. This resulted in the king's wrath being directed at him: he asked the emperor Charles V to have Tyndale seized and returned to England[citation needed].

Eventually, he was betrayed to the authorities. He was kidnapped in Antwerp in 1535, betrayed by Henry Phillips, and held in the castle of Vilvoorde near Brussels.

He was tried on a charge of heresy in 1536 and condemned to the stake, despite Thomas Cromwell's intercession on his behalf. Tyndale was strangled and his body burned at the stake on 6 September 1536[4] or 6 October 1536.[5] His final words reportedly were, "Oh Lord, open the King of England's eyes."

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Further to last post
http://www.ukstudentlife.com/Ideas/Fun/Wordplay.htm#Plurals

Double Trouble
A poem for English students
by Mark Chandler

Please spare me a thought
For the cause of my frowns
My teacher's just taught
Me the plurals of nouns

So let's start with a fox
Well, the plural is foxes
But change it to ox
We have oxen, not "oxes"

He becomes they:
Man becomes men
So I think I can say
Humans are "humen"!

Explain to me please:
On my plate are pink prawns
The green things are peas
Make the yellow ones "corns"!

So foot becomes feet?
There's no logic at all ...
Because boots are not "beet"
... And you say 'six foot tall'

A pair of trousers - OK?
But I see only one.
Can you please say
Where the other has gone?


Notes
- A "frown" is an expression on your face which shows that you are annoyed or worried
- In the UK we may have "peas and corn" as vegetables with a meal (corn means loose sweetcorn, or maize)
- A "foot" can be either a part of the body or a measurement (about 30 cm).
- People in Britain often say their heights using feet and inches, but always say "foot" not "feet"

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..
http://www.ukstudentlife.com/Ideas/Fun/Wordplay.htm#Pronunciation

Sounds and Letters
A poem for English students

When in English class we speak,
Why is break nor rhymed with freak?
Will you tell me why it's true
That we say sew, but also few?

When a poet writes a verse
Why is horse not rhymed with worse?
Beard sounds not the same as heard
Lord sounds not the same as word

Cow is cow, but low is low
Shoe is never rhymed with toe.
Think of nose and dose and lose
Think of goose, but then of choose.

Confuse not comb with tomb or bomb,
Doll with roll, or home with some.
We have blood and food and good.
Mould is not pronounced like could.

There's pay and say, but paid and said.
"I will read", but "I have read".
Why say done, but gone and lone -
Is there any reason known?

To summarise, it seems to me
Sounds and letters disagree.

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A flea and a fly flew up in a flue.
Said the flea, "Let us fly!"
Said the fly, "Let us flee!"
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
-------------------------------------
Which wristwatches are Swiss wristwatches?
-------------------------------------
A noisy noise annoys an oyster
-------------------------------------
Ned Nott was shot and Sam Shott was not.
So it is better to be Shott than Nott.
Some say Nott was not shot.
But Shott says he shot Nott.
Either the shot Shott shot at Nott was not shot, or Nott was shot.
If the shot Shott shot shot Nott, Nott was shot.
But if the shot Shott shot shot Shott, then Shott was shot, not Nott.
However, the shot Shott shot shot not Shott - but Nott.
------------------------------------------
Thieves seize skis.
------------------------------------------
A bloke's back bike brake-block broke.
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Once upon a barren moor
There dwelt a bear, also a boar.
The bear could not bear the boar.
The boar thought the bear a bore.
At last the bear could bear no more
Of that boar that bored him on the moor,
And so one morn he bored the boar -
That boar will bore the bear no more.
------------------------------------------
Betty Botter had some butter,
"But", she said, "this butter's bitter.
If I bake this bitter butter
it would make my batter bitter.
But a bit of better butter -
that would make my batter better".
So she bought a bit of butter
(better than her bitter butter),
and she baked it in her batter,
and the batter was not bitter.
So 'twas better Betty Botter
bought a bit of better butter.
--------------------------------------
She sells sea shells by the seashore.
The shells she sells are surely seashells.
So if she sells shells on the seashore,
I'm sure she sells seashore shells.

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QUESTIONS OF OUR LEADERS SHOULD THERE BE A TELEVISED DEBATE

First question noble leaders
since you're obviously adored
the apples that you feed us
from which promises are cored
are they more like hot air heaters
in some big balloon unmoored?
.. are you hot air, yet you need us?
are you all we can afford?

Next question noble statemen
post election are you bored?
once you've fooled electoral gatesmen
are your promises ignored?
are we now the best of mates then
with some madman wielding sword?
is a "stuff-up" understatement?
is calamity assured ?

Last question noble minister
should you become "first lord",
are you hatching something sinister
in liberal or labour ward?
are the ethics you administer
where darts land on some board?
praps your clever speech-write spin(i)sters
should be the ones we drag aboard?

A couple of alternatives - I'm probably of the second school

It Couldn't Be Done
By Edgar Guest

Somebody said it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least no one has ever done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.

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It Couldn't Be Done II
by anon

Somebody said it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
He took off his coat and went to it!
He tackled that thing that couldn't be done
and.... he couldn't do it.

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btw, even Edgar Albert Guest saw the humourous side of all this ....

Father
By Edgar Albert Guest

My father knows the proper way
The nation should be run;
He tells us children every day
Just what should now be done.
He knows the way to fix the trusts,
He has a simple plan;
But if the furnace needs repairs,
We have to hire a man.

My father, in a day or two
Could land big thieves in jail;
There’s nothing that he cannot do,
He knows no word like “fail.”
“Our confidence” he would restore,
Of that there is no doubt;
But if there is a chair to mend,
We have to send it out.

All public questions that arise,
He settles on the spot;
He waits not till the tumult dies,
But grabs it while it’s hot.
In matters of finance he can
Tell Congress what to do;
But, O, he finds it hard to meet
His bills as they fall due.

It almost makes him sick to read
The things law-makers say;
Why, father’s just the man they need,
He never goes astray.
All wars he’d very quickly end,
As fast as I can write it;
But when a neighbor starts a fuss,
’Tis mother has to fight it.

In conversation father can
Do many wondrous things;
He’s built upon a wiser plan
Than presidents or kings.
He knows the ins and outs of each
And every deep transaction;
We look to him for theories,
But look to ma for action.

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A Psalm of Life
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,”” act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Thieves seize skis.
------------------------------------------
A bloke's back bike brake-block broke.

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sheesh, I have enough problems with "red leather, yellow leather" (repeated say 10 times fairly fast of course)

When you ride your motorbike,
wear tough strong leathers, alright,
if you don't, you'll not be hiking
and be sure, certainly not biking.

background reading , in the unlikely event that anyone's interested

https://www.aussiestockforums.com/forums/showthread.php?p=211800&highlight=pell#post211800

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IN THIS ONE YOU LINE UP WITH THE PELLS OR THE GORES

they say the world is changing, and it’s getting extra warm,
a bit like (praps) late onset menopause?
a whisky lead recovery? - no ice will be the norm ?
we ask quite rightly, “hey are men a cause”?
to strike a blow for earthly life, pre-emptively inform,
you line up with the Pells or with the Gores,
the worst that it can pan out, it’s the lull before the storm,
at best? - just add the first and second wars.

no man should take another by his soul or suit la-pells,
no man should preach against a sense of caution,
you silly man, the deaths you share by your “non-action yells”
by 15 million times out-rank abortion.
don’t preach against this logic as we’re heading into hells
don’t change the subject with divine contortion,
cos hell is where we’re heading, and denial sorta smells,
they’re earthly facts, they don’t need your distortion.

no “choral” in the chorus and no polar in the bear
some flowers mark their last and final breath
some spin doctored thesaurus, and some yarns denial-shared
accompany deniers unto death,
if someone knows the chorus - why we shouldn’t act (and now),
not guessed, not jest, not blessed – give it your best.
so what if facts are porous, there’s no water anyhow
cos man has been one deadly earthly guest.

Sir George the rogue approached the rock, and made a holy wish
ignored the storm, ignored the warning bell,
“that rock’s a lot of poppycock”, he cried, to man and fish
“the swells just small, and further, all is swell”,
but then it all got wishy washy, “maybe I was wrong,
perhaps the rest were right to hear that knell”;
well just to keep it mutual in the way they hear your song
you might as well insist – ignore No-bel.

there’s no-one has the right to preach that everything is fine
there’s no-one has the right to preach “ignore”
my grandkids want to know why we ignored the warning sign
and why we charged on foot flat to the floor,
as stewards of this earthly dome, there’s morals to combine,
to fight against an ever rising shore,
don’t make this home a hell on earth, a smoking charcoal shrine
don’t listen to George Pell – believe Al Gore.

............

we ought to give it our best shot on where we want to steer
we ought to try to get ourselves on track
hey sure the sun is massive, and its hotter there than here
but still we need defending AND attack
till better then to curse the light - than curse the dark and fear,
"a candle lit" might be too many mac!
be careful of that candle for it's all now so severe
it might perhaps just break the camel's back

The Inchcape Rock
by Robert Southey, Bristol, 1802

An older writer mentions a curious tradition which may be worth quoting. ‘By east the Isle of May’, says he, ‘twelve miles from all land in the German seas, lyes a great hidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous for navigators, because it is overflowed everie tide. It is reported in old times, upon the saide rock there was a bell, fixed upon a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to the saylers of the danger. This bell or clocke was put there and maintained by the Abbott of Aberbrothok, and being taken down by a sea pirate, a yeare thereafter he perished upon the same rocke, with ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God.’ – STODDART’S Remarks on Scotland.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The Sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round,
And there was joyaunce in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck,
And he fix’d his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made his whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, ‘My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.’

The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, ‘The next who comes to the Rock
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.'

Sir Ralph the Rover sail’d away,
He scour’d the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder’d store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky
They cannot see the Sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, ‘It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.’

‘Canst hear,’ said one, ‘the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.’
‘Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.’

They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,―
‘Oh Christ! It is the Inchcape Rock!’

Sit Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.

(I notice Kennas on the car thread suggested he was going on "two feet and a heartbeat" - so you can blame him for this extra contribution to cyber-pollution - at least there are no pulp-and/or-paper-pages involved lol)

TWO FEET AND A HEARTBEAT

I think Forrest Gump’s my hero
cos he never drove a car,
with his impact next to zero
yet he came to get this far,
he just babbled on at bustops
with well travelled expertise,
I think Forrest Gump's my hero
- for the wishbones in his knees.

When we’re born we’re all on P plates
till we learn which knee goes first -
Forrest kicked his extra knee plates
(and the rest was unrehearsed),
and he took off bipeds flying,
on these mad gyrating legs,
it was all so breath-defying,
on those death-defying pegs.

Well he frowned at a Ferrari
and he never owned a Fiat,
he just walked on to “where are we”
with a V1 not a V8,
with his motor never missin'
(that he didn’t have to start),
just a biped on a mission,
and a bivale in his heart.

Man has always had this motor
since young Adam was a boy,
now his heartbeat’s a Toyota
or some other four wheel toy,
but I now suspect some quota
says the brand new custom fleet
are two kneecaps on a rotor
and a heartbeat and two feet.

..........
We can all make this decision
and it ain't too late to start
we're all bipeds on a mission,
with a bivale in our heart.