ASF Poetry Thread

Hindsight vs Foresight...

SITTING IN TRAINS

I like to face forward in trains, - to look to my future-to-be;
To otherwise sit is to watch what has been - it's all in the past you see,
It's not that the past isn't precious, I treasure each grand memory,
Unique mine alone, but they're safe set in stone,
And living there constantly sounds like a drone
They're always accessible via "head-phone"
And dialing it works like a T.
…..I Like to watch where the NEXT seeds will be sown
As well as admiring the tree.

The mem-ries I've buried in layers - the layers I've buried in years
There's mem-ories there that I really do care for, and others that tackle my fears,
But diggin em up gets addictive, the mixture of laughter and tears,
Unique mine alone but I've buried that bone
(I mean in the canine sense, not Al Capone);
While diggin em up sets a warm fuzzy tone
The next cashcrop gets in arrears.
…….I'll unbury them - like a gift left alone -
In time - more mature - with some beers.

I like to face forward in trains - behind us is all in the past,
On yachts I will blow on the gyb or the main - while sighting ahead through the mast,
I even face forward when rowing - it's ethically pure if not fast
The past is a heap of indelible stains -
The present's restricted by "no-passing" lanes
Just look to the future, and…. "let go the reins !! "
And "face the next turn not the last….."
……......
This lady reached back to me.."You!! - .. making brain noises !!
That was your station you passed !!. "

http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic Poems/Southey/the_inchcape_rock.htm
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=6688&poem=28859
(Two alternative websites - take your pick)

Here's one for folks who remember the quote "Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair".

Website reads :- ‘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.


THE INCHCAPE ROCK
by Robert Southey

... just the last few verses (best to get the full story on the web)...

‘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!’

Sir 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.

You'll be pleased to know that im gonna limit myself to four (4) posts without someone else saying some bludy thing ( even if it's SHUDDUP!! - WHO NEEDS THIS CRAPP!!) .

Thought for the day ( in closing ) I'd like to suggest that any who wish post an original poem about the ASX - you've got to the end of October - no rules (other than stick roughly to the topic) - and a prize? Im checking , but I think I can organise 300,000 shares in TLS for starters ! - (well at least that might get them moving !?) lol - By the end of the month, they'll be giving em away anyways.

Here's one written to a galloping rhythm. Pathetic compared to the masters like ALG and Banjo - but there you go.

JACKAROO vs OLD BULLOCK DRAY

A galloping sound was alive in the ground
And the henhouse in chaos the hoofbeats in flight
And a rapid fire clopping with no hint of stopping
And rapid fire cries of the young maiden’s plight,
And just out of town the crescendo invaded
The sleeping young jackaroo’s half naked dreaming,
He jumped to the window to see legs akimbo
And bolter and duststorm and girl by now screaming

With no thought of dacks he just ran to make tracks
And he jumped on his horse, it was eighteen hands high,
And he gave it a kick and they took off so quick
That some leghairs got caught – hairy saddle, bald thigh.
And he galloped full bore (minus leghairs - times four)
Till the tortured young lass he did briefly espy,
And he caught up beside her and smiled to confide her
And slowly the screaming relaxed to a sigh.

Well they fell off at last, (she had headlocked him fast),
And they fortunate fell in a big pile of hay
And they both bumped their funny bones - humerus fabulous
Laughter ensued as they pantingly lay,
And their pulses were racing – like – right off the tracing
On impulse he bellowed “let’s kiss! – here !! TODAY !!!”
To which she replied that her boyfriend ( she lied)
Would “be catching up soon – in his old bullock dray”.

So the moral of stories like this (there are lots)
Is that galloping’s fun and it thrills and excites,
But when trottin out ladies who much prefer trots and/or
Bulldust and stuff- SKIP the heroic heights –
And if ever you’re sleeping and screams come a-creeping
Upsetting your optimist-dream-laden-night
Don’t bother to jump up and rescue the lass
There’s a bullock dray soon – so let HIM set it right.

Ahh shucks - Im gonna slip another one in (under Joe's radar)..
It's about my granpa, a real character - who was an expert horseman, breaker, could light a cigarette on a bucking horse etc - but then had to adapt to this new beast called the car ... Had to go up this hill in reverse at night (strongest), and made his wife (my gran) precede him on foot with her hem up over her head to show the white petticoat ( he had damn all taillights)..


PETTICOAT HILL TRAVERSED IN THE DARK

Here's a story handed down - must be true, my Granma told me -
Of my Granpa so renowned, and my Gran whose arms enfold me,
'Bout the time they climbed the hill, in the dark, some place remote,
Made it up like Jack and Jill, courtesy of petticoat.

Granpa was a mighty man, legs were somewhat horseback- bowed,
Born beside the passing Ghan, where the Channel Rivers flowed,
Lucky me to meet this giant, (older - in a quieter mode),
Patron Saint of "self reliant", Patron saint of "no fixed road".

Granma was so neat and dainty, More at home in churchhall choir,
Married him to make him sainty, 'stead she scored baptismal fire,
Told these tales of horse and cattle, how he rode into the bar, or
Tried his best to fit a saddle to this new beast called a "car".

There's this hill that needs traversing, Driving his new fangled Ford,
Strongest gear was when reversing, Sadly that meant lights ignored,
Gramps told Gran (a brainstorm burst) " Pull your dress up at the back"!
Petticoats would walk on first, He would follow up the track.

Backed the car up to the hill - Gran in place, the hem he spied,
Told her "that's it - show the frills!!" - Told her to advance a stride,
Sure, the slightest gleam was showing, If he squinted through the dark,
But they needed to get going, so he shouted "Take your Mark!!" .

Yelled to Gran to up the pace - pitchest black the night owl hooted,
Suddenly became a race - throttle down, - and Granma scooted.!!
Safest place was through the ferns, hopeful not to be run over,
Hem-high scamper took some turns, mumbling "Hell with you, Red Rover !!"

Granpa just kept charging backwards, followed dodges back and forth
Bit surprised at twisting trackwards, nonetheless he charged on - North!!
….Made that crest (by pity's sake), now the hillside sports two paths -
One straight up that most would take, one my grandpa's aftermath.

That's ONE story handed down - must be true my Granma told me -
Of my Granpa so renowned, and my Gran whose arms enfold me,
'Bout the time they climbed the hill, in the dark, some place remote,
Made it up like Jack and Jill, courtesy of petticoat.

Class Action signed by Joe said:

SHUDDUP!! - WHO NEEDS THIS CRAPP!!

Click to expand...

Thanks for your message. And thanks for your support even if its a bit qualified. But Im a perpetual optimist, and Im sure you really like poetry deep down. And Thanks for beaking the 4 max post rule - (private messages also count btw

Here's one I wrote for this thread

A PLACE WHERE PIGEONS CAN MAKE SENSE OF STATUES

there’s a statue over yonder where the pigeons like to rest
and they make their small deposits on the General’s medalled chest
and they team up all day long but in the end it’s second guessed
that they love the stoney Gen’ral for his big plumed crest.

And the pigeons all take turns to be the central one who talks
and who struts the genral’s braid or sword and pecks and points and squawks
with his bird brain making theories bout some item where he walks
“CRIKEY – HERE’s another concept - from the world of general dorks”

now that Gen’ral to a pigeon is a giant mystery
(though the Gen’ral couldn’t giv a hoot - he’s out cold - history)
And its much the same for human pigeons - likes of you and me
that we ‘ccasion-ly should question “general earth” and “general free”.

…………..........
In my humblest opinion, we should take a random break
between piling up portfolios and watching how they bake
between learning how to look at graphs that experts kindly make
(that as far as I can see resemble - most of all - a snake ?)

just a mental cup of coffee, just a different type of thought
after nervous tonnes of toffee wishing “sell” was bludy “bought”
after watching your life savings fast approaching bludy nought, - (maybe
wishing that you’d robbed that bank – so what if you’d been caught.)

cos we sit for bludy hours watching one or other trend
and we summons wizard powers that the downward graph will bend
and we’re fearing that that expert tipper had us for a lend
or your broker’s phoneline cra-c-k-led - and “sit tight” came out as “spend”

so this table in the chatroom is for anyone who cares
for a bit of lateral thinking perhaps beyond their diving shares
and few arguments – rare clashes – praps some sordid love affairs
but it’s mostly poems and promises (and bashing heads with chairs)

just a mental cup of coffee where you spill the mental beans
using English rarely exercised by Kings or proper Queens
can be poetry or prosey from mature age or your teens
or a quote that Wrangler tattoo-ed on your first blue pair of jeans

like, we’re all on earth together, and we share the air today
- we’re both ripening and rotting as old Shakespeare used to say
but we’re so damned blessed to be possessed of “passions in the play”
and the mission and the fishing - and saliva’s wide-arced spray.

....................
But I make this bet, - the statuette that we call life will stay
“general mystery” to you and me – despite what pigeons say!

Thought for the day...Call it "Open Air Opera"
Something to STIR THE BLOOD (Man I would pay double to watch a rugby match in Cardiff Arms Park and hear the Welsh in full flight) :- PS I don't have a drop of Welsh blood in me btw.

http://www.contemplator.com/tunebook/wales/landof.htm

LAND OF MY FATHERS

The land of my fathers is dear unto me
The land of the poets, the land of the free
Her patriots and heroes, her warriors so brave
For freedom their life's blood they gave.
Wales! Wales!
Pledged am I to Wales
Whilst seas surround
This land so proud
Oh, long may our old tongue remain.

Hen Wlad fy Nhadau
Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn anwyl i mi
Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, enwogion o fri
Ei gwrol rhyfelwyr, gwlad garwyr tra mad
Tros ryddid collasant eu gwaed.
Cytgan:
Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad
Tra mor yn fur
I'r bur hoff bau
O bydded i'r heniaith barhau.

etc lol - rhyfelwyr? - please escuse typos lol.

PS "O bydded i'r heniaith barhau" - gee doesnt that just get you here !! :viking: reminds me of the time I hit my thumb with a hammer lol :swear:

"Jerusalem" isn't bad either of course. Must say you'd have to wonder at William Blake wanting to build Jerusalem in England ?? - musta been a masochist.

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/alan.stuart/music/lyrics/jerusale.html

JERUSALEM
Written by William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green
And was the holy lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen

And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills
And was Jerusalem builded there
Among those dark Satanic mills

Bring me my bow (my bow) of burning gold
Bring me my arrows of desire
Bring me my spears o'clouds unfold
Bring me my chariot of fire

I will not cease from mental fight
Nor shall my (my) sword sleep in hand
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land
'Til we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land

Then there's Flower of SCotland of course - says that its a relatively recent song

http://www.geo.ed.ac.uk/home/scotland/songs/flower.html

written by Roy Williamson (1937 - 1990) Half of the Scottish folk band "The Corries" who, in the 1960's, wrote "Flower of Scotland", which has subsequently been adopted as Scotland's unofficial National Anthem.

O FLOWER OF SCOTLAND

0 Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.
etc etc

Then of course there's "Once a Jolly Swagman" lol

or even :- "Life is Great in the Sunshine State, every Queensland heart would agree ..."

Editor's Note (re last post) - always assuming anyway READ the last post lol - or could give a shinbone..:- Just to clarify for those who like i's crossed and t's dotted ...

"Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau" is the national anthem of Wales, written and sung in the Welsh language with words written by Evan James in 1856 and set to music by his son, James James, both residents of Pontypridd, Glamorgan, and first printed in Well St, Ruthin, Denbighshire.

There are several translations according to "Wales on line", some of which are "fairly free" translations -

http://www.walesonline.com/info/anthem.shtml
the one in previous post is "literal" translation (pretty close to it anyway).
Here's one of the fairly free ones:-


LAND OF MY FATHERS (2)
The following is a fairly free translation:-

O land of my fathers, O land of my love,
Dear mother of minstrels who kindle and move,
And hero on hero, who at honour's proud call,
For freedom their lifeblood let fall.

Wales! Wales! O but my heart is with you!
And long as the sea
Your bulwark shall be,
To Cymru (Cumbria) my heart shall be true.

O land of the mountains, the bard's paradise,
Whose precipice, valleys lone as the skies,
Green murmuring forest, far echoing flood
Fire the fancy and quicken the blood.

For tho' the fierce foeman has ravaged your realm,
The old speech of Cymru he cannot o'erwhelm,
Our passionate poets to silence command
Or banish the harp from your strand.

In summary, it seems the Welsh poets would rather die than switch to writing in English - or give up writing about "Gwlad, Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau"
- you wonder why you get an eyeful of spittel when you talk with a welshman.

PS Question :- if the music was written by James James - then do they call him "Jimmy Jimmy" for short?)

PS - and by comparison "Life is great in the sunshine state - is the anthem of Qld - and was written by Fred Dag whilst picking pineapples in his shorts on a beautiful sunny day in mid winter I can see it now - Wales vs Qld at Cardiff Arms, - and 30 Queenslanders competing with the Welsh male choir before the match ....

10 points for anyone who can follow a thread through this thread lol - but here's one written before the Wallabies played the Poms in the last world cup - and more generally about Aus-Pom rivalry

PREPARE FOR A THUMPING GOOD END

It’s the land of the convict in rattling chains,
And the land of his jackbooted jailer,
As to which was the less corrupt remains
A mystery for even the bailer,
It’s the land of a people who let go the reins,
And the cheers for a wild Peter Lalor,
And his oath of allegiance if Destiny deigns,
And his blistered spade-hands for loud hailer.

“Eureka!” they shouted, “Eureka!” the yell,
With a new-found emboldened erectness,
To Hell with the law cos the lawmen smell,
To Hell with politic correctness,
We’re here till they ring out our dying bell,
So bugger it lads, go for broke,
And if they imprison us just go and tell em
The whole thing was just a huge joke.

It’s the land of the landed gentry son,
And the land of the goldrush hordes,
And the race-off to own the Bentley son,
As to whether it’s laymen or Lords,
And you had to be tough both mentally son
And a back like a raft of ripchords, -
Yet to move on, like brothers, half-gently son,
As the prince and the pauper downed swords.

It’s the land of the hero of World War 1,
And the land of the mother proud,
And the times she could boast what a brave, brave son,
And the times she could weep out loud.
It’s the land of a handful of Battle of Brittainers
Most of the Rats of Tobruk,
And their old mate’s (those gumption-filled never-say-quittener’s)
Names in the Doomsday Book.

…..
Ahhh, the future is all about planting and wheat,
And the past is all about “gone”,
And the melting pot bubbles not missing a beat,
And ignores the buried bone,
And the future is all about teamwork and goals,
And the teammates relying upon
The role of each player as life unfolds,
And so on – and on – anon.

It’s the land of a youth so privileged and free,
And the small percentage who know it,
And the football uncouth, and the Wishing Tree,
And the time to nurture and grow it,
And our roots may be planted with English hoes,
But you wanna know something, my friend?
If the Wallabies take on the English Rose
Prepare for a thumping good end.

RichKid said:

Thought I'd share one of my favourite poems, being in a time of war, it may help remind us of how terrible it is indeed for the so many thousands that do battle around the globe. If it is so difficult for the combatants imagine how the civilians must be feeling. War is futile. Any comments or observations are welcome, let's keep this thread on poetry and ideas if at all possible.

Click to expand...

Rich - (your first post on this thread - my guess is your ideas are reinforced ? ) here's one about a digger going off to war. - leaving behind wife and (in particular) a child - ahead lies mustard gas, cannon, shrapnel, and bullets - and hopeless odds. Bit like your poem by Wilfred Owen - but less graphic. Still I sympathise with any soldier or indeed serviceman (especially parents) going to war.

Owen:-
"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."

Click to expand...

IF THE WAR HADN’T GOT IN THE WAY

Its just a wee skirmish child over in France, Dad’s back in six months or a year,
A skirmish? Well that’s where grown men do a dance , With canon and rifle and spear,
Six months? The time child to read you the tale of Alice’s Wonderland queer,
And look after your Mum cos she’s just a bit pale, And try not to learn the word fear.

Mustard gas son? Why it’s yellowish green, That drifts down on you in your trenches
Blisters? Those things on your lungs and your spleen, As you splutter on blood-muddied benches,
But don’t worry my boy, Daddy’s got this mask, and this armour, and bulletproof dentures
And this halo (I wish) that solves the task Of Living through such misadventures.

Here’s a gift to keep you amused my boy, Till I RUN back one bright sunny day,
But.... in case I don’t then remember this toy, Each night when you kneel to pray,
How we planned to do all those things so keen, When fathers and children play,
And the miriad things that might have been, Had the war not got in the way.

I go now my child though I’d much prefer , To watch you sleep and just stay,
Your small babe’s dreams and your sleeping purr, And your tiny nest of hay,
And I go now child though my heart is in two, And I go to meet my frey,
And if I should die with my hair so dark, It’s that you may grow to be grey.

..............
They say that we give “our all”, my son, but y’know… that’s not quite true
For our spirit becomes ten feet tall, my son, And a part of it lives on in you,
And I’ll be there to answer your call, my son, If it’s nigh-on the last thing I do,
But I’d much rather “be there” my small, .. wee, .. son , And to teach you to tie your shoe.

Digger Smith of course is one of the classics

DIGGER SMITH by C.J. Dennis
IX. THE BOYS OUT THERE

"Why do they do it? I dunno,"
Sez Digger Smith. "Yeh got me beat.
Some uv the yarns yeh 'ear is true,
An' some is rather umptydoo,
An' some is -- indiscreet.
But them that don't get to the crowd,
Them is the ones would make you proud."

With Digger Smith an' other blokes
'Oo 'ave returned it's much the same:
They'll talk uv wot they've seen an' done
When they've been out to 'ave their fun;
But no word uv the game.
On fights an' all the tale uv blood
Their talk, as they remark, is dud.

It's so with soldiers, I 'ave 'eard,
All times. The things they 'ave done,
War-mad, with blood before their eyes,
An' their ears wild fightin' cries,
They ever after shun.
P'r'aps they forget; or find it well
Not to recall too much uv 'Ell.

An' when they won't loose up their talk
It's 'ard for us to understand
'Ow all those boys we used to know,
Ole Billo, Jim an' Tom an' Joe,
Done things to beat the band.
We knoo they'd fight; but they've became
'Ead ringers at the fightin' game.

Well, wot I've 'eard from Digger Smith
An' other soldier blokes like 'im
I've put together bit by bit,
An' chewed a long time over it;
An' now I've got a dim
An' 'azy notion in me 'ead
Why they is battlers, born an' bred.

Wot did they know uv war first off,
When they joined up? Wot did I know
When I was tossed out on me neck
As if I was a shattered wreck
The time I tried to go?
Flat feet! Me feet 'as len'th and brea'th
Enough to kick a 'Un to death!

They don't know nothing, bein' reared
Out 'ere where war 'as never spread --
"A land by bloodless conquest won,"
As some son uv a writin' gun
Sez in a book I read --
They don't know nix but wot they're told
At school; an' that sticks till they're old.

Yeh've got to take the kid at school,
Gettin' 'is 'ist'ry lesson learned --
Then tales uv Nelson an' uv Drake,
Uv Wellington an' Fightin' Blake.
'Is little 'eart 'as burned
To get right out an' 'ave a go,
An' sock it into some base foe.

Nothin' but glory fills 'is mind;
The British charge is somethin' grand;
The soldier that 'e reads about
Don't 'ave no time for fear an' doubt;
'E's the 'eroic brand.
So, when the boy gets in the game,
'E jist wades in an' does the same.

Not bein' old 'ands at the stunt,
They simply does as they are told;
But, bein' Aussies -- Spare me days! --
They never thinks uv other ways,
But does it brave an' bold.
That's 'arf; an' for the other part
Yeh got to go back to the start.

Yeh've got to go right back to Dad,
To Gran'dad and the pioneers,
'Oo packed up all their bag uv tricks
An' come out 'ere in fifty-six,
An' battled thro' the years;
Our Gran'dads; and their women, too,
That 'ad the grit to face the new.

It's that old stock; an', more than that,
It's Bill an' Jim an' ev'ry son
Gettin' three good meat meals a day
An' 'eaps uv chance to go an' play
Out in the bonzer sun.
It's partly that; but, don't forget,
When it's all said, there's something yet.

There's something yet; an' there I'm beat.
Crowds uv these lads I've known, but then,
They 'ave got somethin' from this war,
Somethin' they never 'ad before,
That makes 'em better men.
Better? There's no word I can get
To name it right. There's somethin' yet.

We 'ear a lot about reward;
We praise, an' sling the cheers about;
But there was debts we can't repay
Piled up on us one single day --
When that first list come out.
There ain't no way to pay that debt.
Do wot we can - there's somethin' yet

I like that quote I heard on the ABC this morning (driving to work)..
someone questioning the data coming out of Canberra - something like :-

unemployment figures far too good, you optimistic clowns -
and the GDP growth equal nonsense - cept it's too far down -
and confusion reigns supreme they say - all logic's been and gone -
if you're not confused this morning, you dont know what's going on!

PS A bit more nonsense :- Speaking of confusion - James James wrote the music of Land of My Fathers. There's a pommie I know of, (true story) - name of Thomas Thomas. His father was also Thomas Thomas. And guess what ( you probly guessed) so was his grandfather named Thomas Thomas. When asked (over a beer) what his son was called - he breathed a sigh of relief and smiling broady said "mate, I've got three daughters " (gotta work out a way to split those coins and post 1cent only

Haiku
Can we but dream of
A day without hindsight posts
Time will tell us all
: Just kidding, you're a great bard.

It may not be poetry in the true sense but it does have a certain feeling

Dear Captain
My name is Nicola im 8 years.old. this is my first flight but im not scared. I like to watch the cloulds go by. My mum says the crew is nice. I think your plane is good. thanks for a nice flight dont f u c k up the landing. Luv Nicola xxxx

Thanks for the encouragement rub - and really appreciate the fact that you broke the 11 post sequence. Btw - the incoming private post #44 was a forgery I think - and if I find out who did it, I'll report him to Joe immediately.
And thanks for not spitting the dummy and really telling me what you thought of my poetry. lol.

Judd, youre right - classic "twist in the tale" .
I reckon the ABC comment was similar in a way - Don't want to labour the point, but I mean .... "ABC:- Unemployment unrealistically optimistic, GDP growth unrealistically pessimistic, very confused signals coming out of Canberra, IF YOU'RE NOT CONFUSED THEN YOU DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT's GOING ON."

Hek - there's no way you can labour over what makes a joke a joke, or prose prose, or poem poem , or wit wit, or half half, or full full, or half wit, or ...ahhh SHUDDUP!!! "A Prose by any other name would smell as sw.." ahhh SHUDDUP!!!

mmm, Sorry I seem to be having this problem with my alter-ego here. - better change tacs.

I'm a technocrat btw, just happen to like the english language and poems and jokes and stuff - I mean not sure you could have a thread like this in pigeon english for instance lol. In German? maybe - but then the German sense of humour differs from ours -
You know the one about the Hare and the Tortoise? well in German it goes something like:-

"Ein Hare bin outswellen mit der chesten mit grossen braggin unt boastin, etc etc ", anyway the tortoise accepts the challenge - and obviously the hare thrashes the tortoise - germans prefer their fables to end logically - and concludes "der turtler ist ein dumkopf ja?"
(since we're not supposed to speak other than english thats "the turtle is an idiot yes?" Well I gues it illustrates that you shouldnt assume that a joke in English will translate into german for instance.
PS If any Germans reading this - no offense meant - I'm sure that German jokes dont always translate very well into English either lol.

thanks for the chat folks. As for the string of posts, well Noirua has 150 bludy snakes someone out there - and I personally prefer poems and jokes to bludy snakes lol.

mmm here goes .."lik lik big-pela-ears-he-run-long- ground, he talkim lik lik pela-he-carry-bucket-on-head, he say - you me hav bet , me beat you runhim that pela hill oba dare. etc etc ... woops Im way way outa my depth here lol." ahhh SHUDDUP!!!

http://www.skygod.com/quotes/flyingjokes.html#high

WHY I WANT TO BE A PILOT. Pilots don't need much school. They just have to learn to read numbers so they can read their instruments. Pilots should be brave to they won't get scared it it's foggy and they can't see, or if a wing or motor falls off.

Captain Oveur: "Ya ever been in a cockpit before?
Joey: "No sir, I've never been up in a plane before!
Captain Oveur: "Ya ever seen a grown man naked?
”” from the 1980 movie 'Airplane.'

Doctor Rumack: "When are we going to be able to land?
Ted Striker: "I can't tell.
Doctor Rumack: "You can tell me, I'm a doctor.
Ted Striker: "I don't know.
Doctor Rumack: "Well, can't you take a guess?
Ted Striker: "Not for another two hours.
Doctor Rumack: "You can't take a guess for another two hours? ”” ditto.

They're beeping and they're flashing. They're flashing and they're beeping! I cant stand it anymore, they're blinking and they're flashing. ”” Buck Murdock, in the 1982 movie 'Airplane II, The Sequel.'

Both optimists and pessimists contribute to the society. The optimist invents the aeroplane, the pessimist the parachute. ”” George Bernard Shaw

The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline luggage. ”” Mark Russell

Buttons . . . check. Dials . . . check. Switches . . . check. Little colored lights . . . check. (from 'Cavin and Hobbes.')

Leader, bandits at 2 o’clock!
Roger; it’s only 1:30 now””what’ll I do ‘til then? - ditto

Our headline ran, "Virgin screw British Airways." We'd have rather preferred 'British Airways screws Virgin,' but we had to run with the facts. - ”” News Editor, 'The Sun' newspaper.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the very first Fokker airplane built in the world. The Dutch call it the mother Fokker. ”” Custodian at the Amsterdam aviation museum.

This is one of my favourites:-
a) first the poem, then
b) the story of the poet,
c) some humerous takes
http://www.skygod.com/quotes/highflight.html

HIGH FLIGHT
”” John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, ”” and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of ”” wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew ””
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

B. THE POET :- During the desperate days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight the Nazis. John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922 to an English mother and a Scotch-Irish-American father,.....

On 3 September 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem ”” "To touch the face of God." Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed." On the back of the letter, he jotted down his poem, 'High Flight'.

Just three months later, on 11 December 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer .... At the enquiry a farmer testified that he saw the Spitfire pilot struggle to push back the canopy. The pilot, he said, finally stood up to jump from the plane. John, however, was too close to the ground for his parachute to open. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.

http://www.skygod.com/quotes/flyingjokes.html#high
There's a stack more on that website - including some humerous takes...

1. Pilots must insure that all surly bonds have been slipped entirely before aircraft taxi or flight is attempted.
2. During periods of severe sky dancing, crew and passengers must keep seatbelts fastened. Crew should wear shoulderbelts as provided.
3. Sunward climbs must not exceed the maximum permitted aircraft ceiling.
4. Passenger aircraft are prohibited from joining the tumbling mirth.
5. Pilots flying through sun-split clouds under VFR conditions must comply with all applicable minimum clearances.
etc etc

PS "It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed" ... You'd have the say the man was truly "high" on flying when he wrote it. Who says you need drugs in life.

Here's one I wrote for my daughter who was into wizard books at the time (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, etc)

BOOK MEETS GIRL

Like an orphan left unmothered on the library shelf unread,
Sat a small book partly smothered by the bigger books instead,
And its gems were undiscovered, from some crazy poet's head,
And it sadly sat unlovered, and it's little heart, it bled.

Ahh, it wasn't Henry Lawson, with his wit that rocked the bar,
And it wasn’t Smokey Dawson with his grin and grand guitar,
And it wasn't Banjo Patterson, nor Scott nor Lochinvar,
But maybe it didnt matter that it wasn't such a star.

And the dust collected weekly, and the months turned into years
And the little book sat meekly, and it held back welling tears,
Oh its eyes would rise obliquely every time a child appears,
Just to fall again as quickly, to its neighbour volume's jeers.

By the luck of some great cosmic ray, a bolt from who-knows-where,
The little book fell down one day, the lady found it there,
"The boss finds this - there's hell to pay - its user card is bare!!
We'll sell this book come Saturday, and I'm too rushed to care."

It went on sale exceeding fast, the cheapest there, ten cents,
A little girl was walking past, and spied it through the fence,
And book-and-girl were both aghast, their first-sight-love immense,
And ten cents later, die was cast on all that's happened hence.

.................
Amongst its gems her favourite poem would give a ghoul a fright!
Half lightning flash, half Thunderdome, dark wizards in half light,
And book-and-girl entwined would roam with knuckles waay past white,
And arm-in-page they'd read this poem and raid the fridge each night.

Ahh, it wasn't colt from Old Regret, or Man from Iron Bark,
But old regrets had disappeared, like blacksmiths in the dark - and
It wasn’t Clancy Overflow, his thumbnail dipped in tar,
Just the overflowing vegemite - and grins from ear to jar.

I dare you all to take a look into the land of dreams,
Or find yourself a ten cent book on wacky wizard themes,
It's very hard to 'throw the hook' once you are hooked it seems,
(Just plug your ears for girl-and-book's ten trillion dollar screams).

Sorry folks - here's another serious one, WWII this time. This bloke's a hero of mine. Maybe I should relate a story in a lighter vein - by way of introduction. Once when Weary was driving his family to the beach (his sons were kids), they started asking "dad can we have an icecream, dad can we etcetc ". So Weary stopped and was about to back into a space when a smart alec in an open sports car slipped in and stole the spot. Weary walked up, asked him to leave - when he didnt, lifted him up by the throat and clocked him on the nose. (There were two sides to Weary lol). By now the boys didnt want their icecreams!! Weary (having parked the car in the vacated spot) would hear none of it - "YOU'RE HAVING AN ICE CREAM AND THAT's THAT !!" lol - paraphrased, but that's the ghist of the story. His boys had many stories - to say nothing of the work he did after the war with Columbo Plan doctors etc - Aussie of the Year etc etc - Such a man - Such a bludy saint. Actions vs words etc.

WEARY DUNLOP – WHAT A MOUNTAIN

Weary Dunlop - what a mountain, bit like Saint but more like God
Drank at some brave hearted fountain, kindest steps that ever trod.
Weary says that we’ll all live, just Eat your foodbowl – scraps we crave
So what, we’d fall through a sieve, just Eat the gravy, beat the grave. –
Light you may be, fight the grave!

Build their bloody railroad fellows, Eat your pride and spit your oath,
Skip the foreign foreman’s bellows, Watch your mates, you can’t watch both.
Crosses strewn around their bridge, Don’t ask numbers, don’t ask why,
End to end to Hellfire ridge, Up and down the River Kwai. –
Quiet witness, River Kwai.

That’s it boys just smile at bayonet, Mateship transcends bamboo jails,
Mateship’s real, no need to feign it, Never falters, never fails.
Sickbed grins will full explain it, All the more for Heaven’s porch,
Freedom Day will ne’er unchain it, Even with an oxy torch –
Even Hellfire’s oxy torch.

Malaria so varied yellows, Ulcerated cratered legs,
Cholera you cruel gallows, Food like discard zoocage dregs.
Haunting - how I hear the murmur, Grinning mates from Weary’s days,
Buddies who I left in Burma, Smiling out of Buddhist haze –
Smiling out of memory’s haze.

Modern man, though full-on tired, will Never know that tree within,
Weary knew it and inspired Countless men so free from sin.
Find some damned excuse to laugh at Every curse the jungle bowls,
Find the strength to lift your half of Mates on hearse of bamboo poles –
but for fortune, reversed roles.

Weary’s doctrine – give out, give it, Weary doctored on till dawn.
See out one more day boys, live it, Don’t give in though weak and worn.
Spare a thought for Weary’s soldier, Plodding on through darkest night -
“See the gleam boys – there I told ya, Weary’d take us to the light !! -
Weary’d somehow make it right”.

Spare a thought for Weary’s soldier, Plodding on through darkest night –
“Plead my case if needs be, Weary – Give me my last bath of light.?” –
Bathed in blessed mountain light.

PS Im fairly sure I'm right here - but on only about the third or fourth time Weary pulled on a Rugby Union jersey, he played for the Wallabies lol.

http://www.kipling.org.uk/kip_fra.htm
An old favourite from praps a bygone age of moral ethical analysis..

IF (by Rudyard Kipling)

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 imposters 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!

PS I just wish he added .." and if you can't be perfect, then at least admit it" lol.

PS "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;"
NOW there's a concept for the ASX - and the ASF I guess

http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=1
Some of the greatest speeches you could ever read - I knew a fellow used to be one of the coaches of a rugby union team - used to read Churchill all the time - btw, the team was the Wallabies lol
PS I invite people to find the sentences that most appeal to them ..

http://www.winstonchurchill.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageid=422
You Do Your Worst - and We Will do Our Best"
A tonic for today by Winston S. Churchill

"Prepare yourselves, then, my friends and comrades, for this renewal of your exertions. We shall never turn from our purpose, however sombre the road, however grievous the cost, because we know that out of this time of trial and tribulation will be born a new freedom and glory for all mankind."

All mankind? a novel concept

Amateur hour - yet again. I'd like to say this was written by one of my kids, but I think I wrote it once when I'd had a few to drink

THE KOOKABURRA’S CALL

In the morning you hear them, the kookas loud laugh, and a
Full bellied laugh it is too,
Like a joke told with tears of “enuf enarf”
Such jokes in the morning? You’d have to be darf!
It sounds like a mad pterodactyl’s “barf”,
Or a “gone-bezerk-Kalimazoo”.
“Try a little Half Half Half Half - and multiply it by a Two Two Two Two.”

No matter if you’ve had a massive all-nighter
praps drinking straight schnapps from a shoe,
He lets rip, the blighter, that raucous “inviter”
You’re suddenly smiling, your hearts feeling lighter
And whether you’re lover or whether you’re fighter
The sky is a brighter blue.
“Cook Cook Cook Cook you lazy blighter, Feed the bloody Crew Crew Crew”

How dare you laugh you crazy bird,
the world in its currrent plight,
Such laughs are reserved for the quite absurd,
Or a pie in the face of your favourite nurd
Or for slap-stick or bunfights or punchlines deferred
Twards the end of a drunken night
“Car, Car , Car, Car where’s a bludy taxi when you’re lost your Shoe Shoe Shoe.”

Its been proven by playwrights and men outta town
and the comedy festival crowd,
When you bend your head back - dont look sideways or down
When you put on a smile and take off that ole frown,
When you steer clear of backstreets of local renown
That laughter is best when it’s LOUD.
“What a bludy Lark Lak Lark – get outta bed and bludy Laugh Laugh Laugh.”