ASF Poetry Thread

2020hindsight said:

PRESSURE FIRE AND DIAMONDS

The best steel ever made, has been tempered as a blade
and then plunged into a quenching bath of oil
Yet the fire that makes the steel is the same fire that you feel
when you see the problem through with honest toil.

With forging hammer blows, (any village blacksmith knows)
you make steel respond to iron will of men
so too carbon locked in space, with pressure in its face
will morph into a better morph again.

Things arent always going well, buying when you outta sell
putting out lifes little fires like a fireman
but I think that's how God meant it, or why else has he invented
the rule that under pressure,
..........you get diamond.

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2020hindsight said:

My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose - Izzy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52TOtrwBErU&mode=related&search=
http://www.robertburns.org/works/444.shtml
A Red Red Rose ,, by Robbie Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

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arminius said:

i think we are reading off the same sheet of music.

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arminius said:

I havent seen that clip for ages.
reminds me of the time some mates and i went to Victoria.

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CYCLICAL ARGUMENTS around MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES

they have oh so many badguys, 'mongst their colour and their kin
and their youth are just a mob of sleezy louts
but there’s surely mitigation in their circumstantial sin
ah don’t come at me with wimpish easy outs

would you have YOUR daughter stolen, Mr Black or Mr White
taking some fool's word that she was living well
never knowing till your Heaven, whether she turned out all right
(when so many fought through institutes from Hell)

look here I’m a perfect father, and it doesn’t (hence) apply
but it does you see , they took them irrespective
well the kids were all too backward, and a few of them too shy
but they had a black child's purest brown perspective

well of course they did, but damned if I’m say sorry, shame or cry,
but this thing has been a boil which needs a lance
crist man mop that bleeding heart of yours, and here’s the reason why..
they had this mitigating circumstance ..

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THE FREEDOM BUS / BIKE / ROLLER SKATES

WE don’t have to say that “sorry”, it’s government, not us
but we’ll Need a hint of sorrow to be on that freedom bus
there are Nuts and bolts to work-out, coalface issues and the rest
and the Flavours back of Bourke-out in the seriously west

let’s Not forget they “owned” this land way back in dreamtime daze
or Rather we’ve all loaned this land , give Rainbow Serpent praise
ackNowledge future hope and smile, acknowledge past mistakes
one Word of sorry “Canberra-style” , the tuppence that it takes.

and its Not like bad old US - rednecks, whitecaps, lynching parties
nor Palestine or Suez (where the only chop’s karates)
its More about a trip around this piebald land of ours
with a Lunching stop in sunshine and admire those wild wild flowers.

and aMongst those sacred acorn seeds are kids there one month old
who Don’t know there’s no hope for them (they haven’t yet been told)
no Water there to christen them unless it’s carted in
( I’m Betting that you’ll better me - I hope - young Gunga Din. )

This bus might be a mad proposal , get the future sorted - sheesh
have miles of hope at my disposal, convoy cars escorted - sheesh
but…
…….even just a freedom bike, or just some roller skates
but pointing THERE, into that LIGHT – and treating them as mates.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gunga_Din
Gunga Din (1892) is one of Rudyard Kipling's most famous poems, perhaps best known for its often-quoted last line, "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"[1]

The poem is a rhyming narrative from the point of view of a British soldier, about a native water-bearer who saves his life. Like several other Kipling poems, it celebrates the virtues of a non-European while portraying a colonial infantryman's view of such people as being of a "lower order".

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Rudyard Kipling. 1865– 1936

48. Gunga Din

YOU may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water, 5
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew 10
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao! 15
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 20
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day, 25
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din! 30
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one 35
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 40
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside 45
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout: 50
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst, 55
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green; 60
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 65
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 70
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone— 75
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din! 80
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

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A SON
My son was killed while laughing at some jest. I would I knew
What it was, and it might serve me in a time when jests are few.

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FRIENDS OR STEALING MOTHERS

whats the best way then of treating them
as dark skinned foes or brothers
some thoughtful way or beating them
as friends or stealing mothers
do you have to make selection praps
the rough way or the carrot
(and after this election praps
the Brough way or the Garrett.?)

or maybe there's a third way brewing
food for thought and hope
and the black men give up glueing
and the white give up dope
and we look upon each other
with a clearer point of view
and we each boil piles of carrots
in a mutual positive stew.

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The History of Patrick Pearse, One of Irelands Greatest And Most Influential Political Figures and Leaders. A Poet, A Master of the Gaelic Language, And a Nationalist. Pearse was it all. And Died for his Land

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I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,
That have no treasure but hope,
No riches laid up but a memory
Of an Ancient glory.
My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,
I am of the blood of serfs;
The children with whom I have played,
the men and women with whom I have eaten
Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,
And, though gentle, have served churls;
Their hands that have touched mine,
the dear hands whose touch is familiar to me,
Have worn shameful manacles,
have been bitten at the wriest by manacles
Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers.
I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone,
I that have never submitted;
I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people's masters
I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech,
I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill.

And because I am of the people, I understand the people,
I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire:
My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,
My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,
I have yearned with old wistful men,
And laughed or cursed with young men,

Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it,
Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free,
Reddened for that they have gone in want,
while others have been full,
Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their jailors
With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,
Men mean and cruel!
I could have borne stripes on my body
rather than this shame of my people.

And now I speak, being full of vision;
I speak to my people,
and I speak in my people's name to the masters of my people.
I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august,
despite their chains,
That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and purer,
That they have but need of courage,
and to call on the name of their God,
God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples
For whom He died naked, suffering shame.
And I say to my people's masters: Beware,
Beware of the thing that is coming,
beware of the risen people,
Who shall take what ye would not give.
Did ye think to conquer the people,
Or that Law is stronger than life and than men's desire to be free?
We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,
Ye that have bullied and bribed,
tyrants, hypocrites, liars!

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