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ASF Poetry Thread

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THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE


Typical example (from the web - or a thousand headlines from newspapers) of how this phrase is used nowadays - not quite the “pure” interpretation as intended by Phil Ochs, or expressed by Joan Baez or Marianne Faithfull or PPM etc I suggest (But this casual comment on "true talk" is delightfully candid, and probably pretty accurate I guess):-


Typical Newspaper Headline :- Leader, Saturday April 12, 2003, The Guardian

There but for fortune
Only the UN can restore order in Iraq

There is no single explanation for the looting and lawlessness which has swept through Iraq's cities in recent days, etc etc
 
The heart has its reasons which reason does not understand. Blaise Pascal 1623 - 1662 (and toast can have raisins, and the raisins dont understand why they're there either )

The world is a comedy to those who think, and a tragedy to those who feel . Horace Walpole 1717 - 1797 (The world is a western to those who "think", and a thriller to those who are "sexy", and an anticlimax to those that just "think" they're "sexy").

In each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. Diversity of character is due to their unequal activity. Ambrose Bierce. ( I watched this girl walk past the other day, and the tiger said "look at that ass", and then this bludy pig and I had a fight over her, and then I spent the "night" in "gale".)
 
MY MATE, WILL SHAKESPEARE
let’s DisaPpear inTo some Shakespeare Verse
And see if we can make the margins rhyme,
At worst, we’ll make them marginally worse
At best, mark you, we’ll probably mark time,
McDonaldbain, Macbeth, McDad, McDave
Four Big Macs of their day say last goodbyes,
For bony thinner Shakespeare, one last rave,
(For Thicker-Shakes, it’s ninety cents with fries).

Example – “harken digger!, wherefore dagger!”
“dog-gone it Doug? Again you’re on your ear?”
“I’m stabbed, I’m stuffed, I step, my final stagger,
‘Twill be ‘twards the fridge for one last beer.”
My guess is that you get the picture clearly -
You’re not obtuse, and these are not acute
The cute ones I suspect were written beer-ly
The obtuse ones I flushed right down the chute.

Hamlet soliloquising:- To be or not to be that is the question
The bloody answer seems to be the hitch
Ahhh great – a coin – bet - “heads or tails?”, Sebestion
We’ll either go home poor or filthy rich.

Hamlet Reproaching the Queen:- Such an act that blurs the grace betrothed
Of modesty; calls virtue hypocrite
Makes marriage vows as false as dicer’s oaths
Ahh – double 6 !!! well now we’re in the **** !!

Macbeth:- If done, when ‘t is done, then ‘t were well, done quickly
Participants contributing as one,
Now “up and doing” for the well done quickie
And alternating “down and being done”.

Macb:- Is this a dagger which I see before me?
The handle toward my hand – come let me clutch!
Ahhh no , it’s just that dead-cheap Scotch you pour me
And some dead Scotsman had me by the crutch.

Macb:- I’ve Done the deed – did You not hear a noise?
Lady Macb:- I Heard the owl scream and the cricket’s cry!
Macb:- Reminds me, I should Be out with the boys
and What’s the score?
Lady Macb:- – bout 2 for 25.

Merchant of Venice:- The quality of mercy is not strained
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven
I just wish mercifully it bloody rained
Before our team got ducks, and all eleven.

The Tempest:- We are such stuff as dreams are boldly made of
And our little life is rounded with a sleep
I just wish I could turn the neighbour’s maid off
Instead of counting 50,000 sheep.

Midsummer Night’s Dream:- The course of true love never did run smooth
A bit like my old Chev, it needs some flattery
You miss ‘em when they’re missing - that’s the truth
(Maybe I’ll check the spark, and then the battery.)

Romeo and Juliet:- But soft, what light from yonder window breaks
It is the east and Juliet is the sun
Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon
Ahhh – let’s just go to my place, have some fun.

Romeo: What shall I swear by?
Juliet: Do not swear at all
Or if thou wilt swear by thy gracious self
And if thou wilt, Viag-aras on call -
And swearing - wash your mouth – soap’s on the shelf.

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet
So Romeo would were he not Romeo called
Still smell like rotting fishheads round his feet.

Twelfth Night (Duke on Music):- If music be the food of love play on
Give me excess of it – and surf and sun!
The appetite may sicken and so die
But me, I’m sticking round for some more pie.

Julius Caesar (Mark Anthony):- Friends Romans Countrymen, lend me your ears
I’ve gone and left my hearing aid at home
And futile if I’m deaf to rousing cheers
And damn it all, the best seats in the dome.

And Brutus was an honourable man
So buy his snakeoil – 20 bucks and bottled
But Mark the word of Anthony, his fan,
You turn your back, you’re liable to get throttled.

For I have neither wit nor words nor worth
Action nor utterance, nor the power of speech
To stir men’s blood - except perhaps in mirth
Or when my bloody beer is out of reach. … etc etc

-----------------------------------

AND SO FROM HOUR TO HOUR …
From Billy Shakespeare’s “As You Like It” (Jacques):-

And then he drew a dial from his poke….
And looking at it with lacklustre eye
Says very wisely “It is ten o’clock……
Thus may we see” quoth he “how the world wags..”

“Tis but an hour ago since it was nine
And after one hour more ‘twill be eleven”
And 9 hours hence ‘twill be mmmm ….err….nineteen ?
And 87 prior ‘twas only …seven.?

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot
And thereby hangs a tale and lots of tripe
And such words mean the least when there’s a lot.

The question is I guess which is the faster
Which, ripening or rotting, takes the lead
The thing determines which one is the master
Is whether we eat onions or birdseed.

And so we “let er rip” - if given rope,
And reap our wild oats where the wild oat grows,
And under grip of grape we probably grope,
But who-the-Hell remembers days like those.

And so we pass through life like someone blind,
Or live to make a pass at someone blond,
And so we stretch out here our wayward mind,
And way-out minds in stretcher wards respond.

And so ducks search with bill and two web feet
We search the web to duck or foot the bill
And so beetroot and corn and sugarbeet
It’s corny but you can’t beat sugar still.

We laugh up high, or chortle near the grass,
Or just say “hi” or “ ‘lo” when laugh’s a chore,
The moral? lest a door we hopeful pass? -
Just hope to pass on mor-a-less a-doored!

We gaze half glazed into our crystal balls
And ball into our crystal, whining tears,
And tare into our wine in waterfalls,
And fall from swinging crystal chandeliers.

And so we hourly quote the bloody raven,
And so we rave and party with the owl,
And so we foul up days spent daylight saving,
And save the nights for something really foul.

We “will” the clock to scamper through the daytime,
But will the clock slow down when it is night ?
There “won’t” be any clocks up there in “praytime”,
So “clock on” friends, delight in all de’ light.

Forget what I was drinking when I wrote this - damn it all, Ive tried to remember SOOO many times
I should expain it's a poem about daylight saving, as the last verse clearly explains.
Sorry folks - I read this quote " a little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king - Emily Dickinson 1830 - 1886." (trouble here is that mad kings tend to catch real bad cases of that particular flue) I think I sorta got carried away with the concept.

"most men are within a finger's breadth of being mad - Diogenes 412 - 323 BC" and then ... "men have different width of fingers - 2020 "
 
PARENTS BLESSINGS.

Here Child some wine for the dust on your tongue
Pride of our vineyard, kissed by the sun,
And bread that was made by your mother - my wife -
To a recipe old as the gospel of life.

And also some how-to's and where-to's and whys,
Some figures and facts and a few white lies,
Some rules you'll find useful, and some you'll amend,
And some you'll reject, and others you'll bend.

All that is a matter for you and the years,
And the forests of life that have yet to be cleared,
But hidden with love in this bread and this wine,
Forget you not this single line

That our hopes for you are a life fulfilled,
And of forests of wheat on fields well tilled
Where the sun rises hearty and sets with a goal
For tomorrows of hope and a happy soul.....

Life is our gift to you, sweet child of mine,
Go live it , and here....
Some bread and some wine.
 
TRANSLATIONS
I wish to introduce you to the website http://translation2.paralink.com/ which very kindly translates things into other languages for you.
Here I have to be candid - I can speak barely three words of French (namely Eiffell Tower, and Peugeot) , but...

I went to the famous translation website - famous? well my teenage daughter says - it's dead simple dad - just go to this bludy website and stop hassling me ..... and it came up with the following translation of Dusty Springfield's Colouring Book:-
a) the English
b) the French
c) the English as recycled - lets call it the Fringlish, TAKE 1
d) ditto TAKE 2

PS I am reminded of the story of the engineer who used a computer to translate "hydraulic ram" into Russian , and it came out the equivalent of "water buffalo".





Gotta get the website on a good day -
PS Spare a thought for Realist trying to chat up some Dutch girl with his multilingual talents lol. Still maybe her French is as good as his.

PS I've seen Last Tango in Paris -No wonder French people spend so much time making grunting noises etc - nothing else they say makes any sense !! lol
 
http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/l/lesmiserableslyrics/redandblack-theabccafelyrics.html
Red - the blood of angry men!
Black - the dark of ages past!
Red - a world about to dawn!
Black - the night that ends at last!

TEAM COLOURS

There's a green that you find on a Wallaby’s shirt,
With it's various faded, and various dirt,
-And the overlaid gold of the wattle tree,
-And “Australia Fair” sung almost in key,
-And the mem-ries flow back to my wonky knee,
-(And the barroom throws flack at the wonky TV)
And my senses on special alert !!
...
But I doubt a non-Aussie ' d be able to see
The passion to what I referred.

And the same thing happens for English teams,
When the red rose blooms and they dream their dreams,
-And no quarters asked and no quarters given,
-And the teams and the fans find their “reason for livin”
-When the six backs line up in seventh Heaven,
-(and the six packs line up from Dover and Devon)
And Life is much more than it seems.
.....
And the flags are hoisted like madmen – Driven to
Swinging sweet chariot screams.

And the Kiwi’s black magic it runs in their blood,
Like the silver fern in the South Island mud,
-And the black from the depths of their pupilled eyes,
-And the warpaint pitch, and the warrior cries, -
-And the haka-filled nostils like apple pies
-(I don’t mean in content, I mean in size)
and their teeth, full tattooed by stud.
.....
But the point I would make is the fans all rise
When the AllBlack and Visitors “thudd-d”.

For the team is worth more than the sum of the parts,
And there’s something remains when the team departs,
-And the fans dream their dreams in colours that burn,
-And they sleep in their graves with their flag and their urn,
-And they’ll be the same when next life they return,
-(Green and gold, or red rose, or silver fern)
Cos the colours are seen with their hearts;
.....
“Just a colour you say? an excuse to play?”
Nuh - it’s where a REAL life starts.
 

PS Just for fun I translated Fringlish TAKE 2 into French - THEN back to English - call this :-


and finally this is what happens when you go once more but via Spanish ( i.e. English > French > Spanish > English)
:-


Wow - those French and Spanish girls sure have a way with words lol.
Sweatheart ... sing me that song about the vegetables again ..pppffft.. lol
 
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/the-king-and-i-something-wonderful-lyrics.html
I was thinking.. although this was written about an arguably difficult person ( in the form of the Siamese King) - I wonder if it applies for others - (and I want to propose this as humbly as possible), I was thinking of home carers for instance (you brave and tireless people). "Every now and then , he'll do something wonderful".
 
A WALK WITH BUDDHA

Little flower,
Waving in the breeze...you've got me on my knees... I need a favour please.
Teach me on symmetry...teach me your reality...live and breathe with me -
Share my existence. :70:

Little butterfly,
Winging gently by... wanderer on high... painting on the sky.
Where's it being planned?... where's the promised land?... take my outstretched hand -
Share my existence.

Fellow traveller,
Walk with me this mile...chat with me a while...maybe share a smile...
Moderation friend, salutation friend, toleration friend,
Share my existence.

Little cloud,
Content to just recline... rollover... realign...hey point me to the sign.
Teach my mind to soar...trip the cages door...say , is there any more
... or just existence? :engel:
Share my existence...
Share our existences.
 
This one is a bit like the Kookaburra poem - seriously trivial.
Probably inspired by Kendalls Bellbirds
http://www.mountainman.com.au/kendall.html
Read the Whipbird before the Bellbird - people are not happy when they are subjected to such anticlimaxes

THE WHIPBIRD AND HIS WHIP

Sometimes I get lethargic and I pause for mental snack,
It's not I'm short of energy or anything I lack,
It's just that I can daydream like I'm on the bloody crack,
"Get up" he calls , "get out there on the track!
Until you've done a day's work DONT COME BACK!!"

And sometimes two or three of them will take up chorus chants,
As if I'm supposed to drop all else and do a little dance,
I do my best, get out of bed, and pull on coat and pants,
I do my best to shape up and advance,
Or do the hero thing and take a stance.

Sometimes I'm writing, - stare "half willed" - and anchored to the spot,
And feeling like the ink has spilled and it's one giant blot,
I hear this bird, this postel sh**, I mean this pistol shot,
That little bird who whips with all he's got,
"THIS MUTINY WILL END!" - like Bligh on pot!.

I hear that small task-master's call afloating from the creek
And then I start again afresh - with smile upon my cheek.
I love that little whipbird for his sense of humour streak
I love his motivation and mystique
That little crack that echoes from his beak.

He pricks your poet's conscience with his little bit of fun
He makes you feel as useless as a blind man with a gun
Although that's one sure way to get the sighted men to run,
I'm only tempry blinded by the Sun,
And Mother Nature melting all as one…
[ And Mother Nature calling to her son.]
 
HOW DO YOU MEASURE LOVE, GRASSHOPPER?

General:-
How do you measure love, grasshopper? is it Something you weigh on a scale,
or Something you rate as “par” or “above”, or Something you buy on sale,
is it Light that is only revealed when its lost, or the Source from whence it once shone,
or the Depth of some fathomless hole - and its cost – that is Only revealed when it’s gone.
sure the Depths of that darkness are real and yet,
you Don’t know the odds until bets are bet,
you’ll Know what I mean if you’ve lost a pet
who was Loved and then moved on.

Pet:-
as a Pet-owner then, is it energy given to Mutual wagging of tails,
or do Horse-lovers judge the worth of their love, by the Height of some steeplechase rails,
or the “Heil-boss-well-met” when you put on their reins (and it never rains but it hails ),
or just Sad that you miss ‘em - extinction or kiss ‘em – including koalas and whales.
sure the Depths of that love are tested so oft,
when they Piss on the daisies, or buck you right off,
but you Miss em like hell with that last mortal cough,
and if That isn’t love, I’ll eat snails.

Close Friend:-
as a Friend might surmise, is it waveheight blue? on a Sea otherwise inert?
or Moisture contained in a breeze over dew, that was Otherwise dusty and dirt?
some Lilt in a voice like a laughing trill, that was Otherwise prone to blurt,
or the Tilt of faces wanting nil, but a Friendly aversion to “hurt”.
and the Salt of a tear wiped off a cheek,
and a Whisper in ear, just - “friendly speak”,
and Hands holding hands for a day - or a week,
and Eyes that don’t want to avert.

Lover:-
as a Lover might claim, does some bell ring aloft, that Deafens all else for miles,
or some Pure sweet smell of some rosebud soft, that Blooms like the beaming of smiles,
is it Fire that is quelled by naught but flood, - praps a Flood sweeping caution and fear,
or a Compass that somehow gets into your blood, and you Steer where your heart wants to steer.
there’s a Maze of paths that all become one,
like kaLeidoscopes, or a bottle spun,
and Total impromptu, it prompts you to run,
with a Steering wheel heart and a CHEER.

Married Couple (Then and Now lol):-
How do you measure love, grasshopper? – the Height to which you can jump?
the Breadth of your arms as you run to engage, or your Lips when you crash with a thump,
or in Quieter years with their autumnal hue, when the Red blood like good wine mellows,
or some Blacksmith’s hearth glowing old but true, and Only our memories for bellows.
no more Half-crazed-entreating like harpstring’s hum,
no more Pitter-patter-beating of bongo drum,
you just Pat her on the seating, and you cll her “mum”
and False teeth get entwined with jellos.
 
I am 100% confident that we can all relate to this one :-
cheers 2020.

LONG LOST FRIENDS

I Wonder what happened to "long lost Bill", cos I Haven't had message or card,
we Never were much with phone or quill, since those Jamcans and string in the yard,
must be Twenty odd years since we last shook hands, twenty Years since we laughed and sparred,
and I'm Not sure that anyone understands, we were Mates with the same brush tarred.
.....and I Haven't heard hide nor hair of the man, and my Conscience is taking it hard.

it's Not like the mailman was scalped by Injuns, or Cobb and Co's broken a dray,
or the Windjammer's lost amidst mutinous winge-ings, or Shipwrecked and drowning in spray,
no Pirates who hide in the Indies Dutch, made the Postman walk the plank
guess we Just forgot how to keep in touch, and we've Only ourselves to thank.
......but the Friendship's still there and worth just as much, and the Trust is still safe "in the bank".

ahh, we Both go about (no doubt) our bussiness, for our Daily morsel of bread,
there's Mowing the lawn and the daily dizziness of Keeping a roof overhead,
and no Doubt our ships will collide one day, (and I hope 'fore our time runs out),
and we'll No doubt fight for the right to pay, for the First of many a shout.
.....how we've Changed so little; yet much to say - and those Old times to talk about.

I Find it really (yet yearly) amusing, that we Let this happen at all,
that we Gamble the risk of permanent losing such Friends through no reason at all,
blame the Pseudo race through the daylight hours, and the Changing faces around us,
and the Memories - vivid yet fading flowers - that Again will bloom'n astound us
.....and the Friendship estranged, rekindled for hours, and our Tardiness will confound us.

we'll both Wonder what happened to Tom and Vince, and all those mates of our youth,
we were Kinsmen akin to the Student Prince, though our Singing was more uncouth,
no Doubt we'll meet up after changing some tyre, so the Course of true friendship runs smoother,
and the Stress of the meeting will no doubt require some Liquid refreshment for soother.
.....and some Ale to put out our conscience's fire, "and to Absent friends - here's to ya!".

a Procession of parted and "discarded" mates, go Drifting on past my brain,
no Doubt we'll meet up at the Pearly Gates, and I'll Catch up with most again,
but ..Just in case I'm delayed in the sack, or some Traffic jam up in the sky,
I'll Take the precaution of trying to track down these Souls BEFORE I can fly,
....Now let's see, - he's a Smith - and he's from across town, till he Moved to some place near Bondi ( or was it Bulli, or maybe Wolvi ?

If this poem gets anyone thinking about sending Xmas cards this year then I hope that someone is me - I'm the world's worst.
 
THE HEARTBEAT OF THE BATTLEFIELD DRUMMER BOY

they found Bits of his drum on the old battlefield, four Centuries after the fact
with its Shoulderstrap rotting with blood congealed, and a Slice where a sword had hacked,
'twas a Job he'd been handed, his destiny sealed, "to Keep morale intact",
- and he'd Marched out in front with the cards he was dealed
- and he Gave it his best, though hed rather have reeled
- and he Drummed till the yells in his ear canals peeled
and he Honoured his boyhood pact.

if you Knew where to look, and you knew how to read, the Footprint signs hidden below
then you'd Find where his small boots confrontd the steed, of some Giant and mounted foe,
and he'd Shook in the stare of the murderous breed who had challenged his drumstick's blow,
- but one Swipe of that sword made the red blood bleed,
- and he'd silenced the heartbeat, the home teams lead
- and the boy's so-small soul had so-soon been freed
to some Place where the bravest go.

no more "Rat-a-tat-tat", amid battlefield yell, to "ADVANCE" or to "HOLD THAT DAMNED LINE!!!"
no more Marching down hills to the bloodiest Hell, where each five of us faced nine,
and the Plaque-stone now shows where the drummer boy fell, where Now grows that aging pine,
- but it's "twigs" lie uneasy, and hard to quell,
- ahh , it's after the fact and the funeral bell,
- but at Dusk there's a drumming ( you'd swear ) in the dell,
.....
and his brave little footprints SHINE.

see them FACE ever FORWARD, to drum his own knell,
and they terminate there - by the shrine.

Fear and childhood.
http://www.lyricsdownload.com/the-king-and-i-i-whistle-a-happy-tune-lyrics.html
Here's a song from the King and I - makes a change from "F*** y** I wont do what you tell me" lol - my kids are SOO sick of me using that example of modern music lol. But it's a great song if you have young kids


Here's another old favourite - I had to sing this every flaming night to my kids when they were young. (I have two boys btw) - AND YET to this day they act "as a team" - DESPITE my hopeless singing voice lol.

http://www.rich.durge.org/rolf/boys.html

PS I have heard a theory - not at all sure how true or generally applicable - that SOMETIMES (once? twice?) the drummer boys were spared - to be the one to return to tell their superiors of the massacre.
 
Speaking of my hopeless singing voice - (doesn't stop me from trying incidentally - especially when I'm walking the dog at night. I wrote this over a few nights of walking past a particular set of gum trees in our winding tree lined street - where there is this streetlight and lots of shadows of branches

"An analysis of life is never complete without contemplation of the inevitable." - quote by.. (buga'ed if I know - lets' say anon)

PRAPS AS I’M SINGING ONE MORE TONE-DEAF TUNE

Praps it will be on a cold grey morn, When I have to face my last test,
Praps it will be as some child is born, And placed on some warm mother's breast;
Praps only then as the fog is lifted,
I'll get to see where my lifeboat has drifted,
Get to give thanks for this time Ive been gifted,
Move on from blissful to bless'd.

Maybe like Tennyson, tide turning out, Maybe as sandbags cave in,
Maybe I'll learn what it's all been about, and find a new meaning of win;
Maybe alone, as I sit and wonder,
Hopefully smile at each joy and blunder,
Score one last goal - as the skids go from under -
A well-earned penultimate grin.

Praps in the midst of banana and cream, or Walking barefoot through dry sand, - or
As I reflect on some child-held dream, or dream how I held my child's hand;
Maybe while lost in the joy to have been -
Loved and been loved, sensually keen -
Even found warmth on the internet scene -
It's left me e-sensually tanned .

Praps it will be on some City to Surf, enJoying its pure afterglow,
Praps while I rest on some warm sunlit turf, or Crash in some dumper's cool flow;
Praps when the sensual stuff's at it's height,
That's when St Peter appears bathed in light, - (I'm
Hoping he'll tell me I got it half right, )
And that's when he'll say "mate, let's go".

A streetlamp - perhaps amongst bluegums - gives up, and Shadows revert to the moon, and
In that calm setting I'm walking the pup, and Singing one more tone-deaf tune;
Praps as it flickers, my song ends abrupt, or
Once again damned middle C goes corrupt,
The shadows change watch – my Last Supper supp’t
But… Preferably later than soon .
 
Of all the songs that can be "gender-bended" for a singer of tfhe opposite sex - the easiest would have to be "SHE" by Aznavour. I mean all the female singer has to do is swap HE for SHE (more or less). even the phrases are "unisexual" (assuming there's such a word):-

"HE may be the beauty (feminine) or the beast (masculine)
may be the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell (unisexI guess lol)
HE may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
HE may not be what HE may seem
Inside HIS shell.... "

- dead simple. Twice as many artists, twice the royalties lol - clever or what. :- http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsa/aznavour.html
(this site includes a few bars of Aznavour singing).

SHE (Tous Les Visages de L'Amour)
Written by Charles Aznavour and Herbert Kretzmer

She may be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell....

She, who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows in the past
That I remember 'till the day I die

She maybe the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take the laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
She....She , Oh, she....

AN EXAMPLE OF A SONG THAT IS DIFFICULT TO TRANSLATE BETWEEN SEXES.
BY CONTRAST , lol - I had an uncle who used to sing the song below - He was a WWII vet, a funny funny craggy hairy-chested joke-telling bloke - dairy farmer no less - and lol, UNLESS he sang this song to the cows - each in turn - they wouldn't let down their milk !! I must have heard him sing this 100,000 bludy times lol - one for each cow that I saw him milk ( a small percentage ). Why am I prattling on like this - well - maybe it'll give a farmer out there a smile - poor bugas need an excuse -any excuse at the moment.

http://www.lyricsdownload.com/edith-day-alice-blue-gown-lyrics.html

Ahhh, guess you just had to be there !

BTW - if anyone ever wants words of a favourite song , - just go to Google and request "Shiek from Scrubby Creek lyrics" - example only !! lol - you will I am sure not be interested in that particular song

PS http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsa/
is particularly good - you get to hear many of the songs sung.

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/gary.hart/lyricsb/baddiel.html
Here's a nonsense one about the Poms, gotta feelin it toggles between screens when you click on "3 lions" - enjoy - ignore, lol whatever.
PS Half the websites are USA in origin - have never heard of Rolf Harris - they do however know Roy Rogers and the Richeous Bros lol
 
Btw, I wrote this poem soon after the East Timor massacres.
Having read of the nuns etc killed in their churches - on their knees in prayer - cowardly acts that defy explanation or understanding - I added the following verse ...

A VERSE FOR EAST TIMOR

one could Write the same verse ( perhaps sadder and worse), of the Recent East Timor insanity.
but I Kinda prefer the 400 year hearse, as a buffer against inhumanity,
and the Part of the drummer is played by a nun, or a farmer defending his family,
- and the cavalry cruel will be played by some fool
- who's been taught, oohh such hatred, in some Moslem school
- and machettes for swords, make it all the more brutal
and for drumbeats, the psalms of "the Lamb".

Here I should quickly add - Xanana G is soo quick to forgive and forget - what a moral GIANT that man is !!!
 
Here's one I wrote - well started - on a flight from Wellington to Sydney - where you virtually fly at "just faster than the sun" , great flight incidentally, especially at dawn. Of course you gain two hours .. 2 WHOLE HOURS ! It's like gaining 2 hours of life !! Wait'll you get to my age lol. Amateur hour yet again folks. (PS I could add that the rising sun on the clouds is a pretty sight on this flight - these words dont come close to HIGH FLIGHT of cors - "danced the sky on laughter silvered wings" etc)

THE PARANOID TRANS-TASMAN PILOT

well in Wellington it's raining and it's 6am and dark,
and the Brakes relax their straining and the roaring motors bark,
and the Pilot points us skyward, with a chuckle half suppressed
through the Atmospheric firewood as he swings her to the west.

and it's Way back there behind the sea a gentle glow appears,
and the Pilot cunning- mindedly grins quickly back and sneers,
and he Speeds towards the ebony like burglar to his den,
as Werewolves seek remedy from sun that turns them men.

then in Peaks of sleeping vapour, speckled patterns start to glow,
like an Early morning paper or some brail the wind might know,
and the Clouds may drift at harespeed - but they're greying on the top,
and he Leans to boost his airspeed, and he checks his toupee's mop.

now a Sky of mushrooms-random start to grow into the light,
and some Tailfin shadows tandem streak across the wing stretched tight
while the Rest of us are yawning he is stretching out his day,
while the World prepares for morning he is trying to run away.

and he Charges ever racing , teardrop wingfront still in shade,
with the Sun relentless pacing and our screaming intake blade,
we've been Flying for 3 hours, yet his clock says only one
and he grins "who said those powers might have left me for my son?!"

it is Seven as he touches down on Sydney airport's pitch,
and he's Cheated full 2 hours in his race across "the ditch",
and I Heard the pilot said it as he walked into the day,
"That's two Hours I'll keep on credit till I fly the other way!"

"praps I'll Spike the hostie's sherry, lie a bit about my years,
make my Toupee super hairy, whisper nothings in her ears,
precious Two hours - how I dread it, yet I've fought off going grey!!
- damn it All I'll quickly shed it if I fly the other way".
 
Here's one about man's appetite for killing animals (Lex Talionis, A moral discourse)- and the challenge to man to give them a fair fight - like one bullet - a bit like the Deerhunter - but hunting a bear outside its cave.

LEX TALIONIS
Adam Lindsay Gordon.

To beasts of the field, and fowls of the air, and fish of the sea alike,
Man's hand is ever slow to spare, and ever ready to strike;
With a licence to kill, and to work our will, In season by land or by water,
To our heart's content we may take our fill of the joys we derive from slaughter.
.........

Shall we, hard hearted to their fates, thus soft hearted shrink from our own,
when the measure we meet is metred to us, when we reap as we've always sown,
Shall we who for pastime have squandered life, who are styled "the Lords of Creation",
Recoil from our chance of more equal strife , and our risk of retaliation?
....

But you've no remorseful qualms or pangs, When you kneel by the grizzly's lair,
On that conical bulllet your sole chance hangs, 'Tis the weak ones advantage fair,
And the shaggy giant's terrific fangs are ready to crush and tear.
Should you miss, one vision of home and friends, five words of unfinished prayer,
Three savage knife stabs, and so your sport ends
In the worrying grapple that chokes and rends :-
Rare sport, at least, for the bear!"

.......................................
Gee I like those words man being courageous for once. IMHO, part 1 of the poem ends here ... but he continues ... albeit excerpts given below....with some fatalism, and contemplation of a sudden death such as this, ("sunderings " = as in "rent asunder"), and perhaps man "in his blindness" doesn't understand that death is "less bitter" than he imagines - (incidentally Adam Lindsay Gordon finally killed himself with a bullet in a wattle grove, after being duped into believeing he could claim his father's inheritance back in England - and ending up broke) :-

Short shrift! sharp fate! dark doom to dree! (=endure)
Hard struggle though quickly ending!
At home or abroad , by land or sea,
In peace or war, sore trials must be,
And worse may happen to you or to me,
For none are secure and none can flee,
From a destiny impending.

..
Then those who listen to sinking ships
To despairing sobs from their lov'd one's lips,
Where the green wave thus slowly shatters,
May long for the crescent shaped claw that rips
The bison into ribbons and strips
And tears the strong elk to tatters.

Oh ! sunderings short of body and breath !
Oh! 'battle and murder and sudden death!'
Against which the Liturgy preaches;
By the will of a just, yet a merciful Power,
Less bitter, perchance, in the mystic hour,
(When the wings of the shadowy angel lower),
Than man in his blindnes teaches!
 
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