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;
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 .
Fowler was the subject of many colorful anecdotes. One told by his son, Will, concerns a scene outside of John Barrymore's hospital room in May 1942.
A stranger entered the waiting room where [John] Decker and Fowler were sitting with reporters. "I am a healer," cried the stranger. "Just give me three minutes with Mr. Barrymore and I will cure him!"
There was a moment of silence until Fowler arose, snatched the seemingly demented fellow by the scruff of his collar and threw him down the stairs, calling after him, "Physician, heal thyself!"
Fowler was present at Barrymore's death, and he claimed (perhaps not seriously) that Barrymore's last words, spoken to Fowler, were: "Is it true that you're the illegitimate son of Buffalo Bill?"
Incidentally, Fowler authored many witticisms both spoken and written, eg. (but can't find his particular final words - I'm assuming that they're witty)
He has a profound respect for old age. Especially when it's bottled.
Love and memory last and will so endure till the game is called because of darkness.
Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate;
still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.
Perhaps no mightier conflict of mind occurs ever again in a lifetime than that first decision to unseat one's own tooth.
Sometimes I think my writing sounds like I walked out of the room and left the typewriter running.
Whatever one believes to be true either is true or becomes true in one's mind.
Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.
btw , that was a trick question...PS What happens if you get scared half-to-death twice?
John Laird McCaffery ("your friends") - 1940- 1995
* "John
Free your body and soul
Unfold your powerful wings
Climb up the highest mountains
Kick your feet up in the air
You may now live forever
Or return to this earth
Unless you feel good where you are!
lol - not very subtle m8.This was written by John's ex wife and mistress.
lol - not very subtle m8.
I'm guesing the ex-wife came up with the concept and the "skeleton draft" lol.
Peter Costello the other day , quoting Woody Allen
"What would you like them to say at your funeral?"
"look he's moving"
(sorry - paraphrased)
Arthur: All my life I've had this strange feeling that there's something big and sinister going on in the world.
Slartibartfast: No, that's perfectly normal paranoia. Everyone in the universe gets that.
:topicparanoia etc
thanks kez,'Go tell the Spartans stranger passing by, that here, ect
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on - it honors none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one, - and here he lies.
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