Author Topic: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense  (Read 16930 times)

samdavo

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Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« on: August 08, 2013, 01:36:46 PM »
SCRAP METAL, EAGLES AND TURKEYS.
Tell me your story small piece of scrap metal, jagged and rent from some hull,
Satellite glory or rusty old kettle? something exciting or dull?
Have you seen the world from a thousand miles high, or just from a kitchen stove?
Did you know what a buzz it would be to fly, or the pantry your furthest rove?

Speak of your plight, my new found friend, just how have we spent our life?
Relishing height in each new bound friend, or just steering clear of strife?
Relishing moments of sunshine and warm, and thunder-clapped lightning-flashed language,
Or relishing praps just the end of the storm – or maybe … a corn relish sandwich?

Soared where the wedge-tailed eagle goes, or paced out some cage like a turkey,
As for me?  I’m a bit of both I suppose, (whether real or imagined gets murky);
Moments of bland amid moments of bliss, moments worth ten times gold;
In the end my friend, I have come to this    ,   and your story remains untold.   

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #1 on: August 08, 2013, 01:57:20 PM »
Sorry I was reminded of this poem by a post by someone (well me actually) talking about dogs tilting their heads.   - Cheers.

WHEN RETARTEE COMES OUT TO PLAY

Sometimes my mind goes walkabout
Through awkward words of yesterday
It loves repeat re-talkabout
When repartee comes out to play.

I dream my words can be re-said
and crowds are there to hear my quips
(instead my dog just tilts her head
and ponders why I move my lips).

My witless banter real-time mode
in daylight rusts at every cog
when witnessed , quickly overloads
I dream of "run" but barely "jog".

Like somewhere some girl called me bold-
In "wit-review" I whirled in jigtime
then flamencoed to her shoulder
"fancy tripping? " .... then tripped bigtime.

Then she mocked my nose as "beak"
Wit-reviewed I answered grinning
"Like we should be ...cheek to cheek"
'stead I stood there double chinning.

Summary, in realtime screening
Cruel reality is this -
Repartee escapes my meaning
aims impressive , scores a miss.

So I have my thoughts to thank
for filling up this jumbled head
Messy mish-mash memory bank
of Clever things I never said.

So I live much time reviewing
Things I would have liked to say, -
When lost chances keep accruing
Repartee comes out to play.


Lar

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #2 on: August 08, 2013, 04:46:47 PM »
Fellow Forum Members please vote on the following:

Is Samdavo
  • A Poetic Engineer...

or
  • An Engineering Poet?


Ie, is he an engineer trapped in a poet's body or a poet trapped in an engineer's body?

Only serious votes will be consider so please explain your choice carefully.

Lar
« Last Edit: June 06, 2014, 09:59:26 PM by Lar »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #3 on: August 09, 2013, 04:14:25 AM »
What do you do with an architectural atoll where atollahs have been texting since the ark
What do you do with a magic night P at R ol L -team posting macro-tips and Norse-code through the dark   
What do you do with a minstrel into youtube when the internet is singing with his steering
And What do you do with an engineering poet when the poet wears an engine for an earring.
(enough of the off-the-cuff amateur hour already lol).

Here's a few more about dogs ...

Excerpt follows, but go here for the full poem (LORD BYRON):-
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epitaph_to_a_Dog
Quote
When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
 Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
 The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
 And storied urns record who rests below.
 When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
 Not what he was, but what he should have been.

But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
 The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
 Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
 Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
 Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
 Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth


While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
 And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

The beautiful poem about Beth Gelert here (WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER), again, just some excerpts:-
http://allpoetry.com/poem/8628267-Beth_Gelert__Or_The_Grave_Of_A_Greyhound_-by-William_Robert_Spencer

Quote
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
   When, near the portal-seat,
 His truant Gelert he espied,
   Bounding his lord to greet.
...
"Monster! by thee my child's devoured!"
   The frantic father cried;
 And to the hilt, his vengeful sword
   He plunged in Gelert's side! —
...
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
   Some slumberer wakened nigh:
 What words the parent's joy can tell,
   To hear his infant cry!

The story here :-  (including a possible hoax written on a gravestone in Beddgelert, North Wales)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gelert

Quote
GELERT'S GRAVE

 IN THE 13TH CENTURY, LLYWELYN, PRINCE OF NORTH WALES, HAD A PALACE AT BEDDGELERT. ONE DAY HE WENT HUNTING WITHOUT GELERT "THE FAITHFUL HOUND" .....
etc ...
 THE PRINCE FILLED WITH REMORSE IS SAID NEVER TO HAVE SMILED AGAIN. HE BURIED GELERT HERE. THE SPOT IS CALLED BEDDGELERT.
« Last Edit: August 09, 2013, 02:47:37 PM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #4 on: August 09, 2013, 04:24:53 AM »
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gelert
Quote
The (Gelert) tale indeed appears in numerous cultures with minor variations. The Alpine ligurian poem R sacrifisi dr can, written in Ligurian, (??) tells of how a shepherd shot his sheepdog after finding it covered in sheep blood, only to later find a dead wolf in the stable.[8]

In India, a black snake replaces the wolf and a mongoose replaces the dog. In Egypt, the story goes that a cook nearly killed a Wali for having smashed a pot of herbs, but later discovers that the pot contained a poisonous snake.

Here's a poem about an Aussie dog (true story - I met the super-solemn owners at the vets, where I had taken my dog with something trivial) ...

Quote
PATCH THE BRAVE
They live in the bush on ten acres unsawn , Where the lower Nepean tracks,
And the house is a refuge surrounded by lawn, With a fence where the wilderness backs,
And the summer was hot, the dogs were all sleeping - The noted exception was Patch,
Who was barking excitedly “HERE BOSS!!” and leaping, Disturbing the televised match.

The man of the house in a mood opaque, Came out to review the commotion,
And there he discovered she’d bailed up a snake, Which approached the house with its potion,
And SNAKE went for MAN!!! - and DOG went for SNAKE!!! And wife in a panic called “PATCCHHHHH !!!!
Come here girl, My God!! Inside!! For your sake!!  Please, darling – this heathen despatch!!”

He circled the thing like boxers in ring,  And twice it coiled back and struck,
He jumped for the spade which he knew he had laid, In the back of the old pick-up truck,
With one scything blow he let the snake know , It's number was definitely up,
But now – to the dog,– my God!, the dog!  Who had loved them since she was a pup.

They phoned and they watched for an hour or two,  She followed and licked their hand,
They prayed as she circled beside his shoe -  They knelt in the hourglass sand.
A small clue that things weren'’t all right – and sad - A hint of thick phlegm in a cough -
And her eyes looked up, with a “help me Dad, For my breathing gets just a bit rough”.

They drove and they dreamed “may the dog be unstung”, But the dog grew progressively weak,
She sat in one place and bled in one lung, And licked them both on each cheek.
The vet had a sigh, and a kindly lance,  And offered to soften the bill -
But softly she left us, her last gentle glance, Protective and loving still.

THAT's why we call them “Man'’s best friend, THAT'’s why they sleep on the hearth,
And those warm echoed bonds so bountifully mend,  Through the years as they sleep in our heart.
THAT’'s why we treasure their every pricked ear, As they “walk the watch” up the street
Cos they teach us love’'s rhythms, just they can hear - And they'’re here to help give us that beat.

So many shared smiles, yet diverse our styles;  Let'’s hope paths convergent meet.
« Last Edit: August 09, 2013, 05:14:10 AM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #5 on: August 09, 2013, 04:58:07 AM »
PS Here's a true story TRULY worth reading :)
http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/national/doberman-saves-toddler/story-e6frea8c-1111114765415
Doberman saves toddler

Quote
abused dog - broken ribs -
borderline to being put down
with new family for only 4 days
starving for love - appreciated new family
grabbed baby's nappy and threw her more than a metre out of the way, 
and ... In an amazing twist, Khan’s breeder revealed his grandfather had saved a child in similar circumstances :) 
Note that the dog is sporting a bandage on its bitten foot :)
« Last Edit: August 09, 2013, 05:01:01 AM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #6 on: August 10, 2013, 05:10:57 AM »
Changing tack ...
Quote
MATTERS OF THE HEART
by Way of preamble, it’s easy to gamble, when dice are odds-on and it’s wise
and your Head’s in control, and the facts are in BOLD and they’re easy to rationalise,
but Where do you start with affairs of the heart, like two lovers’ tortured goodbyes,
   who Needs to be chaste, its such a damned waste
   they Much prefer lock-jawed and wrestle-embraced
   (you Try it on strangers you’re sure to get maced)
and a Needing, bleeding, and frenzied-feeding  -  pleading trust in their eyes.
(As long as they don’t get to actually breeding before’n they formalise ).

cos you Haven’t felt warmth till you’ve been there child, tho’ you’ve sat in front of the fire,
nor Shared in so dizzy a dream there child, with your heart on so swinging a tyre,
if Only one knew how to “beam there” child, one would yell from the highest spire,
   but Rational thoughts – in love – distorts,
   and the Two don’t combine well by all reports,
   you just Give of your soul and your innermost thoughts,
and be Blissfully, wis(t)fully, ultralong kissfully - glissfully lost in the mire.
(you could Bottle and bank it and make a pile - Swissfully – selling to the highest buyer).

hey- it’s Not always happy, - it sometimes turns blue, and painful those hearts that are hurt,
you can Go lose umbrellas – or even a shoe -  or, Hell, even go lose your shirt!,
but to Lose in love is to lose your sun, and leave you to blabber and blurt,
   and to Lose a lover with clinging last clenches,
   is Enough to melt hearts and to cause such wrenches,
   that you Feel like go-finding some long lonely trenches,
and get Hopelessly, mopelessly, Bishop-and-Popelessly, copelessly buried in dirt.
(we’ve All been there child, let’s hope that you soaplessly “unearth” and “pristine revert”.)

and it’s True – or praps not - that the heart was involved (though you’re playing with fire for a cert)
with your First young kiss when your head first revolved – or a simple smile or a flirt,
cos your Heart clicks in when you least expect, while pretending to be inert
   and Instantly takes on a passionate warm
   and Equal inclined to find sunshine or storm -
   and it Never pretended that Peace was the norm
not to Play, not to stray, not to make your soul pay, nor to stay on guard and alert,
(but you’ll Follow with strength of a bullock dray, and despite the risk of a hurt.)

you’ll Go though life day by day my child, and it’s all from a standing start,
then you’ll Learn you’ve a Cupid at bay my child, and you’ll feel the point of his dart,
And you won’t always do what you’d reason was right, or what was particularly smart,
   And from countless splatters, when your world just shatters,
   Or in fits of love when you’re mad as hatters,
   You’ll find that the soul of what really matters
Are the trusting, lusting, and love-till-you’re-busting, -  gusting affairs of the heart
(which, in time, with age, becomes “love-till-you’re-rusting” , but keep that old horse
 before cart )

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #7 on: August 10, 2013, 05:43:06 PM »
Quote
What do you do with an architectural atoll where atollahs have been texting since the ark
What do you do with a magic night PatRolL  -team posting macro-tips and Norse-code through the dark ...   

PS Perhaps some poetic licence has been stretched a bit too far here ...
Architectural = ark-a-textural
patrol(l) = prl + atol

So in summary,  if, everytime a joke is explained, a duck jumps into a volcano (provided it's a legitimate joke of course), then does that mean that nil, 1 or 2 ducks just jumped?   Secretly I suspect the duck population is pretty much unchanged :)   At ease, ducks.

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #8 on: August 14, 2013, 04:35:02 AM »
Quote
MOTIVES OF ROAD CROSSING CHICKENS

Why did the chicken cross over that road? There's one I've pondered before -
Can't recall what the right answer was then, Sure that I'm still quite unsure.
Maybe a poem can discover the cause, Sprawling in wild speculation;
Superimpose some old jaywalking laws, Cross-refer chicken migration.

Easiest answer is this side's pecked out, There it's much greener and wormier;
Lacking such evidence this is in doubt, Why not adventurous journeyer?
Praps it's a call from a far distant friend, Drives on each homesickened leg;
Praps in her henhood her heart needs to mend, Henhood regression to egg.

Praps she's rebelled, tired of munching on meal, Spitting out eggs in some hut;
'Part from the fact that it drains all her zeal, Eggs are a pain in the butt.
Praps she read somewhere that traveled minds broaden, Gain almost mystic dimension;
Praps she's discovered some gap in the cordon, Praps pure escape's her intention.

Praps she's just itchin' to leap from some kitchen bench, Worldly ways make worldly wise;
Praps its an eyeful of Eiffel inspires her, That and a hundred odd spires.
Praps she's just tired of a life passing by, like Trucks on a long endless run;
Beethoven had just one UNfinished symphony, She's now Hell bent to have none.

Who knows "the why" in that small chicken breast,  Prancing on drumsticks like Sherpas?
But .. Certain I am that its genesis rests in some Fowl or impeckable purpose.



Quote
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 cannon 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 the trenches
Blisters? Those things  on your lungs and your spleen, As you splutter on blood-muddied benches,
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.
« Last Edit: August 14, 2013, 01:00:31 PM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #9 on: August 17, 2013, 12:53:34 AM »
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 !!  (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)

Quote
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".

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gillespie_Magee,_Jr.
Quote
HIGH FLIGHT
John Gillespie Magee, Jr. (9 June 1922 – 11 December 1941
 
 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 even 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.
http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=john+denver+high+flight&oq=john+denver+high+flight&gs_l=youtube.3...0.0.0.18350.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0..0.0...0.0...1ac..11.youtube.
« Last Edit: August 17, 2013, 03:19:39 AM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #10 on: August 17, 2013, 01:49:38 AM »
Combining colours and rugby (from 2003 Rugby World Cup days, when NZ, England and Aus were amongst the finalists)
Quote
THE RUGBY RAINBOW
in Art, it’s the black of a deep despair, or Otherwise various purples,
in the Bush it’s the charcoal that follows the flare, in Banking it signifies surplus,
in Humour - the colour of laughing at error,  in Metals the colour of lead,
but in Rugby the colour of Kiwi terror, cos the Buggers are raw-meat-fed.

in Art it’s the green of youth and trees, and there’s Much in spring it resembles,
to the Greeks (long ago) it meant victories, in Precious stones, its emeralds,
to Some, the symbol of grass and jokes, when the Traffic lights work, it means “GO”,
on the Rugby field, it’s those Wallaby blokes, and the Smoke when their earlobes glow.

in Art, gold’s the glow of Apollo’s Sun,  the Gilt of a valued letter,
while Yellow might mean, well, foolish or fun , the Deeper the gold, it gets better,
in Spain it’s the executioner’s cloak, and he’s Deaf to the cries for mercy,
and for Omelettes you need a broken yoke,  and for Rugby supreme - a gold jersey .

in Art it’s the colour of blood or gore,  of Fortitude, courage, or bold,
in Love, it’s the colour of deep or pure, or our Heart as we reach to enfold,
in Metals the colour of iron annealed,  the Weapons with which we make war,
and in Rugby the rose of the men of steel, as the Balmy tonsils roar.

in Art it’s the colour of purity, truth,  just as Jesus is painted in whites,
in Precious stones, it’s the pearl in its booth, one of Nature’s most beautiful sights,
in Metals, its silver, but let’s not suppose that Second best prize is conceded,
cos in Rugby its covered with blood - and a rose,  and bare Flesh, before they’re defeated.

 so they Take to the field, and the crowd is immersed,  with their Colours “nailed to the mast”
and Who is the first to yield to thirst? and Who is the last to outlast?
and they Smash, and they crash, and they make their dash, and it Blurrs in one bloody great “blue”
cos it’s All about having a bloody great bash,  in a Bloody great “rainbow stew”.

Quote
TEAM COLOURS
There's a green that you find on a Wallaby’s shirt, With it's various faded, and various dirt,
-And the brilliant 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.

« Last Edit: August 17, 2013, 02:31:42 AM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #11 on: August 17, 2013, 03:25:38 PM »
Quote
SEVEN DAYS TO MAKE IT, SEVEN DAYS TO BREAK IT.

On Monday I woke to a world of “green”
And I walked in a forest grand,
And the trees were as tall as I’d ever seen,
So I felled the whole lot with one hand;

On Tuesday I thought about CO2,
But the weather was too damned hot,
So I sat in my airconditioned zoo,
And I revved ‘em for all that they’ve got;

On Wednesday I looked at my acres of dust,
and my bores and the seeds of my toil,
But I must've screwed up cos a salty crust
was killing my rooted soil.

On Thursday I drove in my 5 litre bus,
Cos there’s plenty of oil!! – it’s my turn !!
And the birds can get plastered with thick black pus,
And so what if the oilwells burn;

On Friday I didn’t recycle because
I treated it all as a joke…….
And on Saturday, Hell, the wheels fell off,
And on Sunday ……it went up in smoke.     :o 
« Last Edit: August 17, 2013, 03:28:04 PM by samdavo »

magic

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #12 on: August 19, 2013, 04:17:50 AM »
Hi all,

I did a quick rewrite of The Beatles' Help! for computer nerds.
Quote
F1, I need somebody
F1, not just anybody
F1, you know, I need someone
F1

 (When)
 When I was younger, so much younger than today (I never needed)
 I never needed anybody's F1 in any way (now)
 But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured (and now I Ctrl+F)
 Now I Ctrl+F, I've changed my mind, I've Ctrl+O'ed up the doors

 F1 me if you can, I'm feeling down
 And I do appreciate you being 'round
 F1 me get my feet back on the ground
 Won't you, please, please F1 me?

 (Now)
 And now my life has changed in, oh, so many ways (my independence)
 My independence seems to vanish in the haze (but)
 But every now and then I feel so insecure (I know that I)
 I know that I just need you like I've never done before

 F1 me if you can, I'm feeling down
 And I do appreciate you being 'round
 F1 me get my feet back on the ground
 Won't you, please, please F1 me?

 When I was younger, so much younger than today
 I never needed anybody's F1 in any way (now)
 But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured (and now I Ctrl+F)
 Now I Ctrl+F, I've changed my mind, I've Ctrl+O'ed up the doors

 F1 me if you can, I'm feeling down
 And I do appreciate you being 'round
 F1 me get my feet back on the ground
 Won't you, please, please F1 me?
 F1 me, F1 me
It's a kind of magic!




samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #13 on: August 19, 2013, 05:14:59 AM »
magic -
Lol,  and thanks for the post :)
 
Reminds me - there was a lovely old bloke down the road (sadly died last year) - let's call him Fred Bloggs - boasted (smiling) how he had "written" this poem to his wife (to whom he was devoted btw) ...
(and he only changes one word :) )

Quote
HOW MUCH DO I LOVE THEE YOU
By Fred Bloggs, with assistance from Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
       
    How do I love thee you? Let me count the ways.
    I love you to the depth and breadth and height
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
    For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
    I love you to the level of everyday's
    Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
    I love you freely, as men might strive for Right;
    I love you purely, as they turn from Praise.
    I love you with the passion put to use
    In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
    I love you with a love I seemed to lose
    With my lost saints,–I love you with the breath,
    Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
    I shall but love you better after death.

« Last Edit: August 19, 2013, 01:53:29 PM by samdavo »

samdavo

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Re: Misc poems, repartee and nonsense
« Reply #14 on: August 22, 2013, 11:07:22 AM »
HOW DO YOU MEASURE LOVE, GRASSHOPPER?

How do you measure love, grasshopper? is it warmth or weighed on a scale,
Some goosebumps that jump like a popcorn popper like a page of emotional braille
Whether pet and owner, or lifetime friends, that share love until either are gone
Whether Light that is only revealed at the end, or the Source from whence it once shone,
   sure the Depths of that darkness are real and yet,
   it’s both past and future and credit and debt,
   you’ll Know what I mean if you’ve cherished a pet
who was Loved and then moved on.

as a Pet-owner then, is it heartbeat responding by Mutual wagging of tails,
or do Horseloving men judge the strength of their bonding 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),
and so real that you miss ‘em -  extinction or kiss ‘em – including koalas and whales.
   sure the limits of 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 nails.

as a Best friend might ask, 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 Tonic to ear, call it “friendly speak”,
   and Hands holding hands once a day – every week,
and Eyes that don’t want to avert.

as a Lover might claim, does some bell ring aloft, that fills every Heaven for miles,
or some Pure sweet smell of some rosebud soft, that Blooms with each beaming of smiles,
is it Fire that is quelled by naught but flood, - with a rush 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 kaleidoscope patterns, or bottle spun,
and Total impromptu, it prompts you to run,
and you’ll Cheer cos your heart wants to cheer.

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 Patter-patter-beating of bongo drum,
   you just Pat her on the seating, and you call her “mum” 
and false Teeth get entwined with jellos.
« Last Edit: August 22, 2013, 11:55:48 AM by samdavo »