The Official Poem Thread
Moderator: Zulus Thousand of em
The Official Poem Thread
Ok, I guess many of us are not into poetry - most of us probably last read a poem when we were in school - and were bored sh1tless at the time too but.....
.....I actually think some poems are pretty good!
DSB made reference to a very thought provoking poem by Martin Niemöller on the Faye thread, it is a poem about the inactivity of German following the Nazi rise to power and the purging of their chosen targets, group after group. It is called 'First they came...' goes like this (there are slight variations on the poem) -
First they came...
They came first for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time no one was left to speak up.
Ok maybe that was a bit depressing so try a love poem from a very shy Boltonian who went by the name of Hovis Presley -
It's called I Rely on You and it becoming quite popular for people to say this poem at the alter when they are getting married -
I rely on you
I rely on you
like a Skoda needs suspension
like the aged need a pension
like a trampoline needs tension
like a bungee jump needs apprehension
I rely on you
like a camera needs a shutter
like a gambler needs a flutter
like a golfer needs a putter
like a buttered scone involves some butter
I rely on you
like an acrobat needs ice cool nerve
like a hairpin needs a drastic curve
like an HGV needs endless derv
like an outside left needs a body swerve
I rely on you
like a handyman needs pliers
like an auctioneer needs buyers
like a laundromat needs driers
like The Good Life needed Richard Briers
I rely on you
like a water vole needs water
like a brick outhouse needs mortar
like a lemming to the slaughter
Ryan's just Ryan without his daughter
I rely on you
As I don't want to push my luck I will leave you with the famous poem by Rudyard Kipling called 'If'
IF
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 impostors 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!
A wonderful idealistic story but it was written in 1895. In 1915 just twenty years after his only son John who was only 18 was killed during a battle in the First World War.
Kipling mourned for his son for the rest of his life - maybe John died a man that day but I'm sure Rudyard had rather he had stayed a boy and lived a great deal longer - bitter sweet.
I'm no poetry expert but if anyone is interested I will post a couple more poems that I like - and the story behind them - if anyone would like me to. I would be interested to hear about your favourite poems too.
.....I actually think some poems are pretty good!
DSB made reference to a very thought provoking poem by Martin Niemöller on the Faye thread, it is a poem about the inactivity of German following the Nazi rise to power and the purging of their chosen targets, group after group. It is called 'First they came...' goes like this (there are slight variations on the poem) -
First they came...
They came first for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time no one was left to speak up.
Ok maybe that was a bit depressing so try a love poem from a very shy Boltonian who went by the name of Hovis Presley -
It's called I Rely on You and it becoming quite popular for people to say this poem at the alter when they are getting married -
I rely on you
I rely on you
like a Skoda needs suspension
like the aged need a pension
like a trampoline needs tension
like a bungee jump needs apprehension
I rely on you
like a camera needs a shutter
like a gambler needs a flutter
like a golfer needs a putter
like a buttered scone involves some butter
I rely on you
like an acrobat needs ice cool nerve
like a hairpin needs a drastic curve
like an HGV needs endless derv
like an outside left needs a body swerve
I rely on you
like a handyman needs pliers
like an auctioneer needs buyers
like a laundromat needs driers
like The Good Life needed Richard Briers
I rely on you
like a water vole needs water
like a brick outhouse needs mortar
like a lemming to the slaughter
Ryan's just Ryan without his daughter
I rely on you
As I don't want to push my luck I will leave you with the famous poem by Rudyard Kipling called 'If'
IF
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 impostors 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!
A wonderful idealistic story but it was written in 1895. In 1915 just twenty years after his only son John who was only 18 was killed during a battle in the First World War.
Kipling mourned for his son for the rest of his life - maybe John died a man that day but I'm sure Rudyard had rather he had stayed a boy and lived a great deal longer - bitter sweet.
I'm no poetry expert but if anyone is interested I will post a couple more poems that I like - and the story behind them - if anyone would like me to. I would be interested to hear about your favourite poems too.
Recently went on a history trip to France studying WW1. A poem called Dulce et decorum est by Wilfred Owen was something we studied in history before the trip and also in english. Im sure most people have probably heard it before but hear it is anyway.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
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 ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
This poem stands out to me as from what ive learnt it gives the best representation of what fighting in a war must have been like.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
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 ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
This poem stands out to me as from what ive learnt it gives the best representation of what fighting in a war must have been like.
-
Batman
-
communistworkethic
- Legend
- Posts: 7404
- Joined: Wed Sep 28, 2005 9:08 pm
- Location: in your wife's dreams
- Contact:
On the Ning Nang Nong
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely
kevin nolan is so fat, that when he sits around the house he sits around the house
kevin nolan is so fat, that when he sits around the house he sits around the house
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David Lee's Hair
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- Location: Cromwell Country
The Tiger by William Blake (also did my favourite hymn Jeruselam), and an artist, shame he was as mad as a badger in a bag...
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could Frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could Frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Professionalism, the last refuge of the talentless
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Little Green Man
- Icon
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- Joined: Mon Mar 13, 2006 9:34 pm
- Location: Justin Edinburgh
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TANGODANCER
- Immortal
- Posts: 43356
- Joined: Fri Sep 02, 2005 9:35 pm
- Location: Between the Regency and the Rubaiyat and forever trying to light penny candles from stars.
Another Kipling classic:
The Female of the Species
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale --
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations-worm and savage otherwise, --
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger --- Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue -- to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity -- must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions -- not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unchained to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions -- in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies! --
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges -- even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons -- even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish -- like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it cames that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare nat leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice -- which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern -- shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Female of the Species
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale --
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations-worm and savage otherwise, --
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger --- Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue -- to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity -- must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions -- not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unchained to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions -- in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies! --
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges -- even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons -- even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish -- like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it cames that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare nat leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice -- which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern -- shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Si Deus pro nobis, quis contra nos?
Two more poems that I like.
The first explains why half the people on here act like they do - see it's not the drink after all!
This Be The Verse
They fcuk you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fcuked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Philip Larkin
....and this poem sums up to me how the mighty have fallen - Leeds United for instance (or maybe us from now on?)
OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
1792-1822
The first explains why half the people on here act like they do - see it's not the drink after all!
This Be The Verse
They fcuk you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fcuked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Philip Larkin
....and this poem sums up to me how the mighty have fallen - Leeds United for instance (or maybe us from now on?)
OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
1792-1822
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knobpolisher
- Reliable
- Posts: 700
- Joined: Fri Jun 10, 2005 1:52 pm
- Location: Sunny Southport
Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end.
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain
You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.
You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.
Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race
You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.
You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.
What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
nice person.
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain
You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.
You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.
Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race
You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.
You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.
What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
nice person.
People haven't got a good word for you, but i have T**T.
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Montreal Wanderer
- Immortal
- Posts: 12942
- Joined: Thu May 26, 2005 12:45 am
- Location: Montreal, Canada
I've always found it rather odd
That when someone becomes a mod,
With only just the slightest prod
They think they have become a god.
They seem to have a simple creed
And act with an appalling speed,
Think they know the things we need –
We must follow while they lead.
Many times we all have read
With feelings of dismay and dread:
“There is no more to be said!
Ban the poster! Lock the thread!”
Yet, before you are depressed
One thing must quickly be confessed -
Our mods are one and all the best -
I only wrote this ode in jest
Anon.
That when someone becomes a mod,
With only just the slightest prod
They think they have become a god.
They seem to have a simple creed
And act with an appalling speed,
Think they know the things we need –
We must follow while they lead.
Many times we all have read
With feelings of dismay and dread:
“There is no more to be said!
Ban the poster! Lock the thread!”
Yet, before you are depressed
One thing must quickly be confessed -
Our mods are one and all the best -
I only wrote this ode in jest
Anon.
"If you cannot answer a man's argument, all it not lost; you can still call him vile names. " Elbert Hubbard.
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Soldier_Of_The_White_Army
- Legend
- Posts: 7042
- Joined: Fri Jun 10, 2005 10:36 am
- Location: HULL, BABY!
- Contact:
West Ham nightmare
My first West Ham game I was aged just five
The atmosphere makes me feel really alive
The players come out as I sit in my seat
I sing their song Bubbles then check the team sheet
The Ref blows his whistle for the start of the match
Then the keeper makes a good save with an incredible catch
Now my nightmare begins three nil down in the first half
Its West Ham United who is now the big laugh
Half time entertainment to lift all our hurts
A penalty shoot out and girls in short skirts
Forty-five minutes to go of this important game
I’m thinking will West Ham ever win again
Another goal goes in, again at the wrong end
This is becoming too much of a trend
My nightmare is over its now time to go home
Oh I wish for now is to be left all alone
I’ll be back next week with the rest of the crowd
To cheer on our team and be very loud
I hope for a season we can win our fair share
Or will it be just another West Ham nightmare
My first West Ham game I was aged just five
The atmosphere makes me feel really alive
The players come out as I sit in my seat
I sing their song Bubbles then check the team sheet
The Ref blows his whistle for the start of the match
Then the keeper makes a good save with an incredible catch
Now my nightmare begins three nil down in the first half
Its West Ham United who is now the big laugh
Half time entertainment to lift all our hurts
A penalty shoot out and girls in short skirts
Forty-five minutes to go of this important game
I’m thinking will West Ham ever win again
Another goal goes in, again at the wrong end
This is becoming too much of a trend
My nightmare is over its now time to go home
Oh I wish for now is to be left all alone
I’ll be back next week with the rest of the crowd
To cheer on our team and be very loud
I hope for a season we can win our fair share
Or will it be just another West Ham nightmare
YOU CLIMB OBSTACLES LIKE OLD PEOPLE FXCK!!!!!!!!!!!
I am the son
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I am the son
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die
When you say it's gonna happen now,
Well, when exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I am the son
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die
When you say it's gonna happen now,
Well, when exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone
Sto ut Serviam
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superjohnmcginlay
- Passionate
- Posts: 3057
- Joined: Thu Sep 22, 2005 4:21 pm
CAPSLOCK wrote:I am the son
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
I am the son
I am the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
Of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
How can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die
When you say it's gonna happen now,
Well, when exactly do you mean?
See I've already waited too long
And all my hope is gone
Such a happy fella that Morrissey.
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TANGODANCER
- Immortal
- Posts: 43356
- Joined: Fri Sep 02, 2005 9:35 pm
- Location: Between the Regency and the Rubaiyat and forever trying to light penny candles from stars.
Eldorado
Gaily bedight
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old --
This knight so bold --
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow --
'Shadow' said he,
'Where can it be --
This land of Eldorado?'
'Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,'
The shade replied, --
'If you seek for Eldorado!'
Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily bedight
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old --
This knight so bold --
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow --
'Shadow' said he,
'Where can it be --
This land of Eldorado?'
'Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,'
The shade replied, --
'If you seek for Eldorado!'
Edgar Allan Poe
Si Deus pro nobis, quis contra nos?
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communistworkethic
- Legend
- Posts: 7404
- Joined: Wed Sep 28, 2005 9:08 pm
- Location: in your wife's dreams
- Contact:
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Soldier_Of_The_White_Army
- Legend
- Posts: 7042
- Joined: Fri Jun 10, 2005 10:36 am
- Location: HULL, BABY!
- Contact:
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CrazyHorse
- Immortal
- Posts: 10572
- Joined: Fri Jun 10, 2005 2:51 pm
- Location: Up above the streets and houses
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Bruce Rioja
- Immortal
- Posts: 38742
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 9:19 pm
- Location: Drifting into the arena of the unwell.
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Bruce Rioja
- Immortal
- Posts: 38742
- Joined: Mon Jan 17, 2005 9:19 pm
- Location: Drifting into the arena of the unwell.
Evidently Chicken Town - John Cooper Clarke
the fecking cops are fecking keen
to fecking keep it fecking clean
the fecking chief's a fecking swine
who fecking draws a fecking line
at fecking fun and fecking games
the fecking kids he fecking blames
are nowehere to be fecking found
anywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking scene is fecking sad
the fecking news is fecking bad
the fecking weed is fecking turf
the fecking speed is fecking surf
the fecking folks are fecking daft
don't make me fecking laugh
it fecking hurts to look around
everywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking train is fecking late
you fecking wait you fecking wait
you're fecking lost and fecking found
stuck in fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking view is fecking vile
for fecking miles and fecking miles
the fecking babies fecking cry
the fecking flowers fecking die
the fecking food is fecking muck
the fecking drains are fecking fecked
the colour scheme is fecking brown
everywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking pubs are fecking dull
the fecking clubs are fecking full
of fecking girls and fecking guys
with fecking murder in their eyes
a fecking bloke is fecking stabbed
waiting for a fecking cab
you fecking stay at fecking home
the fecking neighbors fecking moan
keep the fecking racket down
this is fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking train is fecking late
you fecking wait you fecking wait
you're fecking lost and fecking found
stuck in fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking pies are fecking old
the fecking chips are fecking cold
the fecking beer is fecking flat
the fecking flats have fecking rats
the fecking clocks are fecking wrong
the fecking days are fecking long
it fecking gets you fecking down
evidently chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking cops are fecking keen
to fecking keep it fecking clean
the fecking chief's a fecking swine
who fecking draws a fecking line
at fecking fun and fecking games
the fecking kids he fecking blames
are nowehere to be fecking found
anywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking scene is fecking sad
the fecking news is fecking bad
the fecking weed is fecking turf
the fecking speed is fecking surf
the fecking folks are fecking daft
don't make me fecking laugh
it fecking hurts to look around
everywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking train is fecking late
you fecking wait you fecking wait
you're fecking lost and fecking found
stuck in fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking view is fecking vile
for fecking miles and fecking miles
the fecking babies fecking cry
the fecking flowers fecking die
the fecking food is fecking muck
the fecking drains are fecking fecked
the colour scheme is fecking brown
everywhere in chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking pubs are fecking dull
the fecking clubs are fecking full
of fecking girls and fecking guys
with fecking murder in their eyes
a fecking bloke is fecking stabbed
waiting for a fecking cab
you fecking stay at fecking home
the fecking neighbors fecking moan
keep the fecking racket down
this is fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking train is fecking late
you fecking wait you fecking wait
you're fecking lost and fecking found
stuck in fecking chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the fecking pies are fecking old
the fecking chips are fecking cold
the fecking beer is fecking flat
the fecking flats have fecking rats
the fecking clocks are fecking wrong
the fecking days are fecking long
it fecking gets you fecking down
evidently chicken town
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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communistworkethic
- Legend
- Posts: 7404
- Joined: Wed Sep 28, 2005 9:08 pm
- Location: in your wife's dreams
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