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Thantor3 scares me. Anyone esle?

Hi Grunty
@ Minerva

Hi T. How's it, erm, how are they hanging?

I hope they're err never mind that would get me banned Pretty good over here How's it with you?

[QUOTE]Originally posted by Gruntboy:
[QB]I hate poetry.

This is about the best I can muster:

When yer lying wounded on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up yer remains,
Roll on to your rifle and blow out yer brains,
And go orf to yer God like a soldier.

LOL !!

Think of Korgan when reading it .. It makes it even funnier ..

Invictus
by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
by William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind.
The years that come a waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

The Soldier
by William Butler Yeats

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

You sure that was Yeats, Kayless? I'm pretty sure it's Rupert Brooke ("The Soldier," I mean)

[ 07-09-2001: Message edited by: loner72 ]

Originally posted by Gruntboy:
<STRONG>That and "Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori..."</STRONG>

Can someone remind me who that is by? Is it Sassoon?

@Loner I think you are probably right but I can't prove it...

Originally posted by loner72:
<STRONG>You sure that was Yeats, Kayless? I'm pretty sure it's Rupert Brooke ("The Soldier," I mean)

[ 07-09-2001: Message edited by: loner72 ]</STRONG>

You're probably right, since I'm only going by notes I scrawled down several years ago. I didn't bother to write the author of each poem but since most of the writings were Yeats' I just set my brain on autopilot and assumed it was his as well (you know the dangers of assuming).

I don't think Yeats would have written about England like that, he was Irish...

True, but have you ever heard Garth Brooks (an american in case you live in a cave) sing the song Ireland? I seem to recall many Americans use to beat the 'filthy Irish' back in the 20's and today we have an American singing a nice song about Ireland. My how times change!

[ 07-09-2001: Message edited by: Kayless ]

Hmmm, but I have noticed that Americans love to claim heritage more exciting than just plain old American

Give me a beat

Buddha and Christ
Long been iced
Loungin' afterhours at Club Zeitgeist

Confucius on the bongo
Krishna on the mic
Moses at the turntable spinnin' what he likes

(deejay scratches)

Serpent do a lip sync
Messing up the mix
This is how he got his ass 86ed

(sample chorus from Milli Vanilli's "Girl you know it's true")

So keep it on the upswing
Keep it goin' live
You can jam and slam and then STAGE DIVE!

Ungh! Too funky!

-Tatsuya Ishida, author of Sinfest seen [url="http://www.sinfest.net/"]here[/url].
It's not exactly a poem but I like it.

Originally posted by Georgi:
<STRONG>Hmmm, but I have noticed that Americans love to claim heritage more exciting than just plain old American </STRONG>

The trouble is that unless you're Cherokee, Blackfoot, or some other American Indian tribe, you've got some other lineage in you. I myself am part Jewish, Irish, Scottish, German, English, Dutch, and Swiss. I guess that proves that most Americans are mongrels. But for the record if someone asks me my nationality I always say American without going into my ancestry. Nothing wrong with being a plain old American (we are the only Super Power left after all ).

[ 07-09-2001: Message edited by: Kayless ]

@Kayless: Arf!

I think this one's by Emily ****inson, but I'm at work and so can't check:


My candle burns at both ends,
it will not last the night
But ah, my friends, and oh, my foes
it gives a lovely light.

And, if anyone's interested, I heartily recommend Wyslawa Syzmborska (sp?!?!?). Polish poetess. Some of my favorites include "Cat in an Empty Apartment" and "No Title Required".

Originally posted by thantor3:
<STRONG>@Kayless: Arf! </STRONG>

You think my lineage is varied, you should see some friends of mine. They seem to include every possible racial variety in the gene pool.

[ 07-09-2001: Message edited by: Kayless ]

The sky is blue, your blood is red, i'll be seeing some, if i don't get fed!The grass is green so is snot, your flesh is nice but it starts to rot.I hate U, U hate i, i guess that means we just have pe

When Passion's Trance is Overpast

When passion's trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last,
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!

It were enough to feel, to see,
Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,
And dream the rest -- and burn and be
The secret food of fires unseen,
Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.

After the slumber of the year
The woodland violets reappear;
All things revive in field or grove,
And sky and sea, but two, which move
And form all others -- life and love.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Any comments on mine?