Something totally different: a poem

[StdDev]

One of my favorites.. :

There was a young man from Nantuckett
Who ... waitaminit.... oooooops wrong one...

E = MC2
by Morris Bishop

What was our trust, we trust not;
What was our faith, we doubt;
Whether we must or must not,
We may debate about.

The soul, perhaps is a gust of gas,
And wrong is a form of right;
But we know that Energy equals Mass
by the Square of the Speed of Light!

What we have known, we know not;
What we have proved, abjure;
Life is a tangled bowknot,
But one thing is still sure.

Come little lad; come little lass;
Your docile creed recite:
"We know that Energy equals Mass
by the Square of the Speed of Light!"

[Sailor Steve]

On that same subject, one of my favorite limericks:

There was a young lady named Bright,
Who could travel much faster than light.
She set out one day
In a relative way
And returned the preceding night.

[StdDev]

How about..

Images by Tyrone Greene

Dark and lonely on a summer's night
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Watchdog barking
Do he bite?
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Slip in his window
Break his neck
Then his house
I start to wreck
Got no reason
What the heck
Kill my Landlord
Kill my landlord
C-I-L-L
my l a n d l o r d

[Tchocky]

Taking a chance :p

Wrap Up Warm

Give winter back his teeth.
So little to give, it’s too much to ask
To chew through Thinsulate with gums thawed
too quickly,
Savaging Gore-Tex with mittened claws.
If I can lounge, if I can sweat
Don’t call this winter.
Why not cast off, embrace screaming cold?
It would still be the same
Days spent thoughtless, nights too crowded
to sleep.
Pick a side – muffled droves accountants
Lawyers meat-flippers, take a tropic
Or take a tundra, spare us
This wasteland of beige, only
Laughing, only laughing
You've forgotten how to cry

[Happy Times]

The Charge of the Light Brigade



Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Forward, the Light Brigade! "Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd. Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred!

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

[Fish]

This is one I never forget:



First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.
German Pastor Martin Niemöller - WWII

[Jimbuna]

Originally Posted by Fish

This is one I never forget:



First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.
German Pastor Martin Niemöller - WWII

This one I remember well

[Onkel Neal]

Originally Posted by StdDev

How about..

Images by Tyrone Greene

Dark and lonely on a summer's night
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Watchdog barking
Do he bite?
Kill my landlord
Kill my landlord
Slip in his window
Break his neck
Then his house
I start to wreck
Got no reason
What the heck
Kill my Landlord
Kill my landlord
C-I-L-L
my l a n d l o r d

Reminds me of Raskonikov...:hmm:

[ReallyDedPoet]

From a great Canadian and Prince Edward Island Poet


I've Tasted My Blood

By Milton Acorn

If this brain's over-tempered
consider that the fire was want
and the hammers were fists.
I've tasted my blood too much
to love what I was born to.
But my mother's look
was a field of brown oats, soft-bearded;
her voice rain and air rich with lilacs:
and I loved her too much to like
how she dragged her days like a sled over gravel.
Playmates? I remember where their skulls roll!
One died hungry, gnawing grey porch-planks;
one fell, and landed so hard he splashed;
and many and many
come up atom by atom
in the worm-casts of Europe.
My deep prayer a curse.
My deep prayer the promise that this won't be.
My deep prayer my cunning,
my love, my anger,
and often even my forgiveness
that this won't be and be.
I've tasted my blood too much
to abide what I was born to.

Milton Acorn is one of Canada's most unfortunately unstudied poets. He wrote down-to-earth words in an original way. He was quoted as saying to an auditorium of schoolkids, "To be a poet in this country, you had to be a tough bas%&^". This was his "trademark" poem, which did not win the Governor General's Award in 1970.
In 1988, Joyce Wayne had this to say about him:
"Acorn was the naughty, precocious child inside each of us. The clenched fist that says no to injustice; the searching eye that spots greed or cruelty; the ringing voice that shouts love "even though it might deafen you"."
About Milton Acorn


RDP