poetry

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FergusM

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I find long night watches highly conducive to poetic endeavours. Unfortunately, in the cold, clear light of day, they have often evaporated. I can, however, remember the following:

"Dreaming when Dawn's left hand was on my thigh, I heard a a voice within the tavern cry,
Awake my little ones, and fill the cup, ere life's liquor in its cup be dry."

This was composed after one of my crew met a rather enchanting young lady of the same name,

and one, which went on for a goodly number of verses, but, sadly, I can only remember the first. Perhaps you could help by completing it for me:

"The boy stood on the burning deck, near where the fire had started,
The bosun's mate had struck a match, just as the captain f**ted"

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Generally speaking, I view all poetry as the work of the Devil.

I can make an exception to a verse by Derek and Clive that begins "I knew a lady from Amsterdam who stuffed ....."

Can't print the rest, it'll get Kimmerised or Hollandbiated or whatever.

<hr width=100% size=1>It could have been worse - it could have been me.
 
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled
"Oh my", he said, "It's warmer here"
"Than in my cold, cold bed"

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Or ..

The boy stood on the burning deck
The fireman tooted his hooter
Who should come along just then
But Granny on her scooter

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Re: Or ..

There once was a Bishop of Birmingham
Who bu***red young boys when confirmin 'em
To rounds of applause, he would pull down his drawers,
and inject his episcopal sp**m in'em

There once was a marine called Bluett
Who had a big kn*b and he knew it,
As it waved in the air, she gasped with despair
do I suck it or blow it or chew it?

Whoops - am I going to be in trouble now Kim?

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Re: Or ..

There was a youg man from Devizes
Whose bol****s were two different sizes
One was so small, it was no use at all
And the other was big and won prizes

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The boy stood on the burning deck,
His back was to the mast.
He did not move a single step
As Oscar Wilde walked past.

But Oscar was a wily bird,
He threw the boy a plum
And as he stooped to pick it up,
De dum de dum de dum...............

<hr width=100% size=1>Je suis Marxiste - tendance Groucho
 
Re: bird poetry

Honest, a relay message.... I didn't write that!!!

poem.jpg


<hr width=100% size=1>I came, I saw, she conquered (the original Latin seems to have been garbled).
 
The Preservation of Man


The horse and mule live thirty years,
and nothing know of wines and beers.

The goat and sheep at twenty die,
with never a taste of scotch or rye.

The cow drinks water by the ton,
and at eighteen is mostly done.

The dog at sixteen cashes in,
without the aid of rum or gin.

The cat in milk and water soaks,
and then in twelve short years it croaks.

The modest, sober, bone dry hen,
lays eggs for nogs then dies at ten.

All animals are strictly dry,
they sinless live and swiftly die.

But sinful, ginful rum-soaked men,
survive for three score years and ten.

And some of us, the mighty few,
Stay pickled till we're ninety two.


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hammer.thumb.gif
 
The Preservation of Man


The horse and mule live thirty years,
and nothing know of wines and beers.

The goat and sheep at twenty die,
with never a taste of scotch or rye.

The cow drinks water by the ton,
and at eighteen is mostly done.

The dog at sixteen cashes in,
without the aid of rum or gin.

The cat in milk and water soaks,
and then in twelve short years it croaks.

The modest, sober, bone dry hen,
lays eggs for nogs then dies at ten.

All animals are strictly dry,
they sinless live and swiftly die.

But sinful, ginful rum-soaked men,
survive for three score years and ten.

And some of us, the mighty few,
Stay pickled till we're ninety two.


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hammer.thumb.gif
 
I must go down to the sea again,
the lonely sea and the sky,
I left my shoes and socks there,
I wonder if they're dry?

<hr width=100% size=1><font color=blue>Regards Mark
 
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