Originally posted by Pianoman1Its must be a real musicians thing, it sounded like a Scottish version of Venus in Furs to
Great Burns poem.
Also a great piece of music by Sir Malcolm Arnold
Check out this video on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNuh4ojZuSU&feature=youtube_gdata_player
me! but i realise that there are different levels of understanding 🙂
A Romance for the Wild Turkey
They are so cowardly and stupid
Indians would not eat them
For fear of assuming their qualities.
The wild turkey always stays close
To home, flapping up into trees
If alarmed, then falling out again.
When shot it explodes like a balloon
Full of blood. It bathes by grinding
Itself in coarse dirt, is incapable
Of passion or anger, knows only
Vague innocence and extreme caution,
Walking around in underbrush
Like a cantilevered question mark,
Retreating at least hint of danger.
I hope when the wild turkey
Dreams at night it flies high up
In gladness under vast islands
Of mute starlight, its silhouette
Vivid in the full moon, guided always
By radiant configurations, high
Over chittering fields of corn
And the trivial fires of men,
Never to land again nor be regarded
As fearful, stupid, and unsure.
Paul Zimmer
Right Words
Behold, right words
fitly spoken…
yada, yada, yada.
Nobody’s talking
about ornate apples
or golden bowls.
No, my kinsman,
wordy is too common.
Brevity is okay,
concision’s better.
Strip away the fat.
Expose the bone.
Forget multi-syllable
verbs and nouns.
Please learn to respect
your mother tongue,
by valuing each
consonant and vowel.
Pay rapt attention
to the freight
of moving meanings
into tight sentences
and stand alone words.
Think first, then
toggle your vocabulary
to fit the need.
Stay on the high road.
Avoid getting stuck
in some awful ditch
or swampy bog.
Keep your head
on straight, and your
feet on solid ground.
Speak softly....
no need to shout
or carry big stick.
Language always knows
more than we do.
Listening matters.
Dream in color
and surround sound.
Write with a fever.
Revise stone cold.
Marry right words.
Leave the others alone.
Summing up: wordy
is too common.
Brevity is okay,
concision’s better.
Stay relaxed, easy
in the harness.
Keep things honest.
Worms, measured
responses and social noise
are for the birds.
Light the path
out from the woods
by day. Pitch a tent
on moonlit nights.
Live life fully,
to the hilt, then die
and be done with it.
May patience, wattage,
gratitude without regret
outlast your days.
Anon, 2012
On Mondays
On Mondays when the museums are closed
and a handful of guards
look the other way
or read their newspapers
all of the figures
step out of golden frames
to stroll the quiet halls
or visit among old friends.
Picasso's twisted ladies
rearrange themselves
to trade secrets
with the languid odalisques of Matisse
while sturdy Rembrandt men
shake the dust
from their velvet tams
and talk shop.
Voluptuous Renoir women
take their rosy children by the hand
to the water fountains
where they gossip
while eating Cezanne's luscious red apples.
Even Van Gogh
in his tattered yellow straw hat
seems almost happy
on Mondays when the museums are closed.
Marilyn Donnelly
Super Samson Simpson
I am Super Samson Simpson,
I'm superlatively strong,
I like to carry elephants,
I do it all day long,
I pick up half a dozen
and hoist them in the air,
it's really somewhat simple,
for I have strength to spare.
My muscles are enormous,
they bulge from top to toe,
and when I carry elephants,
they ripple to and fro,
but I am not the strongest
in the Simpson family,
for when I carry elephants,
my grandma carries me.
Jack Prelutsky
Originally posted by robbie carrobieI one was a religious Bobbie
Super Samson Simpson
I am Super Samson Simpson,
I'm superlatively strong,
I like to carry elephants,
I do it all day long,
I pick up half a dozen
and hoist them in the air,
it's really somewhat simple,
for I have strength to spare.
My muscles are enormous,
they bulge from top to toe,
and when I carry elephants,
they ripple to and fr ...[text shortened]... n the Simpson family,
for when I carry elephants,
my grandma carries me.
Jack Prelutsky
Until I encountered Robbie,
A man deemed a contrary
but who still liked corn on the cobbie.
'Twas this little dim light
Within me put up my right
To argue a spectacled might
That always maintains he is right.
But Robbie just aint that 'a lad'
No matter how you think he is bad;
But it's more of a taste of 'how sad?'
Cos he's there, but not quite ideal dad.
YET there's more to see
In how good he can actually be,
For his work there is no fee
except a limited view of the 'me'.
He has somewhat o' a craving
In pleasantly offering a graving
For those who don't meet his paving
nor subliminally are self-depraving.
Yet then there is the olde Mikelom,
A wealth of a style of the A-bomb
Changes his tune to suit the thown stone
Cos he just can't be ass'd with Robbie's tone.
But there is respect, my old friend
And little to argue, and nor to defend,
For some to take time to suspend
I get on with it in my wants of a spend... 😉 [a penny]
People of old
People of new
Don't matter the cold
Don't matter the hue.
RHP is a place to be
To engage and exist intrinsically free
Must needs of others for 'oughts to be?'
Stuff off - I'll always be me!
-m. 😉
Oh! Edit: For the aspiring poets, that took just 4 mins to pen. 😉
Natural History
When I die, lava will flow and preserve me whole
for 50,000 years. I'll be exhibited in a great museum,
next to the whale bones and amethyst geodes.
You'll be pinned with the butterflies,
handled with gloves, exquisitely fragile.
Isn't it funny they'll never connect us?
This rock woman with that paper man?
They were never in love.
She would have pounded him into dust.
He'd have been crushed by a woman like that.
by Kathleen Flenniken
Originally posted by mikelomYou didn't pen it, you typed it, fact. 😕
I one was a religious Bobbie
Until I encountered Robbie,
A man deemed a contrary
but who still liked corn on the cobbie.
'Twas this little dim light
Within me put up my right
To argue a spectacled might
That always maintains he is right.
But Robbie just aint that 'a lad'
No matter how you think he is bad;
But it's more of a taste of 'how sad?' ...[text shortened]... -m. 😉
Oh! Edit: For the aspiring poets, that took just 4 mins to pen. 😉
Originally posted by CLL53gross is an interesting word, comes from the German/American painter George Grosz,
"canard" I can't comment on for professional reasons and "mankini" is just plain gross (what a mental image - might lose my lunch), not sure what the other two are.
who painted scathing caricatures and licentious scenes.