POET'S LAIR - Page 8




 
--
POET'S LAIR
 
December 10th, 2007  
Padre
 
 
POET'S LAIR
Quote:
Originally Posted by The Other Guy
Oh cheeseburger Bound in packaging

I Sit here drooling over you, as if you were my bedroom escort
I hold you, with no knowledge of where you came from
I see not an animal, I see not the slaughter.
But despite that, I eat...

I know nothing of the cow from which your meat came
I know nothing of the worker who picked your Tomato
I Know nothing of the baker who made your buns
But despite that, I eat...

I give you not Grace,
I give not thanks
I give you not the slightest thought
But Despite that, I eat...

And Oh sweet burger, whom Iíve ravaged
Iíll continue what I do,
through the day and through the night
and its all because of you

-Rain420 (only ID I have)
Deeeeep man Deeeep.

December 11th, 2007  
The Other Guy
 
 
oh, and you don't even know the guy who wrote it!

sort of like that guy.
December 16th, 2007  
Padre
 
 
G. K Chesterton sends us this one:

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down
--
POET'S LAIR
December 16th, 2007  
Del Boy
 
Very good, Padre. And timely. I like Chesterton, and this poem is reflected every time I see a new-born baby. Perfection and wonderment.

Here is the poem you requested,although not in the same class, of course. But it was written with integrity and necessity to get it off my chest, for myself!




THANKS BUT NO THANKS. 31 aug 06


THEY GAVE US MULTI-CULTURE;
I DON’T RECALL THEY ASKED;
IT CAME AS FAIT ACCOMPLI;
THEY NEVER SOUGHT OUR ‘BY YOUR LEAVE’.
WE GAVE THEM SHELTER FROM THE STORM;
THEY THANKED US WITH THE BOMB
AND SPILT OUR BLOOD ON LONDON’S STREETS.

THEY CLAIM TO REPRESENT OUR WISH
TO DAMN OUR STAUNCHEST FRIENDS;
THEY TWIST OUR LEADERS’ SEARCH FOR TRUTH;
WE PAY THE DANE-GELD ONCE AGAIN.

IN FACT OUR GREAT MAJORITY
WISH THEY WOULD FADE AWAY,
TO WHERE THEY CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY
IN BELOVED SHARIA.
AN ENGLISHMAN AT MIDDAY SUN
WALKS WITH UNCOVERED FACE,
LIVES IN PEACE WITH THE NEXT GOOD MAN
AND THANKS GOD FOR INDIA.

SO WHEN WE HEAR THEIR PREACHERS SPOUT,
WE SMILE THEM -
'THANKS BUT NO THANKS'

SHARIA LAW ? -
'THANKS BUT NO THANKS.'

GREAT PEACEFUL ISLAM ? -
'THANKS BUT NO THANKS.'
December 18th, 2007  
wrc_619
 
 
Standing Watch



The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a sailor, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!"
"Put down your pack, brush the snow from you sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light,
The he sighed and he said, "It's really all right,
I'm out here by choice, I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam,
And now it is my turn and so, Here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile."
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The Red, White and Blue....an American Flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother
who stand at the front against any and all,
to ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.
So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?"
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from you wife and your son."
Then his eyes welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us
December 18th, 2007  
Del Boy
 
Standing watch. Wonderful poem. Brilliant. Cuts deep.
December 19th, 2007  
The Other Guy
 
 
So true.......
Funny how it seems.....
Always in time, but never in line for dreams.
Head over heels, when toe to toe,
This is the sound of my soul. (This is the sound)

I bought a ticket to the world,
But now I've come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line?
When I want the truth to be said.......

I know this much is true.
I know this much is true.

With a thrill in my head and a pill on my tongue,
Dissolve the nerves that have just begun.
Listening to Marvin all night long.
This is the sound of my soul. (This is the sound)

Always slipping from my hands,
Sand's a time of it's own.
Take your seaside arms and write the next line,
Oh, I want the truth to be known.......

I know this much is true.
I know this much is true.

I bought a ticket to the world,
But now I've come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line?
When I want the truth to be said.......

I know this much is true.
I know this much is true.

I know this much is........
I know this much is.......
True.

I know this much is......
I know this much is.......
True.

I know this much is......
I know this much is.......
True.

I know this much is......
I know this much is.......
True.

-Spandau Ballet
December 19th, 2007  
Padre
 
 
Quote:
Originally Posted by Del Boy



THANKS BUT NO THANKS. 31 aug 06
Very poignant Del. I liked your William Smith O'Brien poem post.

wrc 619 - good poem "Standing watch."

Hey OG, where are Spandau Ballet these days?
December 20th, 2007  
The Other Guy
 
 
have no clue. somewhere in Germany I guess...
December 20th, 2007  
Del Boy
 

Nope. One Kemp twin does a bit of film, television soaps and adverts; the other writes music and stuff quite obscurely; a fatter Tony vocalist does reality shows and minor tours. No band of note left. Just a little puddle where they used to be.
 


Similar Topics
Civilians await war in Sri Lanka Tigers' lair