| The Bridge At Midnight When shawes been sheene and shradds full fayre And leeves both large and longe Little John a Trent from the Tavern wentte His voice full raised in songe Goode Paddy O'Toole, the village coppe Smiled as hee watched Little John And followed him to the litle bridge Where hee hadd stopped onne Now John stoode onne the litle bridge His puzzled face showed cleere "Tis a lovely night," said Paddy O'Toole When hee hadd drawen neere But John with feere grabbed Paddy's arme "What's thatte down there?" he cryed O'Toole looked downe inn the watter darke "Itt's only the moone," he sighed "Only the moon!!!" said John with alarme His voice rang loud and cleere. "Iff thattes the moone, Great Gunnes, O'Toole How'd I gette upp heere!!!!??" ~Severac (Wilber Cox) Imitating a balled by Chaucer |
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| Elixer [Read with a Scottish Accent] I sits doun in Dumferline's Bar Drinking the blude-red wine "O whar," sez I, "Is there a man, To describe this Port of mine?" Up and spak an elderly stew, His ees both glassy and fixt "MacDougal's me name, and I can describe Any drink that was ever mixt." The barkeip smiled and winked his ee And mixed an Aberdour. "MacDougal." sez he, "Describe this drink It ain't no Whiskey Sour." MacDougal tasted of the drink And clicked his cork-heeled schoone "An Aberdour, that's what it is." Our eebrows raised aboone. The barkeip mixed, MacDougal drank, And named them each and all Martini, Scotch and French Chartreuse And kerosene and gall. At last the barkeip shook his head; He'd gone clear thru his book, And as a very last resort A glass of water took MacDougal sipped the water clear And rocked back on his heiles. His lips drew back, his tongue lolled out His ees revolved like wheiles. "O wha is this has done this deid This ill deid done me to To set me out upon the bar A slug of witches brew. You're richt, mine host," MacDougal said "It's name I canna tell But I'll tell ye now, whate'er it is The stuff will niver sell." ~Severac (Wilbert Cox) based on the Scottish Ballad "Sir Patrick Spence" |
| This is just some stuff I've been writing and reading recently. I didn't really know I enjoyed poetry till a couple months ago, and now I'm into it. I've written some of this stuff, others I've just found. Either way, I hope you enjoy. |
| Reincarnation "What does reincarnation mean?" A cowpoke asked his friend. His pal replied, "It happens when Yer life has reached its end. They comb yer hair, and warsh yer neck, And clean yer fingernails, And lay you in a padded box Away from life's travails." "The box and you goes in a hole, That's been dug into the ground. Reincarnation starts in when Yore planted 'neath a mound. Them clods melt down, just like yer box, And you who is inside. And then yore just beginnin' on Yer transformation ride." "In a while, the grass'll grow Upon yer rendered mound. Till some day on yer moldered grave A lonely flower is found. And say a hoss should wander by And graze upon this flower That once wuz you, but now's become Yer vegetative bower." "The posy that the hoss done ate Up, with his other feed, Makes bone, and fat, and muscle Essential to the steed, But some is left that he can't use And so it passes through, And finally lays upon the ground This thing, that once wuz you." "Then say, by chance, I wanders by And sees this upon the ground, And I ponders, and I wonders at, This object that I found. I thinks of reincarnation, Of life and death, and such, And come away concludin': 'Slim, You ain't changed, all that much.'" ~Wallace McRae |
| So Much So much... but where to start? Guess no where. Guess I'll keep silent for now. Maybe silent for always. Most is known. What is not known shouldn't be; it is not good to speak of it. Some cannot be said; it can only be felt. Some can be said but cannot be understood. So much... but where to start? Where to end? Is there an end? None in sight. Death. Death is an end. An end but not a choice, not an option. Prayer. Pray, it's hard but it's the only choice. It's hard to, but not praying is harder. So much... but where to start? Choice. Choose. What to choose? What to do? Where to start? Start on your knees. Never end; never finish. Start with an open heart. Never close it. So much... so better get started. ~Blen Comer |
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