Erasmus
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"We do not take prisoners - we liberate them" - http://www.aeonbytegnosticradio.com
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Post by Erasmus on Jun 13, 2011 16:49:36 GMT -5
;D We all have to learn the hard way. I remember paddling quite far out at Weston-Super-Mare. Tide comes in fast there too. Tide comes in fast anywhere it's flat. At Mont-St-Michel it goes over the horizon and comes back at 30mph as well as being funnelled higher than in more open regions. When I was at school a new master from England we called Buzzard (can't remember his real name or what he taught since he never taught me) parked his new car on a slipway at just the wrong time of year to catch the spring tide and went for a long walk ending up inland (probably the nearest pub). When he came back of course .....
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Post by trubble on Jun 13, 2011 17:16:21 GMT -5
Tide & Time....
(I was at a comedy gig the other night and the comedian asked for heckles. An audience member called out "the tide wouldn't take you out!'' )
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Post by sadie on Jun 13, 2011 18:27:18 GMT -5
I had to learn the following poem in 6th grade. For some silly reason I have always remembered it.....it is strange the oddest things will make me remember it. Not that it is a favorite, I just think it is odd what sticks in your brain from childhood.
Abou ben Adam Abou ben Adam (may his tribe increase!) awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, an angel, writing in a book of of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adam bold, And to the Prescence in the room he said: "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?"said Abou, "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great awakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest, And lo! Ben adam's name led all the rest. - Leigh Hunt
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Post by beth on Oct 6, 2011 23:44:48 GMT -5
Hated having to memorize it in 9th grade Lit, but have been glad many times since. The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same. And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ~~~Robert Frost Same here! (And it's amazing how many times old memorized lines from schooldays come back all of a sudden.) This one has had quite an influence on my life choices from time to time. Still a favorite.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Oct 10, 2011 21:22:25 GMT -5
One of my favourite poems.
John Davidson, Thirty Bob A Week (written in the 1890s)
Thirty Bob a Week
I couldn't touch a stop and turn a screw, And set the blooming world a-work for me, Like such as cut their teeth -- I hope, like you -- On the handle of a skeleton gold key; I cut mine on a leek, which I eat it every week: I'm a clerk at thirty bob as you can see.
But I don't allow it's luck and all a toss; There's no such thing as being starred and crossed; It's just the power of some to be a boss, And the bally power of others to be bossed: I face the music, sir; you bet I ain't a cur; Strike me lucky if I don't believe I'm lost!
For like a mole I journey in the dark, A-travelling along the underground From my Pillar'd Halls and broad Suburbean Park, To come the daily dull official round; And home again at night with my pipe all alight, A-scheming how to count ten bob a pound.
And it's often very cold and very wet, And my missus stitches towels for a hunks; And the Pillar'd Halls is half of it to let-- Three rooms about the size of travelling trunks. And we cough, my wife and I, to dislocate a sigh, When the noisy little kids are in their bunks.
But you never hear her do a growl or whine, For she's made of flint and roses, very odd; And I've got to cut my meaning rather fine, Or I'd blubber, for I'm made of greens and sod: So p'r'haps we are in Hell for all that I can tell, And lost and damn'd and served up hot to God.
I ain't blaspheming, Mr. Silver-tongue; I'm saying things a bit beyond your art: Of all the rummy starts you ever sprung, Thirty bob a week's the rummiest start! With your science and your books and your the'ries about spooks, Did you ever hear of looking in your heart?
I didn't mean your pocket, Mr., no: I mean that having children and a wife, With thirty bob on which to come and go, Isn't dancing to the tabor and the fife: When it doesn't make you drink, by Heaven! it makes you think, And notice curious items about life.
I step into my heart and there I meet A god-almighty devil singing small, Who would like to shout and whistle in the street, And squelch the passers flat against the wall; If the whole world was a cake he had the power to take, He would take it, ask for more, and eat them all.
And I meet a sort of simpleton beside, The kind that life is always giving beans; With thirty bob a week to keep a bride He fell in love and married in his teens: At thirty bob he stuck; but he knows it isn't luck: He knows the seas are deeper than tureens.
And the god-almighty devil and the fool That meet me in the High Street on the strike, When I walk about my heart a-gathering wool, Are my good and evil angels if you like. And both of them together in every kind of weather Ride me like a double-seated bike.
That's rough a bit and needs its meaning curled. But I have a high old hot un in my mind -- A most engrugious notion of the world, That leaves your lightning 'rithmetic behind: I give it at a glance when I say 'There ain't no chance, Nor nothing of the lucky-lottery kind.'
And it's this way that I make it out to be: No fathers, mothers, countres, climates -- none; Not Adam was responsible for me, Nor society, nor systems, nary one: A little sleeping seed, I woke -- I did, indeed -- A million years before the blooming sun.
I woke because I thought the time had come; Beyond my will there was no other cause; And everywhere I found myself at home, Because I chose to be the thing I was; And in whatever shape of mollusc or of ape I always went according to the laws.
I was the love that chose my mother out; I joined two lives and from the union burst; My weakness and my strength without a doubt Are mine alone for ever from the first: It's just the very same with a difference in the name As 'Thy will be done.' You say it if you durst!
They say it daily up and down the land As easy as you take a drink, it's true; But the difficultest go to understand, And the difficultest job a man can do, Is to come it brave and meek with thirty bob a week, And feel that that's the proper thing for you.
It's a naked child against a hungry wolf; It's playing bowls upon a splitting wreck; It's walking on a string across a gulf With millstones fore-and-aft about your neck; But the thing is daily done by many and many a one; And we fall, face forward, fighting, on the deck
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Post by Soulman on Oct 28, 2011 13:22:43 GMT -5
With the day fast approaching....i thought this was good.
Why do I wear a poppy? I’ll tell you if I may, Because I believe remembrance is not only for one day. I wear it for the fallen, And for those falling still For those who come back broken in body or in will. For the parents, spouses, siblings where bereavement takes its toll. ... Whose pain will never leave them, It eats into their soul For the wino on the corner, Of his old...life nothing’s left. Now he wishes when in battle he had died a hero’s death. For the lad who loved a kick-about in the park with all his mates, But now his legs are held together with pins and metal plates For the selfless men and women whose final journey home Is in a Union flag-draped coffin on comrades’ shoulders borne. For all those marching proudly In Remembrance Day parades My poppy’s worn in gratitude for the sacrifice they made.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Oct 28, 2011 18:29:30 GMT -5
Well said, Soulman!
An exalt for you for remembering our brave heroes!
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Post by Soulman on Nov 7, 2011 13:54:39 GMT -5
FINAL INSPECTION The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass.
'Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you ? Have you always turned the other cheek ? To My Church have you been true?'
The soldier squared his shoulders and said, 'No, Lord, I guess I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod. As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God.
'Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell.'
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Post by maggie on Nov 7, 2011 13:58:35 GMT -5
FINAL INSPECTION The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass. 'Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you ? Have you always turned the other cheek ? To My Church have you been true?' The soldier squared his shoulders and said, 'No, Lord, I guess I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough. But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears. If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand. There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod. As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God. 'Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell.' Very moving. Thanks I enjoyed reading this.
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Post by Soulman on Nov 7, 2011 14:12:13 GMT -5
FINAL INSPECTION The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass. 'Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you ? Have you always turned the other cheek ? To My Church have you been true?' The soldier squared his shoulders and said, 'No, Lord, I guess I ain't. Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough. And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough. But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep... Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here. They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears. If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand. There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod. As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God. 'Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well. Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell.' Very moving. Thanks I enjoyed reading this. Unknown Author.
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Post by Soulman on Nov 12, 2011 11:59:11 GMT -5
They joined for many reasons, to march, to sail, to fly. They went where they were posted but nobody joins to die. Their leaders talk on TV what else could we have done? But those leaders lost no daughters and none has lost a son. So heres to all our soldiers wherever they may be.....and heres to all their families, I raise a glass to thee.
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Post by maggie on Nov 12, 2011 13:32:53 GMT -5
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
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Post by mouse on Nov 13, 2011 4:08:27 GMT -5
DEMOCRACY AND SOVEREIGNTY DENIED AND ABANDONED BY THE THREE MAIN POLITICAL PARTIES.
13.11.11, 6:34am
England my England Goodbye to my England , So long my old friend Your days are numbered, being brought to an end To be Scottish, Irish or Welsh that's fine But don't say you're English, that's way out of line.
The French and the Germans may call themselves such So may Norwegians, the Swedes and the Dutch You can say you are Russian or maybe a Dane But don't say you're English ever again.
At Broadcasting House the word is taboo In Brussels it's scrapped, in Parliament too Even schools are affected. Staff do as they're told They must not teach children about England of old.
Writers like Shakespeare, Milton and Shaw The pupils don't learn about them anymore How about Agincourt, Hastings , Arnhem or Mons ? When England lost hosts of her very brave sons.
We are not Europeans, how can we be? Europe is miles away, over the sea We're the English from England , let's all be proud Stand up and be counted - Shout it out loud!
Let's tell our Government and Brussels too We're proud of our heritage and the Red, White and Blue Fly the flags of Saint George or the Union. Let the world know - WE WANT OUR ENGLAND BACK !!!!
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Post by Soulman on Nov 14, 2011 17:00:29 GMT -5
I know the author of this one. Twas the month before Christmas__When all through our land,__Not a Christian was praying__Nor taking a stand.__See the PC Police had taken away__The reason for Christmas - no one could say.__The children were told by their schools not to sing__About Shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.__It might hurt people's feelings, the teachers would say__December 25th is just a ' Holiday '.__Yet the ............shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit__Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it!__CDs from Madonna, an X BOX, an I-Pod__Something was changing, something quite odd!__Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa__In hopes to sell books by Franken & Fonda.__As Targets were hanging their trees upside down__At Lowe's the word Christmas - was no where to be found.__At K-Mart and Staples and Penny's and Sears__You won't hear the word Christmas; it won't touch your ears.__Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty__Are words that were used to intimidate me.__Now Daschle, Now Darden, Now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen__On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton !__At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter__To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.__And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith__Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace__The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded__The reason for the season, stopped before it started.__So as you celebrate 'Winter Break' under your 'Dream Tree'__Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.__Choose your words carefully, choose what you say__Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS ,__not Happy Holiday !__Please, all Christians join together and__wish everyone you meet__MERRY CHRISTMAS__Christ is The Reason' for the Christ-mas Season!_
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Post by chriswood on Nov 15, 2011 14:21:48 GMT -5
Eskimo Nell.
A good drinking song for only the hardiest of men.
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