BS: Poetry about Mudcat

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 18 Apr 06 - 02:39 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 18 Apr 06 - 08:54 AM

It should be advertised in Boston, New York, and Buffalo:
'Twas just one brave woman made twelve thousand postings go!

Chorus:

Singing post twelve kay in the morning,
Post twelve kay, heigh-ho!
Clear away Flamenco Ted,
And blow, girls, blow!

They tell you of these other threads a-runnin' in and out,
And say they'll make five hundred thou before they're six months
out.

But when you are below the line, the winds of change do blow;
And damned few threads will then survive 'cause the postings they get slow.

There's Stilly on the quarterdeck a-squintin' at the marks,
And Gluon up aloft above a-lookin' for some quarks.

Then lower down the boats, my girls, and after them we'll travel,
But if you get too near out tails, we'll kick you to the Devil.

When we get home, our voyage done, a hundred thousand posts made fast,
A brimming glass around we'll pass around, and toast our MOAB lass.

                         --Coughman and Heart, 1856

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 08:27 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 08:26 PM

Only nineteen more! Hear that boiler roar,
Flying past the 9-9-2
With a hiss of steam, and a whistle scream,
It's the MOAB coming through!!!!
Now Rapaire may brag, and Rapaire may steal,
But we'll let them trifles stand;
Cuz when yer making time,what yer needs is Rhyme,
Headin' out to the old Twelve Grand.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 05:35 PM

Gee. I never thought I'd be anthologized. It doesn't hurt, so it must be an anethesized anthologized.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 03:55 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 03:54 PM

Gather ye BS while ye may,         
Old MOAB is still a-flying:         
And this same truth that smiles to-day         
To-morrow may be lying.         

The glorious lamp of heaven, our Mom
The higher she 's a-getting,         
And not one of her kids is dumb,         
And never she'll be setting.         

That age was good which is the first,         
When youth and blood were warmer;         
But being spent, she had not cursed         
And mellow now, a charmer.         

Then be not coy, but waste your time,         
And while ye may, post MOAB,         
For having lost but once your prime,         
Ye may be forever slow, Ab.

            --Robert Hatrack: Pomes Old and Newish (Hartford: Blavatsky and Smith, 1878)

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 03:16 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 02:58 PM

Well, Khandu handed us his orders in 'bout posting BS
Sayin', "Y'all post it here all the time.
And we'll make a thousand or maybe even higher
Iffen you post your BS in time."

Well, engineer Amos said to his handsome hunky fireman
"Shovel on a little more coal,
And when we cross that five kay posting, well,
You can watch Old MOAB roll."

It's a mighty hard road from five to twelve thousand
A road with a seven kay grade.
It was on that grade that he blew out his keyboard,
You can see what a jump she made.

He was goin' down the grade making 100 posts each week
When his whistle broke into a scream,
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle,
He was scalded to death by the steam.

Now a telegram came into Mom's mortgaged farmhouse
And this is what it said:
That brave engineer that was drivin' ol' MOAB
Is layin' in the 'leven thousands, dead.

Now listen, all you ladies, you must all take a warning,
From this story a lesson learn:
Never speak harsh words to your true lovin' geek boy,
He may leave you and never return.

          --Songs of the MOAB, Toepicker, and Sandy Fay (Allen Himax, ed.; Washington, DC: Elsie Publications, 1903).

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 02:45 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 02:36 PM

We had rung 11977's bell,
We were hot out of that gate,
And that grimy engineer yelled, "Hell!"
"Make it 11-9-78!"
"I've still coal in the bunker, boys,
And them brakes won't touch my hand,
So if Spaw don't fart
An' we don't fall apart,
Why, we'll make it to the ole Twelve Grand."

Onward and upward, brave companions!

Damn the plagiarism, full speed ahead!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 08:59 AM

When twelve thousand postings shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in they beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be yet an untattered weed, of great worth held.
Then being asked where all they beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy BS's use
If thou couldst answer, "These fair kids of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,"
Proving their BS by succession thine!
This were to be new-made when MOAB's old
And see thy blood warm, and tell them all, "Kiss off, you broke-dick mamaluca fuck-wits!"

         --William Staidspeare, Sonnet LXIX (London: At Ye Signe Of Ye Richard Heade, 1606 ff.).





And if you want anything in bold, feel free to post it yourself!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 17 Apr 06 - 12:32 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 16 Apr 06 - 11:44 PM

It was on the train to the Big Twelve Grand
Where the children of MOAB took their stand.
They had to stand for they could not sit
'Cause the place was hip-deep in bullshit.

Now Amos Jesup was the engineer
Of that train a-headed for nowhere.
With his steely eye and his bulldog jaw
He looked a lot like your mother-in-law

And the fireman was named Kid Rapaire
A bookworm with a quiet stare
And the quickest "OVERDUE" stamp in the west
And a forty-four beneath his vest

On lookout was Stilly River Sage
A stalwart gal by any gauge
A crack shot with an old six-shooter
And hell on a laptop computer.

And among the passengers on that train
Was Mmario and Bunnahabhain,
And Rustic Rebel, a guy named Giok,
And khandu, Tweed, and Little Hawk.

And in the back, in the caboose,
Was Bee-dubya, sometimes known as Bruce.
The janitor upon that train
An idjit with just half a brain.

Now the train was hummin' down the track
Bullshit a-blowin' from its BS stack
When Stilly cried "What's that ahead?
It looks just like Flamingo Ted!

That thief of posts of even hundred!"
But then it was Rapaire's gun thundered
And Ted was gone, his ass was toast,
He'd never steal another post..

And Amos poured upon more coal
For up ahead he saw the goal
The twelve-thousandth holy MOAB post
But then he turned white as a ghost!

For on the tracks there stood a fellow
A tub of lard with eyes of yellow
A talentless blob wrapped in fat
And Amos cried, "It's Bill the Shat!

The scourge of all in MOABland,
('Cept Little Hawk, Shat's biggest fan.)"
And once again Rapaire's gun sounded
And off the tracks that Shatner bounded.

And the MOAB train it blew right by
It spit BS in Shatner's eye.
The passengers began to cheer
The Big Twelve Grand was getting near!

But would they reach that hallowed ground
Without some jackass coming 'round
And as a joke, a goof, a whim
Taking that holy post from them?

We'll know in just a few more posts
And then we can sit back and coast
'Til thirteen-thousand comes around
Or Max decides to shut us down.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Apr 06 - 09:50 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 16 Apr 06 - 09:13 PM

Way up high in the Mudcat peaks, where the yellow GUESTS grow tall
Old Ken Khandu started thread about BS one fall.
Then they talked about horses and freds and Ralphs and maybe a dog or two
And they swore they'd post 'most everything that came within their view.
And any 'Catters that flapped their jaws and didn't bathe each day
Got to post BS and carry on in a most artistic way.

Now one fine day old Bee-Dubya-Ell he throwed his wedged clay down
"Well I'm sick of the smell of these burnin' pots, and I allows I'm a goin' to town!"
So him and Amos saddles up and hits a lope, for they weren't much for a ride
And them was the days when could oil up their insides.
Oh they starts her off at The Tweezer's Place at the head of Whiskey Row
And they winds up down at the Christmas Tavern some forty drinks below.
And then they sets up and turns around and drinks her the other way
And to tell you folks the goddamned truth, them boys got stewed that day!

Now, as they was a-ridin' back to camp a packin' a pretty good load
Well who should they meet but Mom herself a-striding down the road!
Says she, "You ornery musical skunks, you better hunt your holes!
For I've found what you've done and I have come to blister you head to soles!"
Says Ol' Bee-Dub, "Well, I'll be damned! Us boys is kinda tight,
But MOM! We was just havin' some fun, and you said it was alright!"

Well, Amos started sniveling, and his tears fell straight and true,
But Mom hoisted him up by his left ear, and she pulled 'til it turned blue!
Now Bee-Dubya-Ell was a pottery man, and wedged his clay right neat,
And he didn't think, but grabbed some mud and groveled at Mom's bare feet!

Well, she kicked him one, and stretched him out, and then grabbed his right-hand ear,
And she frog-marched them a mile or two, then kicked 'em in the rear!
"No kids of are gonna consort with GUESTS, and...Oh, my land!
You keep this up and Flamenco Ted will grab that big twelve grand!"

And both them boys (they was sober now) they pled and cajoled and prayed
And finally Mom relented, providin' they blocked a Teddy raid.
So both them boys are sittin' there, necked to their keyboards tight
And they don't neither drink nor eat, protectin' a MOABite's right!


--Amos Jessup-Pinktoes, Poems of the MOAB Country (Tombstone: Press of the Fighting Pimps, 1889).

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Apr 06 - 09:50 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 16 Apr 06 - 07:54 PM

We were thirty posts from the big Twelve Grand,
Hard along the MOAB Trail;
We were seasoned hands of the MOAB kind,
And none of us was frail
So when Mom said, "Boys,
It's time to move,
Make 'em up and move along!"
We were ready with the BS brand
And we started up right strong.

Now one er two had had the flu
An' wasn't feeling spry.
But every hand in MOAB land
Said they'd damn well give a try.
So they heated up their tired brains,
And they stretched another strand
'Cuz the Boss, Ole Maw, had laid out the law
We was bound to make twelve grand.

Ole BWL, well, it's hard to tell,
How he come to meet his fate
He was typin' hot, but he hits some pots,
And ev'ything had ter wait.
But the rest of, hell, we understood,
What pot can do to a man;
So we tightened our belts, and oiled our pelts,
Heading on toward the big Twelve Grand.

Now, big Rapaire, he was feelin' rare,
And was riding in top form.
He could write great stuff full of fancy fluff,
Far above the av'rage norm.
But the Idaho Legion sent out a call,
Said they needed every hand,
So he called in sick (though Mom knew his tricks)
Left one less fer the ole Twelve Grand.

There's a few of still, and we onward spill,
Letting BS bravely fly,
And we'll raise our toasts, and make our posts,
An' we'll reach Twelve Grand er die!
And we ain't too neat but we'll keep our feet
And will bravely make a stand
Heading into time, till we cross the line
And the MOAB makes Twelve Grand!

Pershing Montgolfier
Chansons and Work Songs from the Northwest"
1908, Messier and Messier, Paris

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Apr 06 - 12:24 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 30 Aug 05 - 03:18 PM

That's my last duckdog painted on the wall,
Looking as if he were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Amos' hands
Worked busily a day, and there he stands.
Will't please you sit and look at him?
Sir, 'twas not his master's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the duckdog's cheek: perhaps
Fra Amos chanced to say "His collar laps
Over Gluon's neck too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-drool that dies along his jowls": such stuff
Was courtesy, he thought, and cause enough               
For calling up that spot of joy. He had
A heart -- how shall I say? -- too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; he liked whate'er
He looked on, and his spit went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! He raced around the terrace -- all and each
Would draw from him alike the approving speech,         
Or bark, at least. He licked men, -- good! but licked
Somehow -- I know not how -- as if he ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old bone
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech -- (which I have not) -- to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark" -- and if he let
Himself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
His wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
--E'en then would be some stooping, and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, he smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed him; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all was retrieved together. There he stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence                              
Of mine for bones and Alpo will be disallowed;
Though his fair beagle's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Gluon again, though,
Eating a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cooked en croute for him!

--Hellas Quinton Baderwy-Mustonn, Poems Old And New (New York: Cooking House Press, 1875)

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: clairerise
Date: 14 Apr 06 - 06:07 AM

mudcat,
beacon amongst lads and lasses,
ready to raise your glasses,
man in the corner his guitar thrashes,
mudcat mudcat, friends and foe clashes.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 11:09 PM

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Down in de Bottom Where de BS Dwells
From: MMario - PM
Date: 06 May 03 - 02:16 PM

Down in the de bottom where the BS dwells
There was Cletus, and Paw, and tons of smell
Along came Tweed who lit him a torch
Boom bang POW! Blew up de porch!


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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Down in de Bottom Where de BS Dwells
From: WYSIWYG - PM
Date: 06 May 03 - 02:23 PM

Some folks never be seen down dere,
Rather have music, not mess to share.
Down in de bullshit de bes' don' go,
Rest of us spoutin' de little we know.

~Guilty as Charged

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 11:08 PM

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Down in de Bottom Where de BS Dwells
From: WYSIWYG - PM
Date: 06 May 03 - 02:11 PM

A theme song for Mudcat Gatherings. Priceless. Mo verses please, as in the tradition of spirituals.

Who dat man his face all red?
Must be de one de bullshit said.
Why he look so mad today?
Mus be de bullshit some Catter have say.

Who dat girl her spelling bad,
Must be too much of de bullshit had.
Type so fast she spill her min'
Down in de bullshit lookin' to fin'.

Who dat Guest I see again?
Nonnamus flamer, or nonnamus frien'.
Dat his post I see las' night?
Down in de bullshit, no one right.

Have some time, I like to kill,
Down to de bullshit, go I will.
Time she pass, I don' know,
Time get lost when you stuck below.

Got some opinions, 'times I rants,
Down in de bullshit you get yo chance.
Say it easy, say it mean,
Down in de bullshit no hands be clean.

Now dey say dey's folkies, and po-liti-cal,
Gots to argue, shoot de bull.
Us likes blues, we got de clue--
Down in de bullshit only music true.

~Susan

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 11:07 PM

Subject: Lyr Add: Down in de Bottom Where de BS Dwells
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 06 May 03 - 01:31 PM

Well, since nobody's done it yet....

In honor of the splitting of the forum into music and BS sections, we have endeavored to comemorate the event in song. Here it is.

Reggae beat - make up chords and melody to suit yerself

DOWN IN DE BOTTOM WHERE DE B.S. DWELL

We be hangin' out in de 'Cat Cafe
We not real smart - don't got much to say
De treads up top all look de same today
We go down to de bottom where de bullshit stay

Now we don' got no PHD's
An' we don' know much 'bout sea shanties
Or who in de hell wrote "Goober Peas"
Jus' take we down to de bullshit, please

Dun tol' you twice 'bout ma banjo string
An' how ma guitar got it's first ding
So many times, de same ole ting
To de bullshit - dat's where I'm going

I tink it grand folks knows so much
'Bout major seventh chords and such
An' de fiddle tunes of de French and Dutch
Jus' make me say "Aw! What de fuch!"

So if you find a awful smell
Come from someplace you cannot tell
Is jus' we crazies raisin' hell
Down in de bottom where de bullshit dwell

Bruce

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 11:07 PM

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Down in de Bottom Where de BS Dwells
From: Charley Noble - PM
Date: 02 Sep 04 - 02:53 PM

Here's to those who rise to the top,
Whose poetic endeavors do never flop;
There's a place for us all in that Kingdom to come,
Where we'll all be reviled as Mudcat pond scum!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 11 Apr 06 - 07:57 PM

22 Apr 04 - 07:28 PM (#1198648)
Subject: RE: BS: In every thread someone has to be last!
From: ranger1

In honor of this thread, a little poem I wrote on the back of a cocktail napkin after several pints of Bass and wee bit too much Jamison's.

Ahem:

I don't think this thread was meant to inspire
To have the last word is everone's desire
From Little Hawk's obsession with Bill Shatner
To anyone posting who might be covered in cat fur
El Ted landmarking without reading the posts
Pimples on gnat's testes (oh, gross!)
Ellenpoly's lovely vocabulary word persippity
(Not to be confused with persnickity)
As this thread continues
good sense dwindles
I know this poem is simply absurd
But I really, really want the last word!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Joe Offer
Date: 11 Apr 06 - 02:44 AM

Profound, Bruce, truly profound...

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 10 Apr 06 - 03:54 PM

Subject: RE: Looking for a hunky folk music collector
From: Kaleea - PM
Date: 08 Apr 06 - 04:20 PM

Mudcatcher, Mudcatcher, find me a hunk;
into your files, dig and spelunk;
Mudcatcher, Mudcatcher, search each Podunk;
and find me a folk--y hunk!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 08 Apr 06 - 09:24 AM

nosluap57 - PM
Date: 07 Apr 06 - 04:19 PM

This thread is about thread.
That's what I said.
It's the thread thread!

Taken by some
with much dread.
Other's may think
inside their head,
"What's the point
of a thread thread?"

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 06 Apr 06 - 11:53 AM

I think this qualifies, but one can only assume.

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rustic Rebel - PM
Date: 04 Feb 04 - 03:37 AM

Smoke billows from my cigarette. I scratch my head just thinking about it.
    I rub my nose in hopes of prose, while the dog knaws on a T-bone.
    Perfection, reflection, rejection , billows and pillows, you silly nilly.

      Chorus: I can't stop now, I'm on a roll to no-where      
               I can't stop now I'm on a roll to no-where....

Blades of grass up your ass-ume not,
    For you could be fooled by things that you could possibly understand
    You silly nilly
    You crazy goose, must be,
    just as loose as your sister,
    You must have missed her when she set out on that hyway for freedom.

Chorus:

Shouldn't slow down now,
    Must make the journey last until the lines run out.
    Talking all night till the rooster crows
    Crazy rooster crows all night anyway.
    It's between the soil and the sun, which way to run.
    It beckons me toward the south
    with a western movement
    of the eastern belief, toward the northern exposure.

Chorus:

Must be some kind of dream catcher
    Full of rye bread that bakes up brown
    With bits of rust and diamonds of lust.
    That's a pretty tough crust.
    See the waves of wind rushing up your legs,
    All around your stomach, between your eye lashes
    Then flashes....
    Color exuberant, color abundant, color emollient, color translucent.

Chorus: fade...

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 06 Apr 06 - 11:01 AM

From: John 'Giok' MacKenzie - PM
Date: 25 Jun 05 - 04:00 AM

There was a young man called El Ted
And while he was laid in his bed
His fingers did flicker,
But someone was quicker
And got posted the hundred instead

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 06 Apr 06 - 10:52 AM

Subject: RE: BS: In every thread someone has to be last!
From: Donuel - PM
Date: 09 Jun 05 - 12:36 AM

I'm last I'm last
I can't believe I'm last
I must be fast it can not last
but just for now
I know not how
I'm last
I'm last
I'm last

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 06 Apr 06 - 10:38 AM

from:JennyO

And I have to agree to disagree to agree to disagree with you - or something like that :-)

Meanwhile, here is a little haiku to keep us wondering:

Why are we all here?
Who will be last in this thread?
We may never know.

Jenny

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: GUEST,Ron Davies
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 10:22 PM

Curses, cookie gone again.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: GUEST
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 10:21 PM

The poetry is great stuff--I have nothing that can compare ( but suspect the hand--or fin-- of Babelfish in the last contribution). I particularly like Amos "When I Was A Boy". Gilbert would be proud. But it's all good.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 05:58 PM

LOL! You are a rogue, sir!


A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 04:52 PM

Jist a-browsing in MOAB shows the intellectual breadth and depth of those who have and do post there:

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 30 Apr 05 - 03:28 PM

Operor sententia prodeo , sententia ignavus levo
In rapio ex mens illorum
Quisnam audacter sto quod dedi , nequam amoveo
Quis thy penuriosus dementis mens nunquam speciosus.
Subsisto in vestri latrocinores mores
Verto circum quod perceptum iterum
In vestri pedes suus subsisto quod subsisto
Quod audaciter ingredior mores hominum.

Vel suspendo vestri caput capitis in silentium stilus ,
Verecundor exhibeo vestri deficio phasmatis
Sive adficio bonus ex suum eo
Mos non gero , neque nec votum audire is!

Cicerinio Omnibus dee' Algorithus
Pensimus Maximus de Causas Essens
Tran. Donald Wishwell, 1947

And (ahem!):

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Rapairus Ora Cloaca - PM
Date: 30 Apr 05 - 10:29 AM

Merdatauri virumque cano, Piscus caenosi qui primus ab oris
Internetus, fato profugus, Amos venit
litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto
vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram;
multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem,               
inferretque deos merda, genus unde ingenium
Nostrum patres, atque altae moenia Merdatauri.

Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso,
quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus
insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores               
impulerit. Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 03:36 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 12 Dec 03 - 08:36 PM

How high's the BS, mama?
Two feet high and risin'
How high's the BS, papa?
Two feet high and risin'

They're a carryin' on about Schroedinger's cat
And why that is this and this is that
Everyone's a talkin' right outta his hat,
Two feet high and risin'

How high's the BS, mama?
Three feet high and risin'
How high's the BS, papa?
Three feet high and risin'

It's comin' up from the ground an' down from the trees
It's comin' in ships across the seven seas
I'm pretty darn tall but it's up to my knees,
Three feet high and risin'

How high's the BS, mama?
Four feet high and risin'
How high's the BS, papa?
Four feet high and risin'

It's a comin' from the sky just like it was rain,
It's outta control like a runaway train,
This whole bunch is loony, ain't none of 'em sane
Four feet high and risin'

How high's the BS, mama?
Five feet high and risin'
How high's the BS, papa?
Five feet high and risin'

Better get some hip-waders or a tall pair of boots
Its a risin' quicker than you can say "shoot"
An' these people is crazy as a whole buncha coots,
Five feet high and risin'

Well, it's five feet high and risin'

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 02:12 PM

Amos - PM
Date: 05 Sep 04 - 12:43 PM

When I was a boy, I got ahead
By posting to a silly Mudcat Thread
I studied all the posts down below the line
And I practiced in a purely BS frame of mind!
I practiced writing BS so assiduously
That now I am a Member of the M-O-A-B!
(He practiced writing BS so assiduously
That now he is a Member of the M-O-A-B!!)

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 12:03 PM

Once upon a midnight dreary
As I searched, both weak and weary,
For lyrics to song that was labeled "forgotten lore"
Then did I hear a pecking, pecking, pecking, pecking,
Some peckerheads, I thought, were pecking at my chamber door.

But no, I had searched for lyrics,
Using all the computer searching tricks
I had mastered many, many years before,
And I had stumbled into a den of old and eldritch scat
And there I posted, as a GUEST, my first post at Cafe Mudcat.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:53 AM

Amos,

I thought thtere were quite a few there. I'll keep this thread alive until you ( or others) get a chance to bring some over.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:51 AM

If I had time I would scavenge all the lyrical poems on the MOAB thread about MOAB and the 'Cat, but I dinna right now.


A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: GUEST
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:41 AM

My daughter painted a mudat symbol on the side of a pint mug and we raffled it.

Oh, hang on, that's mudcat POTTERY...

:D

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: MMario
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:20 AM

MIne eyes have seen the glory that is MOAB on her thread
She is ever leaping upwards, saving when the 'cat is dead.
Her children are loquacious, though not "right in the head"
Their posts go marching on!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:13 AM

Roses are red
Violets are blue
GUESTS are anonymous
Clones are too

Subject: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 04 Apr 06 - 11:06 AM

OK, I know I am not alone in writing poetry about Mudcat. Any form is acceptable ( though lyric seemed appropriate for me, I think the only epic might be "The Mother of all BS threads "




Sonnet 04/01/05                        CMLXVIII

In every thread someone has to be last,
Though we may trade places in patterned dance.
Each one may lead, then follow: Thoughts are cast
On screen to with all others take their chance.
Come join the waltz of thousand partners: Share
Some moments with a varied crowd, or learn
Of osprey nest, or Bob. Each of us care
Enough that we to this mad dance return.
Each of us add to tune, and join in chords
That sweep across our posts: We fill the time
With what investment each of us affords.
It is just journey that gives cause to climb.
As we give, so shall each some gift receive,
And only for those gone shall we yet grieve.




Who else has something to share?