Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River Date: 07 Jun 08 - 08:16 PM Yeah?????? Flip YOU, man! I will find out where you live, looser-boy, and I will come down there when I have become famous and rich and all and I will SHAME you pubicly, ya flippin' bolthole! I will say to the people around "See this idiot who calls himself Catspaw49? This guy coulda been a half normle dude with a little work and attenshun, but youse can all see now that THAT never flippin' happened, eh? You see what he is NOW, eh? He is the biggest flippin' looser with the tiniest flippin' dip in North flippin' America!" Ha! Ha! Ha! I will flippin' hewmilliate you right in fornt of yer flippin pears, man, and laff in yer face. Yer kind are put out in the trash at birth around where I live. You would not even BE here now if yer parents had of been people in Blind River. - Shane |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: catspaw49 Date: 07 Jun 08 - 08:06 PM Shane you miserable fockin' jadrool, you can't even find your ass with one hand so the idea of laying gloves on me is gawdamn hilarious. Like your buddy Hawk, you ain't nothin' but a broke-dick mamalucca whose mother left your best parts as a brown stain on the backseat of a beat-up '39 Chevy. And like Walksy-Versy-Turdy, your cranial rectal inversion is so deep and has been in place for so long you are in danger of going blind in the perennial dark. Both you and Walksy are jagovs and blowboys who could suck the valves out of 429 Ford. So take your sad-ass post and your midget dick and slide them both up Walksy's ass right beside his empty friggin' head. And don't go be fuckin' doin' dozens with a pro no more........ Spaw |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River Date: 07 Jun 08 - 07:33 PM Holy flip, man! You got a dirty mouth! I don't even talk that bad to people, eh? Who the flip do you flippin' think you are, you dipwad? If you stood up in fronta me and talked like that to ME I would flippin' lay the gloves on you, ya flippin' retread! - Shane |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: catspaw49 Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:46 PM No doofus.....Logfellow took giant shits in the woods......and later on your doorstep. Spaw |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:37 PM Maybe Longfellow liked walks through the woods...looking for Bigfoot, even, sorry. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Don Firth Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:12 PM Logfellow? I've heard of feet of clay, but not. . . . Don Firth |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 02:15 PM As far as I know, Don, Logfellow, the American poet, wasn't born with a clubfoot...Bigfoot, maybe?! |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Don Firth Date: 07 Jun 08 - 12:56 PM Do his feet show it? They are Longfellows. . . . Don Firth |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 11:44 AM ...you could be a poet who doesn't know it, Shane? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River Date: 07 Jun 08 - 11:17 AM Holy Flip! This must be what real flippin' poetry is all about, eh? Good thing I ain't no flippin' poet is alls I can say. - Shane |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: John MacKenzie Date: 07 Jun 08 - 11:14 AM The William McGonigle Chair of Poetry awaits your backside Walksaboutworse. Fortunately for us all, it's at the University of Ursa Minor. G |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 09:27 AM You forgot your title, Plagiarist...maybe "New Leaf"? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,plagiarist Date: 07 Jun 08 - 09:18 AM To paste your verses willy nilly Would, I think, be rather silly. It is with great care I move your lines And it can take a hundred times, Before at last, I find my movement Is, to your verse, a great improvement |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 08:57 AM To Plagiarist - please turn over a new leaf, respect the (C) on my work, and refrain from copy/pasting my verses willy nilly. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,plagiarist Date: 07 Jun 08 - 08:38 AM Leightons, and other great art; In - taking tea and T.V.; Upstream of camp - with paddle; The buildings of Italy. Sticks, chants, didgeridoo, When to palms leather has stuck; Handing in the last exam; A golf ball, for once, well struck; Forest spent-leaves under foot; By a fire - strongly lit. The vivid reds of sunrise - By a wave one's body hit; Viewing velodrome cycling; Before Sunday's roast dinner; Orange juice during half-time; One's team a comeback winner. A pub game, drink and meal; Awakenings – alarmless! Alcedo atthis at work; Winter's sun felt through closed glass; Thrifty plant-propagation; Just bills being brought to bear. Viewing set-over cricket; Tasting a host-nation's fare; Allegros when feeling low; Repeated at day's last light. Clog, flamenco, tamure, Plumes of fireworks at night; Out, by a cast, being told; Hula, and other dance types. The beats through us of a drum; Haunting harps, and all bagpipes; Highland views that command rest; The quiet when out of town. A stroll through a kept garden, An andante to wind down; The ball off thee whacks their net; From net-chord, levelling luck! Spoken French and chorused song; A warm bath to wash the muck. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Dave Hanson Date: 07 Jun 08 - 08:03 AM It's better than that crap WalkaboutsVerse writes eric |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,Shite English Poet Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:50 AM heres a fragment of a newly unearthed unknown epic heroic poem recently uncovered from an exavation in a peviously unexplored latrine in Glastobury bmy arse stings like a bumblebee and floats like butterfly on yonder soft inflated cushion But tis days of yore when strong men with swords doth pop their swollen bum veins and squeezeth blood in golden chalice Drink up brave warriors Drink up King says tomorrow we do fight and die or stop off bus and go to shops and visit chemist to ask strange alchemist for soothing pile cream I will not mount horse I dare not straddle saddle is evil curse betwixt my bum you will not fight for God nor King ? you will not challenge foreign foe ? No I am no coward I am true ENGLISH man Though my bum hole do hurteth so I will fight and die for thee Well if you are true blood English Knight then Doctors note be right and true. Brave English warrior sit on you steed with blow up cushion neath thy bum you are no shame to king or crown thy are an ENGLISHMAN It is without doubt a very shite poem with absolutely no artistic merit whatsoever.. But it is none the less an ENGLISH poem so up yours Mr Anywhere else apart from ENGLAND !!!! |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: GUEST,Jon Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:36 AM From walkaboutsverse.741.com And posted today on Mudcat, uk.music.folk, rec.music.folk and us.arts.poetry . Where else gets this spam? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 07 Jun 08 - 05:02 AM THE WEEKLY WALKABOUT, E.G. Poem 229 of 230: JOYS OF LIFE Leightons, and other great art; Plumes of fireworks at night; The vivid reds of sunrise - Repeated at day's last light. The beats through us of a drum; Winter's sun felt through closed glass; Handing in the last exam; Awakenings – alarmless! The ball off thee whacks their net; When to palms leather has stuck; Orange juice during half-time; A warm bath to wash the muck. Viewing set-over cricket; A golf ball, for once, well struck; Viewing velodrome cycling; From net-chord, levelling luck! Sticks, chants, didgeridoo, Haunting harps, and all bagpipes; Clog, flamenco, tamure, Hula, and other dance types. Out, by a cast, being told; In - taking tea and T.V.; Highland views that command rest; The buildings of Italy. Thrifty plant-propagation; By a wave one's body hit; Upstream of camp - with paddle; By a fire - strongly lit. Forest spent-leaves under foot; Tasting a host-nation's fare; Alcedo atthis at work; Just bills being brought to bear. Allegros when feeling low; An andante to wind down; Spoken French and chorused song; The quiet when out of town. A stroll through a kept garden, Before Sunday's roast dinner; A pub game, drink and meal; One's team a comeback winner. From walkaboutsverse.741.com |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 02 Jun 08 - 12:12 AM Methinks thou meanest McGonagle to cite, sirrah. A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: frogprince Date: 01 Jun 08 - 11:39 PM The spirit of McDonegal lives on... |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 01 Jun 08 - 09:45 PM SUre--just put your lips together and blow.... A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 08:58 PM Want to see me imitate Lauren Bacall instead? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 01 Jun 08 - 08:39 PM A passing fair instance of the sincerest form of flattery, Good 'Ack. Passing Fair, but still, clearly, an imitation. A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 08:28 PM While walking on the beach at Leeds I happed upon a man in tweeds Who sat upon a wooden bench Not too far from an earthen trench I saw that he was eating lunch He had some greens, a tidy bunch And those he ate with gusto there As an errant breeze blew through our hair I thought it would be somewhat rude Upon his luncheon to intrude And so I sat upon a rock And took to hand my carving block I whittled there in gladsome peace Carving out a rustic piece A rough but not bad replication Of that good citizen of our nation Eating his lunch in the noonday sun No need to worry, no need to run Oh! Who would not such moments yearn for? To sit in the sun and still not burn, for The sun it was warm but not yet torrid And a good thing that! Because overly hot sun is horrid! And so, good reader, the time soon came When that good fellow roused his rustic frame And tipping his hat to me did go Up the path to the road called "Pell Row" And as for me, my carving all done I too arose beneath the waning sun And made my way to the village inn There to partake in a glass of gin And as of that gin I did partake I felt in my heart a swelling ache Of heartfelt love for this my land! The one, the only, our Fair England! Sweeney Rutherford Tate My Song of Fair England Pilkington & Shaimless, Eds. Bugger on Tweed, Berkshire, 1925 |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Don Firth Date: 01 Jun 08 - 08:07 PM Sorry! Tendency to over-react. . . . Don Firth |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Don Firth Date: 01 Jun 08 - 08:04 PM NO! NO! PLEASE, NO!! Don Firth (hiding under bed) |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 06:25 PM I too am humbly grateful for those kind remarks of yours, Amos. Gad! I almost feel inspired to break into verse. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 01 Jun 08 - 06:17 PM Sir: I am humbly grateful for your kind remarks, and have forwarded your compliments to the Association of Poetic Mediocrity International, at their headquarters in Dumfriston, for relay to the concerned authors, or as appropriate, their heirs and assigns. The business of mediocrity in poetry is a thankless one, and these rare graces of thanks and complimentary remarks are like breaths of fresh air on a fetid over heated desert. I am sure the Association will support me in expressing our joint gratitude for your pungent declarations. A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:45 PM LOL!!!!! Ah, the joy of it all. You have an extraordinary treasure trove of poetic literature stored away in your archives, Amos. Why, I've never even heard of some of these books before. How that can be I do not know, because what they contain is sublime, sir, simply sublime. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:23 PM And I am left, to gaze upon The missing cow, or dog, or swan; This absent creature, staid and grand Whose features, formed by Nature's hand, No longer seem to be ther e now -- This missing swan -- or dog -- or cow! I've gazed until my eyes are watering For this image, faint and tottering, Once so vivid, real and near, But yet it will not re-appear! Absence compels me still to stare Seeking the beat that is not there; And so I spent almost all day! I wish that beast would go away. Claumb Zeemet O'Phoir Ancient Fruitless Irrelevance Reborn Thymes and Plaices, Eds. Paiseley, Renfrewshire, 1999 |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:20 PM More music to my ears, LH - good old-fashioned metre and rhyme. Lucky for some - it's 8.8.'08 that the games commence, by the way. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:04 PM Blather on and on unending Met with fate, no kind befriending Slipped on feet of woe becasting Blather, blather everlasting Will these shoon clad other feet? To ramble on, worn but replete? Or will these lac-ed shoon unravel There upon the dusty gravel Where the pilgrim knelt to pray As he paused along his way? And there upon a hill at dawn Stands a cow...or no! A swan! I know 'twas there, I saw its heft, But now it's not. It must have left. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 03:48 PM LOL!!! Oh dear. I am in deep doodoo now. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 01 Jun 08 - 03:44 PM ExcUSE me???? You're telling me that your contirbutions to the Mother of ALL BS, to which you are one of the major contirbutors, were NOT serious????? This may precipitate a major scandal, LH. Think very carefully about your public statements on this issue. A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 01 Jun 08 - 03:37 PM Have you heard any of my songs, gnu? Amos, I was speaking of serious writing...such as songs and poetry and essays and such. I was not speaking of my idle posts on this forum. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 01 Jun 08 - 07:17 AM 17 "Chants from Walkabouts" ended up being about 55 minutes worth on a CD; I've listened a lot to Songs of Praise (BBC), and borrowed "The New English Hymnal" and "Hymns Ancient and Modern" a few times, before buying the latter second-hand, which resulted in my own personal choice being around 17, so I went with 17 again (without that much thought, until now!); and, with E. trads, mainly from DigiTrad, folk clubs, and BBC folk-radio, it worked out the same. A 7-song CD...?...17 does have a 7 (that most English of numbers!) in it!...What day is the Beijing Olympics opening, and why, my pal Eric...? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Jack Blandiver Date: 01 Jun 08 - 06:36 AM But 17 folk songs, 17 hymns - and how does 7 relate to 17? A few examples of folk song & Xtian 7s might be nice; I can't think of any off hand... Even in Green Grow the Rushes Oh, wherein folk song & Xtianity meet most pleasingly, it's 7 for the 7 stars - the principle stars of The Plough, or Ursa Major. And who where the Seven Virgins in The Leaves of Life? This might need another thread actually; I'm sure down here in the boots of the Walkaboutsverse thread it might not get the attention it deserves, or be regarded as extraneous to the nature of this thread anyway, but fascinating non the less... |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Dave Hanson Date: 01 Jun 08 - 06:13 AM WalkaboutsVerse, what planet are you from ? Your pal, eric |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 01 Jun 08 - 05:16 AM "Is there any significance in the number 17?" (Sedayne)...that's how many from the 230 pieces in Walkabouts that I found a way to sing as "Chants from Walkabouts"; also, as you would know, Sedayne, "7" appears a lot in both E. trads and Christianity. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Jack Blandiver Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:22 AM 600! |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Jack Blandiver Date: 01 Jun 08 - 04:21 AM And you..? I've always though creativity as a curse rather than an option; and whatever my life's work is, I doubt it'll ever be finished until I'm dead & gone. Meanwhile - life's too short, and you're a long time dead, so life is there for the living of it & art for the pure sweet passion of being here in the first place, although there is an essential demarcation between my creative work & more traditional pursuits, such as storytelling & singing folk songs. In this latter respect I find it essential to have at least one new song on the go at any one time, and several more in the pipeline. To this end I keep a little book, an A6 Black 'n Red (though I've promised myself a Moleskine when it gets full, which will be another year or so) in which I keep a note of every song I sing in public, paid & unpaid, and every song I have a notion to learn. Many never get beyond this stage of course; and others I learn, sing once, and promptly forget about, like Child #1, which I made a lot of fuss about on account of Pentangle usurping it for The Cruel Sister and feeding it back into the folk clubs. Others come filtering though without my knowing, like Child #32, which you can hear on my myspace page in an unaccompanied rendering saving improvised episodes sung with a Hungarian Jew's Harp. This is King Henry, nabbed from the singing of my dear old oppo, Thor Ewing, a braw tale of comedy horror & burlesque which I can't ever remember having to learn. The Border Brogue, incidently, is my own sweet native tongue; as a native Northumbrian, of course, we resent being thought of as English, though ever quite Scots either! Otherwise - too many songs, not enough time! Is there any significance in the number 17? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 31 May 08 - 06:45 PM Ah, LH, I think a quick trace of your extensive posts will show that if the condition you describe is true, it must have happened in the last fifteen seconds. A |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: gnu Date: 31 May 08 - 06:43 PM That is a shame, LH. You should continue, really. Even if you don't produce or perform your own, your songs should grace our ears in some form. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 31 May 08 - 06:35 PM I do enjoy reading what is writ, however...if it is well writ and says something interesting. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Little Hawk Date: 31 May 08 - 05:24 PM I seldom write any longer either. I seem to have shifted from a declaratory mode to one of detached bemusement at what I see happening all around me. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: WalkaboutsVerse Date: 31 May 08 - 04:48 PM Yes, Sedayne, I no longer write verses - I just read through "Walkabouts: travels and conclusions in verse" once a year, and make minor changes/corrections (no-doubt occasionally going back to how it was in the first place!); and I try to go through my 17 Chants from Walkabouts once a week (above link). Then I have a repertoire of 17 E. trads, and 17 hymns, plus a few carols that I re-remember around Advent, each year. And you..? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Jack Blandiver Date: 31 May 08 - 04:20 PM From my life's work which, yes, in terms of versification, "finished" at the end of 2002 So you no longer write? |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: gnu Date: 31 May 08 - 02:45 PM My dreams are shattnered. |
Subject: RE: Walkaboutsverse From: Amos Date: 31 May 08 - 02:34 PM The thread grew long, the heart laid bare, The field no longer falllow. But sad to say, the desperate soil Was pale, and thin, and shallow. The flow that often waters dreams And the light of inspiration Would not appear among these schemes Of morbid recitation. AB! AB! CD! CD! He endlessly strove to write them Of shoes, and trees, and tired chairs And such, ad infinitum. Who walketh here, and walketh there, From Land's End to Dunkirk, And in each town, a deadening stare, Doth fuel his deadly work. Describing stones, or lizard's dreams, Or the value of sextuplets, Would surely bring us more reward, Than more of these damned couplets. Wilson Termagenent Junior Protests and Jellied Things Bunt, Punt, and Stunted, pubs. Loch Lomond, 1947 |
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