Walkaboutsverse

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