BS: Poetry about Mudcat

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 09:09 AM

Hah! I just posted a pome to the MOAB and it ain't here yet! Hah again!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 26 Apr 06 - 06:33 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 26 Apr 06 - 09:58 AM

I'm a good ole MOAB sojer,
An' that is whut I am
And fer yer pink salvation,
I do not give a damn
I've written things on MOAB
It feels like twenny years
But I flung me lots of fine BS
While hanging on 'round hyere.

I do not care fer fly-by-nights
Or hollow power grabs.
I like a joke whut is a joke,
Like ya find here on MOAB
AN' not them pearly wonders
The collared kind let fall,
Which they assert all serious-like,
Thuh biggest joke of all.

With all respect I do not care
Fer threats of bein' damned.
The divil lays a hand on me
Will find out who I am,
And as fer yer ascensions,
I don't care to pass yore test.
So I think I'll stay on the MOAB
Where life still has some zest.

I can't take to the streets no more,
Like we did in '68.
But I ain't about to be yer sheep,
No, sheep will have to wait.
And I will not pray to anyone
To forgive for what I am.
And I don't want yer salvation, sir,
And I do not give a damn.


Rasty Rusty Raritan, the Rambling Rip-roarer
"Songs Full of Rs"
Wallaby Dammed Publishing
Incontinence, New South Wales, 1939

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 26 Apr 06 - 01:25 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 26 Apr 06 - 09:58 AM

I'm a good ole MOAB sojer,
An' that is whut I am
And fer yer pink salvation,
I do not give a damn
I've written things on MOAB
It feels like twenny years
But I flung me lots of fine BS
While hanging on 'round hyere.

I do not care fer fly-by-nights
Or hollow power grabs.
I like a joke whut is a joke,
Like ya find here on MOAB
AN' not them pearly wonders
The collared kind let fall,
Which they assert all serious-like,
Thuh biggest joke of all.

With all respect I do not care
Fer threats of bein' damned.
The divil lays a hand on me
Will find out who I am,
And as fer yer ascensions,
I don't care to pass yore test.
So I think I'll stay on the MOAB
Where life still has some zest.

I can't take to the streets no more,
Like we did in '68.
But I ain't about to be yer sheep,
No, sheep will have to wait.
And I will not pray to anyone
To forgive for what I am.
And I don't want yer salvation, sir,
And I do not give a damn.


Rasty Rusty Raritan, the Rambling Rip-roarer
"Songs Full of Rs"
Wallaby Dammed Publishing
Incontinence, New South Wales, 1939

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 10:25 PM

"Context? We don't need no stinkin' context!"

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 08:54 PM

You really should read it in context.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 08:24 PM

Gosh! Rapaire, that's...just...beeeeYOOOtiful! (sniff).

Another generation of fricaseed and puree'd Childs Ballads raises its yewgly visage toward the ancient horizon.

A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 06:18 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 05:58 PM

As I rambled out on the posts of the MOAB,
As I rambled 'round in the MOAB one day,
I spied a curmedgeon a-shovelin' some BS
Shovelin' stuff that used to be hay.

Chorus:

"Oh, shovel it slowly and shovel it lowly,
Play the "Stable Call" you shuffle along,
It'll make your green valley and you flowers bloom gayily
For it's all fertilizer and you can't go wrong."

"I see by your outfit that you hang around MOAB"
These words he did say as I strode by forlorn,
"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
I've been shovelin' this stuff since the day I was born."

"My friends and relations, they live high in clover,
They know not where this old boy has gone,
I first came to Texas and hired on with a politician
Oh, I'm a curmudgeon and I know I've gone wrong."

"Go write a letter to my hoary-haired Mother,
And carry the same to Stilly so dear,
But not a word of this shall you mention
When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear."

"There is another dearer to me than my Mother,
Dearer to me than my cayuse so free,
There is another who's helped me to shovel,
And I mean, of course, the bold Rapaire."

"Go gather around you a crowd of politicians,
And tell them the story of this, my sad fate;
Tell one and the other before they go further
To stop shoveling their BS, tho' I fear it's too late."

"Oh muffle your drums, and play the pipes merrily
Play "Stable Call" as you go along
And fire your six-guns right into my coffin,
'Cuz given my background, you'll make sureI stay down."

"It was once in the Senate I used to go dashing
Once in the House I used to go gay,
First down to the dram-house and then to the girls' house
But I shoveled too much, and I'm dying today."

"Get six MOABites to carry my coffin,
Get six pretty maidens to carry my pall,
Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,
Roses to deaden the stench as it falls."

"Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold lager
To cool my parched lips," this shoveler said;
Before I had turned, the spirit had left him
And he'd gone to his Maker --- the shoveler was dead.

We beat the drum lowly and played the pipes gayily,
And cheered and huzzaed as we bore him along,
We all thought him a broke-dick mammaluca,,
And we thought it as well that now he was gone.

--DeLay Thomas, Shoveling Songs of Old Texas (Austin: Texas Department of State, 1853).

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 04:38 PM

Well, unless the Republicans have gotten their fingers into it, the order was dedicated to keeping the Lesser Vowels free for the use of all mankind. So no worries if you are using them somewhere.

A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 04:33 PM

None, save that perhaps a contact might be obtained for the use of those of us utilizing one or more of the Lesser Vowels.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 04:32 PM

And is not to be confused with The Order of Vowel Blockage, which was started by Sir Archibald St. Lawrence Grogan-Muirhead in 1902 and which campaigns to the return the letters "j" and "w" to their proper places in the ranks of the vowels.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 04:15 PM

The Order of the Lesser Vowels was a fraternal and charitable organization founded on the principle that even O, U, and Y were indispensable to the richness of our language. It was founded by an eccentric millionaire (ready-made aprons) named I. Payde Forsyth, who was taken by a great love of bad poetry in his declining years and could afford his own Poet Laureate, written off as a tax deduction by the Order.

Any other questions? :D

A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 02:31 PM

Lesser Vowels? I, O, U?

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 02:29 PM

The Icons of Mudcat are brave souls and bold,
And folks to whom fear is a stranger,
They don't flinch at trolls, or at snidety cold,
Nor at anger or spam, or at danger.

It is not for the words that these honorable birds
Continue to say things that matter!
They are not just yakkers, but thinkers, not slackers,
But hard working friends of Mudcatters.

They are strong, but serene -- not just talking machines!
Beware how you choose to malign them!
For the good that they seek's not the words that they speak!
'T is the noble ideas, sir, behind 'em.

B.S. Jelliott
Poet Laureate of the Lesser Vowels

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 01:41 PM

Subject: RE: BS: Who are the Mudcat Icons?
From: weelittledrummer - PM
Date: 25 Apr 06 - 06:49 AM

whats wrong witha bit of self serving martin. waddya want waitress service...?

I used to think an icon
was the thing I leaned my bike on
buts that cos I've low immunity
to a rhymming opportunity

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 03:49 PM

With apologies to TL


THE Mudcat Icons

We are the Mudcat Icons,
Ev'ryone of us cares.
We all hate poverty, war, and injustice,
Unlike the rest of you squares.

There are innocuous Catters,
But we regard them with scorn.
The folks who don't post have no social conscience
Why, they don't even care if Jimmy Crack Corn.

If you feel dissatisfaction,
Talk your frustrations away,
Some people may prefer action,
But give me a Mud Thread any old day.

The topic don't have to be clever,
And it don't matter if you make up all of your facts.
It sounds more PC if it ain't good English,
And its best when your victim reacts.

Remember the war against Franco?
That's the kind where each of us belong.
Though he may have won all the battles,
We never admit when we're wrong.

So join in the Mudcat Icons,
Our words are the weapons we pack
To the fight against poverty, war, and injustice.
Ready! Aim! Yak!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 01:57 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 11:28 AM

There is no frigate like lampoon      
To take us lands away,      
Nor any coursers like a page      
Of prancing parody.      

This travail may e'en the poet take
Without oppress of toil;      
How frugal is the copyright      
That bares taurian night soil!

Amanda Hortense Dickinsome, For Jessup, Where Ever I May Find Him (Cambridge, Mass.; Hawvawd Universal Press Syndicate, 1898).

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 01:55 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 10:32 AM

I had a friend, upon a time, and a mighty friend was he.
His tongue went loop-de-loop-de-loop, and his blade went "Snicker! Snee!".
His fingers typed words of delight
Dancing like light gone made,
But he disappeared quite late, one night,
And the story turned out bad.

It seems his door was knocked upon,
When most folks were in bed,
By two large gents in wrinkled suits
And large, and wrinkled, heads.
They said he had been singled out,
That someone Big was pissed,
Berated him as a useless lout,
And a goddamned plagiarist.

They listed tomes and poems and works
He'd borrowed for a while,
And touted up and frilled out
In inimitable style.
The said he'd never paid a dime
To those whose works he'd borrow,
And all of this was coming back,
To visit him with sorrow.

They told him he was going away,
Into the darkling deeps
Where bad men worry through the day,
And fret too much to sleep.
Where hard men break, and life is hard,
And you scramble for what you get,
And there's no such thing as e-mail,
OR a high-speed Internet.

My friend, he blanched, he paled, he flinched,
He knew that he'd done wrong,
He knew that even then his screen
Held a half-baked stolen song.
He realized then -- too late, too late --
He should have listened, way back when,
To his dear Mom; too late, too late,
He was heard from ne'er again.

And so I come to this Cafe,
To write, and to forget,
But something still recalls to me
This friend I think on yet.
I never learned if he had ever
re-crossed that chilling schism
That split him from the world he loved,
On account of plagiarism.

So good folks all, pray heed this call,
Think of this man, cast doon,
And make your good works all your own,
From your own hand, alone.
Steal not the works of other men,
Or lines of other poets;
For if you do, they'll come for you,
And everyone will know it.

Seamus Sanmerci O'Toole
Lilting the Right -- Poems from the Lexington Express
Dublin Upp Press, New York, 1937
All rights reserved except for Bearded Bruce



Thanks, Amos!   bb

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 11:56 AM

From Rustic Rebel, 4-23-06, MOAB:

I find it a treasure
To manic a syllogistical relevance,
In the structure of an atomic
Stink bomb,
To the waves of all gratuitous
Motion of rationality.

(line breaks added by Mud-amos).

A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:54 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 19 Jan 05 - 11:06 PM

Alas I maunder, wondering where
Am I to find the bold Rapaire?
Erudite, quick and sharp of blade
Who virtue never would betray
Nor wisdom shun, nor learning scorn
IN all the days since first was born
The thunderous intellect so rare
The wondrous, mundial might, Rapaire!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:53 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 21 Jan 05 - 09:07 AM

MOAB Dear, O Pray for Me
(Trad. hymn-type tune, very much like the Catholic hymn "Mother Dear, O Pray For Me" but not enough to violate copyright or to have secret operatives from Opus Dei knock the author off.)

MOAB dear, O pray for me!
Whilst far from Mudcat and thee
I wander in a fragile bark.
O'er life's tempestuous sea.
O dearest MOAB, from thy throne,
So bright in bliss above.
Protect they child and cheer my path
With they sweet smile of love.

MOAB dear, O pray for me!
Should pleasure's siren lay
E'er tempt thy child to wander far
From Virtue's path away.
When thorns beset life's devious way,
And darkling waters flow,
Then MOAB aid thy weeping child,
Thyself a mother show.

Chorus:

MOAB dear, remember me.
And never cease thy care,
Till in BS eternally,
Thy love and bliss I share.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 21 Jan 05 - 08:44 AM

Do not fret, no, do not worry,
Mother keeps you far from harm
You are broken, she will heal you
Cold, and she will keep you warm

In the world there is no other
Who can take the place of Mother
Let your weary problems fall
In the warmth of Mother;s hall.

Come ye. come ye, bull-shit lover,
To the arms of dearest Mother
Far beyond the dull world's ken
There, you need not fret again.

Hark, oh hark, past wind or snow,
Mother calls, and we must go.


Llewellyn Harttwig Chanticleer, 1878-1942

Songs of American Mothers
Brown, Putnam New York, August, 1928
Reprinted by permission

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:53 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Teresa - PM
Date: 22 Jan 05 - 12:08 AM

M is for the many ways it shits me,
O is for the one that makes me sane.
A is for the arcane things I learn here,
B is for the bull that is so plain ...

Ok, not my best effort, but I thought this might be an ade:quate place to practice. I am only looking up to my favorite BS-ers!

Teresa

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:52 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Stilly River Sage - PM
Date: 22 Jan 05 - 01:43 PM

Amos,
    Pardon me for pointing this out, but that spells "BULLSTHITW" not "BULLSHIT." You need to indent to make it work properly, and resist that capital T and W.




B is for the beauty I see in you
U is for the underwhelm I feel
L is for the laughter
L is for more laughter
S is for the sillyness
----that only you make real
H is for hilarity abounding
I is for infinity you fill
T is for the thousand posts resounding
----which manifests our silly Common Will.


SRS, editor

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 22 Jan 05 - 11:17 AM

B is for the beauty I see in you
U is for the underwhelm I feel
L is for the laughter
L is for more laughter
S is for the sillyness
That only you make real
H is for hilarity abounding
I is for infinity you fill
T is for the thousand posts resounding
Which manifests our silly Common Will.

Oh Bullshit we cannot walk by, ignoring!
Bullshit, we must answer to your call!!
Others claim pure reason's pull,
But we answer, simply, "Bull!"
And it's "Bullshit" say we one
And say we all!

MOAB is my Alma Mater
Percival Bysse Rowntree-Cole
excerpted from:
Understanding: A Wealth of Verse
Bayou Chapbooks Pub, Inc, Baton Rouge, 1949
Reprinted by permission

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:51 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 22 Jan 05 - 02:22 PM

"M" is for the "M" that's not in "braindead"
"O" is for the "O" not in "insane"
"A" is for the "A" that's not in "idjit"
"B" is for the "B" not in "airplane"

Put them all together they spell "MOAB"
The name that we do our dear mother call
'Cause if you used four other random letters
They might not spell a goddammed thing at all.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:47 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rustic Rebel - PM
Date: 27 Jan 05 - 12:08 AM

I dedicate this song to all those MOABITES out there that like to do the boogie down, get up, let your pants slip, give us all lip, hip-hoppin', groovin'and movin', righteous revolutions, findin' solutions, bullshitters.

            And it goes like this......


    Bullshitters Bible

I ain't never met a bullshitter I didn't like
'cuz we got to love each other.
I never done no whoop ass on my bullshitter friend
or else I gonna piss off the Mother.
I'd never steal a story from my bullshittin' brother.
Never call his shit in front of another.
Never regard him slightly, or try to smother.
According to my bullshitter's bible.

I'll believe what ever a bullshitter says
'cuz we're alike in the bullshitter craze.
I won't contradict in front of a child
or the child won't learn the bullshitter ways.
I'll always allow the time for their plays.
I'll smile and laugh when their lost in a daze.
I'll righteously shout out the bullshitter praise.
According to my bullshitter's bible.


With love and a smirk-Rustic

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:46 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 27 Jan 05 - 12:46 PM

Praise to the Our MOAB,
The queen of creation!
O my friends, praise her,
For she is your health and salvation!
Come, all who hear:
Now to her dear thread draw near,
Joining in glad exultation!

Praise to Our MOAB,
Who shall prosper our work and defend us;
Surely her goodness and BS
Shall daily attend us.
Ponder anew what
Our MOAB can do,
Who with her love wilt befriend us.

Praise to Our MOAB,
Let all that is in us adore her!
All that has life and breath
Come now with praises before Her!
Let the "AYE-men"
Sound from her people again,
Now as we spread it around her.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:46 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 27 Jan 05 - 09:37 PM

A fellow, Rapaire, in late age
Had the ethical stance of a phage.
He would plagiarize minds
By the page or the line
Thus shocking our S. River Sage.

The latter, a whiz at odd species
Grew expert at old equine faeces
She would harvest, by broom
From Rapaire's living room
One hairball, eleven horse-apples, and two rusted-out Mitsubishis.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:45 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 27 Jan 05 - 10:08 PM

From San Diego, one Amos
Thought that he might become well known
If he taught Siphonapterae
Programming in Visual Basic
He should have known there were already enough bugs in Microsoft.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 24 Apr 06 - 12:42 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,MMario - PM
Date: 03 Feb 05 - 11:17 AM


Post by Post, Post by Post
Post by Post upwards
All in the MOAB thread
yearned for six thousand
"Forward Idaho Brigade!
Ignore Spatulas!" he said
But most in the MOAB thread
missed post six thousand.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:44 PM

From the MOAB, reproduced more or less as it was posted....

Aunt Tillie
Date: 29 Sep 04 - 04:56 PM

Here, dears. I've done it up as a nice sampler for you.

 For what is real, and what is
aboriginal, cannot be fucked with.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:33 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 23 Sep 04 - 09:47 PM

Way out West, in Idaho
Way out West, where the taters grow
Way out West, where ketchup's king*
Way out West, they made a new thing.

Took some ketchup an' some mayoNASE
Mixed 'em together with the greatest of aize
Took it down to Macdonald's 'n' ordered some fries
Dipped the fries in the...stuff...'n' ate it.

Way out West, in Idaho
Way out West, where masochists grow
Way out West, where they made Fry Dip
Way out West, where their taste buds slip.

Yeah, they call it Fry Dip and it's a local thing
Sometimes classic, sometimes with zing,
They dip french fries, even eat it on bread --
Ain't you glad you ain't way out West, in Idaho?

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:28 PM

Peace, Rapaire -- it's a far better thing he does than political discussions!


A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 07:54 PM

FIVE! count 'em! 1-2-3-4-5 goddam minutes after I posted it!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 07:49 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 07:44 PM

There once was a MOAB maid
Who never was afraid
Of GUESTS and dinks and uninformed finks
And Flamenco Teds who tried to raid
She went to Mother's house
With her keyboard and her mouse,
And when the Idaho Legion came to town
She could always hold her own.

cho: Oh, you can't fool me, I'm sticking to the MOAB,
I'm sticking to the MOAB,I'm sticking to the MOAB
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the MOAB,
I'm sticking to the MOAB till the day I die.

This MOAB maid was wise
To the tricks of GUESTs and spies,
She couldn't be fooled by some damfool
She knew that Mom was cool...
She never had to dread
When she'd post to the MOAB thread
She'd post her post and make her boast,
And this is what she'd say:

cho: Oh, you can't fool me, I'm sticking to the MOAB,
I'm sticking to the MOAB,I'm sticking to the MOAB
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the MOAB,
I'm sticking to the MOAB till the day I die.

                      -- Anonymous, Songs, Poems, Doggerell, Broadsides, Boredsides, Backsides, Sharps and Flats of the MOAB (Murrain, Maine: Footrot Press, fl. 1834)

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 21 Apr 06 - 03:52 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rustic Rebel - PM
Date: 21 Apr 06 - 03:44 PM

Oh, whoa is MOAB what shall we all do?
Amos is leavin', makes me sing the blues.
His head wore out from all this poo
He's gettin' old, paid his dues.

:::Everyone sing with me here:::
Poor Old Amos
Brain ain't young no more!
Poor Old Amos
Adios, you philosophic bore!

He has filled our heads a time or five
With thoughts of gravity, mathmatics and jive.
Now he leaves us, with fair warning
I wish you well Old mind, hope you make it 'till morning!

:::Everyone sing with me here:::
Poor Old Amos
Brain ain't young no more!
Poor Old Amos
Adios, you philosophic bore!




(Smile)

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 21 Apr 06 - 03:39 PM

Darn you're quick, Bruce!! You using a script or somethin'?

A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 21 Apr 06 - 01:48 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 21 Apr 06 - 01:23 PM

I am a poor folkie, I will now confess,
I've spent my life singing, and dodging from stress
Escaping hard duties, and avoiding all mess
Until I became captured by a thread of B.S.

I first came to Mudcat some studies to do.
I wanted old lyrics, for good songs and true,
But my diligence crumbled, I confess unto you,
Attacked by bold Rapaire and the Evil Khandu.

Where once I sang truly, and wrote songs so sweet,
Now I crawl to my keyboard, when home from the street.
I clack and I click on the Clickies so neat,
And assaulted by bullshit, am swept off my feet.

I cannot think clearly, my mind's paralyzed
Interpreting wisdom BWL has contrived,
Rustic Rebel's wild poetry, which has crossed both my eyes,
And tracking down works that Rapaire plagiarized.

With footnotes from Stilly to tomes wide and deep
And figments from Little Hawk's brain, who could sleep?
And fearing new flurries from Shatner or Tweed
I am rattled and broken, in word and in deed.

I will go to the country, where the air is so still
Where there's never a spammer, or a Viagara pill,
Where the birds they swing sweetly on Looking Glass Hill,
And the spreading cart's all that the BS does fill.

So now, to the MOAB, good luck or bad cess,
I am bound for far places, my soul for to rest.
Where peace and plain thinking will ease my duress
And there's never a troll, or a whiff of B.S.

But I would not abandon my comrades so free,
Who have shared all my hours 'neath the wide MOAB tree,
I will take kinder measures to your interests to see,
And recruit Martin Gibson to stand in for me.

Willagong Meriwether Pantiwaiste IV,
Googlable Doggerel and other Poems
New Age Productions, San Rafael, 2002

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 20 Apr 06 - 06:39 PM

I hear you Amos- I thought I had them-So that's what preview is all about eh?!
Your most welcome Bruce-thanks for the thread.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 20 Apr 06 - 05:37 PM

I wish someone would put the line breaks back in!! :D


A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 20 Apr 06 - 04:50 PM

Thanks, RR!

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 20 Apr 06 - 04:47 PM

I found a Motherlode of poetry on a page in the MOAB
(Are you ready for major cut and paste?)


Rapaire   Date: 03 Nov 03 - 08:27 AM
'Twas on a dark and stormy night, the snow was falling fast, Two darling babes found Mother wandering through the blast. It was so piercing and so cold, the little ones did cry, "Oh, MOAB dear, you must keep alive, or you shall surely die.'' "Look out for me, my darling babes, tell me you will post to me, For Mother has abandoned been, and death to her is nigh!" They posted as good children should, but she knelt down in the snow: "Kind God of Heaven, help me now, or I shall surely go." Toll the village bells, let all Mudcatters know, That two darling boys could not prevent her perishing in the snow. Next morning, when the sun came out, the snow was melting fast, A mother and two darling babes were in one loving clasp. Mudcatters all heard the sad, sad news And it grieved their hearts to know, Not thirty drinks from the Tavern door they perished in the snow.         

Rapaire   Date: 20 Oct 03 - 06:57 PM
Yet at my back I always hear Late Khandu's winged BS hurrying near: And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast BS and sky. BS, thy Beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy dry and dusty Vault, shall sound My echoing Song: then Worms shall try That long preserv'd BS-ity: And your quaint humors turn to spit; And into ashes all my sh*t. This thread's a fine confusing mess, 'Cause it preserves the best BS.         



Amos Date: 20 Oct 03 - 04:33 PM
Lo, in the waning of the year, The growing of the charm which brought us here! For Autumn frosts the summer's smelling eyes And winter shows her seasoning to the wise; Yet, while the threnody of Sleep grow stronger, Our vital rhythm of BS grows stronger! How then tomorrow? Will we sleep and die? Call for the priest? For once and all, confess? Or will some trace perfume, sensed by the eye, Revive us with the Power of BS? (Sorry about the couplet spare Mehinks 'twas something in the air!) A         



Rapaire Date: 20 Oct 03 - 04:08 PM
MOAB! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if noses were made for seeing,* Then BS is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rivetter of the nose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same BS that brought me there brought you.      *"smelling" doesn't rhyme.         

Rapaire   Date: 21 Oct 03 - 09:00 AM
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate;   Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possest, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least;   Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on MOAB-and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;   For thy sweet BS remember'd, such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. -- Billy-Bob, th' pote.         



Amos Date: 20 Oct 03 - 11:30 PM   
Beyond the deepest sea and widest ford, Beyond the reach of even Overlord! Transcendent to the mortal's keenest eye, Broader than any mighty desert dry, Beyond the ken of ire, and of dread, Beyond the queering reach of any fred, There does transcend the realm of all our minds Where space new-born wells out from ancient Soul's distress Greater than any craft of merely human kind MOAB -- The cosmos' call of Surely Pure BS! Calliope Witherspoon Etheridge        

Norma Fertilesticks Date: 22 Oct 03 - 11:31 PM
Roses is red violets is blue I think you have bullshit All over your shoe. Roses is red and sometimes they pink Sometimes they yellow And man do your shoes stink. Violets are blue and roses are red And now I think I've added, enough BS to this thread.         

Rapaire Date: 02 Nov 03 - 10:32 PM
Why am I so faint and weary? See how weak my heated beer! All around to me seems but darkness, Tell me, comrades, is death near? Ah! how well I know your answer, To my fate I'll meekly bow, If you'll only tell me truly, Who will post to Mother now? Chorus: Soon with Khandu I'll be singing With bright laurels on my brow; I have for Dear MOAB fallen, Who will post to Mother now? Who will comfort her in sorrow? Who will dry the falling tear? Gently smooth the wrinkled forehead? Who will whisper words of cheer? Even now I think of MOAB Kneeling, praying for me! How Can I leave her in this anguish Who will post to Mother now? Chorus! (All together now!) Let my bagpipe be my pillow, And my songbook be the sky. Hasten, comrades to the Session I will like a folkie die. Soon with Khandu I'll be singing With our voices bright in tune; I have for Dear MOAB fallen, Who will post to mother now? Chorus        

Amos   Date: 02 Nov 03 - 09:29 PM
Wow, Rap, I feel like I am back in the 1890's!! "'T was a cold autumn evening And the Catters were leaving With visions of beer in their heads And the traffic declined In the Collective Mind And Joe Offer set to closing the threads. Then a Gentleman dapper Came back from the crapper Sat down at his keyboard and said: "Oh Catters, unkind, Turn away not your minds! Just think of your MOAB instead!:" Cho: There will always be a MOAB To put your worries to bed A place to confess All the piles of BS That have cluttered your poor spinning head ! There will always be a MOAB, To comfort when you are annoyed; So Folks, be not mean Leave this thread on the screeeeeen! And don't let it fall into the void! (Schmaltzy oom-pah theme music fades stage right amidst smell of lavender)         

Rapaire   Date: 03 Nov 03 - 08:58 AM   
Whatever makes you think I've had a Light Side? Jump down take a song Steal it from the digitrad Mess it up change it up Steal a song a day....         

C-Flat Date: 03 Nov 03 - 12:10 PM   
Dear Mother, please forgive me, it's some time since I last wrote, I've been busy, though I know that's no excuse. I'm delighted that the others have been keeping you afloat, whilst carefully avoiding "Folk" or "Blues". In keeping with tradition I shall make my own addition in a style that is both brief and lacking wit, Because, dear Mother, as you taught us, all your Mudcat sons and daughters, "If you've nothing new to say, just talk BULLSH*T!"         

MMario Date: 04 Oct 04 - 09:10 AM   
Once Upon a workday weary; brain a founder'd, eyes so bleary As on my desk phones rang both loud and shrill While I snored successfully napping, suyddenly there came a squelching As if someone loudly belching, belching at my info port. 'Tis some spam that comes a sqeullching, belching to my info port Only spam and nothing more. I remember (almost sober), it was early in October as each thread crossed upon my screen Eagerly I sought the MOAB, for the thoughts I didn't know-ab -normal thoughts from other brains, thoughts deserving of the drain discarded or tossed as spam they should remain; only MOAB ever cares.        

MOAB Date: 19 Sep 04 - 10:53 AM
I met a traveller from an ancient land Who said: Two vast and trunkless breasts of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and smile of old command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that rocked them, and the heart that bled, And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Mother of All Blessed Sons, Queen of Queens: Look upon my works, ye Catters, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 20 Apr 06 - 09:25 AM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 26 Aug 03 - 10:19 AM

ODE TO THE MOAB UPON ITS 1000TH POST

The time has come for us to gab
About this thing we call MOAB
The Mother of All BS Threads
The home of whackos, freaks and freds

We must speak of khandu the King
Whose genius (?) did inspire this thing
'Twas an idea whose time had come
Though some just laughed and called it dumb

It now has reached its thousandth post
Without a doubt that is the most
That any thread has ever had
That ain't too shabby - not too bad

It may well go for thousands more
As long as there are fools who are
Just bored out of their minds and need
A place to broadcast weirdness' seed

So here's to you, oh MOAB thread
A beacon in the night so dead
Home for the crap that, we must face,
Ain't fittin' fer no other place

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Amos
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 11:43 PM

ROFLMAO, BWL!


A

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 08:30 PM

first poem located on MOAB


06 May 03 - 02:46 AM (#922837)
Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell

Pore King Khandu has khum undone
"Not lots of threads! We'll have just one!"
He prokhlaims from his royal throne
"Yes! Just this one! This one alone!"

And all his subjects are amazed
And thinkh The King a little khrazed.
"Where does The King khum by his wit?
Where does he get such khrazy shit!"

"Does it khum from living in Tupelo,
Where okhra, khotten and khorn do grow?
Or does he just inspire his mind
With two-dollar-fifty-a-litre wine?"

"Perhaps he visits large khow herds
And pikhs fungi growin' on khow turds.
Or does he smokhe the Ganja bong
Half of the day and all night long?"

"We are not sure what it khan be
That makhes our King so damned skhrewy.
We only khnow with him our lord
We'll be khonfused... We won't be bored!"
   
Bruce

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 08:06 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos - PM
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 07:49 PM

Rapaire reveals the truth
For all the world to see,
'Tis plainly shown in sooth,
A saucy varlet he.
And should he sauce too much,
And cause a grave-y frown,
Lettuce be kind, and grate, and give
Only a dressing down.

Poems On Naughty Children
Rudyard Snickerson,
Garden City, Long Island, 1966

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: Rapparee
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 06:31 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell - PM
Date: 11 Jan 04 - 07:17 PM

THE SAD DEMISE OF HORTENSE, THE ROYAL DANCING TART

Hortense Durp, The Royal Dancing Tart,
Her dance was the one thing that set her apart.
Her dance was a passion. Her dance was an art.
Her dance would set singing the strings of your heart.

She got caught hobnobbing The Royal Wart.
Yes, just like Lewinsky, she wasn't too smart.
She no longer dances, but soon she will start
Associate training down at the Wal-Mart.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: TheBigPinkLad
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 06:20 PM

Threads I hate
Rise back to the top
Please, Mother,
Make it stop.

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: autolycus
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 06:14 PM

Mudcat
Is just that
Who needs
The real thing.


   Ivor

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: MMario
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 04:08 PM

thread posts increasing
B. S. Levels a-riseing
Mudcat Content shot

Subject: RE: BS: Poetry about Mudcat
From: beardedbruce
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 04:04 PM

Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapaire - PM
Date: 19 Apr 06 - 04:01 PM

There's no plaice like MOAB for the Hollandaise,
No matter how far away you roam,
When you long for the sunshine of a friendly glaze,
For the Hollandaise you can't beat Mom, Sweet Mom.

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: Amos - PM
Date: 18 Apr 06 - 09:36 AM

Well they busted up the dining room, to make that boiler burn,
They threw in passengers walking sticks, and Grandma's funeral urn,
They tore up every book on board, not just the ones wuz banned,
To make the boiler hotter still, and reach the ole Twelve Grand.

It was straining everybody's brain, and everybody's heart,
And the passengers cried out in fear, "Oh, why'd we ever start?"
They could not face the haunted looks, on the old an' tired hands,
Who staggered on into the night, all bound to make Twelve Grand.

They threw in everything they had! Ole poems from other folks!
Translations out of Babel Fish, and Donnie Osbourne jokes!
They threw in the Old Testament, and the Brotherhood of Man;
They swore they'd burn the train itself, if they could make Twelve Grand.

And when the morning sun came up, bright in the azure sky,
Where cows and chickens all lay flat,
From the wind of her passing by,
There's a smudge of smoke, out over the hill,
Yon toward the Promised Land.
And the MOAB crew take their rest at last,
For they got her past Twelve Grand.