poems to make Dale cringe
- kkrell
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- Tell us something.: Mostly producer of the Wooden Flute Obsession 3-volume 6-CD 7-hour set of mostly player's choice of Irish tunes, played mostly solo, on mostly wooden flutes by approximately 120 different mostly highly-rated traditional flute players & are mostly...
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Do song lyrics count?
Nobody's Moggy Now
(Eric Bogle)
Somebody's moggy by the side of the road
Somebody's moggy who forgot his highway code
Someone's favourite feline who ran clean out of luck
When he ran onto the road and tried to argue with a truck
Yesterday he burled and played in his pussy paradise
Decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice
Now he's just six pounds of raw minced meat
That don't smell very nice
He's nobody's moggy now.
You who love your pussy, be sure to keep him in
Don't let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win
And upon a busy road, don't let him play or frolic
If you do, I'm warning you, it could be cat-astrophic
If he tries to play on the roadway I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing meouw and a sort of squelchy splat
And your pussy will be slightly dead and very very flat
He's nobody's moggy, just red and squashed and soggy,
He's nobody's moggy nooow, hoummmmm...
Nobody's Moggy Now
(Eric Bogle)
Somebody's moggy by the side of the road
Somebody's moggy who forgot his highway code
Someone's favourite feline who ran clean out of luck
When he ran onto the road and tried to argue with a truck
Yesterday he burled and played in his pussy paradise
Decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice
Now he's just six pounds of raw minced meat
That don't smell very nice
He's nobody's moggy now.
You who love your pussy, be sure to keep him in
Don't let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win
And upon a busy road, don't let him play or frolic
If you do, I'm warning you, it could be cat-astrophic
If he tries to play on the roadway I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing meouw and a sort of squelchy splat
And your pussy will be slightly dead and very very flat
He's nobody's moggy, just red and squashed and soggy,
He's nobody's moggy nooow, hoummmmm...
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- Location: Salt Lake City
Oh I grew up in an innocent age...the following poem was recited by one of my best friends in a high school English class. After all these years I could still remember the name. She was absolutely terrified she'd get thrown out of class because of the indecency of the poem (she didn't).
Piddlin' Pete
A farmer's dog came into town,
His Christian name was Pete.
A noble pedigree he had,
To see him was a treat.
And as he trotted down the street
'Twas beautiful to see
His work on every corner,
His work on every tree.
He watered every gateway, too,
And never missed a post,
For piddling was his specialty
And piddling was his boast.
The city curs looked on, amazed,
With deep and jealous rage
To see a simple country dog
The piddler of the age!
Then all the dogs from everywhere
Were summoned with a yell
To sniff the country stranger o'er
And judge him by the smell.
Some thought that he a king might be,
Beneath his tail, a rose.
So every dog drew near to him
And sniffed him by the nose.
They smelled him over one by one,
They smelled him two by two;
But noble Pete, in high disdain,
Stood still till they were through.
Then, just to show the whole shebang
He didn't give a damn
He trotted in a grocer's shop
And piddled on a ham.
He piddled in a mackerel keg.
He piddled on the floor,
And when the grocer kicked him out
He piddled through the door.
Behind him all the city dogs
Lined up with instinct true
To start a piddling carnival
And see the stranger through.
They showed him every piddling post
They had in all the town,
And started in, with many a wink,
To pee the stranger down.
They sent for champion piddlers
Who were always on the go
And who sometimes gave a piddling stunt
Or gave a piddling show.
They sprung these on him suddenly
When midway through the town.
Pete only smiled, and piddled off
The ablest, white or brown.
For he was with them, every trick,
With vigour and with vim.
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.
So he was wetting merrily
With hind leg kicking high
When most were hoisting legs in bluff
And piddling mighty dry.
On and on, Pete sought new grounds
By piles of scrap and rust
Till every city dog ran dry
And only piddled dust.
Still on and on went noble Pete
As wet as any rill
When all the champion city dogs
Had come to a standstill.
Then Pete did free-hand piddling
With fancy flirts and flips
Like the 'double dip' and the 'gimlet twist'
And all the latest hits.
And all the time the country dog
Did never wink or grin
But blithely piddled out of town
As he had piddled in.
The city dogs a convention held
To ask, "What did defeat us?"
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete had diabetes!
Piddlin' Pete
A farmer's dog came into town,
His Christian name was Pete.
A noble pedigree he had,
To see him was a treat.
And as he trotted down the street
'Twas beautiful to see
His work on every corner,
His work on every tree.
He watered every gateway, too,
And never missed a post,
For piddling was his specialty
And piddling was his boast.
The city curs looked on, amazed,
With deep and jealous rage
To see a simple country dog
The piddler of the age!
Then all the dogs from everywhere
Were summoned with a yell
To sniff the country stranger o'er
And judge him by the smell.
Some thought that he a king might be,
Beneath his tail, a rose.
So every dog drew near to him
And sniffed him by the nose.
They smelled him over one by one,
They smelled him two by two;
But noble Pete, in high disdain,
Stood still till they were through.
Then, just to show the whole shebang
He didn't give a damn
He trotted in a grocer's shop
And piddled on a ham.
He piddled in a mackerel keg.
He piddled on the floor,
And when the grocer kicked him out
He piddled through the door.
Behind him all the city dogs
Lined up with instinct true
To start a piddling carnival
And see the stranger through.
They showed him every piddling post
They had in all the town,
And started in, with many a wink,
To pee the stranger down.
They sent for champion piddlers
Who were always on the go
And who sometimes gave a piddling stunt
Or gave a piddling show.
They sprung these on him suddenly
When midway through the town.
Pete only smiled, and piddled off
The ablest, white or brown.
For he was with them, every trick,
With vigour and with vim.
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.
So he was wetting merrily
With hind leg kicking high
When most were hoisting legs in bluff
And piddling mighty dry.
On and on, Pete sought new grounds
By piles of scrap and rust
Till every city dog ran dry
And only piddled dust.
Still on and on went noble Pete
As wet as any rill
When all the champion city dogs
Had come to a standstill.
Then Pete did free-hand piddling
With fancy flirts and flips
Like the 'double dip' and the 'gimlet twist'
And all the latest hits.
And all the time the country dog
Did never wink or grin
But blithely piddled out of town
As he had piddled in.
The city dogs a convention held
To ask, "What did defeat us?"
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete had diabetes!
- peeplj
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- Location: forever in the old hills of Arkansas
- Contact:
Losing Weight: the Chemical Method
------------------------------------------
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The rats they come, and ratty run,
And on they come to invade our home,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The poison bomb we did light
With care that nothing it would ignite,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The instructions said be gone three days,
Which we ignored, and slept in haze,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
We never awoke at break of day
And the rats came back and ate us away
And so our bones will likely stay
in our
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
--James
------------------------------------------
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The rats they come, and ratty run,
And on they come to invade our home,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The poison bomb we did light
With care that nothing it would ignite,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The instructions said be gone three days,
Which we ignored, and slept in haze,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
We never awoke at break of day
And the rats came back and ate us away
And so our bones will likely stay
in our
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
--James
http://www.flutesite.com
-------
"Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending" --Carl Bard
-------
"Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending" --Carl Bard
- MandoMark
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- Location: The Arizona Territories
If poets wrote poems whose titles were anagrams of their names...
I Will Alarm Islamic Owls
by William Carlos Williams
I will be alarming
the Islamic owls
that are in
the barn
and which
you warned me
are very jittery
and susceptible to loud noises
Forgive me
they see so well in the dark
so feathery
and so dedicated to Allah
Likable Wilma
by William Blake
Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist's creator?
When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?
Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?
I Will Alarm Islamic Owls
by William Carlos Williams
I will be alarming
the Islamic owls
that are in
the barn
and which
you warned me
are very jittery
and susceptible to loud noises
Forgive me
they see so well in the dark
so feathery
and so dedicated to Allah
Likable Wilma
by William Blake
Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist's creator?
When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?
Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?
- Joseph E. Smith
- Posts: 13780
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The Tay Bridge Disaster
William Topaz McGonagall (1879)
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
William Topaz McGonagall (1879)
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Giles: "We few, we happy few."
Spike: "We band of buggered."
Spike: "We band of buggered."
- Nanohedron
- Moderatorer
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- Tell us something.: Been a fluter, citternist, and uilleann piper; committed now to the way of the harp.
Oh, yeah: also a mod here, not a spammer. A matter of opinion, perhaps. - Location: Lefse country
I have a little whistle and it makes me very happy
I like to tweedle on it 'though I think my tunes are crappy
But I don't mind so very much, I know that I'll get better
My cat will leave the closet and the neighbor's Irish Setter
Will cease to howling when I play it, birds will sing along
The hares will be enraptured and the creatures they will throng
And dance and leap about me as I play them somethin' bitchin'
Pied piper-like, and one by one, I'll lead them to my kitchen
Yum-yum rum-a-dum yum-yum.
I like to tweedle on it 'though I think my tunes are crappy
But I don't mind so very much, I know that I'll get better
My cat will leave the closet and the neighbor's Irish Setter
Will cease to howling when I play it, birds will sing along
The hares will be enraptured and the creatures they will throng
And dance and leap about me as I play them somethin' bitchin'
Pied piper-like, and one by one, I'll lead them to my kitchen
Yum-yum rum-a-dum yum-yum.
"If you take music out of this world, you will have nothing but a ball of fire." - Balochi musician
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