For Communism - Cultural Comment ( A wee poem)
Feb 19 2005 01:33
A poem by Bertold Brecht :
In Praise of Communism
It's sensible
Anyone can understand it
It's easy
You're not an exploiter
So you can grasp it
It's a good thing for you
Find out more about it
The stupid call it stupid
The squalid call it squalid
It is against squalidity and stupidity
The exploiters call it crime
But we know
It is the end of crime
It is not madness but
The end of madness
It is not the riddle
But the solution
It is the simple thing
So hard to achieve
Feb 20 2005 01:40
#2
Superb
Feb 20 2005 13:04
#3
Oink oink
grisen hoppar
brum brum
ner från bron
Feb 20 2005 14:26
#4
Disturb the cat
Turn it's belly
Onto it's back
Feb 20 2005 14:27
#5
Beware the jabbawock, my son,
The jaws that bite
The claws that catch
Beware the jubejube bird
And shun the frumious bandersnatch
Feb 20 2005 15:37
#6
I used to love that poem when I was a kid/ The jabbawock one I mean.
Feb 20 2005 15:43
#7
I still know it off by heart after having to learn it for an assembly when I was 8 
Feb 20 2005 23:39
#8
Jabberwocky - an all time great. Ozymandias is another good one. Here's one for kids...
Last night there was murder at the chip shop
A wee cat stole a haddie bone
A wee dug tried to take it aff it
So she hit it wi' a tattie scone
Ah went to ma auntie sarah's
But ma auntie sarah wisnae there
So, ah keeked through a hole in the windae
And ah shouted AUNtIE SARAH ARE YE tHERE?
Ah saw her teeth on the table
Ah saw her wig on the bed
But ah nearly fell aff the windae
When ah saw her screwing aff her widden leg
(A wee Scottish one, usually sung)
Feb 21 2005 11:28
#9
Ozymandias! Oh yes
Feb 21 2005 12:59
#10
"Midnight Skaters". A slightly less light-hearted poem. By Edmund Blunden.
The hop-poles stand in cones,
The icy pond lurks under,
The pole-tops steeple to the thrones
Of stars, sound gulfs of wonder ;
But not the tallest there, ’tis said,
Could fathom to this pond’s black bed.
Then is not death at watch
Within those secret waters ?
What wants he but to catch
Earth’s heedless sons and daughters ?
With but a crystal parapet
Between, he has his engines set.
Then on, blood shouts, on, on,
Twirl, wheel and whip above him,
Dance on this ball-floor thin and wan,
Use him as though you love him ;
Court him, elude him, reel and pass,
And let him hate you through the glass.
Feb 21 2005 13:59
#11
I've been going out with a girl
Her name is Julie
But last night she said to me
While we were watching Telly
This is what she said...
She said "Listen John I love you,
But there's this bloke I fancy
I don't want to two time him
So it's the end for you and me"
"Who's this bloke?" I asked her
"Gordon" she replied
"Not that puff?" I asked dismayed
"Yes, but he's no puff!" she cried
"... He's more of a man than you'll ever be"
I was so upset that I cried
All the way to the chip shop
When I came out there was Gordon
Standing at a bus stop
And guess who was with him?
Yeah, Julie
And they were both laughing at me
Oh she is cruel and heartless
To jack me for Gordon
Just cos he's better looking than me
Just cos he's cool and trendy
But I know he's a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron
Well she's a bitch
And he's a puff
She is a slag
He thinks he's tough
Yeah yeah, it's not fair
Yeah yeah, it's not fair
I ought to smash his face in
But he's bigger than me isn't he?
I know I'll get my mate Barry to hit him
Barry'd flatten him
Yeah but Barry's a mate of Gordon's isn't he?
Oh well...
Yeah yeah, it's not fair
Yeah yeah, it's not fair
Feb 21 2005 15:25
#12
On a similarly high brow note who could forget this rousing anthem of feminism by the Dwarves?
Don't wanna be your teacher
Don't wanna be your preacher
Don't wanna be your keeper
I wanna be your pimp
Don't wanna be your lover
Don't wanna be your brother
Don't wanna be your mother
I wanna be your pimp
Oh I met you on the Greyhound bus
In a world of passion and lust
Met you on the greyhound
On the greyhound bus
Don't wanna be your pastor
I wanna be your master
I'm just a fucking bastard
I wanna be your pimp
Feb 21 2005 21:01
#13
Sounds like Mtv with a few f-words
Feb 22 2005 19:23
#14
Behold the duck
It does not cluck
A cluck it lacks
It quacks
It is especially fond
Of a puddle or pond
When it dines or sups
It bottoms ups
Feb 22 2005 19:28
#15
You wrote that didn't you?
Feb 25 2005 00:59
#16
I like that Blunden poem.
And Redyred - Gordon is a Moron? Good grief.
Any more, I love poetry.
I did like the Ghost one tho'
Ye wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurel'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In gude Braid Claith.
He that some ells o' this may fa,
An' slae-black hat on pow like snaw,
Bids bauld to bear the gree awa',
Wi' a' this graith,
Whan bienly clad wi' shell fu' braw
O' gude Braid Claith.
Waesuck for him wha has na fek o't!
For he's a gowk they're sure to geck at,
A chiel that ne'er will be respekit
While he draws breath,
Till his four quarters are bedeckit
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
On Sabbath-days the barber spark,
When he has done wi' scrapin wark,
Wi' siller broachie in his sark,
Gangs trigly, faith!
Or to the meadow, or the park,
In gude Braid Claith.
Weel might ye trow, to see them there,
That they to shave your haffits bare,
Or curl an' sleek a pickly hair,
Wou'd be right laith,
Whan pacing wi' a gawsy air
In gude Braid Claith.
If only mettl'd stirrah green
For favour frae a lady's ein,
He maunna care for being seen
Before he sheath
His body in a scabbard clean
O' gude Braid Claith.
For, gin he come wi' coat threadbare,
A feg for him she winna care,
But crook her bonny mou' fu' sair,
And scald him baith.
Wooers shou'd ay their travel spare
Without Braid Claith.
Braid Claith lends fock an unco heese,
Makes mony kail-worms butterflies,
Gies mony a doctor his degrees
For little skaith:
In short, you may be what you please
Wi' gude Braid Claith.
For thof ye had as wise a snout on
As Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton,
Your judgment fouk wou'd hae a doubt on,
I'll tak my aith,
Till they cou'd see ye wi' a suit on
O' gude Braid Claith.