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Pilots For 9/11 Truth Forum _ Chill _ Poetry

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 12 2007, 12:32 PM

Hope you enjoy this...

Und nun, liebe kinder, gebt fein acht:
Die wahrheit wird zu sand gemacht!
...Den streut man jenen in die Augen
die niemals fragen- alles glauben...
Die volle wahrheit zu ertragen
steht jenen an die Fragen fragen-
Nur dem der sie zu stellen wagt:
Und Gott hilf dem der Fragen fragt!

(My children- come and see this land
were truth has long since turned to sand
which wind will blow into the eyes
of those who never question lies...
The truth to bear is for those men
who dare to question- and who then
make asking their most pressing task:
And God help those who dare to ask...)


All material marked "W. J. B" is my own; anyone wanting to make use of this- feel free to do so (except commercial use, that is); just don't remove the "W.J.B", please. -Devilsadvocate-

Posted by: Sanders Feb 12 2007, 02:51 PM

Inside jobber
911 blogger
they cover it up, tell us "shut up"!
What could be more wronger?

Posted by: Sinewy Feb 12 2007, 09:19 PM

Who is the Real Seeker?

I will not say, O Brother, what the spiritual concert is,
Until I know who is listening to it.

If he begins his flight from the tower of the spirit.
The Angels will not keep up with his soaring.

But if he be a man of error, vanity and play,
Satan will grow more powerful in his brain.

The Rose is torn apart by the morning breeze,
But not the log; for it can only be split by an ax.

The world feeds on music, drunkenness and rivalry.
But what does the blind man see in a mirror?

~Sa`di Shirazi~

Posted by: johndoeX Feb 12 2007, 09:37 PM

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Posted by: johndoeX Feb 12 2007, 09:48 PM


Flight is freedom in its purest form,
To dance with the clouds which follow a storm;

To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,
To feel the joy that swells within;

To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;

Then back to earth at the end of a day,
Released from the tensions which melted away.

Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;

Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again;

For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.

— Gary Claud Stokor

Posted by: johndoeX Feb 12 2007, 09:49 PM


I am the copilot. I sit on the right.
It's up to me to be quick and bright;
I never talk back for I have regrets,
But I have to remember what the Captain forgets.

I make out the Flight Plan and study the weather,
Pull up the gear, stand by to feather;
Make out the mail forms and do the reporting,
And fly the old crate while the Captain is courting.

I take the readings, adjust the power,
Put on the heaters when we're in a shower;
Tell him where we are on the darkest night,
And do all the bookwork without any light.

I call for my Captain and buy him cokes;
I always laugh at his corny jokes,
And once in awhile when his landings are rusty
I always come through with, "By gosh it's gusty!"

All in all I'm a general stooge,
As I sit on the right of the man I call "Scrooge";
I guess you think that is past understanding,
But maybe some day he will give me a landing.

— Keith Murray

Posted by: johndoeX Feb 12 2007, 09:53 PM


One night a man had a dream. He dreamed
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.

Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.

He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.

He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:

"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."

The LORD replied:

"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 12 2007, 09:55 PM

...Nice one... tongue.gif

...I made a whole pile of those things over the last couple of years, just for the fun of it. Never thought they would be of any use- but maybe this is the best place for them. Some are a bit overlong, some a bit more serious, others just funny (...and God knows- we can all do with a good laugh, or we end up making baskets together in no time...)

Rich man:
There once was a man who was tough to the bone-
who-by and large- wanted to be left alone...
So, he put up a sign saying "Keep off my grounds",
while in his front-yard, he kept two huge black hounds.
And everywhere he put up fences and walls
and installed an alarm-system inside his halls.
Then he bricked up the windows and blocked up the door
so that no one got in- which had happened before!

Now- if you had managed to enter the grounds,
past the fences and walls (not to mention the hounds),
and peeked through the hole he had left in the wall
for want of fresh air, you'd have seen his hall.
The view you'd have seen you'd have had to behold,
for the walls, floors and ceilings were all made of gold:
and this was the reason our man was alone-
why he even had ripped out the cord of the phone...

The walls were like mirrors. He needed no friend,
for he was surrounded wherever he went
by his own reflexion; which (to his own mind)
was really sufficient (unless he'd go blind).
And so he was quite happy, alone with himself-
'til the day he had wanted to hang up a shelf.
He just took what he needed- a hammer and nails
"...and the first-aid-box, just in case everything fails".

So he'd thought to himself. His reflection agreed,
and with hammer in hand, he got up on his feet.
He went up to the wall- something caught his attention;
a torrent of words (far to nasty to mention)
escaped from his mouth. "How did you get in here?
...Put your hands on your head now, and hold it right there!!!"
He lifted his arm to look threatening and tough
in the hope the intruder would not call his bluff...

But as he came closer, he clearly could see
that this fellow was armed. "Keep your distance from me!"
Now stricken with panic, he turned and let fly:
With his hammer he caught the intruder. Bullseye...
The hammer hit home full of power and might-
and so did reality. Through all the fright
(...and even before that!) our friend simply failed
to see that in truth he had always been jailed...

The fellow he saw in the mirror was real-
our friend was the image. Unable to deal
with the truth, he had managed to shatter himself-
while he had been trying to hang up a shelf!
Revival was futile- but few even tried;
and all attempts failed. Even fewer then cried:
No first-aid-kit, bandage or ambulance-men
could put Humpty-Dumpty together again...


Posted by: gideon524 Feb 12 2007, 09:56 PM

This is life
The one you get
So go and have a ball
Because the world doesn't move
To the beat of just one drum
What might be right for you
May not be right for some
You take the good
You take the bad
You take 'em both
And now you have
My opening statement
Sit, Ubu, sit
Good dog.

Peter Griffin, Family Guy

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 12 2007, 10:30 PM

(From papyrus 10508 B.M., "The instructions of Ankh-Sheshonq"):

"Mistreatment and misery, Oh great Lord of creation!
Imprisonment: Mistreatment!-
is what is done to me in return for *not* having killed a man!
This is what you despise, my great Lord of creation!
Is this *not* how the Lord of creation is angry with a land?
Oh- you people who shall find these potsherds-
hear from me how the Lord of creation is angry with a land!

When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, its rulers neglect the law.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he makes law cease in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he makes sanctity cease in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he makes justice cease in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he makes value scarce in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he does not allow one to be trusting in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he does not allow one to receive reward in it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he makes great its humble people and humbles its great people.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he sets the fools over the wise.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he orders its ruler to mistreat its people.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he appoints his scribe to rule it.
When the Lord of creation is angry with a land, he appoints its washer-man as chief of police..."

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 13 2007, 12:50 PM

"Oh- to know darkness...Oh- to know night:
Being called 'loathsome', ordering slaves to kill...
Whilst not possessing great advice, to regard language as profane knowledge...
Collecting ignorant people to divide them, whilst rewarding misery:

Knowing mankind in respect of my damning evidence, strike not-
because destruction (whilst foul) comes to flame up by means of he who this misery strangles...

Thee come to pray? To bow down- pouring libations?
Grasp thy wretchedness in all thy domain!
Know authority, concerning people:
In thy words be elevated;
for- oh destitute peasant, oh man-
I strike their evil- their hand!-;
Thou alas KNOW NOT EVIL...

(From an ancient Egyptian text)

Posted by: Carl Bank Feb 13 2007, 04:50 PM

Me - We.
Muhammed Ali

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 13 2007, 08:16 PM

...Keep 'em rolling in!!!
Good way to stay sane... thumbsup.gif

Posted by: Carl Bank Feb 13 2007, 08:36 PM

QUOTE (e-dog @ Feb 14 2007, 12:09 AM)
Me - Me
Sadek Gheidan  laugh.gif

Very nice poems guys.. Especially your Sanders tongue.gif


Sadek Gheidan?

Is this YOUR name?

Be careful what you post here, Big Brother is whatching you!
(for example he knows your Sadek_Gheidan100 AT hotmail - email adress
now and that you are only 16 years old!
But as far as he can see, you'll become 17 on the 1st of september 2007,
so your sign is Virgo...)

Anyway, I cannot hold back to post my
Poem for the Sheople here again (especially for Zap tongue.gif ):

The Awakening


was late this morning

when I not woke up

before I did not sleep

'best before end'

said I to me

to be another 'He'

is not too late

said Fate


©by Sascha 'Carl' Bank & Julia von Randow

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 13 2007, 08:54 PM

Now, now- Carl; don't shcare the poor lad into emigrating to shome plashe like Shierra Leony or Norsh Korea, or he'll never get a tshanshe to find out for himshelf...

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 15 2007, 01:26 PM


Truth is the kind of thing the soul feeds upon like the body feeds on food.
The following is what you could call a recipe for a decent meal:

"Harvest some grain of light by *perceiving* it-
don't worry about finding it; it grows all around you.
Don't eat raw:
It may leave you with anything from belly-aches to verbal diarrhoea.
Next, grind it to flour- preferably on a millstone made of *reality*-,
and mix with a suitable amount of *thought*.
Knead and pound thoroughly, and leave to settle.
Bake without fear, disgust, hate, desire- or anything else which will get the temperature up:
In short- bake *without* fire.
Chew properly when eating; small portions are to be prefer to large helpings:

Overeating may leave you with the same effect as eating raw.
Bon appetite!"

Posted by: Sinewy Feb 19 2007, 09:06 PM

Don’t permit sorrow to be your friend
Sadness and pain become your trend
Don’t let the book or the farm you tend
Rule your life before to earth you descend.

~Omar Khayyam~

Posted by: Sinewy Feb 19 2007, 09:14 PM

I Have Learned So Much




So much from God

That I can no longer

Call Myself A Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim,

a Buddhist, a Jew.

The Truth has shared so much of Itself

With me

That I can no longer call myself

A man, a woman, an angel,

Or even a pure


Love has

Befriended Hafiz so completely

It has turned to ash

And freed


Of every concept and image

my mind has ever known


Posted by: Sinewy Feb 19 2007, 09:25 PM

Looking for your own face

Your face is neither infinite nor ephemeral.
You can never see your own face,
only a reflection, not the face itself.

So you sigh in front of mirrors
and cloud the surface.

It's better to keep your breath cold.
Hold it, like a diver does in the ocean.
One slight movement, the mirror-image goes.

Don't be dead or asleep or awake.
Don't be anything.

What you most want,
what you travel around wishing to find,
lose yourself as lovers lose themselves,
and you'll be that.

- Attar

Posted by: e-dog Feb 19 2007, 09:47 PM

QUOTE (Carl Bank @ Feb 14 2007, 12:36 AM)
QUOTE (e-dog @ Feb 14 2007, 12:09 AM)
Me - Me
Sadek Gheidan  laugh.gif

Very nice poems guys.. Especially your Sanders tongue.gif


Sadek Gheidan?

Is this YOUR name?

Be careful what you post here, Big Brother is whatching you!
(for example he knows your Sadek_Gheidan100 AT hotmail - email adress
now and that you are only 16 years old!
But as far as he can see, you'll become 17 on the 1st of september 2007,
so your sign is Virgo...)

Anyway, I cannot hold back to post my
Poem for the Sheople here again (especially for Zap tongue.gif ):

The Awakening


was late this morning

when I not woke up

before I did not sleep

'best before end'

said I to me

to be another 'He'

is not too late

said Fate


©by Sascha 'Carl' Bank & Julia von Randow

Actually that is kind of my name... You think they care about a 16 yr old boy 12000 KM's away from theyr HQ?

If they do.. I am pretty much s****ed... :ph43r:


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 20 2007, 11:55 PM


There once was a man who wanted to grow
some plants in his garden. He started to sow
a varied assortment of flowery things,
and he planted some bushes- quite thorny, with stings.
He looked at his garden with pleasure and pride-
this pride ever growing: "I've got nothing to hide.
My garden is top-class! I can quite afford
to boast and show off; i've got green hands- my word!"

And down on his hands he would spent every day
to get rid of the daisies he saw with dismay;
for " this here garden, there will nothing grow
which does not belong here: Which *I* didn't sow!"
So thus he killed off all that bloomed or that moved,
whenever his choosy mind hadn't approved;
and slowly but surely the native things went,
quite so as if never to be they were meant.

He replaced them with things from around half the world,
with plants from Japan, whose leaves were all curled;
from India, Africa, China and Spain,
for native plants- he had found- were far too plain.
One day, he received a new plant from a friend:
A thing that not ever to be here was meant.
It'd grown in a place which was far and remote,
and were *no people lived*- for good reason, take note!

The thing, on delivery, had bitten the hand
of the postman- for it was a meat-eating plant.
It's diet included first insects and mice;
but once fully grown, it found larger things nice...
And in just a short period, it grew large and tall-
though all dogs and cats dissappeared by next fall;
and so did our gardener- during next spring,
they found near the greenhouse his watch and his ring.

The plant now was blooming- a wonderful sight-
in all sorts of colors. The climate was right,
and so was the soil. Seeds were blown away
by the wind, and fell down in some garden, to stay...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 23 2007, 07:23 PM


Words are like water.
Words are like air.
Words are like fire.
Words are like earth.

Words must flow like water.
Words must be light as air.
Words must burn like fire.
Words must be solid like earth.

Words must be cool as water.
Words must be breathed like air.
Words must be hot like fire.
Words must be felt like earth.

Words must be drunk like water.
Words must be swallowed like air.
Words must fill the veins like fire.
And earth to earth...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Feb 27 2007, 01:45 AM

For Painter:
"...Come the character to understand from its deposition-
that which builds thy misfortune!
Darkness constrains with its sickness,
while he who feels sorrow excess builds:
Health to loose- to possess that which destroys joy--
to lose much, because the remainder burns the heart!
By facing the self, time comes to consume the deposition.
This strength behold- because the (self-)image approaches in the capacity of the confidant: embracing- to have power over thy will!
Come not *this*- thy calamity- to embrace:
Building miserie's shrine-
because the (self-)image passes away without being more than the equivalent of death- leading the head with the great curse, whilst conceiving that which death builds upon defect;
suckling wretchedness within- a shrine to build for suckling thy evil;
them (i.e., people) to turn away from- in a helpless state to build death upon thy defect...
Oh- to (become) strong, understand that which the (self-)image comes to entreat to resemble thee!
To become it's superior lord, come towards the self-
strike the (self-)image to become prince:
To ascend, understand every decay to fetter!
...Build upon this matter to conceive wisdom:
Journey towards that which builds a refuge-
turn towards that which builds character-
like this to build thy form.
Come towards the self for a moment, to stop the river in it's limits:
It to move to escape from the dam- to depart the lake!
*The self's misery*- oh, *this* turn against, to smash prejeduce!
To know thy defect, build knowledge to understand man's decay;
to turn back destruction, oppose *miserie's form*.
Build upon this subject, to conceive wisdom:
Journey towards resurrection- the remote day of the innundation
which crushes man's abode:
His freedom from this behold-
To build health while protection to understand to build upon support;
keeping guard over joy to strike misery; Darkness to turn away from to strike evil.
Oh- know this, child:
Every joy to give, while like this to build character!
To attack death, see the cycle of time belonging to the (self-)image!
*This* be glad to know:
Death builds upon barren ground- *upon this* place heaven...
He who the (self-)image knows to smite flourishes by being contend-
because the self comes to share, to provide sanctuary!
Come, child, health to build- to create the self..."

(From an ancient Egyptian text)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Mar 20 2007, 10:49 PM

This is not a poem, but a story- one which should be known, one which *must* be known.
It concerns a man called Hassan al Sabbah.
Hassan lived around the time of Sultan Saladin and Richard the Lionheart, in what is now Iran. He was the leader of a sect, which was hated and despised throughout the Islamic world, and beyond it.
Above all, he was universally feared.
Hassan al Sabbah was an Imam- a religious teacher; as such, he received respect wherever he went. As was the custom, he would travel around; the hospitality of the communities he visited would always be a certainty.
One of the places he visited was a fortress in the mountains called 'Al Alamut'. As had always been the case before, Hassan was received with the reverence due to a scholar, and was allowed to stay for as long as he wanted as an honoured guest.
Weeks passed, months- and the Lord of Alamut became painfully aware that not all was as it was supposed to. His servants began whispering behind his back, and eventually no longer followed his commands.
Then, one day, he was confronted by Hassan- who told him in not so many words to pack his things and leave...If he valued his life.
Hassan gave him a piece of paper with his signature on it, telling him that the Governor of Khorasan would reimburse him with 5000 Dinar towards the material value of his fortress.
He thought this was a joke- why would the Governor of Khorasan even bother, on the words of a nobody like Hassan?
But to his surprise, the Governor paid without any qualms- and he kissed Hassan's signature into the bargain...
Not long after, the climate in Al Alamut changed drastically. Young men began to arrive- disciples of Hassan, who would undergo a highly intensive training:
They would study languages, the Q'uran, the Talmut, the Bible. They would learn about the customs of other countries, and be trained in the use of weapons.
Above all, they would learn unquestioning obediance to their master, Hassan.
The latter had one secret in particular which he knew to use to his advantage.
At some point during their training, the young disciples would have to spend some time in a cell, without food and with little water. They would be given something else instead: Hashish. Hassan was one of very few people at that time, and in that place, who knew what Hashish was and what it does.
Once the disciple had passed out, he would be transferred from his cell to the Castle-gardens. There were no windows anywhere in the buildings overlooking the gardens, and the only key was kept by a gatekeeper.
The gardens were in stark contrast to the surrounding forbidding landscape, with trees, flowers, and a fountain. Instead of water, there was wine coming out of it; and the awakening disciple would be treated to music and beautiful dancing-girls.
There would also be more Hashish, and eventually he would pass out again, only to awaken back in his cell.
He would be told that what he had experienced was a vision of heaven...
...And that master Hassan would know the way back to heaven.
All that was required was to follow the master's instructions without questioning.
Some say that it was this practise of consuming Hashish which gave them the name they became known by: Hashish-eaters, or 'Hassassin': Assassin.
Once their training was complete, fear descended unto the valleys surrounding Al Alamut: Imams murdered in their beds, village-headmen stabbed to death in the middle of the road.
Hassan's power began to grow. Some nobles began to see him as a threat, and they decided to do something about him.
Their leader awoke one morning and found a dagger stuck into the ground beside his bed in his tent. A piece of paper was wrapped around the hilt with a message from Hassan:"If it had been my will, this dagger would now be stuck in your chest".
Eventually they arrived at Alamut; as Hassan approached them, a herold told them to bow "...before him who holds the death of kings in his hands".
When they chose to be arrogant in his presence, Hassan gave a signal. The ramparts were filling with warriors. At another signal, one of them would jump off the ramparts into a ravine, to his death. Another signal, and another warrior drew his sword and cut his own throat.
Hassan pointed at his warriors, and said "I have got 12000 more. How many have you got?"
The nobles thought it wiser to sign an agreement with Hassan.
Then Sultan Saladin appeared on the scene, sweeping the crusaders before him.
To him, Hassan was in the way of unity within the Islamic world: Hassan had to go.
Sultan Saladin began to march on Alamut- until one day, he was attacked by his own bodyguards and had to defend himself, sword in hand. At the end, fifty of his trusted bodyguards lay dead- all of them Fidai (disciples of Hassan).
Not even Sultan Saladin could fight the crusaders on one side, and worry about Hassan's disciples of hell at the same time. Saladin gave in and left Hassan alone.
When the Frankish knights entered Damascus, they were attacked by a group of Assassin- their leader died in the attack. In response, they slaughtered the entire population of Damascus. But those people were Sunni- the Assassin were Shiites.
It did not matter to the crusaders.
Sinewy posted a poem by Omar Khayyam: Omar knew Hassan personally; they had shared the same teacher- Nizam Ul Mulq.
Nizam, who was described as a very wise and kind man, also died at the hands of a Fidai.
Assassin turned up in London, in Paris, in Cologne. Hassan's fame spread beyond the boundaries of the Islamic world. But by now, it was just thuggery- Hassan's successor was made of a different material, namely greed.
An Arabic historian by the name of Al Juvaini described the moment of Hassan's death. The old man, by then almost toothless, sat bolt-upright in bed, pointing at something which was not quite there, and proclaimed the secret of his success:
"...There is no such thing as truth...Everything is allowed!!!"
He then, in Juvaini's words, "...crawled back to the hell from whence he had emerged..."
This was the end of the 'Old man of the mountain', as he was known...
Some people seem to believe that he is back from the dead.
This is what Al Qaeda is supposed to be modelled on.
There is but one problem with that:
The Assassin were *NEVER* seen as any kind of rolemodel anywhere in the Islamic world, and were regarded as a heretical sect by both Sunni and Shiites...

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Mar 25 2007, 09:50 PM

For Tocarm:
"The green fields of France" (Irish traditional)

"Well- how do you do, young Willie McBride;
do you mind if i sit here, down by your gravesite-
and rest for a while 'neath the warm summer-sun;
I've been walking all day, and i'm nearly done...
I can see by your gravestone you were only nineteen,
when you joined the great falling in nineteen-sixteen;
so i hope you died well, and i hope you died clean-
or, young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?"
Did they beat the drums slowly,
did they play the fifes lowly-
did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the 'last post' in chorus-
did the pipes play 'the flowers o' the forest?

"And did you leave there a wife or a sweetheart behind:
In some faithful heart, is your memory enshrined?
And- though you died back in nineteen-sixteen,
in some faithful heart, are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
enclosed and forever behind a glassframe-
in an old photograph, torn, battered and stained,
and faded to yellow, in a brown leather-frame?"

"The sun now, it shines on the green fields of france,
and a mild summer's breeze makes the red poppies dance;
and look how the sun shines from under the clouds:
There's no gas, no barbed wire- there's no gun firing now...
But here in this graveyard, it's still 'no-mans-land'-
the countless white crosses stand mute in the sand:
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man-
to a whole generation that was butchered and damned..."

"But young Willie McBride- I can't help wonder: Why?
And did those who lie here know why they did die?
Did they really believe when they answered the call-
did they really believe that this war would end wars?
But the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain-
the killing and dying were all done in vain:
For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again-
and again, and again, and again, and again..."

Posted by: Guinan Mar 25 2007, 11:36 PM

Beautifully and poignantly sad DA...

Reminds me of 'Universal Soldier' by Donovan back in the 60's - 70's. That still gives me the shivers when I hear it.


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Mar 26 2007, 11:27 PM

QUOTE (Guinan @ Mar 25 2007, 10:36 PM)
Beautifully and poignantly sad DA...

Reminds me of 'Universal Soldier' by Donovan back in the 60's - 70's. That still gives me the shivers when I hear it.


It was made famous around here about 25 or so years ago, by a traditional group called "Furey's and Davey Arthur".
There was a German singer who made a version in German; when i did my "Ersatz-dienst" (i was a conscientious objector), i made an additional verse to it:

"Soldat- gingst du gläubig und gern in den Krieg,
für Vaterland, Ordensband, Kaiser und Sieg;
Für Familie und Ehre- für deine Nation,
und für deinen Gott- ja, für die Zivilisation?
Hast du ihnen all ihre Lügen geglaubt:
Das Gott mit euch ist*, euch das töten erlaubt?
Das der andere ein Mörder, und du ein Held bist-
und vergasst das der Krieg seine Kinder auffrisst...?"
Und auch dich haben sie schon genauso belogen,
so wie sie es mit uns heute immer noch tun...
Und du hast ihnen alles gegeben:
Deine Kraft, deine Jugend, dein Leben...

*("Gott mit uns"="God with us" was inscribed on the belt-buckles of German soldiers during WW I)

"Soldier, did you go to war believing and happily,
for the Fatherland, for medals, for the Kaiser and for victory;
For family and honour- for your nation,
and for your God- even for civilisation?
Did you believe all their lies:
That God is with you, that he allows you to kill?
That the other guy is a murderer, and that you are a hero-
and did you forget that war eats it's children...?"
And even to you, they were already lying,
as they are doing with us up to today...
And you gave them everything:
Your strength, your youth, your life...


I've seen one of those graveyards during a bicycle-tour through Belgium and night. I wasn't sure what it was, so i took this huge torch i carried on the bike, and shone it over...It went on for *miles and miles*.
French, British, a lot of cases, no one will ever know....
And the crosses are all the same.

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 27 2007, 03:19 PM

Here is a poem, or a couplet from Mawlana (Rumi) in transliterated farsi (pardon me for not having the original farsi scripts) accompanied with a translation.

"Dunya hama haych o kaari dunya hama haych"
"Aye haych ze bahre haych dar haych mapaych"

The world is nothing, and everything (all actions) in the world is nothing.
Caution yourself, and don't go to an abyss for nothing in nothing.

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 27 2007, 03:28 PM

And another one from Rumi:

Dar bagh shodam sabuh o gol michiam
Vaz didan-e baaghbaan hami tarsidam
Shirin sokhani ze baaghbaan be shenidam
Gol raa cheh mahall keh baagh raa baghshidam

I was in the garden in the morning and I was gathering roses.
And all the time I was afraid that the gardener would see me.
The gardener, however, only spoke these kind words:
‘A few roses are nothing as I give you the complete garden’

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Mar 27 2007, 03:53 PM

QUOTE (Sinewy @ Mar 27 2007, 02:19 PM)
Here is a poem, or a couplet from Mawlana (Rumi) in transliterated farsi (pardon me for not having the original farsi scripts) accompanied with a translation.

"Dunya hama haych o kaari dunya hama haych"
"Aye haych ze bahre haych dar haych mapaych"

The world is nothing, and everything (all actions) in the world is nothing.
Caution yourself, and don't go to an abyss for nothing in nothing.

...Talk about poignant- especially when connecting that with the bit about the soldier following lies above. And even more so considering that it was written long before the soldier was even thought of...
It reminds me a bit of the words of Giordano Bruno:
"Mundus Nihil Pulcherrimum"
"The world is a beautiful nothing..."

Something tells me that he knew who Mawlana was... rolleyes.gif
Thanks for that!

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 27 2007, 03:55 PM

^^anytime. tongue.gif

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 29 2007, 01:20 PM

Here is a famous Afghan/Pashtun's poetry:

Shereen Omr (Sweet Life)

Shereen omr che terezhi dregha dregha
De obo pasay baiezhai dregha dregha

Da yaran laka goloona de bahar dee
Da khazan pa ta razhezhee dregha dregha


Sweet life that passes by slowly slowly
Like water it flows slowly slowly

Friends are the flowers of spring
They follow the path of autumn slowly slowly

~Khushal Khan Khattak~

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 29 2007, 01:30 PM

Here is the great Persian poet Hafiz:

Har ruz dilam zîr-e bârî degarast
Dar dîdeye man ze hajr khârî degarast
Man jahd hamîkonam qazâ mîguyad
Bîrun ze kefâyat-e to kârî degarast

Every day my heart carries another burden;
Because of separation, in my eye there is another thorn.
I kept on striving, but fate kept on saying:
‘Beyond what is enough for you, there is another task’.

Posted by: Sinewy Mar 29 2007, 01:34 PM

From Jalaluddin Rumi:

Aanke bi baade konad jaan-e maraa mast kojaast
Vaanke birun konad az jaan o delam dast kojaast

Vaanke saugand khoram joz besar-e u nakhoram
Vaanke saugand-e man o taubeyaam eshkast kojaast

Vaanke jaanhaa besahr na'ra zanaand azu
Vaanke maaraa ghamash az jaai bebardasht kojaast

Jaan-e jaanast o gar jaai nadaarad che ‘ajab
Ien ke jaami talabad dar tan-e maa hast kojaast

Ghamzeye cheshm bahaane-st o zaan su havasist
Vaanke u dar pas-e ghamze-st delam khast kojaast

Parde’e roshan del bast o khiaalaat namud
Vaanke dar parde chonin parde’-e del bast kojaast

‘Aql taa mast nashod chun o cheraa past nashod
Vaanke u mast shod az chun o cheraa rast kojaast


The one who is able to make my soul intoxicated without wine, where is he?
And the one who is able to draw me outside of my soul and heart, where is he?

And the one by whom I swear, and I only swear on his head,
And the one who breaks my oath and my repentance, where is he?

And the one - early in the morning - who makes the souls cry out loud,
And the one whose grief has carried us away from our place, where is he?

He is the soul of souls - if he has no place, why would that be strange?
The one who searches for a cup and who is in our body, where is he?

The eyelids are only pretence and he has therefore capricious desires
And the one who from behind his eyelids wounds my heart, where is he?

The one who has closed the heart with a veil of light and gives visions to it,
And the one who has closed the veil of the heart with such a veil, where is he?

Reason is nothing compared to drunkenness; ‘why and when’ are ruined,
And the one who is intoxicated and is free from ‘why and when’, where is he?

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 2 2007, 06:37 PM


"As i am a young man, i can feel the pride
in a place were people have nothing to hide;
Were honesty reigns and were truth is just that-
instead of a rabbit pulled out of a hat...

And as i get older, i still feel that pride-
though people have started to twist and to hide
the truth, and the rest.- I don't want to know;
I just want to watch the 'nostalgia-show'...

But then i get old, and there's none of it left-
the truth long since has been the subject of theft.
And while i am thinking of good ol' days gone,
my children just stare. And they say: "Dad- well done...!"

W.J.B (aka. Devilsadvocate)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 6 2007, 12:12 AM

"Johnnie comes marching home" was originally an Irish folksong.
This is the original text:

"When going the road to sweet Athy- haroo, haroo;
when going the road to sweet Athy- haroo, haroo;
when going the road to sweet Athy,
with a stick in me hand and a drop in me eye,
i heard a doleful damsel cry:'Johnny, i hardly knew ye'."

With your guns and drums and drums and guns, haroo, haroo:
with your guns and drums and drums and guns, haroo, haroo;
with your guns and drums and drums and guns
the enemy nearly slew ye- Oh, Johnny dear, you look so queer-
Johnny, i hardly knew ye!
"I'm happy for to see ye home, haroo, haroo;
I'm happy for to see ye home, haroo, haroo;
I'm happy for to see ye home,
all from the island of Ceylon-
so low in the flesh, so high in the bone- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"Where are the eyes with which you smiled- haroo, haroo;
where are the eyes with which you smiled, haroo, haroo;
where are the eyes with which you smiled,
when my poor heart you first beguiled-
Oh, why did you run from me and the child- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"Where are the legs with which you run, haroo, haroo;
where are the legs with which you run, haroo, haroo;
where are the legs with which you run,
when first you went to carry a gun-
i'm afraid your dancing days are done- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"Where are the arms which held me tight, haroo, haroo;
where are the arms which held me tight, haroo, haroo;
where are the arms which held me tight,
before you went away to fight-
Oh, Johnny dear, you don't look right- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"They told me how you fought so well, haroo, haroo;
they told me how you fought so well, haroo, haroo;
just like a man, you fought so well-
'til you got blasted by a shell;
and with that your manhood went to hell- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"You haven't an arm, you haven't a leg- haroo, haroo;
you haven't an arm, you haven't a leg- haroo, haroo;
you haven't an arm, you haven't a leg,
you're an eye-less, arm-less, chicken-less egg-
you'll have to be stood in your bowl to beg- Johnny, i hardly knew ye!"

"They're rolling out the drums again, haroo, haroo;
they're rolling out the drums again, haroo, haroo;
they're rolling out the drums again,
to twist the minds of more young men-
and a million girls will cry again: 'Johnny, i hardly knew ye!'"

"Now- when i look at little John, haroo, haroo;
now when i look at little John, haroo, haroo;
now when i look at little John,
our flesh and blood- our little son:
If i ever catch him play with a gun- (spoken) Johnny, ye hardly know me...!"

-Irish traditional, except 5,6 and 9- W.J.B-

Posted by: Tarya Apr 6 2007, 06:17 AM

Ode to Liberty (Ύμνος εις την Ελευθερίαν)
By Dionysios Solomos

Σὲ γνωρίζω ἀπὸ τὴν κόψι
τοῦ σπαθιοῦ τὴν τρομερή,
σὲ γνωρίζω ἀπὸ τὴν ὄψι
ποὺ μὲ βία μετράει τὴ γῆ.

Ἀπ’ τὰ κόκκαλα βγαλμένη
τῶν Ἑλλήνων τὰ ἱερά,
καὶ σὰν πρῶτα ἀνδρειωμένη,
χαῖρε, ὦ χαῖρε, Ἐλευθεριά!

Translation by Rudyard Kipling

We knew thee of old,
O, divinely restored
By the lights of thine eyes,
And the light of thy Sword.

From the graves of our slain,
Shall thy valour prevail,
As we greet thee again,
Hail, Liberty! Hail!

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 6 2007, 11:52 AM

Óáò åõ÷áñéóôïýìå! (Thank you!) cheers.gif


There was a man who took the bus, in order to avoid the fuss
of being stuck in traffic-jams...but then he just had bags and prams
and people piled on top of him, while being at the drivers whim-
it felt to him a bit like rape, as he was squeezed (in sardine-shape!)
into a tin on wheels which went extremely slowly 'round the bend
and then inched past the traffic-lights. The road was filled with epic fights
for parking-spaces: One could see heroic deeds of bravery.
The air was filled with rising plumes (like gunsmoke...heavy exhaust-fumes),
while knights in armour wheeled about in Fords and Nissans. At this rout
the streets were lined with second-hand car-salesmen: for this merry band
of brothers saw a chance arise to make a killing. And these boys
were cheering on the combatants- while at the same time, at a glance
were seizing up the damage done: Just as in times now past and gone
the undertakers used to measure the size and shape at their own leisure
of those who did participate in gunfights- to precipitate
the manufacture and the sale of coffins. Our man went pale.
And as the bus did slowly rattle past all the carnage of the battle
(with vultures circling overhead) the man did watch, and thought he had
quite wisely chosen in the end- for bags and prams and people tend
to be the lesser evil when compared with what is outside. Then
he finally did manage to get off the bus. Well- yes, it's true:
He'd missed his stop two times already, and so he walked- slowly but steady
a dozen blocks back to his car. A parking-ticket from afar
he could make out: They clamped the wheels! He turned quite sharply on his heels-
A dozen blocks he slowly walked back to the station. He was stalked
by two used-car-salesmen, which he tried to ignore deliberately;
and with a minimum of fuss he bought a ticket on the bus
and home he went- where he did find that he had left his keys behind...


Posted by: Tarya Apr 6 2007, 03:29 PM

Παρακαλώ smile.gif

It's a beautiful poem isn't it? These are just 2 out of 158 verses.
I didn't post the whole thing for obvious reasons tongue.gif

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 6 2007, 03:52 PM

QUOTE (Tarya @ Apr 6 2007, 02:29 PM)
Ðáñáêáëþ smile.gif

It's a beautiful poem isn't it? These are just 2 out of 158 verses.
I didn't post the whole thing for obvious reasons tongue.gif

Yes- very beautiful; and very fitting. There are things well worth fighting for...even dying for. Sadly people all too often forget that firstly these things are worth *living* for... laugh.gif
(I take it the Greek phrase worked...all i get is funny letters from my end!)

Posted by: Tarya Apr 7 2007, 03:17 AM

(I take it the Greek phrase worked...all i get is funny letters from my end!)

Yeah it worked for me. You (and other "barbarians" biggrin.gif) have to switch the encoding to Greek in order to see Greek characters. wink.gif

So all poems you posted under WJB are yours Joe?
I really like this one:

"As i am a young man, i can feel the pride
in a place were people have nothing to hide;
Were honesty reigns and were truth is just that-
instead of a rabbit pulled out of a hat...

And as i get older, i still feel that pride-
though people have started to twist and to hide
the truth, and the rest.- I don't want to know;
I just want to watch the 'nostalgia-show'...

But then i get old, and there's none of it left-
the truth long since has been the subject of theft.
And while i am thinking of good ol' days gone,
my children just stare. And they say: "Dad- well done...!"


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 7 2007, 01:12 PM

QUOTE (Tarya @ Apr 7 2007, 02:17 AM)
(I take it the Greek phrase worked...all i get is funny letters from my end!)

Yeah it worked for me. You (and other "barbarians" biggrin.gif) have to switch the encoding to Greek in order to see Greek characters. wink.gif

So all poems you posted under WJB are yours Joe?

Yeah...Thanks for the flowers![blush]
"Great literature" they may not be- just a bit of fun; i thought this might be a good place for them. I hope it's OK to put them here- i don't want to give the impression that i'm trying to use this as a platform for myself.
I started writing them down because they started sticking in my head my head, and i couldn't get rid of them. 'Clutter', if you know what i mean...

(Whaddya mean- "Barbarian"?...Ama dhen stamatisis tha fas xylo! laugh.gif )

Posted by: Tarya Apr 8 2007, 06:19 AM

The word "Barbarian" (Varvaros) in ancient Greece didn't have the exact same meaning as today. It was mostly used for people (basically the rest of the world) that didn't speak Greek. For ancients Greeks this was uncivilised and a crime biggrin.gif
Thus the phrase "Pas mi Ellin varvaros" ("Any non-Hellene is a barbarian") and my bad joke tongue.gif

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 8 2007, 10:39 AM

QUOTE (Tarya @ Apr 8 2007, 05:19 AM)
The word "Barbarian" (Varvaros) in ancient Greece didn't have the exact same meaning as today. It was mostly used for people (basically the rest of the world) that didn't speak Greek. For ancients Greeks this was uncivilised and a crime biggrin.gif
Thus the phrase "Pas mi Ellin varvaros" ("Any non-Hellene is a barbarian") and my bad joke tongue.gif

...Hehe, reminds me of someone i know...

(...And- Oh, Stilianos? Stelio, my friend back in Cologne! Some day we must have a little chat about teaching uncle Devils Greek phrases...! halo.gif )

Posted by: Sinewy Jun 22 2007, 05:17 PM

Kill me & call it
Imprison me & call it
Exile my people en masse & call it
Rob my resources, Invade my land,
Alter my leadership & call it


Posted by: Cary Jun 22 2007, 06:28 PM

Pretty much says it all doesn't it Sinewy. I wonder what poetry will come out of the coming police state in the US. Thanks man.

Posted by: hag4s Jun 25 2007, 01:38 PM

Come you
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

-robert zimmerman

Posted by: Guinan Jun 25 2007, 01:45 PM

QUOTE (hag4s @ Jun 25 2007, 07:38 PM)
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

-robert zimmerman

This is chillingly TRUE. It should be printed on paper and mailed to each and every one of the b@$tards! angry.gif


Posted by: heliweli Jun 25 2007, 06:38 PM


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

Posted by: Guinan Jun 25 2007, 07:03 PM

QUOTE (heliweli @ Jun 26 2007, 12:38 AM)

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

Heli, what are you trying to do to a middleaged-passed it woman?? Revive the dreams of youth?? wink.gif


Posted by: heliweli Jun 26 2007, 04:23 AM

Guinan, am also a middle-aged woman. Not passed it I hope!! Just thought I'd throw it in there and see what happens. I love that poem.

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Jul 3 2007, 07:01 PM

Fits perfectly...
There are a few people around these days who are very busy trampling *everyone's* dreams into the dust.
The native Americans maintain that the only thing which is real are dreams-
Keep 'em alive, lads- keep 'em alive! spinstar.gif spinstar.gif spinstar.gif

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 28 2007, 06:05 PM


There was a farmer who did find
his income far too small,
and so he went to find himself
an expert-know-it-all:
A person with some intellect-
a leader in his field-
a guy who trades in miracles
to make his farmland yield.
Eventually he did find
the right man for the job:
A rationalisation-expert
who could make his crop
increase a thousandfold
by making cuts which must be made-
since otherwise his business
to nothingness would fade.
His workforce did include a foreman
and a dozen hands-
but, as his expert tells him,
that's just money in the sands.
"There is no job which can't be done
by robots and machines:
A modern farm will need no people,
lunchbreaks or latrines!"
"No problems", said your man-
and thus he threw his workers out,
went to the bank to get a loan,
and then he went about
to modernise his little farm
with all the little things
which- as his expert said- would make
it fit for little kings.
And in the end there are now just
three people left to pay-
for the computer does the work,
and does it night and day!
The foreman was sent back to school
to learn about that thing,
until with all the facts and figures
his poor ears did ring.
The other two had never, ever
worked a farm before:
While one of them came from an oilrig
fifteen miles off-shore,
the second had experience
with robots and the likes-
with engines, airplanes, turbochargers,
cars and motorbikes.
No 'farming' was done in this place:
the boss was now the chief
of a super-modern factory
which was 'producing' beef.
The two mechanics love the job:
"it's just like making cars!"
(The first is bolting on the horns,
the second does the arse).
The farmers income rises-
and he's happy as can be.
But then disaster strikes.
An expert from the EEC
(Or the 'EU', as it's now called)
decides there's something wrong
with animals who leave behind
a diesel-engine-prong.
They also got a funny walk-
(they've got hydraulic knees!)
The EU-expert thus concludes
"this is mad-cow-disease.
Your herd will have to be destroyed
first thing tommorrow morning!"
The farmer listens, quite distressed.
But there's no use for scorning.
And so, next day the man is back
to lead the operation-
quite unaware that he's about
to wreak upon the nation
the wrath of God: The thing that runs
the farm- it had been thrown
unto the scrapheap by the army.
(Not by our own!) *(see below)
Originally, it was meant
to navigate and steer
main-battletanks without a crew,
and was extremely dear.
(The army threw it out because
when it was meant to fight,
it flattened indiscriminately
everyone in sight...)
This thing is in control now
of two hundred tanks on legs:
The friesian heiffers are now really
friesian powderkegs.
As they begin to ogle up
the vet with infra-red,
they fix their sights and find the range-
and face him head to head.
And mankind does awaken to
a brave new world and ponders
about the wisdom of those foolish
scientific wonders-
as television shows the full
extend of the disaster,
while new computers are developed:
Cheaper, better, faster....

(* This was written for an Irish audience- and the Irish defense-forces won't have the money for highly sophisticated equipment like that!)

Posted by: Guinan Aug 28 2007, 08:24 PM

Having nightmares about your new PC DA???


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 29 2007, 07:43 PM

QUOTE (Guinan @ Aug 28 2007, 07:24 PM)
Having nightmares about your new PC DA???


Err...actually, it's more like a mixture between this:

and this:

...but- i'll get into it!

Posted by: hag4s Aug 30 2007, 04:07 AM

hip hop may be the poetry of my generation... this is a UK rapper by the name of braintax, top notch stuff, see my sig for another example.

the grip
  From the furthest point East to the wildest West
  Powers travelled round the planet on a bloody conquest
  European kings and priests with omnipotence
  Soldiers freakin out in foreign lands killing citizens
  And worse still spreading germs and plagues
  Now is so much a result of those bad old days
  From the town hall, to inner-city architecture
  From the money in Surrey to sweatshops up in Leicester
  Casino alcoholics in the Mid-West,
  junkies in Brazil feel the effects of mass death
  The urge to learn killed by a greed for piles of gold
  And churches justifying lives being sold
  Though the culprits change, control rarely shifts
  Only China comes close to even f*cking with this
  This world we call Earth and the system I dis
  A lifestyle full of work where we barely exist
  Look at Chile now - decimated native populations held down
  The rich, white powers holding on
  With British backing like Malaysia’s arms buying
  The same gang’s running the show and I’m trying
  to see through this and not become a lone hitman
  Out to kill that bitch Maggie Thatcher with a sick plan
  Sick bitch, supporting Pinochet in extradition
  On telly, she put my brain into a strange position
  So do you come to terms with devilish ways?
  Or do you try to escape, run away or start to pray?
  I try to think about the positive things
  One Love, no queen, one god, no king
  I wish I had the will to fight back
  Be at the World Trade Centre all dressed in black
  Me and an angry pack
  Instead I just rap and give back
  And see a rich life and think I still want to live that
  It’s so subtle how they muddle us
  Now life is so complex we let the smallest things trouble us
  And revolution? Forget that for the one fact
  We don’t have the arms to even try to compete
  It’s even easier to keep your head down and stay asleep
  And while you’re lying there counting see your face in them sheep
  And that’s deep but not as deep as losing a child,
  Seeing his teeth crushed by the rifle butt by your village hut
  Pure grief, thanks to far away beef
  Fried in messed-up religion half-baked in belief
  So I won’t stop rapping till you get my drift
  That we’re held in the Grip getting sorely dissed
  Capitalists are we, we pretend we’re not
  Buying better trainers each year, connecting dots
  We go from first job to next job, to mortgage to kids
  Make it harder to be happy 9-to-5in’ to live
  Me I’m striving to give but I’ll hustle like mad
  Just to get ahead in life
  I need money so bad, yeah I’m pissed now
  So do you get my gist now?
  If hell existed, half the world’s already in the lift down…..

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 30 2007, 02:37 PM

Lot of truth in that.
I've spend a good bit of time thinking in how far it's possible to exist separate from this system. It's possible only up to a point.
When the motor-car was invented, it ultimately was hailed as one of the best things since sliced pan.
At the same time, they *un-invented* the carriage-builder, the wheelwright, the harness-maker and the blacksmith.
When i was looking for an apprenticeship as a furniture-maker in the 1970's, i was told that there was no place to be gotten for money or good words: The companies making furniture were not training people.
25 years later, many of them had to close down- because they could no longer get qualified foremen...
It's a system which is ultimately self-destructive. But unless you can afford to spend 80000 Euro just on a piece of land, you can't even go and live there in a hut, growing your own vegetables...

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 30 2007, 09:51 PM

From Papyrus 3024, Berlin Museum-
"Discourse between a man and his soul":

"My soul- it spoke to me:

A man demanded his evening meal.
His wife replied: It is on its way.
He stalked out in rage.
And when, at last, he came home,
he was no longer himself.
His wife spoke to him wisely:
How, in his rage, he did not recognise
the barren hearts of those who presume..."

"I spoke to my soul in reply to what it had said:

Aye- loathsome is my name!
Aye- worse than the stench of carrion
under the burning skies of a summer's day!
Aye- loathsome is my name!
Aye- worse than the fish rejected from the catch,
rotting under the burning sky!
Aye- loathsome is my name!
Worse than the stench of a crocodile-
worse than sitting on the muddy shores
where the crocodile breeds!
Aye- loathsome is my name!
Aye- it is a closed circle around the captured renegade,
aware of his own end!

To whom shall i speak today?
Brothers are evil; friends, today, can not be loved...
To whom shall i speak today?
Rapacious are hearts; each man takes his neighbours goods...
To whom shall i speak today?
Gentleness is overthrown; violence rules all...
To whom shall i speak today?
When dishonor goes unremarked, honor is debased...
To whom shall i speak today?
He, whose villainy outrages the decent
is acclaimed by the mob for his evil deeds...
To whom shall i speak today?
When vice is greeted as a friend, the brother who remonstrates
becomes a foe...
To whom shall i speak today?
Forgotten is the past. Good deeds go unreturned...
To whom shall i speak today?
The brethren are wicked-
one goes to the barbarian to find righteousness...
To whom shall i speak today?
Disfigured are the faces:
Each man avoids facing his brothers...
To whom shall i speak today?
Rapacious are hearts-
there is not a heart for a man to put his trust in...
To whom shall i speak today?
Gone are the just-
the land is given over to iniquity...
To whom shall i speak today?
There are no trustworthy friends-
one is pushed into darkness before one can cry out...


...To die, to me, today
is health to the sick:
Like deliverance from slavery!
To die, to me, today
has the odor of myrrh-
like a shelter from a windy day!
To die, to me, today
is like the smell of the lotus-
like being on the shores of ecstasy!
To die, to me, today
is like the coming of the inundation-
like the coming home from a war!
To die, to me, today
is the unveiling of the sky-
like the transfiguration of the unknown!
Oh- to die, to me, today
is like longing to see home
after years held in bondage!

In truth, he who dwells within (ie., the soul)
will absolve this crime and this transgressor...(ie., suicide)
In truth, he who dwells within
will rise in the sacred barque of night
to consecrate the supreme offering to the temples...
In truth, he who dwells within
will not be denied when he holds Ra to his word!"

"My soul, it said to me:


This is meant as a reminder to myself.
BTW- it has nothing to do with suicidal tendencies... biggrin.gif

Posted by: lunk Sep 2 2007, 06:36 PM

I was sitting over there
on the stair,
thinking, "what should I care"?
I was quite unaware
that nearby was a

He was looking to eat.
I probably looked like a treat,
sitting there on the stair...
being watched by the BEAR!
Who s' apatite it was fair
and beady eyes were a-glare.
He arose from his lair
and so I quickly left there,
and went elsewhere...

To ponder on my narrow escape...

Glad to be alive and not---



Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 4 2007, 10:40 PM

...But are you aware
that a big ugly Bear
(that description's just fair!)
makes a great meal- i swear?

(He who smell like pig eat like wolf: DA!)

Posted by: lunk Sep 5 2007, 08:12 PM

I was sort of hungry when I thought I heard someone say,
"What, a pizza wrap!"
I thought about this and enthusiastically said,
"I want a pizza wrap, too!"
Then I clearly heard the same voice innocently ask,
"What's a pizza wrap?"
Followed by hysterical laughter...

I'm still a little hungry.

True story,
happened today.


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 5 2007, 08:28 PM

Incidently, your avatar looks a bit like a cross-section through a human stomach...
I had to look twice before recognising it for what it is.
Must be all that stuff about eating and food.
(Actually- i'm off now; all that has given me an appetite...tongue.gif)

Posted by: lunk Sep 5 2007, 09:20 PM

I tried to change it,
yet, only made it rotate
enjoy, while it's warped.

by lunk

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 5 2007, 09:26 PM


Posted by: lunk Sep 6 2007, 11:04 PM

I got my new avatar up.
It's a picture of a carpet
from South America.
It seems to have six birds
and a ufo on it. I have no
idea what it means.

thanks, lunk

Posted by: Sinewy Sep 12 2007, 11:04 PM

The Universe

What if someone said to an embryo in the womb,
“Outside of your world of black nothing
is a miraculously ordered universe;
a vast Earth covered with tasty food;
mountains, oceans and plains,
fragrant orchards and fields full of crops;
a luminous sky beyond your reach,
with a sun, moonbeams, and uncountable stars;
and there are winds from south, north and west,
and gardens replete with sweet flowers
like a banquet at a wedding feast.

The wonders of this world are beyond description.
What are you doing living in a dark prison,
Drinking blood through that narrow tube?”
But the womb- world is all an embryo knows
And it would not be particularly impressed
By such amazing tales, saying dismissively:
“You’re crazy. That is all a deluded fantasy.”

One day you will look back and laugh at yourself.
You’ll say, “ I can’t believe I was so asleep!
How did I ever forget the truth?
How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness
Are anything other than bad dreams.”

- Rumi

Posted by: Sinewy Sep 12 2007, 11:11 PM

I throw stones at my eyes
’cause for way too long they’ve been dry
Plus they see what they shouldn’t from oppressed babies to thighs
I throw stones at my tongue
’cause it should really keep its peace
I throw stones at my feet
’cause they stray and lead to defeat
A couple of big ones at my heart
’cause the thing is freezing cold
But my ego (soul) is still alive
and kicking unstoppable and on a roll
I throw bricks at the devil so I’ll be sure to hit him
But first at the man in the mirror
so I can chase out the venom


Posted by: Sinewy Sep 12 2007, 11:12 PM

Love makes bitter things sweet.
Love turns copper to gold.

With love dregs settle into clarity.
With love suffering ceases.

Love brings the dead back to life.
Love transforms the King into a slave.

Love is the consummation of Gnosis.
How could a fool sit on such a throne?

- Rumi

Posted by: Sinewy Sep 12 2007, 11:15 PM

Rumi Poem and Dance:

Posted by: Sinewy Sep 12 2007, 11:18 PM

Here is a poem by Rabi Balkhi of whom wrote with her blood prior to dying inside a prison on the wall (her brother Haris put her in prison for falling in fall with a slave called Baktash):

I am caught in love's wed so deceitful
None of my endeavors turned frauitful,
I knew not when I rode the high-blooded steed.
The harder I pulled it's reins the less it would heed.
Love is an ocean with such a vast space.
A true lover should be faithful till the end.
A face life's reprobated trend.
When you see things hideous, fancy them neat,
Eat poison but taste sugar sweet.

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 13 2007, 08:40 PM

Those are great- thanks, Sinewy!
It's so easy to forget that without the very principle of love,
we can easily turn into our own worst nightmare-
or else into the very thing we are trying to resist...

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 15 2007, 02:43 PM

Lassie Lie Near Me
Lang hae we parted been, lassie my dearie
Noo we are met again lassie lie near me
Near me, near me, lassie my dearie
Lang hast thou lain thy lane - lassie lie near me

Frae dread Culloden's field bloody and dreary
Mourning my country's fate lanely and weary
Weary, weary, lanely and weary
Become a sad banished wight far frae my dearie

Loud, loud the wind did roar, stormy and eerie
Far frae my native shore dangers stood near me
Near me, near me, dangers stood near me
Noo I've escaped them a', lassie lie near me

A' that I hae endured, lassie my dearie
Here in thine arms is cured, lassie lie near me
Near me, near me, lassie lie near me
Lang hast thou lain thy lane, lassie lie near me

Nice version of that song found here:

(Bonus-track at the bottom of the samples)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 18 2007, 02:54 PM

I have added this story in order to provide the means to step back, and look at the dark side of "the American Dream" for a moment.
The idea for posting this came from this thread:

We all must learn to love ourselves- as individuals and as nations.
Otherwise we will never be able to love anyone outside ourselves-
and the ultimate consequence of that could be dire.
"Loving ourselves" is not the same as "Being in love with ourselves"-
a subtle distinction, but we all fall for that on occasion:
That reflection in the mirror is there so that we can check ourselves-
not so we can think "...rrr- Handsome devil..."
It's a question of stepping back and accepting who we are- lumps and bumps and all. Forget plastic surgery- you can deal with the lumps and bumps on your skin, but all that means is that they are still there- on the inside...
And nations tend to amass a fair amount of lumps and bumps, just like any individual. They get born, they grow up, they grow old- they even die.
America has been an victim of precosity...

From versions of this story told by Dick Fool Bull at Rosebud Indian reservation, South Dakota, 1967 and 1968:

The Ghost-Dance at Wounded Knee

"This is a true story. I wish it weren't.
When it happened I was a small boy, only about six or seven. To tell the truth, I'm not sure how old I am...I was born before the census takes came in, so there's no record.
When i was a young boy, I liked to stick around my old uncle, because he always had stories to tell.
Once he said "There's something new coming, travelling on the wind...
A new dance. A new prayer..."
He was talking about Wanagi-Wachipi, the ghost-dance.
"Short Bull and Kicking Bear travelled far," my uncle told me. "They went to see a holy man from another tribe far in the south, the Piute-tribe. They had heard that this holy man could bring dead people back to life again, and that he could bring the buffalo back."
My uncle said it was very important, and that I must listen closely.
Old Unc said:
This holy man let Short Bull and Kicking Bear look into his hat. There they saw their dead relatives walking about. The holy man told them, I'll give you something to eat that will kill you, but don't be afraid. I'll bring you back to life again."
They believed him. They ate something and died, then found themselves walking in a new, beautiful land. They spoke with their parents and grandparents, and with friends that the white soldiers had killed.
Their friends were well, and this new world was like the old one, the one the white man had destroyed. It was full of game, full of antelope and buffalo. The grass was green and high, and though long dead people from other tribes also lived in this new land, there was peace. All the Indian nations formed one tribe and could understand each other.
Kicking Bear and Short Bull walked around and saw everything, and they were happy.
Then the holy man from the Piutes brought them back to life again.
"You have seen it", he told them, "the new Land I'm bringing. The earth will roll up like a blanket with all that bad white man's stuff, the fences and railroads and mines and telegraphpoles; and underneath will be our old-young Indian earth with all our relatives come to life again."
Then the holy man taught them a new dance, a new song, a new prayer.
He gave them sacred red paint. He evn made the sun die: It was all covered with black and dissappeared. Then he brought the sun back to life again.
Short Bull and Kicking Bear came back bringing us the good news. Now everywhere we are dancing this new dance to roll up the earth, to bring back the dead. A new world is coming...

This Old Unc told me.
Then I saw it myself: the dancing. People were holding each other by the hand, singing, whirling around, looking at the sun. They had a little spruce-tree in the middle of the dance circle. They wore special shirts painted with the sun, the moon, the stars and magpies. They whirled around; they didn't stop dancing.
Some of the dancers fell down in a swoon, as if they were dead. The medicine men fanned sweet-smelling cedar smoke and they came back to life again.
They told the people, "We were dead. We went to the moon and the morning star. We found our dead fathers and mothers there, and talked to them."
When they woke up, these people held in their hands star rocks, moon rocks, different kinds of rocks from those we have here on earth. They clutched strange meats from star and moon animals.
The dance leader told them not to be afraid of the white men who forbade them to dance the Wanagi-Wachipi. They told them that the ghost-shirts they wore would not let any white man's bullets through.
So they danced; I saw it.
The earth never rolled up. The buffalo never came back, and the dead relatives never came to life again.
It was the soldiers who came; why- nobody knew.
The dance was a peaceful one, harming nobody, but I guess the white people thought it was a war-dance.
Many people were afraid of what the soldiers would do. We had no guns anymore, and hardly any horses left. We depended on the white man for everything, yet the whites were afraid of us, just as we were afraid of them.
Then the news spread that Tatanka Iyotake (Sitting Bull) had been killed at Standing Rock for being with the ghost-dancers, and the people were really scared.
Some of the old people said: "Let's go to Pine Ridge and give ourselves up, because the soldiers won't shoot us if we do. Old Red Cloud will protect us. Also, they're handing out rations up there."
So my father and mother and Old Unc got the buggy and their old horse and drove with us children toward Pine Ridge. It was cold and snowing. It wasn't a happy ride; all the grown-ups were worried. Then the soldiers stopped us. They had big fur coats on, bear coats. They were warm and we were freezing, and I remember wishing I had such a coat.
They told us to go no further, to stop and make a camp right there. They told the same to everybody who came, by foot, or horse, or buggy.
So there was a camp, but little to eat and little firewood, and the soldiers made a ring around us and let nobody leave.
Then suddenly there was a strange noise, maybe four, five miles away, like the tearing of a blanket- the biggest blanket in the world.
As soon as he heard it, Old Unc burst out in tears. My old Ma started to keen as for the dead, and people were running around, weeping and acting crazy.
I asked Old Unc: "Why is everyone crying?"
He said, "They are killing them- they are killing our people over there!"
My father said, "That noise- that's not the ordinary soldier-guns. These are the big wagon-guns which tear people to bits- into little pieces!"
I could not understand it, but everybody was weeping, and I wept too.
Then a day later- or was it two...?
No, I think it was the next day, we passed there.
Old Unc said: "You children might as well see it; look and remember..."

There were dead people all over, mostly women and children, in a ravine near a stream called Chankpe-opi Wakpala, 'Wounded Knee Creek'.
The people were frozen, lying there in all sorts of postures their motion frozen too.
The soldiers, who were stacking up bodies like firewood, did not like us passing by.
They told us to leave there, double-quick or else...
Old Unc said: "We'd better do what they say right now, or we'll lie here too."
So we went on toward Pine Ridge; but I had seen...
I had seen a dead mother with her dead baby sucking at her breast.
The little baby had on a tiny beaded cap with the design of the American flag.

Posted by: painter Sep 18 2007, 03:38 PM

QUOTE (Devilsadvocate @ Sep 18 2007, 10:54 AM)
From versions of this story told by Dick Fool Bull at Rosebud Indian reservation, South Dakota, 1967 and 1968:

The Ghost-Dance at Wounded Knee

This very thing is happening right now, today, in Iraq and Afghanistan (and probably other places in the world as well). Perhaps the details are different -- but it is the same mentality, the same absence of genuine conscience, the inability to feel what we do or to identify with "the other" as actual extensions of one's self.

And if the human race doesn't stop them soon enough those of us not vaporized in the initial fire balls will be irradiated corpses, frozen for all eternity in that 'last moment'.

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 18 2007, 03:59 PM

Yes- I fear so.
As I said- as long as there is but one person in this world who still knows the difference between truth and lie, it can be undone.
So- we've got to make sure that there is always at least one person left...
Even in the event of the very worst possible scenario- a global, thermo-nuclear war- there would be survivors. Most of them would be too busy trying to survive physically. But all it would take would be just one- who knows how to pass on the ability to distinguish between truth and lie, reality and illusion- that which "is", and that which "is not".
A living time-capsule, so to speak.
The ancient Egyptians made sure their writings can not be lost- by placing a copy of the "Pert-em-Heru", the 'Book of the dead', into the tomb of anyone wealthy enough to afford one- there must be millions of copies still buried.
We have to make sure that there are millions of living time-capsules...
That way, there always will be at least one.
Good thing this website exists, no??? laugh.gif

PS: Living time-capsules need teachers, Painter... wink.gif

Posted by: maturin42 Sep 19 2007, 06:06 PM

Petraeus Reports to Congress!

Decider, decider, how goes the surge?
The month is September, your countrymen urge
You to tell of the war and when it will cease
So tell us, you promised the surge would bring peace.

“Don’t think for a minute that I am the boss.”
“Petraeus commands there, I’m at a loss
To influence these matters, it’s all up to him.
He’ll report to Congress, regardless how grim.”

Petraeus, Petraeus, enlighten us please,
Is victory near? We remain ill at ease.
“I have a new plan, that’ll carry the day
The surge is a marvel, the course I will stay."

"We “surged” thirty thousand of stalwart young men
In June, we’ll begin to remove them again."
That’s it? Are you kidding? You’re making a joke!
That’s only rotation, our Army is broke!

The Iraq war continues, and others will die,
The shame of America, built on a lie.
Anybody know why?

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 19 2007, 07:09 PM





When fear taps on your shoulder, man-
don't turn around, because it can
and will get straight into your heart
to take you for a ride. The part
it's mostly interested in (your will)
it wants to grab and squeeze and chill-
to stop you in your tracks, my friend,
and while you're standing at the bend
unable for to move aside
your fear will take you for a ride
to places full of ghosts and such
were it can haunt you and do much
to sap away your soul and reap
what you have planted, while the heap
it leaves you in is worthless. Man-
just leave the bugger while you can...

(W. J. B.)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 21 2007, 08:27 PM

Die Gedanken sind frei:

Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten,
sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten.
Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger erschießen
mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket,
doch alles in der Still', und wie es sich schicket.
Mein Wunsch, mein Begehren kann niemand verwehren,
es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Und sperrt man mich ein im finsteren Kerker,
das alles sind rein vergebliche Werke.
Denn meine Gedanken zerreißen die Schranken
und Mauern entzwei, die Gedanken sind frei!

Drum will ich auf immer den Sorgen entsagen
und will mich auch nimmer mit Willen verklagen.
Man kann ja im Herzen stets lachen und scherzen
und denken dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Ich liebe den Wein, mein Mädchen vor allen,
sie tut mir allein am besten gefallen.
Ich bin nicht alleine bei meinem Glas Weine,
mein Mädchen dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!


(The thoughts are free, who can ever guess them?
They just fly by like nocturnal shadows.
No man can know them, no hunter can shoot them,
with powder and lead: The thoughts are free!

I think what I want, and what makes me happy,
but always discretely, and as it is suitable.
My wish and desire, no one can deny me
and so it will always be: The thoughts are free!

And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,
all this would be effortless work,
because my thoughts tear all gates
and walls apart. The thoughts are free!

So I will renounce my sorrows forever,
and never again feel guilty for my will.
In one's heart, one can always laugh and joke
and think at the same time: The thoughts are free!

I love the wine, and my girl even more,
Only I like her best of all.
I'm not alone with my glass of wine,
my girl is with me: The thoughts are free! )

This is a German folk-song, dating to the 1840's;
banned on more than one occasion,
it has also served people as a reminder to one of
the most fundamental principles in existance-
on more than one occasion:
No one can ever forbid you to think for yourself...

"Reserve your right to think- for even if your thoughts are erroneous,
it is better to make mistakes then not to think at all"

(Hypathia of Alexandria- one of the last keepers at the great library
of Alexandria, 4th. century CE)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 22 2007, 10:51 PM


There once was a man who was full of despair-
his heart had been broken. He sat on his chair
and kept thinking 'Dear god- does it have to be me?
I have done nothing wrong- what's the point-don't you see?'

The question kept flying around in his head
until he did wish he was already dead;
When that didn't work, he went upstairs to sleep,
he kept tossing and turning and tried to count sheep.

Next morning, the question had not dissappeared-
still there, and much stronger than ever he feared:
He looked at his hands and woke up. "What is that?"-
for right there, in his hands, was a thing- round and flat.

It looked like a sickle- a handle, a blade;
the man was not sure of what stuff it was made.
He got out of bed, left the house, and went on
to talk to the priest at the church of St. John.

The priest told him all he did know about god,
and about mortal sin, and the devil: Of fraud
and deception, of angels and Saints and of such-
but non of that helped him along very much.

So he left the church, and went on down the road,
'til he came to the government-palace. He thought
"Maybe they know a little bit more about this".
So he asked "Could I speak to the President, please?"

The President talked of political things-
of communists, fascists and Dominos. Rings
which held down the nation like shackles and such-
but non of that helped him along very much.

Another bit further, he took a right turn,
'til he got to a building which looked like an urn
which people keep ashes in. Outside, it said
on a sign: "Department of fear"- in blood-red.

Inside was a General, who told him of threats:
Of scary things: Enemies- fascists and reds;
of people who want to invade and of such;
but non of that helped him along very much.

And finally, he did arrive at the park;
He strolled down a path, while the song of a lark
did accompany him. He was tired of all
and just wanted to sit on a bench, near the wall.

He sat and did notice a woman: Right there;
She seemed lost in thought, he did notice. Her hair
did cover her eyes, so that she could not see
that he sat beside her. He thought "Who is she?"

And then he did notice that in her right hand
she held a familiar object: The land-
and the whole world seemed to dance round in a twirl
'til she noticed him. "Are you alright?", said the girl.

He silently held up his own question-mark;
then she held up hers. The song of the lark
it was still in the air- as they took the two things
and held them together. They looked just like wings...

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Sep 26 2007, 12:26 AM


Oh there's sober men and plenty,
and drunkards barely twenty.
There are men of over ninety,
that have never yet kissed a girl.
But give me a rambling Rover,
frae Orkney doon to Dover.
We will roam the country over,
And together we'll face the world.

There's many that seek enjoyment,
From merciless employment.
Their ambition was this deployment,
From the minute they left the school.
And they save and scrape and ponder,
While the rest go out and squander.
See the world and rove and wander,
And they're happier as a rule.

I have roamed through all the nations,
And delight in all creations.
I enjoyed a wee sensation,
Where the company did prove kind.
And when parting was no pleasure,
I've drunk another measure,
Tae the good friends that we treasure,
For they always are in our mind.

If you're bent with "arthuritis",
and your bowels have got colitis,
you've got galloping bollockitis,
and you're thinking, it's time you died!
If you've been a man of action,
and you're lying there in traction,
you will gain some satisfaction,
thinking - Jesus, at least I tried!

(Scottish Trad.)

Hehe...Just couldn't resist this... laugh.gif

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Oct 1 2007, 08:51 PM

For Painter and all Rolling-Stones-fans:

Rolling Stones Paint It Black Lyrics

*** Complimentary Paint It Black Ringtone ***
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens ev'ry day

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you

[Paint It Black lyrics on]

If I look hard enough into the settin' sun
My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

Hmm, hmm, hmm,...

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black


Posted by: lunk Oct 4 2007, 06:24 PM


Is this the way
that you want it to be?
Do you see things
the way they ought to be seen?
Can you tell the trees,
from the colour of green?
Can you tell a tail,
untie your dreams,
from the folds of time,
to the sound of a rhyme,
from inside of your head,
to outside of your mind,
from beginning to end
and start it again?
Bringing it into the REAL..


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Nov 13 2007, 03:47 AM


A thousand years ago, my friend,

There was a little-known land

which- over more than sixty years-

did see no wars, no swords, no spears.

The knights, therefore, were forced to rest.

The lack of war caused them to test

their skills in bloodsports: tournaments-

and more such entertainaments

which- to their minds- did keep them fit

and held intact their battle-kit.

Sir Rambeau was one of these men:

No brain to speak of- which was then

no hindrance if one was a knight-

for all one had to do was fight.

But fights- they were short in supply:

To get one, one had to apply

by letter to the Minister

for war (...and for the sinister!),

to get a permit- which was rare:

"Not even for to kill a hare!"

Our man now wanted to impress

his hearts desire- a Princess-,

and thus he thought he'd go and slay

a dragon, so her heart would sway.

The wretched creature's hacked-off head

would proof the beast to be quite dead...

How she would *love* his manly stance!

So screw the permit..."Where's me lance?"

(Well- permits, laws and paragraphs

were- to his mind- just good for laughs!)

The lady was- however- keen

on fauna, flora, issues green-

while all of these were still *alive*-

*not* killed by sword or lance or knife...

"Sir Rambeau- who? *That* stupid prick?

Puleeese- not *HIM*- i'm getting sick...!"

(Thus, while Sir Rambeau thought she's nuts

about him, she just hates his guts...

The point this macho kept ignoring

was that her highness found him boring!)

He put his armor on and then

went off to find a dragon's den.

(Well, he was not alone, of course:

His servants came on foot, by horse

and wagon. One can not expect

a gentlemen with selfrespect

to cook his dinners, wash his socks

or clamber lonely through the rocks!

So- thus he's got a kitchen-maid,

as servant, lover, dragon-bait...)

A mere ten years they had to travel,

before they found a pit, of gravel

with loads of bones heaped all around.

From inside came the horrid sound

of munching. (But the smell was nice:

Like horseman, fried, with long-grain rice...)

A soldier went to fetch the maid:

The den was found- now for the bait...

(The girl did scream a bit and wriggle,

which caused the soldiers for to giggle.)

With sword in hand (*behind* his men...)

Sir Rambeau now approached the den

and screamed "Come out and fight, ye beast!"

Upset to interrupt his feast

a grumpy dragon left his den,

and took a look and yawned, and then

he took a thigh-bone unperturbed

and picked his teeth, spat out and burped.

(...The job-description of a beast

includes that it enjoy it's feast!)

The soldiers, at this grisly sight,

took off at once in manly flight

possessed by terror- past the maid,

and past Sir Rambeau (who was swayed);

They ran as fast as they could run,

to leave him standing in the sun

alone. And as the dust did settle

Sir Rambeau did prepare for battle:

Not that this had him overjoyed-

his *soldiers* had been meant to fight...

The dragon asked: "What do ye want?

It's dinner-time, ye ignorant!

I'd like to dine in peace and quiet-

and you turn up and cause a riot:

Yer predeccessor's getting cold,

and my digestive-tract's too old..."

(His doctors warned him to go easy

on food in cans- it's *much* too greasy...

But on that day, he'd liked the taste-

and anyways, he hated waste!)

"Get back in line and be polite

and wait yer turn, ye little shite!"

With this, he turned around to go

back to his "Chevalier flambeau"

and to prepare his pots and pans

for a second course of food in cans.

Sir Rambeau found it opportune

to aim and throw- with great fortune-

his sword at him. He nearly died

of cardiac arrest- sheer fright!

Our knight untied the kitchen-maid

and told the wench to fetch a plate

of silver, for the dragon's head

(Who, at this stage, was not *quite* dead,

but realised he soon *would* be-

unless Sir Rambeau's chivalry

prevented him to do the deed:

That dragon was last of his creed,

and if he died, there would be no

more dragons left- so he said so.

Sir Rambeau showed no interest:

"I'm sorry- but i'm on a quest

to show my lady-friend how brave

i am- i want your head, you knave!"

(He didn't know that, in his bed,

the king was found quite cold and dead

two years before. The *Queen* was keen

on fauna, flora, issues green...)

The dragon did accept his fate,

lay down, and died, head on the plate.

Our knight went off to dream of glory-

the maid was left to do the gory


(She twice did faint- this is a fact!)

The two of them then put the dragon-

or his remains- onto a wagon.

Thus they went home. They passed the gates,

and through the streets. Sir Rambeau's mates

uneasily looked on. "I'm ready

to get my due reward already!"

The Queen had watched with much dismay

the dragon's corpse put on display:

Sir Rambeau noticed her cold stare-

and suddenly felt nude and bare...

"Your graciousness- your majesty!

How glad i am to be with thee..."

The Queen did interrupt him rudly:

"Shut up, you twit!", said she quite crudly.

She then came up to take a look-

and hit him with a heavy book.

"This is the book of brand-new laws",

said she- and hit him in the jaws.

"You did exceed the quota set

in *hunting-regulations*, pet!

You also want a due reward?

Just wait for it... Where is the guard?"

With this, she caught him by the phizem

and had him thrown into prison.

(Well- he was not alone in there-

five other knights already were

chained to the walls, with rats and mice

for company- to keep things nice.)

The greeny-Queeny's harshness did

eventually cause a split,

resulting in a revolution.

The knights went free- then "evolution"

just took its course: Wolf, boar and bear

all went extinct, by sword and spear,

which thus did cause a lack of game.

The knights found hunting far too tame

in any case. They took their shields

and went back to the battle-fields...

Oh- well, it almost slipped my mind:

Sir Rambeau in the end did find

a wife. Alas she was no queen:

A kitchen-maid of just sixteen

was she. It didn't really matter;

the queen's head ended on a platter

just as the dragon's. And about

fifteen years later, in a rout

Sir Rambeau died: *Not* by a sword-

but of a heart-attack. My word!

( W J B )

Posted by: lunk Jan 25 2008, 06:10 PM


Eat his food
drink his beer
smoke his cigarettes

If we do it with no fear
why should he even fret
He's got the system by the tail
and through his life
he always sailed
Besides that, his stuff's free

He has been known, on occasion
to send us to the store
Complaints about his situation
just YELL at him some more

But now he says, he's moving out
and taking all his stuff
he says he's had enough to pout
we think that it's a bluff

But, if he really, "speak no lie"
And is that frgn dumb
A girl we could maybe find
to substitute for mom

a lunk poem
from a lunk experience

Posted by: maturin42 Feb 1 2008, 06:22 PM

My latest 150 Words...

Are You Stimulated Yet?

I’m in a little trouble, see
A sailor on a spending spree
Don’t have a blessed thing on me

My plastic has been used a lot
You ought to see the stuff I got
On credit all, my rating’s shot.

I took the cash out of my house
It’s mortgaged right down to the mouse
That eats my cheese, and scares my spouse

I’m only doing as my chief
George W says, it’s my belief
A few more loans will bring relief

So I’m in hock up to my ears
My leader tells me “Have no fear
Your stimulus is almost here”.

We’ve borrowed trillions for the war
And pork-filled spending bills galore
And now we’ll borrow billions more

To send you each a little dough
That may perhaps soften the blow
The dollar's hit a brand new low
The Dow-Jones says “look out below”,
But it’s election year, y’know?

Posted by: maturin42 Feb 1 2008, 07:07 PM

United we stand, or so it’s been said

But it hasn’t been true much of late

A people divided by whatever means

Can end up with too much on their plate
To see that our government spends too much time

And resources on Corporate good

But too little of either on those other things

That would benefit our neighborhoods
So we squabble ‘bout issues like praying in school

And guns and abortion, and such

Our election campaigns are just beauty contests

With ‘debates’ that don’t settle that much
Divisions created are levers, I think

To control us, while they make the rules

If we’re preoccupied with our differences

We’re too easily somebody’s fools
They need us divided in order to run

Things the way that they need them to be

The last thing our corporate rulers would want

Is for We the People to see
What’s become of our democracy.

SFL June, 07

Posted by: maturin42 Feb 1 2008, 07:16 PM

This was a poem written on the occasion of Scooter Libby's pardon. My usual offerings are exactly 150 words long to conform to the requirements of our local newspaper. In a weekly forum feature, the editorial page editor poses a question each week. I usually try to provide my answer in a poem, but the word limit is 150 words - no exceptions. This one is an exception because I missed the deadline, so I expanded it, luxuriating in the extra space.

Bush the commuter, liberates Scooter

It’s now official, Scooter’s free
He dodges prison, yes siree,
The prez commuted all the time
That he faced for the loathsome crime

Of treason, oh, I know, that he
Was only charged with perjury
For lying through his teeth when they
Inquired of plots ‘gainst CIA

Brewster-Jennings and Valerie
Were outed at behest of the
Vice President, the aged hack
Hell-bent on warring ‘gainst Iraq

With Bush’s act we understand
His meaning when declaiming grand 
If staff were guilty, he would see
That “taken care of”, they would be

Well, Scooter’s taken care of, sure,
He need not fear the slamming door
Of dungeon drear, or prison dank
He’s rich, he’s white, so let’s be frank

And save your protests, screams, and moans
That rule of law’s been overthrown
When crim’nals are the rulers, see
They don’t have time for you or me

But Scooter’s in Decider’s tribe
No matter what, be satisfied
That he will always beat the rap
Get back in line, and shut your trap

And Karl Rove, what of he, you say?
Renewed his clearance yesterday
To handle secrets of the state
Made Bush men have no fear of fate.


Posted by: lunk Feb 1 2008, 08:10 PM

Excerpts from a pre-election speech
taken in a chicken coop

My fellow foul
we must decide
in who to lead
and not divide.
And who we choose,
will be our choice,
and who will speak
with all our voice.

Which one to trust,
us chickens, all...

coyote, wolf, raccoon or owl?


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Apr 9 2008, 12:51 PM


What do you see with your own eye ?
What truth lies hidden- tell me, please !
And is there truth in what you spie-
when you perceive what your eye sees ?

The eye sees light. And so- you see-,
I ask to look with caution, please !
You just perceive reflections. We
are subject to a sensual tease...

The chair, the table or the wall-
they all reflect the sun's own light:
No more than that- and that is all
our eyes can see with mortal sight...

So what is real, and what is fake ?
And are you really sure, my friend ?
For truth is of a different make
than mirrors in illusion-land...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 26 2008, 10:51 PM


I sit in the kitchen, and wonder and ask:

Why am I alive- what's my purpose, my task ?

Get rich, fat and greedy, and have a great time

before I will leave this world, right in my prime...

But that can't be it. For the last shirt I'll wear

(-the one I'll be dressed in when death I will bear-)

That shirt got no pockets- No silver or gold

which I'd want to take can be carried, I'm told.

So I just sit there and keep thinking. What if

the reason for life is quite simply 'to live' :

To be simply grateful to breathe, and delight

in life's little gifts, day by day, night by night… ?

Those treasures which fit in one's pockets- just dreams!

in truth are quite worthless, and so it just seems

that those which I reap with my eyes- not those bought!

are those I should carry along, in my thought...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Nov 21 2008, 10:17 PM

This is a somewhat abridged version of the relevant chapter of the 'Pert-em-Heru' ('Book of coming forth by day'- the Egyptian 'Book of the dead') dealing with the statement a deceased person was required to make to each one of the forty-two assessors present in the 'Hall of double truth'- the center of the Egyptian netherworld. I corrected some phrases from the translation by E.A Wallis-Budge; (mine is not a definitive version either; I'd have to go over this with a fine comb).
It relates to this post:

The day of weighing words:

"To be said when one cometh to this, the hall of double truth-
To purge (him) from the bad he hath done,
And to see the faces of every Netjer.

Hail, great Netjer- Lord of truth.
I have come to thee, my lord.
I have brought myself that I may see thy beauties.
I know thee, and I know the names of the forty-two Netjeru
who exist with thee in this hall of double truth,
who live to punish evils-
who live upon their blood on that day (i.e., the blood of the evils- not of the evil-doers)
of computing dispositions before the 'Beautiful being' (Osiris).

Verily, 'Cleanser of his two eyes in truth' is thy name. (My translation of the name)
Verily, I have come to thee; I have brought to thee truth.
I have driven wrong away for thee.

1) I have not done inequity to mankind.
2) I have not done harm unto animals.
3) I have not fashioned evil on the seat of truth. (corrected by me)
4) I have not known evil.
5) I have not fashioned evil.
6) I have not done works above what I needed to do.
7) My name hath not come forth to directing the boat. (i.e., 'I did not barge in to take control')
8) I have not despised the Netjer. (Nature...)
9) I have not caused misery.
10) I have not caused affliction.
11) I have not done what is abominable to the Netjer. (Nature...)
12) I have not caused harm to be done to the servant by his chief.
13) I have not caused pain.
14) I have not caused weeping.
15) I have not killed.
16) I have not given orders to kill for me.
17) I have not caused harm to mankind.
18) I have not taken from the offerings in the temples. (Those were not meant for the Priests)
19) I have not harmed the substance of the Netjeru.
20) I have not stolen from the offerings to the dead.
21) I have not polluted myself.
22) I have not defiled myself.
23) I neither added to nor diminished my offerings.
24) I have not altered a measure. (i.e., I didn't cheat customers)
25) I have not trampled down the fields.
26) I have not added to the weight of the scales. (see 24)
27) I have not diminished from the weight of the scales. (see 24)
28) I have not carried off the milk from the mouth of the babe.
29) I have not driven away the cattle from their pastures.
30) I have not captured the birds from the sanctuaries of the Netjer. (Netjer-sanctuaries...)
31) I have not caught fish (with bait) of their own bodies.
32) I have not turned back water at the time of its season (i.e., the Nile-inundation)
33) I have not diminished the share of running water.
34) I have not extinguished a flame at its hour.
35) I have not violated the times of the chosen offerings.
36) I have not hindered the continuation of the herds of each Netjer. (my translation)
37) I have not repulsed the Netjer in its manifestations.
38) I have not eaten my heart.
39) I have not spoken lies.
40) I have not transgressed.
41) I have not acted deceitfully.
42) I have not set my mouth in motion against any man.

I am pure - pure - pure...

Posted by: maturin42 Nov 22 2008, 10:42 PM


We're making this up as we go along
Who can tell what the right answer is?
If you're big and in trouble, just sing us your song
For the cash, we are all about biz.

They fly into DC in Gulfstreams and Lears
To complain about how times are tough
And they simply can't honor those labor contracts
The Big 3 aren't making enough

While the rest of the world was paying attention
To exhaustion of cheap energy
They built Tahoes and Hummers and Expeditions
And their hybrids get 12 MPG

Executives get paid for calling the shots
Making all the tough choices, you see
Who could have foreseen when gas hit five bucks
That they wouldn't sell if they were free?

So they’re flying to Washington, down on their luck
They hope we’ll front them some dough
The same people who killed the electric car,
Need a bailout, whattayaknow?


Posted by: albertchampion Nov 23 2008, 12:36 AM

oh, i think that this says it so much better

Posted by: maturin42 Jan 1 2009, 12:05 AM

QUOTE (albertchampion @ Nov 21 2008, 02:36 AM) *
oh, i think that this says it so much better

But then, it IS Shelley!

Happy New Year, everyone.

A Sober Assessment

Turn the page, just like that
A new year greets us all.
Begin again, bind up the wounds,
We hear the future call.
Two thousand eight has treated us
Unkindly, that’s no lie.
Two thousand nine may give us all
More reasons yet to cry
For fortunes lost and prospects ruined
And wars without an end.
We voted change, and change we’ll get
But what might that portend?
So far the team assembled
By the president-elect
Seems staffed by Clintonistas
And the blue-dogs that infect
A Congress whose timidity
Can scarcely be believed.
Progressives, justly so,
May feel a tiny bit deceived.
So wish for better days my friends
That peace may spread and thrive
Myself, I count it lucky
We escaped ‘08 alive.
And if I rain on your parade,
I do apologize.
Realpolitic, it seems, has cut
My visions down to size.
And so a bad year dies.

Shelton F. Lankford

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Jul 10 2010, 02:09 PM

Well- that show is already over:

The great 'Russian Spy Gala' to_keep_order.gif .

But i just couldn't resist...

The Ballad of Annie Chapman

Headlines in tomorrows papers
tell of Annie Chapman's capers,
and they will reveal that she
really " a man, you see!"

"Russian Clinic!" - "Operation!"
...And an unsuspecting nation
subject to "...Deception!" Ohhh...
Holy St. Guantanamo!

Watch for neighbours who tend roses:
Watch their steps, their stance, their poses-
For they could be Russian spies
(...Who will fill your heads with lies!)

Everyone's a spy, you see:
Grannies...Schoolgirls vis-a-vis;
Shopattendants, Circusclowns-
Bakers, Butchers, Smiths and Browns!!!

"National Security":
It can only ever be
If they all are locked away
safely in Guantanamo Bay...

But you should not just believe
what I write- for I retrieve
vital info for the reds
hiding in your flower-beds...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 7 2011, 11:21 PM

The following poem was written by a woman called Eileen O'Shaughnessy. She was the first wife of Eric Arthur Blair- better known under his pen-name 'George Orwell'.
The poem is extremely relevant to his later novel '1984'; it was writen in 1934 and was a look ahead at a time 50 years in the future.

"End of the Century, 1984”
by Eileen O'Shaughnessy


Synthetic winds have blown away
material dust- but this one room
rebukes the constant violet ray
and dustless sheds a dusty gloom...
Wrecked on the outmoded past
Lie North and Hillard, Virgil, Horace-
Shakespeare's bones are quiet at last,
dead as Yates or William Morris.
Have not the inmates earned their rest ?
A hundred circles traversed they,
complaining of the classic quest
and each inevitable day,
illogically trying to place
a ball within an empty space.

(The end:
The artificial winds of an artificial world have blown away the remains of the old natural world, but there is this one place-- a museum-- which withstands the constant sunset, appearing dusty and gloomy in its sterile way.
Here are found the outdated thinkers of the past:
North and Hillard-- who provided a number of prose composition books for Latin and Greek-
together with Virgil and Horace; even Shakespeare, Yates and William Morris have ended up here.
Have they not earned their rest- considering that they spend an eternity running around in circles, trying against their own better knowledge to explain the workings of the Cosmos...?)


Every loss is now a gain-
for every chance must follow reason;
a Crystal Palace meets the rain
which falls at its appointed season.
No book disturbs the lucid line-
for sun-bronzed scholars tune their thought
to telepathic station nine,
from which they know just what they ought:
The useful sciences; the arts
of telesalesmanship-- and Spanish
as registered in western parts.
Mental cremation that shall banish
relics: Philosophies and colds...
Manana-minded ten-year-olds.

(The beginning:
Losses are now interpreted as gains, since there is no space for 'mere chance' in a scientific world: The place were science is displayed can stand up to nature.
No book is in the way of this lucid-dream-assembly-line, for the educated workers producing the profit of loss are taught everything they ought to know by the mass-media:
The part of science which is useful, the arts of advertising-- and the knowledge of other countries or cultures as they are interpreted in the west.*
The mental memory-hole into which philosophies and other minor ailments are thrown:
This is the mentality of the ten-year-old who devours science-fiction-stories...

*The poem was written in 1934; during that year, a number of events took place in Spain which ultimately led to the Spanish civil war. The BBC reported these events- and later on the war- in a heavily slanted way.)

The Phoenix

Worlds have died that they may live:
May plume again their fairest feathers
and in their clearest songs may give
welcome to all spontaneous weathers.
Bacon's colleague is called Einstein,
Huxley shares platonic food-
violet rays are only sunshine:
Christened in the modern mood-
in this house if in no other--
past and future may agree
in a curious harmony
finding both a proper place
in the silken gowns embrace...

Whole worlds have been destroyed so that these people could dream their foolish dreams:
May the greatest thinkers among them live again so that they can proclaim their support for a world in which the weather can not be controlled by science.
Bacon, Huxley, Einstein and Plato are all united here-- after all, the violet rays of sunset are just another form of sunshine.
When they are given their modern names, then in this museum- if nowhere else--beginning and end are no longer at odds; they both find their proper place in death:
In a circle, beginning and end are one and the same...)

Winston Smith, the main character in the novel, is 39 years old; he begins to write in his diary on April 4th 1984.
This means he must have been born somewhere between April 4th 1944 and April 4th 1945.
Eileen and Eric Blair adopted a baby boy called Horatio in June 1944, shortly after the Normandy landings.
The landings caused a feeling of euphoria in Britain: The end of the war was in sight...

Adopting that baby was a symbol of hope. The two must have been thinking and talking about the future a lot around that time.
Eileen spend two years working for Britain's "Ministry of Truth"- the Ministry for Information, in the censorship-department. Both she and Eric must have realised that the structures which had developed as a result of the war would not simply disappear.

On the day Horatio Blair was adopted, Winston Smith was conceived.

He was born nine months later... On March 29th 1945.
On that day, Eileen Maud O'Shaughnessy Blair died from the anaesthetic during a routine operation.

Violet rays are only sunshine...

(Edit: I just managed to not only post the wrong thing in the wrong thread, but also to erase the wrong bit... Corrected. Off to bed before I erase my profile around here...)

Posted by: Devilsadvocate Aug 8 2011, 10:16 PM

Show me the way!

It was a bright day, and the birds- they did sing,
And I was just resting when I heard the ring
Which came from the door-bell; I opened the door:
There was a pale man- just two feet off the floor.

He flashed me a bony and chilling cold smile,
And said “Hi, my friend- I will leave in a while-
I’ve just got a question- I’m sorry to say
That with all the traffic, I just lost my way…”

He put down the scythe which he’d held in one hand
And showed me a book: “I’ve got every land
That exists neatly listed- with every name
of every person alive--what a shame!”

He took a cold breath. “Could you show me the way?
This man is the one I am searching for…Say,
Would you perhaps know in which place he does live?”
I saw my own name- and my limbs, they went stiff…

“Let’s see now”, I mumbled. “Down there”, so I said-
Explaining without even just going red—
“…And then take a turn to your left and go on
for another ten miles, up the hill, past the lawn.

When you come to the crossroads, just keep to your right-
And another ten miles past the red traffic-light—
Don’t mind that, it’s broken—then over the bridge
And past the old building you’ll see on the ridge…”

He did interrupt. “Thanks a lot, I’m confused…
So maybe I’ll ask someone else. I am used
To losing my way; so I just will head on…”
So far I’ve not seen him again. Must be gone…

Before I forget...just as he moved on
he said "I'll be back- see you later, my son"...
Which left me to wonder- What could he have meant?
I'll probably wonder right up 'til the end...


Posted by: Devilsadvocate Mar 1 2014, 04:19 PM

Rudyard Kipling

McAndrew's Hymn

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it so---exceptin' always Steam.
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God---
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.
John Calvin might ha' forged the same---enorrmous, certain, slow---
Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame---my "Institutio."
I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please;
I'll stand the middle watch up here---alone wi' God an' these
My engines, after ninety days o' rase an' rack an' strain
Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again.
Slam-bang too much---they knock a wee---the crosshead-gibs are loose,
But thirty thousand mile o' sea has gied them fair excuse....
Fine, clear an'dark---a full-draught breeze, wi' Ushant out o' sight,
An' Ferguson relievin' Hay. Old girl, ye'll walk to-night!
His wife's at Plymouth.... Seventy---One---Two---Three since he began---
Three turns for Mistress Ferguson... and who's to blame the man?
There's none at any port for me, by drivin' fast or slow,
Since Elsie Campbell went to Thee, Lord, thirty years ago.
(The year the Sarah Sands was burned. Oh roads we used to tread,
Fra' Maryhill to Pollokshaws--fra' Govan to Parkhead!)
Not but that they're ceevil on the Board. Ye'll hear Sir Kenneth say:
"Good morn, McAndrew! Back again? An' how's your bilge to-day?"
Miscallin' technicalities but handin' me my chair
To drink Madeira wi' three Earls---the auld Fleet Engineer
That started as a boiler-whelp---when steam and he were low.
I mind the time we used to serve a broken pipe wi' tow!
Ten pound was all the pressure then---Eh! Eh!---a man wad drive;
An' here, our workin' gauges give one hunder sixty-five!
We're creepin' on wi' each new rig---less weight an' larger power;
There'll be the loco-boiler next an' thirty miles an hour!
Thirty an' more. What I ha' seen since ocean-steam began
Leaves me na doot for the machine: but what about the man?
The man that counts, wi' all his runs, one million mile o' sea:
Four time the span from Earth to Moon.... How far, O Lord from thee
That wast beside him night an' day? Ye mind my first typhoon?
It scoughed the skipper on his way to jock wi' the saloon.
Three feet were on the stokehold-floor---just slappin' to an' fro---
An' cast me on a furnace-door. I have the marks to show.
Marks! I ha' marks o' more than burns---deep in my soul an' black,
An' times like this, when things go smooth, my wickudness comes back.
The sins o' four an' forty years, all up an' down the seas.
Clack an' repeat like valves half-fed.... Forgie's our trespasses!
Nights when I'd come on to deck to mark, wi' envy in my gaze,
The couples kittlin' in the dark between the funnel-stays;
Years when I raked the Ports wi' pride to fill my cup o' wrong---
Judge not, O Lord, my steps aside at Gay Street in Hong-Kong!
Blot out the wastrel hours of mine in sin when I abode---
Jane Harrigan's an' Number Nine, The Reddick an' Grant Road!
An' waur than all---my crownin' sin---rank blasphemy an' wild.
I was not four and twenty then---Ye wadna judge a child?
I'd seen the Tropics first that run---new fruit, new smells, new air---
How could I tell---blinf-fou wi' sun--- the Deil was lurkin' there?
By day like playhouse-scenes the shore slid past our sleepy eyes;
By night thos soft, lasceevious stars leered from those velvet skies,
In port (we used no cargo-steam) I'd daunder down the streets---
An ijjit grinnin' in a dream---for shells an' parrakeets,
An' walkin'-sticks o' carved bamboo an' blowfish stuffed an' dried---
Fillin' my bunk wi' rubbishry the Cheif put overside.
Till, off Sambawa Head, Ye mind, I heard a land-breeze ca',
Milk-warm wi' breath o' spice an' bloom: "McAndrew, Come awa'!"
Firm, clear an' low---no haste, no hate---the ghostly whisper went,
Just statin' eevidential facts beyon' all argument:
"Your mither's god's a graspin' deil, the shadow o' yoursel',
"Got out o' books by meenisters clean daft on Heaven an' Hell.
"They mak' him in the Broomielaw, o' Glasgie cold an' dirt,
"A jealous, pridefu' fetich, lad, that's only strong to hurt.
"Ye'll not go back to Him again an' kiss His red-hot rod,
"But come wi' Us" (Now who were They?) "an' know the Leevin' God,
"That does not kipper souls for sport or break a life in jest,
"But swells the ripenin' cocoanuts an' ripes the woman's breast."
An' there it stopped: cut off: no more; that quiet, certain voice---
For me, six months o' twenty-four, to leave or take at choice.
'Twas on me like a thunderclap---it racked me through an' through---
Temptation past the show o' speech, unnameable an' new---
The Sin against the Holy Ghost?... An' under all, our screw.

That storm blew by but left behind her anchor-shiftin' swell.
thou knowest all my heart an' mind, Thou knowest, Lord, I fell---
Third on the Mary Gloster then, and first that night in Hell!
Yet was Thy Hand beneath my head, about my feet Thy Care---
Fra' Deli clear to Torres Strait, the trial o' despair,
But when we touched the Barrier Reef Thy answer to my prayer!...
We wared na run that sea by night but lay an' held our fire,
An' I was drowsin' on the hatch---sick---sick wi' doubt an' tire:
"Better the sight of eyes that see than wanderin' o' desire!"
Ye mind that word? Clear as gongs---again, an' once again,
When rippin' down through coral-trash ran out our moorin'-chain:
An', by Thy Grace, I had the light to see my duty plain.
Light on the engine-room---no more---bright as our carbons burn.
I've lost it since a thousand times, but never past return!

Obsairve! Per annum we'll have here two thousand souls aboard---
Think not I dare to justify myself before the Lord,
But---average fifteen hunder souls safe-born fra' port to port---
I am o' service to my kind. Ye wadna blame the thought?
Maybe they steam from Grace to Wrath---to sin by folly led---
It isna mine to judge their path---their lives are on my head.
Mine at the last---when all is done it all comes back to me,
The fault that leaves six thousand ton a log upon the sea.
We'll tak' one stretch---three weeks an odd by ony road ye steer---
Fra' Cape Town east to Wellington---ye need an engineer.
Fail there---ye've time to weld your shaft---ay, eat it, ere ye're spoke;
Or make Kergueen under sail---three jiggers burned wi' smoke!
An' home again---the Rio run: it's no child's play to go
Steamin' to bell for fourteen days o' snow an' floe an' blow.
The beergs like kelpies oversde that girn an' turn an' shift
Whaur, grindin' like the Mills o' God, goes by the big South drift.
(Hail, Snow and Ice that praise the Lord. I've met them at their work,
An wished we had anither route or they another kirk.)
Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy Power brings
All skill to naught, Ye'll underatand a man must think o' things.
Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage clear---
The passengers, wi' gloves an' canes---an' this is what I'll hear:
"Well, thank ye for a pleasant voyage. The tender's comin' now."
While I go testin' follower-bolts an' watch the skipper bow.
They've words for every one but me---shake hands wi' half the crew,
Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew.
An' yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's here---
No pension, an' the most we'll earn's four hunder pound a year.
Better myself abroad? Maybe. I'd sooner starve than sail
Wi' such as call a snifter-rod ross.... French for nightingale.
Commeesion on my stores? Some do; but I cannot afford
To lie like stewards wi' patty-pans. I'm older than the Board.
A bonus on the coal I save? Ou ay, the Scots are close,
But when I grudge the strength Ye gave I'll grudge their food to those.
(There's bricks that I might recommend---an' clink the firebars cruel.
No! Welsh---Wangarti at the worst---an' damn all patent fuel!)
Inventions? Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay.
My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business lay.
I blame no chaps wi' clearer heads for aught they make or sell.
I found that I could not invent an' look to these as well.
So, wrestled wi' Apollyon---Nah!---fretted like a bairn---
But burned the workin'-plans last run, wi' all I hoped to earn.
Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant to me---
E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee....
Below there! Oiler! What's your wark? Ye find it runnin' hard?
Ye needn't swill the cup wi' oil---this isn't the Cunard!
Ye thought? Ye are not paid to think. Go, sweat that off again!
Tck! Tck! It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The Name in vain!
Men, ay an' women, call me stern. Wi' these to oversee,
Ye'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee.
The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt me to an' fro,
Till for the sake of---well, a kiss---I tak' 'em down below.
That minds me of our Viscount loon---Sir Kenneth's kin---the chap
Wi' Russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked yachtin'-cap.
I showed him round last week, o'er all---an' at the last says he:
"Mister McAndrew, Don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"
Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,
Manholin', on my back---the cranks three inches off my nose.
Romance! Those first-class passengers they like it very well,
Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?
I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns---the loves an' doves they dream---
Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!

To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime
Whaurto---uplifted like the Just---the tail-rods mark the time.
The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs an' heaves,
An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves:
Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides,
Till---hear that note?---the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides.
They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes
Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamos.
Interdependence absolute, forseen, ordained, decreed,
To work, Ye'll note, at ony tilt an' every rate o' speed.
Fra' Skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed.
An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;
While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrust-block says:
"Not unto us the praise, or man---not unto us the praise!"
Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson---theirs an' mine:
"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!"
Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose,
An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.
Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain,
Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!
But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand
My seven thousand horse-power here. Eh Lord! They're grand---they're grand!
Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties stood,
Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin' all things good?
Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could vex,
Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man---the Arrtifex!
That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip,
An' by that light---now, mark my word---we'll build the Perfect Ship.
I'll never last to judge her lines, or take her curve---not I.
But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. Be thanks to Thee, Most High!
An' I ha' done what I ha' done---judge Thou if ill or well---
Always Thy grace preventin' me....
Losh! Yon's the "Stand-by" bell.
Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch is set.
Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pelagian yet.
Now, I'll tak' on....
'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thought
What your good leddy costs in coal?... I'll burn 'em down to port.

EDIT: The poem above ties in with this article:

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