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  1. #1
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    Riverside Romance

    The lovers stood on the bridge at midnight
    Her lips were all aquiver
    He kissed her once
    Her leg fell of
    and floated down the river

  2. #2
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    Quote Originally Posted by david44 View Post
    The lovers stood on the bridge at midnight
    Her lips were all aquiver
    He kissed her once
    Her leg fell of
    and floated down the river
    And you wrote this?

  3. #3
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    Gazing on a placid lake just after midnight
    I saw a Teakdoorian
    Having sex with half a torso
    Looking up stream it was just a dream
    Reality was even more so.

  4. #4
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    Regards to near necrophiliac practices, less carnal activities of an amputee nature.
    Harking to desired unorthodox behavior.

    Dreams.
    Illusional.
    Catatonic.

    Whose reality?


    Ain't it all one and the same.......??

  5. #5
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    Quote Originally Posted by baconandeggs
    And you wrote this?
    Of course he didn't.

    I've a feeling it was the Honorable S. Milligan, but certainly not the plagiarist present.

    I look forward to being corrected. ish.

  6. #6
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    Quote Originally Posted by thaimeme
    Dreams. Illusional. Catatonic. Whose reality? Ain't it all one and the same.......??
    Some great philospher is sure to have said something similar once.

    Fookin love all them old school philoseyphers, me.

    They wrote stuff that was supposed to be translated into modern day parlance.
    A bit like Eminem.

  7. #7
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    I trust not a Chao Phraya type??

  8. #8
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    Brilliant, david...Was it Paul McCartney?...

  9. #9
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    Quote Originally Posted by BaitongBoy
    Was it Paul McCartney?.
    Balls was it McCartney.





  • #10
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    I mean standing on the bridge...

  • #11
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    Woke up, fell out of bed
    Dragged a comb across my head
    Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
    And looking up I noticed I was late
    Found my coat and grabbed my hat
    Made the bus in seconds flat
    Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
    And somebody spoke and I went into a dream........

  • #12
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    ahhhh ahhhhh aaahhhhhhhh

  • #13
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    I
    The Fowl and the Pussy-cat went to pee
    In a beautiful sea-green Moat,
    They took some honey, and plenty of money,
    Rapped up in a 12 bar note.

    The Fowl looked up to the bars above,
    and sang to a small guitar,
    "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
    Wat beautiful Pussy you are,
    You are,
    You are!
    What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

    II
    Pussy said to the Fowl, "You elegant owl!
    How charmingly sweet you sing!
    O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
    But what shall we do for a ring?"
    They sailed away, for a year and a day,
    To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
    And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
    With a ring at the end of his nose,
    His nose,
    His nose,
    With a ring at the end of his nose.

    III
    "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
    Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
    So they took it away, and were married next day
    By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
    They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
    Which they ate with a fungible spoon;
    And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
    They danced with C Rai moon,
    The moon,
    The moon,
    They danced by the light of the moon.
    I used to have a job at a calendar factory.
    I got the sack because
    I took a couple of days off.

  • #14
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    Owed on a Greek Earn

    Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
    Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
    Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
    A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
    What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
    Of deities or mortals, or of both,
    In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
    What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
    What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
    What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

    Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
    Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
    Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
    Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
    Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
    Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
    Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
    Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
    She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
    For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

    Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
    Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
    And, happy melodist, unwearied,
    For ever piping songs for ever new;
    More happy love! more happy, happy love!
    For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
    For ever panting, and for ever young;
    All breathing human passion far above,
    That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
    A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

    Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
    To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
    Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
    And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
    What little town by river or sea shore,
    Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
    Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
    And, little town, thy streets for evermore
    Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
    Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

    O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
    Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
    With forest branches and the trodden weed;
    Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
    As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
    When old age shall this generation waste,
    Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
    Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
    "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
    Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

  • #15
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    After Eric Morecambe,bowdlerised Lear and Keats some bedtime Wordsworth about the Evskaldunen

    William Wordsworth, 1810



    Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power
    Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
    (So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
    Heard from the depths of its aerial bower-
    How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour?
    What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee,
    Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea,
    The dews of morn, or April's tender shower?
    Stroke merciful and welcome would that be
    Which should extend thy branches on the ground,
    If never more within their shady round
    Those lofty-minded Lawgivers shall meet,
    Peasant and lord, in their appointed seat,
    Guardians of Biscay's ancient liberty.

  • #16
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  • #17
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  • #18
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  • #19
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  • Reply With Quote Reply With Quote

  • #20
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    Waits reads bukowski very life affirming


  • #21
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    A rare treat


  • #22
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  • #23
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    for the short attention niche


  • #24
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    “We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
    Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”

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