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Friday Poetry Corner

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    Friday Poetry Corner

    One of the best known words in the English language by written someone who confessed had broken all of the Ten Commandments. A notorious slave trader he worked for the abolition of the slave trade after his conversion.

    Amazing Grace

    Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
    That saved a wretch like me!
    I once was lost, but now am found;
    Was blind, but now I see.

    ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
    And grace my fears relieved;
    How precious did that grace appear
    The hour I first believed.

    Through many dangers, toils and snares,
    I have already come;
    ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
    And grace will lead me home.

    The Lord has promised good to me,
    His Word my hope secures;
    He will my Shield and Portion be,
    As long as life endures.

    Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
    And mortal life shall cease,
    I shall possess, within the veil,
    A life of joy and peace.

    The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
    The sun forbear to shine;
    But God, Who called me here below,
    Shall be forever mine.

    When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
    Bright shining as the sun,
    We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
    Than when we’d first begun.

    John Newton 1725 - 1807
    Sola gratia

    Sola fide

    Soli Deo gloria

    #2


    Imagine
    Imagine there's no heaven,
    It's easy if you try,
    No hell below us,
    Above us only sky,
    Imagine all the people
    living for today...

    Imagine there's no countries,
    It isnt hard to do,
    Nothing to kill or die for,
    No religion too,
    Imagine all the people
    living life in peace...

    Imagine no possesions,
    I wonder if you can,
    No need for greed or hunger,
    A brotherhood of man,
    Imagine all the people
    Sharing all the world...

    You may say Im a dreamer,
    but Im not the only one,
    I hope some day you'll join us,
    And the world will live as one.

    I am not qualified to give the above advice!

    The original point and click interface by
    Smith and Wesson.

    Step back, have a think and adjust my own own attitude from time to time

    Comment


      #3
      On the Ning Nang Nong

      On the Ning Nang Nong
      Where the Cows go Bong!
      And the Monkeys all say Boo!
      Theres a Nang Nong Ning
      Where the trees go Ping!
      And the tea pots Jibber Jabber Joo
      On the Nong Ning Nang
      All the Mice go Clang!
      And you just cant catch em when they do!
      So its Ning Nang Nong!
      Cows go Bong!
      Nong Nang Ning!
      Trees go Ping!
      Nong Ning Nang!
      The mice go Clang!

      What a noisy place to belong,Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!

      Comment


        #4
        D'oh

        One of the best known words in the English language by written someone who confessed had broken all of the Ten Commandments.

        At when you least cut'n'paste postings make your sense!!!!!
        Why not?

        Comment


          #5
          Broken Dreams

          THERE is grey in your hair.
          Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
          When you are passing;
          But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
          Because it was your prayer
          Recovered him upon the bed of death.
          For your sole sake - that all heart's ache have known,
          And given to others all heart's ache,
          From meagre girlhood's putting on
          Burdensome beauty - for your sole sake
          Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,
          So great her portion in that peace you make
          By merely walking in a room.
          Your beauty can but leave among us
          Vague memories, nothing but memories.
          A young man when the old men are done talking
          Will say to an old man, "Tell me of that lady
          The poet stubborn with his passion sang us
          When age might well have chilled his blood.'
          Vague memories, nothing but memories,
          But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.
          The certainty that I shall see that lady
          Leaning or standing or walking
          In the first loveliness of womanhood,
          And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
          Has set me muttering like a fool.
          You are more beautiful than any one,
          And yet your body had a flaw:
          Your small hands were not beautiful,
          And I am afraid that you will run
          And paddle to the wrist
          In that mysterious, always brimming lake
          Where those What have obeyed the holy law
          paddle and are perfect. Leave unchanged
          The hands that I have kissed,
          For old sake's sake.
          The last stroke of midnight dies.
          All day in the one chair
          From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have
          ranged
          In rambling talk with an image of air:
          Vague memories, nothing but memories.

          -W.B. Yeats
          Autom...Sprow...Canna...Tik banna...Sandwol...But no sera smee

          Comment


            #6
            Aubade

            Really more of a Monday morning poem:

            I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
            Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
            In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
            Till then I see what's really always there:
            Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
            Making all thought impossible but how
            And where and when I shall myself die.
            Arid interrogation: yet the dread
            Of dying, and being dead,
            Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

            The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
            -- The good not done, the love not given, time
            Torn off unused -- nor wretchedly because
            An only life can take so long to climb
            Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
            But at the total emptiness for ever,
            The sure extinction that we travel to
            And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
            Not to be anywhere,
            And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

            This is a special way of being afraid
            No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
            That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
            Created to pretend we never die,
            And specious stuff that says No rational being
            Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
            That this is what we fear -- no sight, no sound,
            No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
            Nothing to love or link with,
            The anaesthetic from which none come round.

            And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
            A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
            That slows each impulse down to indecision.
            Most things may never happen: this one will,
            And realisation of its rages out
            In furnace-fear when we are caught without
            People or drink. Courage is no good:
            It means not scaring others. Being brave
            Lets no one off the grave.
            Death is no different whined at than withstood.

            Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
            It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
            Have always known, know that we can't escape,
            Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
            Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
            In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
            Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
            The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
            Work has to be done.
            Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

            Comment


              #7
              Believe I am what I say I am simply because I say,
              “I am”!
              Do not question me.
              Never ask me why!
              Only...believe that I love you.
              And believe that I care.
              Believe that I know what’s best for you.
              And believe that I’m there.

              Now, Bow down to me,
              Die for me,
              Devote your life to me,
              Do all that you do- for me,
              But never question me,
              Never ask me why!
              Demand no proof!
              Believe that I would never hurt you.
              And that your blindness is a virtue.
              Believe I am what I say I am simply because I say,
              “I am”!

              Comment


                #8
                Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                What a shile of pite.
                My Local Authority Client's a cu nt,
                and I can't stand all the spastics, try as I might.

                Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                Why do we have to work?
                Even the cripple in the electric wheelchair looks pissed off,
                and all he can do is smirk.

                Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                This job's easy; I come and I go.
                I deliver on time, and to them that's sublime,
                thank fu ck, my day rate, few know.

                Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                I feel like a right good drink.
                Which is odd even by my standards,
                as I had enough last night to make the Queen Mary sink.

                Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                Bo11ocks to it, I'm off in a bit.
                I'll be on the M1 til about fcuking midnight,
                that'll teach me for posting this sh1t.

                EqualOpportunities 1979 - 2008 (Predicted)
                The squint, the cocked eye and clenched first are the cornerstones of all Merseyside communication from birth to grave

                Comment


                  #9
                  Originally posted by EqualOpportunities
                  Fu ck it all, it's Friday,
                  What a shile of pite.
                  My Local Authority Client's a cu nt,
                  and I can't stand all the spastics, try as I might.
                  Are you working in my office!?
                  Autom...Sprow...Canna...Tik banna...Sandwol...But no sera smee

                  Comment


                    #10
                    Originally posted by WageSlave
                    Are you working in my office!?
                    Who knows. I was going to suggest that you stand up and mong nnnnnnnnnnnnnnNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng gggggggggg at the top of your voice, but in honesty it'd probably not be out-of-the-ordinary enough for me to notice.
                    The squint, the cocked eye and clenched first are the cornerstones of all Merseyside communication from birth to grave

                    Comment

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