Heh heh ... *The Highlander* engages plonker ...
La N
soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
from the military groups):
He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
- nilita, LOL
I've just plonked all the "visitors", one by one, as well as their
running dogs and my screen looks a lot more like soc.culture.scottish
than it has done for some time.
Here's the base list if anyone wants to follow my example.
Jack Linthicum
William Black
Deirdre Sholto Douglas
Andrew Chaplin
rwh.j...@gmail.com
Peter Jason
Mark Test
Vince
Tankfixer
J. Antero
Douglas Eagleson
Billzz
D. Spencer Hines
Andrew Swallow
Plus
Julian Richards
Brian Sharrock
jJim McLaughlin
Soren Larsen
redc1c43
Cleaning out the stye!
Eugene Griessel
>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
>from the military groups):
>
>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>
I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
Eugene L Griessel
Puritanism - The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.
La N
"Eugene Griessel" <eugene@dynagen..co..za> wrote in message
news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>
>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who
>>are
>>from the military groups):
>>
>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>
>
> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>
Ask him to produce his military medals and awards? ... ;>
- nilita
Rich Johnson
news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za:
Heh, I made the list and as far as I can recall I never even told the
silly git to piss off. I'm temped to create a new nom-de-ordnateur and
go annoy the bugger :) Any takers?
--
Rich
Enfield NS
Canada
Usnet ads see ftp://ftp.faqs.org/faqs/usenet/advertising/how-to/part1
La N
"Rich Johnson" <rwh.j...@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:Xns9907DE3...@199.185.223.78...
> eugene@dynagen..co..za (Eugene Griessel) wrote in
> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za:
>
>> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>>
>>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority
>>>who are from the military groups):
>>>
>>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>>
>>
>> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
>> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>>
>> Eugene L Griessel
>>
>> Puritanism - The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be
>> happy.
>
> Heh, I made the list and as far as I can recall I never even told the
> silly git to piss off. I'm temped to create a new nom-de-ordnateur and
> go annoy the bugger :) Any takers?
>
I love you guyz. Yer so evil ...%)
- nil
Rich Johnson
@edtnps90:
Jest out of curousity, do you know what plonker means in British slang,
at least in gentlemen of my Dad's vintage?
La N
Ummm ... IIRC Jack Linthicum, one of the plonkees, may have discussed the
theme some time ago. But do tell!
And, for the rest of the inhabitants of zee golden plonker, if you want to
get to the High-One, you'll have to go through me or Eugene ... hee!
- nilita, thinking that Mr. H. must have been inspired by my sermon of the
monkeys falling out of trees ...
Tankfixer
mumbled
> In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
> soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
> from the military groups):
>
> He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>
> - nilita, LOL
What a whiny biotch he is.
And here I though Scots had more balls.
Must not be anything under his wee kilt eh ?
--
--
Usenetsaurus n. an early pedantic internet mammal, who survived on a
diet of static text and
cascading "threads."
Tankfixer
mumbled
> eugene@dynagen..co..za (Eugene Griessel) wrote in
> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za:
>
> > "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
> >
> >>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
> >>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority
> >>who are from the military groups):
> >>
> >>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
> >>
> >
> > I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
> > I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
> >
> > Eugene L Griessel
> >
> > Puritanism - The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be
> > happy.
>
> Heh, I made the list and as far as I can recall I never even told the
> silly git to piss off. I'm temped to create a new nom-de-ordnateur and
> go annoy the bugger :) Any takers?
Didn't you get the memo, you are somebodies sock....
Tankfixer
mumbled
Could it be anything close to him being a poofter ?
Eugene Griessel
>>
>> Jest out of curousity, do you know what plonker means in British slang,
>> at least in gentlemen of my Dad's vintage?
>>
>
>Ummm ... IIRC Jack Linthicum, one of the plonkees, may have discussed the
>theme some time ago. But do tell!
I could quote from Ivor Biggun's immortal song about "John Thomas
Allcock - the man with the biggest plonker in the world" but am too
polite around ladies. Although I love the line that goes "Then he
went to China, where dragons can be found and everybody said: "Eeee
look there's one dragging on the ground."
William Black
"La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:G8CQh.38096$__3.22493@edtnps90...
He'll be back, they always are...
He gone away before for a few months and usually returns with some more
ludicrous claims.
It's just that nobody has actually bothered to read his suicide note
before...
--
William Black
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Barbeques on fire by the chalets past the castle headland
I watched the gift shops glitter in the darkness off the Newborough gate
All these moments will be lost in time, like icecream on the beach
Time for tea.
William Black
"Eugene Griessel" <eugene@dynagen..co..za> wrote in message
news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
>
>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who
>>are
>>from the military groups):
>>
>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>
>
> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
You have to explode one of his more outrageous claims.
I notice his 'plonkees' range across a variety of nations, nationalities
and a vast range of political views.
In some ways it's a 'list of the sane'...
Jack Linthicum
> In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
> soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
> from the military groups):
>
> He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>
> - nilita, LOL
>
> I've just plonked all the "visitors", one by one, as well as their
> running dogs and my screen looks a lot more like soc.culture.scottish
> than it has done for some time.
>
> Here's the base list if anyone wants to follow my example.
>
> Jack Linthicum
> William Black
> Deirdre Sholto Douglas
> Andrew Chaplin
> Peter Jason
> Mark Test
> Vince
> Tankfixer
> J. Antero
> Douglas Eagleson
> Billzz
> D. Spencer Hines
> Andrew Swallow
>
> Plus
>
> Julian Richards
> Brian Sharrock
> jJim McLaughlin
> Soren Larsen
> redc1c43
>
> Cleaning out the stye!
Am I really #1?
Eugene Griessel
'tis that devasting wit, the rapier-sharp repartee, the questioning of
the cross-eyed scottish git's credentials that does it.
Eugene L Griessel
'Hey, there's a gigantic wooden horse outside and all the Greeks
have left. Let's bring it inside!' Not a formula for long-term
survival. Now if they had formed a task force to study the Trojan
Horse and report back to a committee, everyone wouldn't have been
massacred. Who says middle management is useless?
Jack Linthicum
Stephen Potter in the Gamesmanship books created the terms Plonk and
Plonkingly to be a manner or style, a dismissal of some trivial twit.
Example, someone might extol his or her superior education and
Potter's response would a very condescending "For you, perhaps."
plonk /excl.,vt./
[Usenet: possibly influenced by British slang `plonk' for cheap booze,
or `plonker' for someone behaving stupidly (latter is lit. equivalent
to Yiddish `schmuck')] The sound a newbie makes as he falls to the
bottom of a kill file. While it originated in the newsgroup
talk.bizarre, this term (usually written "*plonk*") is now (1994)
widespread on Usenet as a form of public ridicule.
http://www.ccil.org/jargon/jargon_31.html "The new Hacker's
Dictionary"
or the earlier version from Stephen Potter
some of Stephen Potter's works:
The Theory & Practice of Gamesmanship or The Art of Winning Games
Without Actually Cheating 1947
Some Notes On Lifemanship or The Art of Getting Away With It Without
Being an Absolute Plonk 1950
One-Upmanship; Being Some Account of the Activities and Teaching of
the Lifemanship Correspondence College of One-Upness and
Gameslifemastery Illus. by Lt. Col. Frank Wilson 1952
The Complete Golf Gamesmanship 1968 aka Golfmanship
The Complete Upmanship 1970
Note the word 'plonk' and its application to gamesmanship
La N
"Jack Linthicum" <jackli...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:1175681698.2...@o5g2000hsb.googlegroups.com...
Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm not
on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go on a date
with him ...%)
nilita, thinking of when Hell freezes over ...
Arved Sandstrom
news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
>
>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who
>>are
>>from the military groups):
>>
>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>
>
> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>
> Eugene L Griessel
Don't feel bad - I never seem to get plonked either. By anyone. I can't even
get to the level of pogue Sandstrom on the DSH list yet.
Several people on that list have hit a double - they have Highlander plonks
and are also accredited DSH pogues, Jack being one.
Ever wonder about the mental state of someone who makes a point of posting
his plonk list? Not plonk as in cheap wine... :-) You have to wonder whether
the duct tape is coming unwrapped a bit, or what point the prescribed and
unprescribed drugs started to lose their effect (or started having wrong
effects).
I can see plonking Douglas Eagleson, though. There's another fellow who's
missing a few books on the shelf.
AHS
Arved Sandstrom
> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za:
>
>> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>>
>>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority
>>>who are from the military groups):
>>>
>>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>>
>>
>> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
>> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>>
>> Eugene L Griessel
>>
>> Puritanism - The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be
>> happy.
>
> Heh, I made the list and as far as I can recall I never even told the
> silly git to piss off. I'm temped to create a new nom-de-ordnateur and
> go annoy the bugger :) Any takers?
Cross-posting, Rich, and sixteen levels of badly quoted and snipped stuff,
none of it your fault. At some point in time you probably did tell him that
he was full of shit, and never knew it was Himself that you were replying
to.
AHS
Eugene Griessel
I do move, however, that these definitions from the Concise Oxford be
kept in mind:
plonk1 // v. & n.
v.tr.
1 set down hurriedly or clumsily.
2 (usu. foll. by down) set down firmly.
n.
1 an act of plonking.
2 a heavy thud.
[imitative]
plonk2 // n. Brit. colloq.
cheap or inferior wine.
[originally Australian: probably a corruption of blanc in French vin
blanc 層hite wine綻
plonker // n. coarse slang
1 derog. a foolish or inept person.
2 the penis.
It becomes relatively obvious that "plonk" and "plonker" can hardly be
set to derive from the same roots!
Further to this the first recorded occurrence of "plonk" as a cheap
inferior wine was in the 1920s in Australian newspapers. Whereas
"plonker" - in the meaning of a half-wit - is a child of the 1960s.
Oddly enough the term "plonker" was used by Australian forces during
WW1 for explosive shells.
Jack Linthicum
> "Eugene Griessel" <eugene@dynagen..co..za> wrote in message
>
> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
>
Consider Nixon with his enemies list, or Col. Cathcart in Catch 22
with his Feathers in My Cap and Blackeyes that seem to run together.
Makes you wonder about all those Sumerians who first made lists when
writing was invented 5000 years ago. Maybe they just needed to
actualize their mental state.
Eugene Griessel
One of my favourite "lists" - fictional though it may be - is the one
Red Will Danaher keeps in the "Quiet Man". His major threat seems to
be "I'll put you in my book".
Eugene L Griessel
Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.
Andrew Chaplin
news:1175681698.2...@o5g2000hsb.googlegroups.com...
Yep.
As No. 4, I will just have to try harder. F8ck'im if he can't take a joke.
--
Andrew Chaplin
SIT MIHI GLADIUS SICUT SANCTO MARTINO
(If you're going to e-mail me, you'll have to get "yourfinger." out.)
rwh.j...@gmail.com
Carefull snippage
> plonker // n. coarse slang
> 1 derog. a foolish or inept person.
> 2 the penis.
>
The latter is what me old man is refering to
Rich
Enfield NS
Canada
William Black
"Arved Sandstrom" <asand...@accesswave.ca> wrote in message
news:SzLQh.28261$6z3.12260@edtnps82...
> "Eugene Griessel" <eugene@dynagen..co..za> wrote in message
> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
>> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>>
>>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who
>>>are
>>>from the military groups):
>>>
>>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>>
>>
>> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
>> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>>
>> Eugene L Griessel
>
> Don't feel bad - I never seem to get plonked either. By anyone. I can't
> even get to the level of pogue Sandstrom on the DSH list yet.
You can tell when you really get on DSH's shit list, you get your own
nickname...
I vary from being 'Pogue Black' to 'Black the Red' depending on how hard
I've tweaked the old monster's tail that week...
La N
"William Black" <willia...@hotmail.co.uk> wrote in message
news:ev0b1d$o8r$1...@news.freedom2surf.net...
>
> "Arved Sandstrom" <asand...@accesswave.ca> wrote in message
> news:SzLQh.28261$6z3.12260@edtnps82...
>> "Eugene Griessel" <eugene@dynagen..co..za> wrote in message
>> news:4612eec1...@news.uunet.co.za...
>>> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>>>
>>>>In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>>>>soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who
>>>>are
>>>>from the military groups):
>>>>
>>>>He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>>>
>>>
>>> I'm deeply wounded - he doesn't hate me enough to plonk me. What will
>>> I have to do to get the silly pseudo-Scot to take umbrage?
>>>
>>> Eugene L Griessel
>>
>> Don't feel bad - I never seem to get plonked either. By anyone. I can't
>> even get to the level of pogue Sandstrom on the DSH list yet.
>
> You can tell when you really get on DSH's shit list, you get your own
> nickname...
>
> I vary from being 'Pogue Black' to 'Black the Red' depending on how hard
> I've tweaked the old monster's tail that week...
>
There's something so very drama queenish about publicly announcing one's
Plonk List. It is very reminiscent of the grandeur days of the swish-o
Crisco Disco when Brad the doorman cooed that only *certain* people were
allowed entrance beyond the red velvet rope!
- nilita
Arved Sandstrom
>
[ SNIP ]
> Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm not
> on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go on a
> date with him ...%)
That's the reason you're not on *my* plonk list. Just make sure you wear
that little black dress and the high heels. I don't hate you, though...I am
very nonbiased when it comes to women who have bellydanced who live in
Nelson, BC.
> nilita, thinking of when Hell freezes over ...
If you're Norse, or come from some other Arctic bits, Hell already has
frozen over. Most people who live way outside the circles rather like the
idea of a fiery hot hell, seeing as how they've never known real heat in
their life. Just re-read Robert Service's stuff: As a matter of fact, since
Jack inflicted us with Barrett's Privateer's, let me inflict you with some
of Bob's stuff (my favourite poet):
*****
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't
see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of
moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean
through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn
and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed
that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in
a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the
thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice
May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-ium."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom
see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to
blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know
why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";. . . then the door I opened
wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that
door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been
warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
*****
AHS
Jack Linthicum
wrote:
> "La N" <nilita2004NOS...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
A Song For the Highlander
The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail
by Robert W. Service
To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his sterns.
Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore,
To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn't seeking gore;
The which it must have often been, for Major Percy Brown,
According to his story was a hunter of renown,
Who in the Murrumbidgee wilds had stalked the kangaroo
And killed the cassowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.
And now the Arctic fox he meant to follow to its lair,
And it was also his intent to beard the Arctic hare...
Which facts concerning Major Brown I merely tell because
I fain would have you know him for the Nimrod that he was.
Now Skipper Grey and Deacon White were sitting in the shack,
And sampling of the whisky that pertained to Sheriff Black.
Said Skipper Grey: "I want to say a word about this Brown:
The piker's sticking out his chest as if he owned the town."
Said Sheriff Black: "he has no lack of frigorated cheek;
He called himself a Sourdough when he'd just been here a week."
Said Deacon White: "Methinks you're right, and so I have a plan
By which I hope to prove to-night the mettle of the man.
Just meet me where the hooch-bird sings, and though our ways be rude
We'll make a proper Sourdough of this Piccadilly dude."
Within the Malamute Saloon were gathered all the gang;
The fun was fast and furious, and the loud hooch-bird sang.
In fact the night's hilarity had almost reached its crown,
When into its storm-centre breezed the gallant Major Brown.
And at the apparation, whith its glass eye and plus-fours,
>From fifty alcoholic throats responded fifty roars.
With shouts of stark amazement and with whoops of sheer delight,
They surged around the stranger, but the first was Deacon White.
"We welcome you," he cried aloud, "to this the Great White Land.
The Arctic Brotherhood is proud to grip you by the hand.
Yea, sportsman of the bull-dog breed, from trails of far away,
To Yukoners this is indeed a memorable day.
Our jubilation to express, vocabularies fail...
Boys, hail the Great Cheechako!" And the boys responded: "Hail!"
"And now," continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown,
"Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town,
And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow -
They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough.
The same, some say, is one who's seen the Yukon ice go out,
But most profound authorities the definition doubt,
And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown,
A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down."
"By Gad!" responded Major Brown, "that's ripping, don't you know.
I've always felt I'd like to be a certified Sourdough.
And though I haven't any doubt your Winter's awf'ly nice,
Mayfair, I fear, may miss me ere the break-up of your ice.
Yet (pray excuse my ignorance of matters such as these)
A cocktail I can understand - but what's an ice-worm, please?"
Said Deacon White: "It is not strange that you should fail to know,
Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow.
Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)
Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and
through,
For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.
Yet all is clear as you draw near - for coyley peering out
Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.
And as no nourishment they find, to keep themselves alive
They masticate each other's tails, till just the Tough survive.
Yet on this stern and Spartan fare so-rapidly they grow,
That some attain six inches by the melting of the snow.
Then when the tundra glows to green and nigger heads appear,
They burrow down and are not seen until another year."
"A toughish yarn," laughed Major Brown, "as well you may admit.
I'd like to see this little beast before I swallow it."
"'Tis easy done," said Deacon White, "Ho! Barman, haste and bring
Us forth some pickled ice-worms of the vintage of last Spring."
But sadly still was Barman Bill, then sighed as one bereft:
"There's been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain't an ice-worm left.
Yet wait . . . By gosh! it seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys."
Then deeply in a drawer he sought, and there he found a jar,
The which with due and proper pride he put upon the bar;
And in it, wreathed in queasy rings, or rolled into a ball,
A score of grey and greasy things, were drowned in alcohol.
Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.
And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.
Cried Deacon White with deep delight: "Say, isn't that a beaut?"
"I think it is," sniffed Major Brown, "a most disgustin' brute.
Its very sight gives me the pip. I'll bet my bally hat,
You're only spoofin' me, old chap. You'll never swallow that."
"The hell I won't!" said Deacon White. "Hey! Bill, that fellows fine.
Fix up four ice-worm cocktails, and just put that wop in mine."
So Barman Bill got busy, and with sacerdotal air
His art's supreme achievement he proceeded to prepare.
His silver cups, like sickle moon, went waving to and fro,
And four celestial cocktails soon were shining in a row.
And in the starry depths of each, artistically piled,
A fat and juicy ice-worm raised its mottled mug and smiled.
Then closer pressed the peering crown, suspended was the fun,
As Skipper Grey in courteous way said: "Stranger, please take one."
But with a gesture of disgust the Major shook his head.
"You can't bluff me. You'll never drink that gastly thing," he said.
"You'll see all right," said Deacon White, and held his cocktail high,
Till its ice-worm seemed to wiggle, and to wink a wicked eye.
Then Skipper Grey and Sheriff Black each lifted up a glass,
While through the tense and quiet crown a tremor seemed to pass.
"Drink, Stranger, drink," boomed Deacon White. "proclaim you're of the
best,
A doughty Sourdough who has passed the Ice-worm Cocktail Test."
And at these words, with all eyes fixed on gaping Major Brown,
Like a libation to the gods, each dashed his cocktail down.
The Major gasped with horror as the trio smacked their lips.
He twiddled at his eye-glass with unsteady finger-tips.
Into his starry cocktail with a look of woe he peered,
And its ice-worm, to his thinking, mosy incontinently leered.
Yet on him were a hundred eyes, though no one spoke aloud,
For hushed with expectation was the waiting, watching crowd.
The Major's fumbling hand went forth - the gang prepared to cheer;
The Major's falt'ring hand went back, the mob prepared to jeer,
The Major gripped his gleaming galss and laid it to his lips,
And as despairfully he took some nauseated sips,
>From out its coil of crapulence the ice-worm raised its head,
Its muzzle was a murky blue, its eyes a ruby red.
And then a roughneck bellowed fourth: "This stiff comes here and
struts,
As if he bought the blasted North - jest let him show his guts."
And with a roar the mob proclaimed: "Cheechako, Major Brown,
Reveal that you're of Sourdough stuff, and drink your cocktail down."
The Major took another look, then quickly closed his eyes,
For even as he raised his glass he felt his gorge arise.
Aye, even though his sight was sealed, in fancy he could see
That grey and greasy thing that reared and sneered in mockery.
Yet roung him ringed the callous crowd - and how they seemed to gloat!
It must be done . . . He swallowed hard . . . The brute was at his
throat.
He choked. . . he gulped . . . Thank God! at last he'd got the horror
down.
The from the crown went up a roar: "Hooray for Sourdough Brown!"
With shouts they raised him shoulder high, and gave a rousing cheer,
But though they praised him to the sky the Major did not hear.
Amid their demonstrative glee delight he seemed to lack;
Indeed it almost seemed that he - was "keeping something back."
A clammy sweat was on his brow, and pallid as a sheet:
"I feel I must be going now," he'd plaintively repeat.
Aye, though with drinks and smokes galore, they tempted him to stay,
With sudden bolt he gained the door, and made his get-away.
And ere next night his story was the talk of Dawson Town,
But gone and reft of glory was the wrathful Major Brown;
For that ice-worm (so they told him) of such formidable size
Was - a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.
"now, where is that Eskimo woman you want me to dance with?"
Eugene Griessel
<snippola>
> There are strange things done in the midnight sun
> By the men who moil for gold;
> The Arctic trails have their secret tales
> That would make your blood run cold;
> The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
> But the queerest they ever did see
> Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
> I cremated Sam McGee.
>
<snippola>
Gawd its almost as long as that epic poem of the Inuit woman,
terminally vision impaired Richard and Peter, from South of the Rio
Grande.
Eugene L Griessel
The basic delusion that men may be governed and yet be free.
La N
> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> news:4vLQh.39702$__3.3162@edtnps90...
>>
> [ SNIP ]
>> Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm
>> not on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go on
>> a date with him ...%)
>
> That's the reason you're not on *my* plonk list. Just make sure you wear
> that little black dress and the high heels. I don't hate you, though...I
> am very nonbiased when it comes to women who have bellydanced who live in
> Nelson, BC.
>
Then you won't like me, since I don't live in Nelson ... ;^> .... 80
clicks away from
that beautiful city. But, if it helps my case, I'm having some Nelsonites
over for dinner on the weekend (Easter).
>> nilita, thinking of when Hell freezes over ...
>
> If you're Norse, or come from some other Arctic bits, Hell already has
> frozen over. Most people who live way outside the circles rather like the
> idea of a fiery hot hell, seeing as how they've never known real heat in
> their life. Just re-read Robert Service's stuff: As a matter of fact,
> since Jack inflicted us with Barrett's Privateer's, let me inflict you
> with some of Bob's stuff (my favourite poet):
>
> *****
>
Heh. Arv, I grew up on Robert Service; we memorized his stuff in school.
But, all things being equal, we also learned to sing:
Un canadien errant
Banni de ses foyers
Un canadien errant
Banni de ses foyers
Parcourait en pleurant
Des pays étrangers
Parcourait en pleurant
Des pays étrangers
Un jour triste et pensif
Assis au bord des flots
Au courant fugitif
Il adressa ces mots
Si tu vois mon pays
Mon pays malheureux
Va, dis a mes amis
Que je me souviens d'eux
O jours si pleins d'appas
Vous êtes disparus
Et ma patrie, hélas, je ne la verrai plus
Non, mais en expirant
O mon cher Canada
Mon regard languissant
Vers toi se portera
- nilita
Jack Linthicum
> "Arved Sandstrom" <asandst...@accesswave.ca> wrote in message
>
> news:5uOQh.28294$6z3.15451@edtnps82...
>
> > "La N" <nilita2004NOS...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
Lonely northern river always flowin' to the sea,
One single river rollin' in eternity --
Two nations in this land that lies along its shore
But just one river rollin' free.
Arved Sandstrom
>
> "Arved Sandstrom" <asand...@accesswave.ca> wrote in message
> news:5uOQh.28294$6z3.15451@edtnps82...
>> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
>> news:4vLQh.39702$__3.3162@edtnps90...
>>>
>> [ SNIP ]
>>> Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm
>>> not on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go
>>> on
>>> a date with him ...%)
>>
>> That's the reason you're not on *my* plonk list. Just make sure you wear
>> that little black dress and the high heels. I don't hate you, though...I
>> am very nonbiased when it comes to women who have bellydanced who live in
>> Nelson, BC.
>
> Then you won't like me, since I don't live in Nelson ... ;^> .... 80
> clicks away from
> that beautiful city. But, if it helps my case, I'm having some Nelsonites
> over for dinner on the weekend (Easter).
Close enough for government work. 80 klicks in Canada means you're in the
suburbs...in little countries it means you're in another country.
Your Nelsonite friends won't help your case - a half dozen candid
photographs of you and the black dress will. But I speak merely as an
artist - I would like to sketch you in pencils and pastels.
>>> nilita, thinking of when Hell freezes over ...
>>
>> If you're Norse, or come from some other Arctic bits, Hell already has
>> frozen over. Most people who live way outside the circles rather like the
>> idea of a fiery hot hell, seeing as how they've never known real heat in
>> their life. Just re-read Robert Service's stuff: As a matter of fact,
>> since Jack inflicted us with Barrett's Privateer's, let me inflict you
>> with some of Bob's stuff (my favourite poet):
>>
>> *****
>
> Heh. Arv, I grew up on Robert Service; we memorized his stuff in school.
Good stuff - every Canadian should know Bob Service poems.
> But, all things being equal, we also learned to sing:
>
[ SNIP ]
I understood the song. My French isn't that bad yet. But what is the tune?
Only a few years ago I made the arrangements for hotel accommodations on the
Isles de la Madelaines (Magdalen Islands) entirely in French. It wasn't
great French, but it got the point across. As it happened, the hotel clerk I
was talking to knew no English, so there wasn't much choice anyway.
AHS
AHS
TMOliver
"La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote ...
>
> "Jack Linthicum" <jackli...@earthlink.net> wrote ...
I continue to believe that I occupy #1 billing on his enemies list, having
for the last month or two received from my "Outlook" a quaint message
claiming I was not allowed to post on scs having been banned therefrom, I
suppose, for conduct unbecoming a descendant of Scots - an offense somewhat
graver than excess flatulence during a Lettish punishment battalion muster.
He got rid of me early, but now has exiled all of you. We'll have to rely
on La N to relay our insults and chastisement as second hand so that they
continue to appear before him often enough to keep him rabid.
You must admit that I have been the loudest and most constant of his
attackers. I apologize for becoming so personal with my insults, but even
the Wright Brothers would not have tolerated the amount of wing-warping
Highlander applied prior to his daily aerobatic exercise of dementia. I'll
miss him, however...Where else could we find gene splicing capable of
combining one of Monty Python's Gormless Twits, Uncle Ebenezer Balfour and
Baron Munchausen?
TMO
Jack Linthicum
> "La N" <nilita2004NOS...@yahoo.com> wrote ...
>
>
>
> > "Jack Linthicum" <jacklinthi...@earthlink.net> wrote ...
I will gladly give my seeming position of primacy. You have proven
your case both before and after this example of the great wisdom we
have come to expect from the Highlander. In the words of the Indiana
supporters in the crowd as the 1973 UCLA Bruins cruised to their 7th
straight NCAA Basketball championship "I'm number two".
La N
The Highlander is the gift that keeps on giving by way of virtual
entertainment. I don't know when I've ever LOL so much at a guy in a kilt
... :)))).
Anyway, this morning he made a post on the scottish group announcing that he
was adding *moi* to the plonker and his rationale for doing so. The
esteemed Deirdre Sholto Douglas responded to him thusly and is reason she is
one of the lasses who share a place with us in the dump o' doom ... :)
Excerpt:
>The Highlander wrote: [about nilita]
>
> I think you grossly underestimate how angry the Scots are about your
> ego-ridden posts in SCS.
One has to love unintentional irony.
>I provided the list because, as you will
> notice if you ever get your head disengaged from your anus, that
> several have taken advantage of my list, which is why I published it,
> knowing that they would approve and would be happy not to have to
> create their own list from scratch.
Cloaking what's effectively a hissy fit as a public
service announcement...how cute.
> What you have failed to grasp is that we Scots stick together like
> glue. You have committed the cardinal sin; you have bored us with your
> repetitious bullshit and this is the inevitable result.
Of course, those of us who _only_ read scs aren't
in the least bit bored by this sort of self-serving
nonsense...oh, no, why we _love_ it when someone
with an ego the size of a stadium speaks for all of
us.
> Anyway, I am now going to plonk you both as typically, you seem to
> have learned nothing except how to lose the war, as always.
Aye, the dance of the hour is no longer the Highland
Fling, but the Highland Snit.
Deirdre
-------------
End of Excerpt ...
- nilita, ROTFLOL!!!!
Arved Sandstrom
>
[ SNIP ]
>> What you have failed to grasp is that we Scots stick together like
>> glue. You have committed the cardinal sin; you have bored us with your
>> repetitious bullshit and this is the inevitable result.
>
> - nilita, ROTFLOL!!!!
Regardless of what side you're on, never say that you and your brothers
stick together like glue. This leads to ribald jests, akin to the old joke
about Italian sailors and crowbars.
Were you clad only in underwear when you were convulsed in laughter? This
would make for a good watercolour I believe, although a sketch in charcoal
would also work. Please advise..especially as to cup size and whether it's a
thong or not. A starving artist needs to know.
Arved da Dartbocca
Jack Linthicum
> In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
> soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
> from the military groups):
>
>
I checked out that original post from scs and find he is cleaning out
all the intruders from other groups. I wonder if, unlike a t least two
other groups I know of, he has ever considered the cross-posting nut
to be a t the base of his perceived problem?
William Black
for a time'.
Looks like he found it a bit too hot.
He's gone back to soc.culture.whatever where there's a lot of heat but very
little light.
He'll be back, they always are...
La N
> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> news:_eSQh.28333$6z3.28328@edtnps82...
>>
> [ SNIP ]
>>> What you have failed to grasp is that we Scots stick together like
>>> glue. You have committed the cardinal sin; you have bored us with your
>>> repetitious bullshit and this is the inevitable result.
> [ SNIP ]
>>
>> - nilita, ROTFLOL!!!!
>
> Regardless of what side you're on, never say that you and your brothers
> stick together like glue. This leads to ribald jests, akin to the old joke
> about Italian sailors and crowbars.
Gaaaack! btw, someone on Highlander's permitted-in list should visit his
group and tell him that we in the mil. groups very much miss his war stories
and let bygones be bygones and come on back and entertain us ...%)
>
> Were you clad only in underwear when you were convulsed in laughter? This
> would make for a good watercolour I believe, although a sketch in charcoal
> would also work. Please advise..especially as to cup size and whether it's
> a thong or not. A starving artist needs to know.
>
> Arved da Dartbocca
>
>
Heh. Arv, speaking of art, I am unfortunately reminded of a duty I've been
shirking which relates to finishing a sonnet. Once upon a time many years
ago I wrote a sonnet based on this, one of my favourite paintings:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flaming_June
In more recent times, a very prominent American emailed me saying he loved
the sonnet, and it turns out that among his other talents, he's a rather
prolific artist and art collector. He showed me photos of various rooms in
his palatial mansion, the walls of which were covered with tapestries and
paintings. I really became enamoured of one of the "salons" and told him
that for his kind words, I would write a sonnet about that room and a bit
about what I know of him. He thought that was magnificent and, in turn, he
offered to turn my new sonnet into a painting. < gulp >
So inbetween my Usenet tomfoolery and w*rk gigs, I'm trying to fashion
several lines of *$*&_D(* iambic pentameter while the gentleman waits with
bated breath.
I think I have writer's block ...;( .... Why couldn't I have offered up a
simple haiku ....;(
- nil
Fred J. McCall
:"La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
:news:4vLQh.39702$__3.3162@edtnps90...
:>
:[ SNIP ]
:> Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm not
:> on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go on a
:> date with him ...%)
:
:That's the reason you're not on *my* plonk list. Just make sure you wear
:that little black dress and the high heels. I don't hate you, though...I am
:very nonbiased when it comes to women who have bellydanced who live in
:Nelson, BC.
I'm obviously more flexible about these things than you, Arved, since
I'm willing to not put her on my plonk list even if she takes the
little black dress off... ;-)
--
"Adrenaline is like exercise, but without the excessive gym fees."
-- Professor Walsh, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
La N
"Fred J. McCall" <fmc...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:42j8135ps3d69pgm0...@4ax.com...
> "Arved Sandstrom" <asand...@accesswave.ca> wrote:
>
> :"La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> :news:4vLQh.39702$__3.3162@edtnps90...
> :>
> :[ SNIP ]
> :> Considering he has been hating me for some 3 months, I'm surprised I'm
> not
> :> on his list. Maybe he's still thinking I'll change my mind and go on a
> :> date with him ...%)
> :
> :That's the reason you're not on *my* plonk list. Just make sure you wear
> :that little black dress and the high heels. I don't hate you, though...I
> am
> :very nonbiased when it comes to women who have bellydanced who live in
> :Nelson, BC.
>
> I'm obviously more flexible about these things than you, Arved, since
> I'm willing to not put her on my plonk list even if she takes the
> little black dress off... ;-)
>
You know? You guys would be so in luck in one respect. My wardrobe is full
of black. It's my favourite colour. OTOH, I can't imagine doing the full
Monty for my big bro's of smn ...%)
- ni
La N
Geeze, Arv. You don't know Un Canadien Errant? Well, I can actually sing
it, but not very good ..%)
It's been done by a lot of singers throughout the years, including our own
Leonard Cohen. I tried to find a Cohen vid clip, but the best I could come
up with was some furriner imitating Cohen singing the song:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ShXRGPBW6Eo
Take a listen, and see if you recognize the tune.
- ni
Arved Sandstrom
It does seem vaguely incestual, doesn't it? That's OK - we can meet in a
little motel in West Virginia or Tennessee.
AHS
Arved Sandstrom
>
[ SNIP ]
> Heh. Arv, speaking of art, I am unfortunately reminded of a duty I've
> been shirking which relates to finishing a sonnet. Once upon a time many
> years ago I wrote a sonnet based on this, one of my favourite paintings:
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flaming_June
>
> In more recent times, a very prominent American emailed me saying he loved
> the sonnet, and it turns out that among his other talents, he's a rather
> prolific artist and art collector. He showed me photos of various rooms
> in his palatial mansion, the walls of which were covered with tapestries
> and paintings. I really became enamoured of one of the "salons" and told
> him that for his kind words, I would write a sonnet about that room and a
> bit about what I know of him. He thought that was magnificent and, in
> turn, he offered to turn my new sonnet into a painting. < gulp >
>
> So inbetween my Usenet tomfoolery and w*rk gigs, I'm trying to fashion
> several lines of *$*&_D(* iambic pentameter while the gentleman waits
> with bated breath.
>
> I think I have writer's block ...;( .... Why couldn't I have offered up a
> simple haiku ....;(
>
> - nil
Ah, haiku...my favourite poetic form. Well, yes, I like Robert Service, but
if I had to write poetry, it would be haiku. Well, that's not quite true
either - if I could imitate Ogden Nash I'd be fulfilled...his "Little Man
who wasn't there" and "The Termite" are classics. I include my favourite
Nash's at the end of this post.
As part of my foray into classical Latin I have inevitably been exposed to
all forms of meters, the most common of which is the dactylic hexameter. In
order to read (and understand) Latin poetry you pretty much have to grok
what meter is being used...this is not so for English.
A few haikus just for you:
Naked trees weep sleet
HRM plows left no salt
am horizontal
Fruit flies hover over
sun-washed pork chops and cabbage
Cat is curious
I am not really mentally ready to write sonnets, though. I'd have to go out
and buy a fluffy white shirt, soft leather boots, tight breeches, get a silk
cravat, and acquire tuberculosis in order to be psychologically ready.
AHS
Ogden Nash:
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
"The Termite"
Camped on a tropic riverside,
One day he missed his loving bride.
She had, the guide informed him later,
Been eaten by an alligator.
Professor Twist could not but smile.
"You mean," he said, "a crocodile."
"The Purist"
When called by a panther,
Don't anther.
"The Panther"
Jack Linthicum
>
> Ah, haiku...my favourite poetic form. Well, yes, I like Robert Service, but
> if I had to write poetry, it would be haiku. Well, that's not quite true
> either - if I could imitate Ogden Nash I'd be fulfilled...his "Little Man
> who wasn't there" and "The Termite" are classics. I include my favourite
> Nash's at the end of this post.
>
You left out his best work
Songs for a boss named Mr. Linthicum
Put i there, Mr. Linthicum, put it there!
You're a bear, Mr. Linthicum, you're a bear!
It's our verdict
That your service is perfect.
You're a regular American crusader
And you'll lick old H. L. Mencken's armada.
You know life isn't all a picnic
But that hasn't made you a cynic.
>From first to last
As the banner goes past
We'll sing our favorite air.
Our choice always narrows
To the man you can't embarass,
So put it there, Mr. Linthicum, put it there!
II
L for loyalty to his grand old firm
I for his eyes of blue
N for his ideals and his spirit of co-operation
T for his influence on me and you.
H for his ability to collect and co-ordinate facts,
I-C-U-M for the labor-saving card index system he put through
Put them all together, they spell LINTHICUM
---And what the hell did you expect them to do?
Ogden Nash, Hard Lines, 1931
La N
Sure, we can go to Tennessee and hang out with Mrs. Lemmen. Or West
Virginia and play dueling banjos!
- ni
La N
I love poetry .... thanks, Arv.
btw, here is my previous sonnet that caught the eye of the gentleman in
question:
Sonnet: Meditating upon Lord Leighton's Flaming June which he painted
during the last days of his life.
Wherefore passion mocked mortal's mourning clothes;
And sweet hauteur drove palette, brush, and knife
To fashion orange veiled Venus in repose,
Summer's June, in the gloaming of his life.
And summer birthed her perfect citrus mouth,
Orange embers mirrored in his milky eyes.
O, myth of time hewn scars and fading youth,
Preserved in endless sleep and voyeurs' sighs.
Is time metered by the passing of hours,
Corrupted by the fashions of the day?
Or matted in dreams like firm pressed flowers,
In portraitures, songs, and workings of clay.
Interred lies he gone to eternal rest.
Asleep is his June with timelessness blest.
- ni
La N
LOL!!!!!
I love a good LOL in the ayem ...%)
- ni
Jack Linthicum
> "Arved Sandstrom" <asandst...@accesswave.ca> wrote in message
>
> news:R_0Rh.31068$6z3.14320@edtnps82...
>
>
>
> > "La N" <nilita2004NOS...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> >news:L4YQh.39520$x9.17900@edtnps89...
>
> >> "Fred J. McCall" <fmcc...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
> >>news:42j8135ps3d69pgm0...@4ax.com...
> >>> "Arved Sandstrom" <asandst...@accesswave.ca> wrote:
>
> >>> :"La N" <nilita2004NOS...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
That was the Tallulah Gorge in Tallulah Falls, Georgia and on the
Chattooga River, dividing the states of Georgia and South Carolina.
Jeff Crowell
> I will gladly give my seeming position of primacy. You have proven
> your case both before and after this example of the great wisdom we
> have come to expect from the Highlander. In the words of the Indiana
> supporters in the crowd as the 1973 UCLA Bruins cruised to their 7th
> straight NCAA Basketball championship "I'm number two".
Sounds like the old country song:
"If I Can't Be Your Number One, Then Number Two On You."
Jeff
Jack Linthicum
Or Rodney Dangerfield's advice in Back to School "Look out for number
one, but don't step in number two"
Arved Sandstrom
>
[ SNIP ]
> btw, here is my previous sonnet that caught the eye of the gentleman in
> question:
>
> Sonnet: Meditating upon Lord Leighton's Flaming June which he painted
> during the last days of his life.
>
> Wherefore passion mocked mortal's mourning clothes;
> And sweet hauteur drove palette, brush, and knife
> To fashion orange veiled Venus in repose,
> Summer's June, in the gloaming of his life.
> And summer birthed her perfect citrus mouth,
> Orange embers mirrored in his milky eyes.
> O, myth of time hewn scars and fading youth,
> Preserved in endless sleep and voyeurs' sighs.
> Is time metered by the passing of hours,
> Corrupted by the fashions of the day?
> Or matted in dreams like firm pressed flowers,
> In portraitures, songs, and workings of clay.
> Interred lies he gone to eternal rest.
> Asleep is his June with timelessness blest.
>
> - ni
Hmmm, that's good. Not that I doubted you or anything. :-)
I have to admit, I admire the technique rather than the subject. I don't
believe I could write what you wrote without doing pretty much what I said
in my earlier post - I'd need to have an attic flat in Paris, to be poor and
hungry, to be flamboyantly extravagant with my spare change (most of my
income would be from gentlemen wishing me to write romantic letters to their
mistresses), and to be attired properly.
Glad you liked the other poetry. I composed another for you just now (a
little bit free form).
The hills to Sobey's loom so high,
that hands of exhaustion I throw to the sky,
yet lettuce and bread and eggs must be bought,
and butter and milk are in with that lot,
but O, what great and steep hills are they,
unsalted in winter and gloomy and grey,
and avoiding the grocery is all for naught.
The hills, oh the hills,
ancient drumlins of yore,
now paved and tamed, yet
showing their rage with each frost-heave,
and the brutes! Tripping the unwary
with artful holes and ridges,
eggs and milk are smashed.
The hills to Sobey's loom so high,
that a purchase of an SUV looms rather nigh,
because pork chops and cat food must be obtained,
and I'd like it if most of it was retained,
but O, what great and steep hills are they,
they'll eat half the gas tank in the course of a day,
but going to Sobey's is pre-ordained.
AHS
Fred J. McCall
:
:"Fred J. McCall" <fmc...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
I can't be a 'big brother'. Hell, if you listen to some folks I
didn't have a mother, so how could I have a little sister? ;-)
La N
> "La N" <nilita20...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
> news:hG5Rh.41590$__3.38811@edtnps90...
>>
> [ SNIP ]
>> btw, here is my previous sonnet that caught the eye of the gentleman in
>> question:
>>
>> Sonnet: Meditating upon Lord Leighton's Flaming June which he painted
>> during the last days of his life.
>>
>> Wherefore passion mocked mortal's mourning clothes;
>> And sweet hauteur drove palette, brush, and knife
>> To fashion orange veiled Venus in repose,
>> Summer's June, in the gloaming of his life.
>> And summer birthed her perfect citrus mouth,
>> Orange embers mirrored in his milky eyes.
>> O, myth of time hewn scars and fading youth,
>> Preserved in endless sleep and voyeurs' sighs.
>> Is time metered by the passing of hours,
>> Corrupted by the fashions of the day?
>> Or matted in dreams like firm pressed flowers,
>> In portraitures, songs, and workings of clay.
>> Interred lies he gone to eternal rest.
>> Asleep is his June with timelessness blest.
>>
>> - ni
>
> Hmmm, that's good. Not that I doubted you or anything. :-)
Thank you. I won a little contest with that one a few years ago. I screwed
up on the iambic pentameter but won points on metaphors and alliteration.
>
> I have to admit, I admire the technique rather than the subject. I don't
> believe I could write what you wrote without doing pretty much what I said
> in my earlier post - I'd need to have an attic flat in Paris, to be poor
> and hungry, to be flamboyantly extravagant with my spare change (most of
> my income would be from gentlemen wishing me to write romantic letters to
> their mistresses), and to be attired properly.
I myself have to be in a pretty angstful state to write this kind of stuff.
I used to be quite angstful (and poor). Lots. Nowadays I try to maintain a
positive mood. Now I have to figure out how to get back into writing
creatively without having to get into such a neurotic state.
>
> Glad you liked the other poetry. I composed another for you just now (a
> little bit free form).
>
> The hills to Sobey's loom so high,
> that hands of exhaustion I throw to the sky,
> yet lettuce and bread and eggs must be bought,
> and butter and milk are in with that lot,
> but O, what great and steep hills are they,
> unsalted in winter and gloomy and grey,
> and avoiding the grocery is all for naught.
>
> The hills, oh the hills,
> ancient drumlins of yore,
> now paved and tamed, yet
> showing their rage with each frost-heave,
> and the brutes! Tripping the unwary
> with artful holes and ridges,
> eggs and milk are smashed.
>
> The hills to Sobey's loom so high,
> that a purchase of an SUV looms rather nigh,
> because pork chops and cat food must be obtained,
> and I'd like it if most of it was retained,
> but O, what great and steep hills are they,
> they'll eat half the gas tank in the course of a day,
> but going to Sobey's is pre-ordained.
>
That's so very nice, Arv. And that reminds me of the days of yore when I
used to engage in "improv poetry" - that is, someone would suggest a subject
and within a half hour or so I would have a poem for them.
Besides not being so angstful anymore, I can blame "chemobrain", the long
term effects of having had extreme amounts of chemotherapy. My brain is
somewhat like swiss cheese when I think of the cognitive "black holes", and
I had to basically exercise it back to half-assed form by doing anacrostic
puzzles. After my intensive treatment for a very bad form of leukemia, I
could barely read or write, and I certainly couldn't walk for a few months.
Sorta on topic for the military groups, when I was a young teenybopper in
the '60's (yes I'm that old!) I used to write poetry about some fictitious
GI in Vietnam named "Jonesy" ... heheh ... of course, he dies in the end
with a bullet through his heart whilst reading a letter from his girl at
home.
Geeze ... talk about cheesy ...%)
- ni
AUK Registrar
<paul.c...@us.army.m> wrote:
>In article <G8CQh.38096$__3.22493@edtnps90>, nilita20...@yahoo.com
>mumbled
>> In his usual flamboyant style, The Highlander announced on
>> soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
>> from the military groups):
>>
>> He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
>>
>> - nilita, LOL
>
>What a whiny biotch he is.
>And here I though Scots had more balls.
>Must not be anything under his wee kilt eh ?
Over in scs he's announcing every addition to his list with great glee. Like
a child pointing at the toilet announcing to the world at large:
"Look what >I< did!"
Iddn't he prrrrrrrrecious?
La N
"AUK Registrar" <cj...@mxyzptlk.net> wrote in message
news:ci3b13podb8vf0019...@4ax.com...
He adds to his list every couple of hours ..... He's just about down to
answering only his own posts!
Tankfixer
jackli...@earthlink.net mumbled
> > soc.culture.scottish that he has plonked the following (the majority who are
> > from the military groups):
> >
> > He must love *moi* (doh!) since I didn't make the plonk list ...:)
> >
> > - nilita, LOL
> >
Is he holding his index finger up ?
Or the one next to it... ;')
--
Usenetsaurus n. an early pedantic internet mammal, who survived on a
diet of static text and
cascading "threads."