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Post by Tone on Aug 21, 2008 20:40:05 GMT
I must go down to the city dump, Where the acrid smoke streaks the sky, And all I ask is a garbage truck, And a star to steer her by.
...
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Post by Verbivore on Aug 21, 2008 22:31:26 GMT
[...] Christopher Robin's castrated the cat. (There's another verse, but it's not suitable for polite company.) Oh, please, Twod, Sir. ;D PM or e-mail will do. ;D
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Post by Verbivore on Aug 21, 2008 23:27:03 GMT
One piece of "patriotic" poetry that every Aussie schoolkid (of my generation, at least) was forced to learn was Dorothea Mackellar's "I Love a Sunburnt Country".
Here is a spoof of it by Oscar Krahnvohl.
MY COUNTRY
I love a sunburnt country, A land of open drains Mid-urban sprawl expanded for cost-accounting gains; Broad, busy bulldozed acres Once wastes of fern and trees Now rapidly enriching Investors overseas.
A nature-loving country Beneath whose golden wattles The creek is fringed with newspapers And lined with broken bottles. Far in her distant outback Still whose cities chafe Find hidden pools where bathing Is relatively safe.
A music-loving country Where rings throughout the land The jingle sweet enjoining Devotion to the brand. O, hark the glad transistors Whence midnight, dawn and noon Cry forth her U.S. idols A trifle out of tune.
Brave military pylons That march o’er scenic hills; Fair neon lights, extolling Paint, puppy food and pills! I love her massive chimneys, Production’s, profit’s pride, Interminably pouring Pollution high and wide.
A democratic country Where, safe from fear’s attacks, Earth’s children are all equal (Save yellows, browns and blacks). Though Man in Space adventure, Invade the planets nine, What shall he find to equal This sunburnt land of mine?
Oscar Krahnvohl (after Dorothea Mackellar)
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Post by TfS on Aug 23, 2008 19:35:39 GMT
As you all probably know, Wordsworth's poem, Daffodils, was revised several times before it was published. Here's the original form of the first stanza: I wandered lonely as a cloud, But had to stop to have a tiddle. Then all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodiddles. 'You're one-third daffodil'
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Post by Verbivore on Aug 23, 2008 23:10:00 GMT
Well, whaddya know. I liked this snippet from that same site: M&B books' existence finally justified? And, of course, as books are a great way to lock up carbon for decades / centuries, that no doubt makes the M6 carbon-neutral, too.
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Post by Tone on Nov 25, 2008 21:21:37 GMT
I wandered lonely as a clod, Just picking up old rags and bottles, When on the lonely road I trod, I came upon some axolotls. Beside the lake, beneath the trees, A sight to make a man's blood freeze.
Some had handles, some were plain, Orange, pink, and green, the main. My hair stood up, my blood ran cold, I fled as fear beset my soul. I find my solace now in bottles, And I forget those axolotls.
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Post by suvvern on Feb 4, 2009 21:55:53 GMT
I only know one modified verse, taught to me by my father many years ago Hark the herald angels sing Beechams pills are just the thing They are strong but they are mild Two for a man And one for a child. If you want to go to Heaven You should take a dose of seven Hark the herald angels sing Beechams pills are just the thing
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Post by Pete on Feb 5, 2009 7:02:09 GMT
One piece of "patriotic" poetry that every Aussie schoolkid (of my generation, at least) was forced to learn was Dorothea Mackellar's "I Love a Sunburnt Country". Is the source of the US title of Bill Bryson'd book about Australia? I think the UK title was Down Under but it was assumed that that wouldn't be understood in the US.
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Post by daleopaleo on Feb 28, 2018 5:48:53 GMT
I must go down to the city dump, to the lonely dump and the sky, all I need is a garbage truck and a star to steer her by ...
And the coffee grounds, and the apple peels, and the rancid fat shaking, And the gray smoke from the burning trash In the grey dawn breaking
Oh I must go to the city dump ...(can't remember this line).. To a mountainous pile of orange peels, Far away from the city strife.
This is from an early Mad Magazine "Cracked poetry" segment
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Post by daleopaleo on Feb 28, 2018 6:37:45 GMT
I must go down to the city dump, to the lonely dump and the sky, all I need is a garbage truck and a star to steer her by ...
And the coffee grounds, and the apple peels, and the rancid fat shaking, And the gray smoke from the burning trash In the grey dawn breaking
Oh I must go to the city dump ...(can't remember this line).. To a mountainous pile of orange peels, Far away from the city strife.
This is from an early Mad Magazine "Cracked poetry" segment
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Post by Verbivore on Feb 28, 2018 8:16:09 GMT
Wow! The first post to this section in nine years!
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Post by corkscrewcurly on May 18, 2019 3:55:21 GMT
I love this from John Hegley:
Miserable Malcolm from Morcombe Had rottweilers but would not walk 'em They stayed in all day But no muck would they lay Because Malcolm had managed to cork 'em
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Post by John Miller on May 31, 2019 0:51:05 GMT
Wow! The first post to this section in nine years! [br Don’t forget. And all I ask is a windless day when the arid smoke hides the sun and the garbage burns in a greasy mess and a thousand rats all run Funny how certain things stay in the back of your mind
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Post by John Miller on May 31, 2019 0:57:17 GMT
I must go down to the city dump, to the lonely dump and the sky, all I need is a garbage truck and a star to steer her by ... And the coffee grounds, and the apple peels, and the rancid fat shaking, And the gray smoke from the burning trash In the grey dawn breaking Oh I must go to the city dump ...(can't remember this line).. To a mountainous pile of orange peels, Far away from the city strife. This is from an early Mad Magazine "Cracked poetry" segment To that vagrant gypsy life
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Post by Verbivore on May 31, 2019 9:04:23 GMT
John Miller (guest): Thank you! Now I have visions of a thousand rats running amok. Come back and join.
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