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  • I don't know about you heathens,

    but I like a little poerty now and then. I was watching The Blind Side and it reminded me of one I really like.

    The Charge Of The Light Brigade

    by Alfred, Lord Tennyson



    Half a league half a league,
    Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred:
    'Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns' he said:
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
    Was there a man dismay'd ?
    Not tho' the soldier knew
    Some one had blunder'd:
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do & die,
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volley'd & thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of Hell
    Rode the six hundred.

    Flash'd all their sabres bare,
    Flash'd as they turn'd in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army while
    All the world wonder'd:
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right thro' the line they broke;
    Cossack & Russian
    Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
    Shatter'd & sunder'd.
    Then they rode back, but not
    Not the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    While horse & hero fell,
    They that had fought so well
    Came thro' the jaws of Death,
    Back from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.

    When can their glory fade?
    O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wonder'd.
    Honour the charge they made!
    Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred!
    Last edited by WhiteSuxDirtyBirds; 08-24-11, 08:47 AM.

  • #2
    Re: I don't know about you heathens,

    That's good poerty right there.
    Last edited by WhiteSuxDirtyBirds; 08-24-11, 08:46 AM.

    Comment


    • #3
      Re: I don't know about you heathens,

      Originally posted by GardArmighty View Post
      That's good poerty right there.


      What is you avatar? A root with a jayhawk sticker?

      EDIT: Nvm. Looks like a pre-molar.
      Last edited by WhiteSuxDirtyBirds; 08-24-11, 08:47 AM.

      Comment


      • #4
        Re: I don't know about you heathens,

        Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
        The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
        I know of no reason
        Why the Gunpowder Treason
        Should ever be forgot.
        Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
        To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
        Three-score barrels of powder below
        To prove old England's overthrow;
        By God's providence he was catch'd (or by God's mercy*)
        With a dark lantern and burning match.
        Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring.
        Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
        And what should we do with him? Burn him!

        Comment


        • #5
          Re: I don't know about you heathens,

          In Flanders Fields
          By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
          Canadian Army


          In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
          Between the crosses row on row,
          That mark our place; and in the sky
          The larks, still bravely singing, fly
          Scarce heard amid the guns below.


          We are the Dead. Short days ago
          We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
          Loved and were loved, and now we lie
          In Flanders fields.


          Take up our quarrel with the foe:
          To you from failing hands we throw
          The torch; be yours to hold it high.
          If ye break faith with us who die
          We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
          In Flanders fields.

          Comment


          • #6
            Re: I don't know about you heathens,

            Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori
            by Wilfred Owen

            Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
            Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
            Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
            And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
            Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
            But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
            Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
            Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

            Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling
            Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
            But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
            And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.—
            Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
            As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
            In all my dreams before my helpless sight
            He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

            If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
            Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
            And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
            His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
            If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
            Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
            Bitter as the cud
            Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —
            My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
            To children ardent for some desperate glory,
            The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
            Pro patria mori*.

            (*It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country.)
            Last edited by WhiteSuxDirtyBirds; 08-24-11, 08:46 AM.

            Comment


            • #7
              I have a friend that is heading to TheStan and I remembered this thread.


              Edit: I edited all the posts to fix them nothing more.

              Comment


              • #8
                It was nice to revisit them. Is there one about knee surgery you could include?

                Comment


                • #9
                  “So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
                  Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none.
                  When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself.
                  Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools
                  and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”

                  Chief Tecumseh (poem from Act of Valor)

                  Comment


                  • #10


                    Hickory Dickory Dock.
                    My balls fell out of my jock.
                    I laid them to rest
                    On some hooker's chest
                    And paddled her face with my cock.
                    Roll, roll, roll your cunt
                    Gently down my prick.
                    Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
                    Then you'll suck my dick.

                    Hey diddle diddle,
                    The cat and the fiddle,
                    The cow jumped over the moon.
                    That's more than my lazy wife does,
                    The fat, fuckin' smelly baboon

                    Little Miss Muffet
                    Sat on a tuffet
                    A lightbulb was stuck up her ass.
                    It woke up the spider
                    Who lived deep inside her.
                    He said "Hey, free electric and gas."

                    Jack and Jill went up the hill
                    And Jack would try to hump her.
                    Jill said No / and Jack said So
                    I'll ram it in your dumper.

                    Twinkle twinkle little star,
                    Will she blow me in the car.
                    I bought her dinner, she had fun.
                    My balls are boiling, I'd like to come.
                    Old Mother Hubbard
                    Went to the cupboard
                    To get her old dog a snack.
                    The cupboard was bare,
                    She didn't despair.
                    She let Rover munch on her crack

                    Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater.
                    Whacked off in the movie theater.
                    Sprayed his load across the screen
                    And ruined Titanic's final scene

                    Jack and Betty, up in a tree
                    F-U-C-K-I-N-G
                    First comes Betty, then comes Jack
                    Then comes the goo from Betty's crack.

                    Little Boy Blue -
                    He needed the money.
                    Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie
                    Jerked off in his girlfriend's eye
                    When her eye was dry and shut
                    Georgie fucked that one-eyed slut

                    Old King Cole was a merry old soul
                    A merry old soul was he
                    He chewed off his tit
                    And ate his own shit
                    And washed it down with some tea.

                    Hickory Dickory Dock
                    Some chick was sucking my cock
                    The clock struck two
                    I dropped my goo
                    I dumped the bitch on the next block.

                    Jack and Jill went up the hill
                    Both with a buck and a quarter
                    Jill came down with two-fifty
                    That fuckin' whore.

                    Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
                    Trim that pussy it's too damn hairy

                    Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
                    Eating her curds and whey.
                    Along came a spider,
                    Who sat down beside her
                    And said, "Hey, what's in the bowl, bitch?"

                    Old Mother Hubbard
                    Went to the cupboard
                    To get her poor dog a bone
                    When she bent over,
                    Her Rover took over
                    And she got a bone of her own.
                    Jack Sprat could eat no fat
                    His wife could eat no lean
                    So Jack ignored those flabby tits
                    And licked her asshole clean

                    Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top
                    Your mother's a whore,
                    And I ain't your pop.

                    Little Bo Peep fucked her sheep
                    Blew a horse, licked his feet
                    She ate his ass so very nice
                    Tongued his balls not once but twice

                    Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater
                    Had a wife, loved to beat her
                    Smacked her twice across the head
                    Fucked her ass and went to bed

                    Little jack Horner sat in a corner
                    Eating a pizza pie.
                    He shit pepperoni,
                    Then blew his friend Tony,
                    And wiped his mouth on his tie

                    Twinkle, twinkle little star
                    How I wonder what you are
                    Shine upon the parking lot
                    As I eat my girl friends twat.

                    Three blind mice, see how they run
                    Where the fuck are they going?

                    Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe
                    Suck my dick and swallow slow.
                    Jack be nimble,
                    Jack be quick
                    Jack burnt off his fuckin' dick.

                    There was an old lady
                    Who lived in a shoe
                    She had so many kids
                    Her uterus fell out

                    Patty cake, patty cake,
                    Baker's man
                    If your chick's on her period
                    Fuck her in the can

                    Mary had a little lamb,
                    She kept in her backyard.
                    When she took her panties off
                    His wooly dick got hard.

                    Doe, a deer, a female deer.
                    Ray, the guy that fucked her ass.

                    Rub a Dub Dub
                    Three men in a tub.
                    Faggots have threesomes, too-
                    So fuckin' what.

                    Roses are red,
                    Violets are blue.
                    I fucked your mother's ass
                    And she had you.

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      Originally posted by Hoopo View Post
                      Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
                      The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
                      I know of no reason
                      Why the Gunpowder Treason
                      Should ever be forgot.
                      Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
                      To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
                      Three-score barrels of powder below
                      To prove old England's overthrow;
                      By God's providence he was catch'd (or by God's mercy*)
                      With a dark lantern and burning match.
                      Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring.
                      Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
                      And what should we do with him? Burn him!
                      Guy Fawkes was a theocratic cunt.

                      The Cavalryman's Poem

                      Halfway down the trail to Hell,
                      In a shady meadow green
                      Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
                      Near a good old-time canteen.
                      And this eternal resting place
                      Is known as Fiddlers' Green.
                      Marching past, straight through to Hell
                      The Infantry are seen.
                      Accompanied by the Engineers,
                      Artillery and Marines,
                      For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
                      Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
                      Though some go curving down the trail
                      To seek a warmer scene.
                      No trooper ever gets to Hell
                      Ere he's emptied his canteen.
                      And so rides back to drink again
                      With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
                      And so when man and horse go down
                      Beneath a saber keen,
                      Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
                      You stop a bullet clean,
                      And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
                      Just empty your canteen,
                      And put your pistol to your head
                      And go to Fiddlers' Green.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        This Is Just To Say
                        by William Carlos Williams

                        I have eaten
                        the plums
                        that were in
                        the icebox

                        and which
                        you were probably
                        saving
                        for breakfast

                        Forgive me
                        they were delicious
                        so sweet
                        and so cold

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          Images
                          by Tyrone Green

                          Dark and lonely on a summer's night.
                          Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
                          Watchdog barking. Do he bite?
                          Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
                          Slip in his window. Break his neck.
                          Then his house I start to wreck.
                          Got no reason. What the heck?
                          Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
                          C-I-L my land lord!

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            This isn't poetry to many, but it is to me!

                            Creed of The Forward Observer (The Fister's Creed)

                            "First and Foremost, I am the Greatest killer on the Battle field. Without me the King of Battle ceases to exist, The Queen of Battle cannot survive! Ask anyone on the battle field who is their savior, They will send you to ME.

                            Who am I? Those I consider friends call me "Fister." Those who fear me call me a high payoff target. As I hunt my enemy, my enemy hunts me, as my enemy attempts to kill me, I wipe him off the face of the Earth. For I determine the out come of war, but if I am not there, the war has no direction.

                            You see, I have the power to call upon the Demons of War, the mortars, artillery, MLRS, naval gunfire, attack aviation, and the fast movers. These are my "Tools", my instruments of death. My greatest tool, however is my radio! Whether it is on my back or on a platform, I possess the gift of gab with a touch of finesse. And I employ these tools, my power grows.

                            Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. But in my worldly endeavors the spoils of war have yet to diminish my quest for peace.

                            As I do my job, I help write history of wars, past and of those yet to come. But in the pages that I turn, I have yet to read the words "Forward Observer, Fire Supporter, F.O. or Fister."

                            I am all of these! So it is vital that you learn my name, Vital that you learn to use my talents, Vital that you learn to trust me. Be glad that I am at your side and that I am on your side.-
                            I AM THE KING OF BATTLE, AND THE EYES OF DEATH!
                            I AM A FISTER!

                            Last edited by tigerfooker; 08-27-12, 08:21 AM.

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              Shut.
                              The fuck.
                              Up.
                              You stupid twat.

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