Page 2 of 2

Author:  giselle [ Thu Dec 18, 2008 3:56 pm ]
Post subject: 

I'll carry on with the British whimsy that began this thread, so put on your best British accent when you read this .. ie . You can't say 'haaaf', you have to say 'hawff', otherwise its not funny.

Eric the Half a Bee

A one... two-- A one... two... three... four...
Half a bee, philosophically,
Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be
Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see?

But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee
Due to some ancient injury?

Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half-asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie?
No! It's Eric the half a bee!

I love this hive, employee-ee,
Bisected accidentally,
One summer afternoon by me,
I love him carnally.

He loves him carnally,
The end.

Monty Python

Author:  realiz [ Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:04 pm ]
Post subject:  The Child

This brings to mind my young children wanting everything they see, at least for a minute or two, but it also reminds me in a very adult way about how we want and think we need so much, when in reality we can be happy with much less.

The Child
by Bonnie Bishop

i want this and this and this
i need this and this and this
but i'll take that

or that

or that

Author:  Saffron [ Wed Oct 14, 2009 8:00 am ]
Post subject: 

I found this little gem in a collection of poetry called 100 Poems To Lift Your Spirits ed. Leslie Pockell. And lift my spirits it did! Hope it gives you a smile. Puts me in mind of certain BT member...

Edit added:
I thought this might help.
mul⋅ga  [muhl-guh]
–noun, plural -gas, -ga.
1. an Australian shrub or small tree, Acacia aneura, forming dense growths in some areas and having foliage used as forage for livestock.
2. an object, as an Aboriginal shield or club, made from the wood of this tree.
1830–40; < Yuwaalaraay (Australian Aboriginal language spoken near Lightning Ridge, N New South Wales) malga

MULGA BILL'S BICYCLE by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"

"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.

I'd never hear of Banjo Paterson before I read "Mulga Bill's Bicycle", it turns out he is the man responsible for the unofficial national anthem of Australia, "Waltzing Matilda". He has written many wonderful and whimsical poems. Here is a link to more --
Banjo Paterson

Page 2 of 2 All times are UTC - 5 hours
Powered by phpBB © 2000, 2002, 2005, 2007 phpBB Group