...we've all got something to grind.
Svmer is icumen inLhude sing cuccu!Growe� sed and blowe� medand spring...
Can we outlaw pollen? 'Cause I could get behind that.
Zyrtec is my friend...
my car is yellow. My 'black' cat is yellow. My children come in from playing outside and they're yellow. We don't have allergies so much as having eyes glued shut from all the RIDICULOUS POLLEN! WHO SAID PLANTING MORE TREES WAS A GOOD THING? HM? Someone who had light colored furniture, that's who.
"WHO SAID PLANTING MORE TREES WAS A GOOD THING? HM? Someone who had light colored furniture, that's who."ahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha
Was the post title a reference to this, I wonder?Winter isicummen is,Lhude sing Goddamm,Raineth drop and staineth slop,And how the wind doth ream!Sing: goddamSkiddeth bus and sloppeth us,An ague hath my ham,Freezeth river, turneth liver,Damn you sing: goddamGoddamn, goddamn, ‘tis why I am, goddamSo ‘gainst the winter’s balm.Sing goddam, damn, sing goddam,Sing goddamn, sing goddamn, damn -Ezra Pound
no. ezra pound can suck my antihistamine
Spring Poem for BelledameNow summer is approachingAnd winter's in retreatNow's the time it gets quite warmAnd birds go tweety-tweet.It's now that sits and grooms himselfThe solitary foxAnd licks the country goodness offHis little cotton socks.It's now the squirrel gathersA big supply of nutsAnd in a secret place he themIndustriously puts.It's now the solemn farmerMakes the rustic milkmaid singFor he's told her she can put at lastHer finger through his ring.Now summer is approachingAnd winter's in retreatNow's the time it gets quite warmAnd birds go tweety-tweet.-Tom Nolan
Yeah, I'm a Zyrtec worshipper too...but I can't say I'm not glad the cold is over. This is the best time of year for folks with arthritis.
yeah i know. kvetch, kvetch. it's beautiful out n all, and i should be out in it.
TN: thanks, who wrote it?
Who wrote it? Why, I did, about 15 years ago. It was an attempt to compose the worst poem in the world.In fact I made it up stanza by stanza during a night-time car journey between Nice and Paris. Every time I came up with a new verse I recited it, whereupon the driver would laugh so hard as to momentarily lose control of the vehicle.There was an ode to winter too, which never got beyond the first stanza:Now winter is approachingAs fast as Alain ProstNow's the time our private partsAre bitten by Jack Frost.Anything after that would have been a disappointment.
oh, you've got a long way to go to beat the worst poet in the world. are you familiar with Amanda McKitrick Ros? or the cheese poet?
OK, I checked the link, and that was some pretty abysmal versifying, and no mistake. Mine would have been right up there, though, if only people didn't know that I was doing it on purpose.Here's something sweeter:My ardent love reaps incredulity;that is: all know the truth of it but herwho most I was determined should averthe sorrow she decided not to see.Can you, Great Beauty, Perjured Loyalty,look in my eyes yet see no passion stir?Were not my stars so much the mightierI’d take the rich rewards you owe to me.This flame of which you hardly feel the heat, these honours that I bring to you in rhymemight, as I think, inspire a thousand souls;and my mind’s eye discerns, oh Light so Sweet,a tongue grown cold, two eyes closed for all timeremaining after us to glow like coalsCanzoniere 203 (trans. Tom Nolan)
In my view one and all should browse on this.
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