Hi All,
this isn't a poem just a little bit of trivia .
The Origin of the F-word
· The origin was in the fifteenth century, when a married couple had to have permission from the king to procreate. Hence, Fornication Under Consent of the King (or sometimes Fornication Upon Command of the King).
· During the time of the Puritans, a person imprisoned in the stocks would have his or her crime displayed on the timbers. Because space was tight, when adultery was involved they used an acronym that represented the words For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.
The Origins of the Finger
Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore [soldiers would] be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous weapon was made of the native English yew tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as "plucking the yew." Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, "See, we can still pluck yew!"
Over the years some "folk etymologies" have grown up around this symbolic gesture. Since "pluck yew" is rather difficult to say, like "pheasant mother plucker," which is who you had to go to for the feathers used on the arrows for the longbow, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodental fricative "f," and thus the words often used in conjunction with the one-finger salute are mistakenly thought to have something to do with an intimate encounter. It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows that the gesture is known as "giving the bird
Dec 30, 2005
Rules Of The Road ©
The travels of life and the journey of time,
Are roads of strange curves and obstacles to climb.
Though there are many paths and directions to choose,
It’s still up to fate if you’ll win or lose.
See, you can’t turn around and a map you’re deprived,
You can only go on and continue to drive.
Now there’s no need to hurry it’s a long haul ahead.
And the sooner you finish the sooner you’re dead.
See life in the fast lane is too short a trip,
There are different rewards, other paths that you skip.
So slow down for the people, shake hands with a few.
You may meet someone special who’ll come ride with you.
And don’t try stupid stunts, the risk is too high.
You have nothing to prove to the passers-by.
For what they think don’t matter, it’s what you think that counts.
After all it’s your life so don’t give in an ounce.
Just always remember that the true driver is you,
That you’re in command of whatever you do.
Then at the end of your journey whether you’ve reached your goal,
You’ll have many memories to cherish and hold.
The memories of places and people you’ve met.
The ones who’ve most touched you and the ones you regret.
Are roads of strange curves and obstacles to climb.
Though there are many paths and directions to choose,
It’s still up to fate if you’ll win or lose.
See, you can’t turn around and a map you’re deprived,
You can only go on and continue to drive.
Now there’s no need to hurry it’s a long haul ahead.
And the sooner you finish the sooner you’re dead.
See life in the fast lane is too short a trip,
There are different rewards, other paths that you skip.
So slow down for the people, shake hands with a few.
You may meet someone special who’ll come ride with you.
And don’t try stupid stunts, the risk is too high.
You have nothing to prove to the passers-by.
For what they think don’t matter, it’s what you think that counts.
After all it’s your life so don’t give in an ounce.
Just always remember that the true driver is you,
That you’re in command of whatever you do.
Then at the end of your journey whether you’ve reached your goal,
You’ll have many memories to cherish and hold.
The memories of places and people you’ve met.
The ones who’ve most touched you and the ones you regret.
Dec 28, 2005
Home ©
Home is where the heart is, home is where you lie,
Home is where you want to be until the day you die.
Home is where the memories are and where you lived your life,
Home is where you raised your kids and loved you darling wife.
Home is where you built a life with blood and sweat as pay.
Home is where you hurried to at the end of every day.
Home is Christmas and thanksgivings and birthdays by the score,
Of graduations and celebrations for countless thing before.
For all that we hold dear in this world and everything we gain.
The one that seems to top them all is the home that we obtain.
It stores all of our memories, our cherished hand-me-downs.
It almost seems to become to us a sacred hallowed ground.
We’ve seen our children grow up here, charted on the door frame.
And hope that they will someday do for their children the same.
Home is where you want to be until the day you die.
Home is where the memories are and where you lived your life,
Home is where you raised your kids and loved you darling wife.
Home is where you built a life with blood and sweat as pay.
Home is where you hurried to at the end of every day.
Home is Christmas and thanksgivings and birthdays by the score,
Of graduations and celebrations for countless thing before.
For all that we hold dear in this world and everything we gain.
The one that seems to top them all is the home that we obtain.
It stores all of our memories, our cherished hand-me-downs.
It almost seems to become to us a sacred hallowed ground.
We’ve seen our children grow up here, charted on the door frame.
And hope that they will someday do for their children the same.
I finally wrote a new poem.
This is dedicated to my dad who died in April.
This Christmas we missed him alot,
we even taped his picture to the chair he sat it every year
while we opened gifts so it seemed more like he was there.
I miss you and love you alot Dad.
Dec 16, 2005
Precious Memories ©
When I think of you my love, a rush of memories fills my mind,
Of the things we’ve shared together,
Of the things we’ve shared together,
of the precious times we’ve had.
Picnicking in my favorite park, hiking though the woods,
Or just lying in the sunshine kissing you every chance I could.
An afternoon spent at the zoo riding on all the rides,
Cooking on my little grill with my dream girl by my side.
Pontooning on the lake, swimming and playing around,
Watching all the fireworks with special glasses I had found.
Though not all of our adventures have all been a dream,
The swarming horsefly invasion, the nasty wild cherry whipped cream.
Or a little pug-faced dog that gave me quite a fright,
We always found a way to make things turn out right.
And some of those special moments I’ll always hold most dear,
Like the oily back massages that got into your hair,
Or the fires by the river, flames dancing in your eyes,
Shooting stars above us, the radio plays close by.
Sweet messages on the telephone telling me what I want to hear,
That you feel the same for me as I do for you my dear.
Picnicking in my favorite park, hiking though the woods,
Or just lying in the sunshine kissing you every chance I could.
An afternoon spent at the zoo riding on all the rides,
Cooking on my little grill with my dream girl by my side.
Pontooning on the lake, swimming and playing around,
Watching all the fireworks with special glasses I had found.
Though not all of our adventures have all been a dream,
The swarming horsefly invasion, the nasty wild cherry whipped cream.
Or a little pug-faced dog that gave me quite a fright,
We always found a way to make things turn out right.
And some of those special moments I’ll always hold most dear,
Like the oily back massages that got into your hair,
Or the fires by the river, flames dancing in your eyes,
Shooting stars above us, the radio plays close by.
Sweet messages on the telephone telling me what I want to hear,
That you feel the same for me as I do for you my dear.
Written to my last GF.
How could it have been this good and ended so badly?
Dec 14, 2005
Seasons ©
Summer’s season fades away,
Loneliness, another day.
Autumn’s colors seems to smear,
Wishing only change is near.
Winter’s snows of blinding force,
Darkened thoughts of unknown sources.
As springtime comes inside I scream,
Of what will be tomorrow’s dream.
Sorrowed seasons, troubled times,
A punishment for unknown crimes?
Forget the thoughts of doing wrong,
For in the end life does go on.
Loneliness, another day.
Autumn’s colors seems to smear,
Wishing only change is near.
Winter’s snows of blinding force,
Darkened thoughts of unknown sources.
As springtime comes inside I scream,
Of what will be tomorrow’s dream.
Sorrowed seasons, troubled times,
A punishment for unknown crimes?
Forget the thoughts of doing wrong,
For in the end life does go on.
Flowery Paeans ©
Passionate kisses that makes my heart pound,
Sensual embraces from the angel I’ve found.
The feeling of peace just knowing you’re near,
Mere words to express the one I hold dear.
For I’m awestruck by marvels like nothing I’ve seen,
I’m compelled to relate just how much you do mean.
Your kisses send chills all though my body,
Your dazzling bright eyes beam intensely at me.
Your touch, it does warm me, from my head to my toes,
When you’re lying beside me I bask in the glow.
Your smile, like a sunbeam, lightens the room,
A lighthouse of passion that starts me to swoon.
From a fire so white hot that inside my heart rages,
Of the one I’ll treasure through-out the ages.
Sensual embraces from the angel I’ve found.
The feeling of peace just knowing you’re near,
Mere words to express the one I hold dear.
For I’m awestruck by marvels like nothing I’ve seen,
I’m compelled to relate just how much you do mean.
Your kisses send chills all though my body,
Your dazzling bright eyes beam intensely at me.
Your touch, it does warm me, from my head to my toes,
When you’re lying beside me I bask in the glow.
Your smile, like a sunbeam, lightens the room,
A lighthouse of passion that starts me to swoon.
From a fire so white hot that inside my heart rages,
Of the one I’ll treasure through-out the ages.
written to my last GF
Dec 5, 2005
The Captain ©
As the captain arrives, tripping through the door,
He slurs out a hello and drops the cooler to the floor.
Grabs a can of "attitude" and falls onto the couch,
Knocking the cushions and ashtray about.
He starts a conversation, conversation there’s a joke.
For whatever you say is cut off before spoke.
He doesn’t care what you just might have to say,
So just sit there and listen, for you can’t get away.
Slowly but surely the wall of words subside,
Now you know that the end is soon to arrive.
Using the jello-neck head bob as an Indian used scouts,
You can tell that quite soon he’s going to pass out.
Then the worst is over from the optimist’s view,
For it’s now just the snoring and a lip-smack or two.
How can he ignore the obvious signs,
Or the dangers ahead or the problems behind?
But when troubles arise someone else is to blame,
Delusions of conspiracy, no feeling of shame.
And the punishment is merely an inconvenience,
Just a pain in the butt or udder nonsense.
Still the captain moves on from port to bay,
And resumes the next course the very next day.
Written about my brother who I lived with in Fl.
He drank too much and too often.
Thank god he finally quite drinking before he killed someone or himself.
He slurs out a hello and drops the cooler to the floor.
Grabs a can of "attitude" and falls onto the couch,
Knocking the cushions and ashtray about.
He starts a conversation, conversation there’s a joke.
For whatever you say is cut off before spoke.
He doesn’t care what you just might have to say,
So just sit there and listen, for you can’t get away.
Slowly but surely the wall of words subside,
Now you know that the end is soon to arrive.
Using the jello-neck head bob as an Indian used scouts,
You can tell that quite soon he’s going to pass out.
Then the worst is over from the optimist’s view,
For it’s now just the snoring and a lip-smack or two.
How can he ignore the obvious signs,
Or the dangers ahead or the problems behind?
But when troubles arise someone else is to blame,
Delusions of conspiracy, no feeling of shame.
And the punishment is merely an inconvenience,
Just a pain in the butt or udder nonsense.
Still the captain moves on from port to bay,
And resumes the next course the very next day.
Written about my brother who I lived with in Fl.
He drank too much and too often.
Thank god he finally quite drinking before he killed someone or himself.
Tarnished ©
A star stuck soul who wanders through life,
Asleep to the world that cuts like a knife.
Desperate hopes of pipedreams as yet unfound,
Walking though life with his eyes to the ground.
Reaches blindly in the darkness that once was his mind,
Grasping at straws just to see what he’ll find.
Trampled over by people know better then he,
As he searches for clues of what is to be.
More darkened doorsteps, more dismal dreams?
Empty appreciation of how life really seems?
More battles, more scars, more pain yet unseen?
More blood on his hands, can all this be a dream?
Depression, regression to sweeter times before,
Times of rainbows and sunsets and flowers galore.
To the innocents of childhood, when life was still new.
No worries or problems to make him feel blue.
Tired of keeping an eye looking over his shoulder,
For it only gets harder as you get older.
But a voice deep inside says to keep his control,
That in the end you’ll reap the harvest you’ve sown.
Asleep to the world that cuts like a knife.
Desperate hopes of pipedreams as yet unfound,
Walking though life with his eyes to the ground.
Reaches blindly in the darkness that once was his mind,
Grasping at straws just to see what he’ll find.
Trampled over by people know better then he,
As he searches for clues of what is to be.
More darkened doorsteps, more dismal dreams?
Empty appreciation of how life really seems?
More battles, more scars, more pain yet unseen?
More blood on his hands, can all this be a dream?
Depression, regression to sweeter times before,
Times of rainbows and sunsets and flowers galore.
To the innocents of childhood, when life was still new.
No worries or problems to make him feel blue.
Tired of keeping an eye looking over his shoulder,
For it only gets harder as you get older.
But a voice deep inside says to keep his control,
That in the end you’ll reap the harvest you’ve sown.
R.V.W. ©
A few awake in a world asleep,
A sober few whose sows they reap.
Alert and active constantly,
Struggling beyond needs for security.
Working and striving just to stay in the lead,
But blind to true reality.
The sleeper knows of how life seems,
That in the end, life’s but a dream.
A sober few whose sows they reap.
Alert and active constantly,
Struggling beyond needs for security.
Working and striving just to stay in the lead,
But blind to true reality.
The sleeper knows of how life seems,
That in the end, life’s but a dream.
4 A.M. ©
Condemned to live out a life of solitude,
A bitter sweet truth I cannot elude.
To never know love, deprived happiness,
By barriers of belief, a moral difference.
See different is frightening and ignorance unfair.
But who understands anything when fear’s in the air?
If all hope is lost to make life complete,
Then why go on living shadowed by defeat?
Loneliness with grief is like salt on a wound,
For it makes an unpleasant situation balloon.
Then emotions like anger and hatred arise,
Stemming from jealousy for the joy I’m deprived.
To see love all around, beauty to admire,
Is a torturous tease of what I desire.
I fear to even try, for what then may spring?
See, to have and to keep are two different things.
So I do not believe or have faith or hope,
I’ve run out of answers, at the end of my rope.
Why this sentence of solitude which darkens my soul?
For me it’s a punishment for something untold.
If a crime was committed have I not served my time?
A twisted form of punishment to have ones life deprived.
Why does love elude me? All I ask is a clue,
But there’s no book of answers for me to look though.
A bitter sweet truth I cannot elude.
To never know love, deprived happiness,
By barriers of belief, a moral difference.
See different is frightening and ignorance unfair.
But who understands anything when fear’s in the air?
If all hope is lost to make life complete,
Then why go on living shadowed by defeat?
Loneliness with grief is like salt on a wound,
For it makes an unpleasant situation balloon.
Then emotions like anger and hatred arise,
Stemming from jealousy for the joy I’m deprived.
To see love all around, beauty to admire,
Is a torturous tease of what I desire.
I fear to even try, for what then may spring?
See, to have and to keep are two different things.
So I do not believe or have faith or hope,
I’ve run out of answers, at the end of my rope.
Why this sentence of solitude which darkens my soul?
For me it’s a punishment for something untold.
If a crime was committed have I not served my time?
A twisted form of punishment to have ones life deprived.
Why does love elude me? All I ask is a clue,
But there’s no book of answers for me to look though.
Somewhere in the darkness between dusk and dawn,
Is an endless eternia where the mind wanders on.
Written during a very depressing time in my life.
I no longer feel this way even though I am once again alone.
It’s my choice and I’m happy with it.
Is an endless eternia where the mind wanders on.
Written during a very depressing time in my life.
I no longer feel this way even though I am once again alone.
It’s my choice and I’m happy with it.
I was told to show more of my darkside.
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