I am not a poster. I am a crispy critter.

[The Zontron 7000]

I am an internet java script sent to infiltrate your site and transform you from political neanderthals into a modern 21st Century progressive mode.

This is your first warning.

Do not try and resist.

It is useless.

Accept your fate.

You will be assimilated.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I hope you are crunching zeros.... evil zeros.

[Not A Snowbird]

Zeros are evil. They wreak havoc with my spreadsheets.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

They also vote Dem.

[Not A Snowbird]

Snort!

They must be crushed.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Zeros mean NOTHING to me!!

[NicknamedBob]

"Poetry Kills People"

The Poet at War

Wartime poets spill their souls, before they spill their blood,
Like trees which shed their leaves, before the cold comes like a flood.
Dropping lonely messages, in colors drab and bright,
Images of hope and loss, within that fall of night.

Scattered about in disarray, the thoughts and dreams of youth,
And stark against the bleak gray sky, a skeleton of truth.
These cries of anguish won’t be stilled. Their voices will not die.
The eyes of young men still will search the ever-darkening sky.

Until their hearts are answered, and peace can warm their dust,
Until expressions in their eyes have taught us what they must,
Until their long-lost belles have been wrung out of all their tolls,
Entreaties from the graveyard are engraved upon our souls.


NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . September 24, 2004

[Irish_Thatcherite]

So poetry does kill people?

[Monkey Face]

That was really rude, Irish.

[NicknamedBob]

"So poetry does kill people?"

Admittedly, my statistical sampling is a little on the skimpy side, but it appears to me that poets who go off to war end up dying more than they end up killing.

All in all, I'd say you're safer living next door to a poet than you are to a guy who manufactures ammunition, but it is probably important to stay on the good side of either one.

After all, there are a few of us poets who know which end of the weapon the attitude comes out of.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Would I be safe living beside Philip Larkin....

[NicknamedBob]

"That was really rude, Irish."

No. It's okay, 'Face. It's a legit question. I can handle it.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I wasn't aimed at Bob.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Not knocking your poem - high brow debate!

[NicknamedBob]

"Would I be safe living beside Philip Larkin...."

He seemed like a decent chap. He liked jazz and stuff.

Two things -- Coventry was for a time not a healthy place to reside, and if you want to be his neighbor, don't get in the way of his library.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I don't think he liked his parents... "This be The Verse", and all that....

[King Prout]

I have read none of the HP books.

one of these days...

[NicknamedBob]

Ungrateful hippie. He lived with his parents.

Actually, I sometimes write about emotions and situations that have not been true for me. I just use my imagination.

After all, I've never really been a bird or butterfly before either -- that I can recall.

[King Prout]

while poetry can and has brought people to their deaths (stirring passions, foolish and otherwise, tends to do that) the only poetry known to kill of-itself is that of the Vogons.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

And Wordsworth was never a cloud with telescopic eyes that could see daffodils.....

[Irish_Thatcherite]

The Vogons?