I dunno, this sounds pretty racist. /rimshot
Posted on 05/06/2023 10:48:41 AM PDT by CFW
As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Nursery rhymes like;
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words can never hurt me.
Teach important life lessons
“Once upon a midnight dreary....”
Repetition is the mother of memory. Back in the grade school 1950s we had to repeat the times tables until we mastered them..
.........
Some of my kids had a 4th gradec teacher who required they write the times table through 15 x15 in five minutes in orderto pass. Amazing.
I think that I shall never see
a thing as ugly as that tree.
She raises her leafy arms to shower
leaves on my yard, sap on my car.
She holds her heavy limbs aloof
and tears the shingles off my roof.
Grass won’t grow within her shade
so through the mud I daily wade.
In other trees birds sing and flit.
They only come to my tree to ****.
When autumn reds and golds abound
My tree just turns to barnyard brown.
I’ve had enough I went to town
And bought an axe to chop her down.
And down she fell with a mighty POW
Crushed my barn and killed my cow.
By Yours Truly over 50 years ago.
Poetry Recitation. Here’s Why That’s a Good Thing.
AI becomes useless the mind is in charge.
HAL died Jim
I still recall and can recite lines from Chaucer, Pope, Shakespeare and Kipling I was forced to learn in high school.
“By Yours Truly over 50 years ago”
Oh that is perfect! And, oh so true!
Poetry recitation turned out to be one of my most memorable lasting experiences in grade school.
Daughter went to school in Alabama where they still used the Shurley Method to teach English - turning the rules of grammar into little jingles that you memorized and chanted. She is an English teacher herself now and still remembers many of the jingles, and chants them to her students for kicks.
We are going out of business.
Most used book stores are owned by older people and as they die the best of their books are taken and the rest are pulped.
That includes old history books.
You want to keep the used book stores then find one near you and patronize them.
Or keep buying from Amazon who restricts what books can be sold on their site and watch as they disappear.
The choice is yours.
Rap isn’t singing, it is hoi polloi poetry. Many a modern teen has joined the Dead “Aspiring Rappers” Society.
Yo!, Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.
I dunno, this sounds pretty racist. /rimshot
Used book stores are one of the happy places of my childhood - they had comfortable chairs and a welcoming attitude toward young readers. AND better, prices were in that sweet spot a kid could afford noiw and then.
Sadly for me, I was out with Rheumatic Fever when the times tables were being memorized. I never did catch up, and it wasn't until hand-held calculators that I was able to do much with math, including balance a checkbook.
'Face
;o]
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