The Poems.
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Good eve good folk, good morn good day,
And welcome to our little play.
With words of comfort, jest and woe,
We come to entertain thee with our show.
'Tis but pleasure to guide thee,
One and all,
To that final curtain call.
But should we falter upon this task,
I beg thee not condemn this cast.
For if there's doubt what we portray?
Just blame the guy who wrote the play!
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I wrote the greatest poem,
And I told everyone,
But they said, we think,
You're wrong!
How can you link or rhyme,
Words like,
'Antidissestablishmentintarainism',
And 'Wildebeest'?
I said the answer is simple,
I have nothing to hide,
So let this watch-word,
Be your guide,
Rhyme is fine,
But you can always use,
A little prose-hack!
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Are you married ?
No ?
And why not ?
I've been waiting for Mr. Right.
I know I'm going to find him,
Because he is waiting somewhere for me.
He's searched in every bar,
In every town, in every gin joint around the world,
But he hasn't walked into mine.
So I'm still waiting and he is still waiting for me.
Do you think you'll ever find him,
Or will he ever find you ?
Ofcourse we will for the path of love is true.
Our eyes will meet and we'll see each other,
Across a crowded room,
And the waiter will ask that question,
As only waiter's do,
Excuse me sir, are you waiting for someone ?
And he will answer, No, Miss Godot has arrived !
Click for Sound Byte...
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I don't know if she loves me, I don't know if she cares,
I don't know if she'll be with me, when the song of winter comes,
But I know the Alaska wind, it blows without a care, when it hums,
Will she be there ?
I'll ask 'er - in Alaska ?
Sa-ve me, from those castles in the air, from a world without her there,
Save the Caribou and Bear - in Alaska,
Jee-sus take me, to my Alaskan destiny,
For like the Alaska wind, I know I must be free.
But it only takes a minute, in the early morning light,
When I see her - to need her,
But soon I must be going, with an Alaska wind a-blowing,
There's an answer she is knowing,
To a question that is growing,
I'll ask 'er - in Alaska ?
Sho-ot me, end this sad old misery,
The joy has gone for I'm no longer free,
And the fire that once burned in me,
With a glow only she could see,
Has gone now - it's a fading melodie.
Will she tire of the same, if there's no fire or no flame,
To warm her, in that cold Alaskan breeze.
Will she wrinkle up her nose and cast me with a sneeze,
As our frozen hearts just freeze,
I'll ask 'er - in Alaska ?
I'm going to Alaska - then I'll ask 'er - in Alaska ?
But hark, what light, in that yonder window breaks ?
She won't be there,
She said, that She would never be free there - to love - in that climate !
So to the cold Alaskan dream she said goodby-ee,
And jumped on board the next plane, to Hawaii !
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You're much too honest, she sighed,
Well, is honesty not the best policy ?, I replied.
When GeorgeWashington chopped down the cherry tree,
He gave himself up so selflessly.
Father, I cannot tell a lie, for I'm an Honest Injun !
It was a foolish thing to do some say,
But we still remember his action today.
So can you really be too honest ?
All babies are beautiful, all sweethearts are pretty,
Politicians' always tell the truth, and so does Walter Mitty !
Everbody saying what they mean and meaning what they say,
Can we be sure it's better that way ?
The lawyer, the policeman, the beggar, the thief,
Would be obsolete if they turned a new leaf.
Just think of the doctor, the nurse and the priest,
And all of the people who use the truth least.
The two-timing lovers, those whores by the score,
Who promise the earth and then ask you for more,
That con artist, the trickster, The Man in the White Suit,
The woman who gave Adam the forbidden fruit !
And who gives a damn for the worst of them all ?
Using words like, plastic, elastic and rubberball,
Who stretches the truth to the en'th degree,
And banishes belief from all reality !
The Writer of Fiction is that malcontent cad,
Now hold on a minute, you may think me mad,
But the telling of porkies can't be all bad,
How to win friends and influence people in high places,
With their painted smiles on their painted faces !
Hogging the limelight, you'll have your day in the sun,
But just wake up and smell the roses before you burn,
Can't you see what the art of lying has done ?
So here is an answer to this age-old quest-jun ?
Infect everybody with the, Washington Syndrome !
Honesty is always the best policy - Honest Injun !
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I saw a Camel on the Tube today!
Of course it wasn't a real one I had seen,
It was just a picture in a magazine.
Did you think me mad - Did you think me insane?
To have seen a Camel riding on the train?
But one thing still puzzles me and it might puzzle you?
Drom-E-dary or Ba-C-t-R-ian?
Which has the one hump - Which has the two?
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I sipped a sip of the Aganippe,
And the Aganippe fountain was sweet.
And fertilised by the hauty-culturist's that grow'em,
My words became a poem.
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Dashiell Hammett! sounds like a curse,
But I know something that is worse.
Instead of Dash, you could say,
You're not an Earnest Hemmingway!
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The evolution of mass communication,
Is fraught with elocution's.
Storytelling pre-formatted books,
William Caxton with his printing press,
Wells Fargo meets the Pony Express.
The � & --- of Samuel Morse,
'For whom the bell tolls',
Alexander Graham is it for you?
@ Internet WWW dot com,
E-mail via satellite systems.
Mobile telephony has replaced telegraphy,
Yet wireless LANs still linger.
To the next advance we boldly go,
For who needs obsolescent password logins,
When we can beam thoughts directly into our noggins.
Will you interface with me?
When we can stay in touch telepathically.
But how will you make first contact,
With E.T., by using E.S.P., or B.T.?
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Miss Otis regrets that she is unable to lunch today.
But, it was so cute of you to call,
It's much better than not to be called for at all.
Not that lately she's often been uncalled for,
In fact the charge should be reversed.
The telephone's forever ringing, it's never on the hook,
And there's never any empty spaces,
In Her appointment book.
A gentleman calls and then an Inspector,
Whose advance might only be construed,
As the very first act, or prelude,
To a very improper suggestion.
When he demanded to know from her,
Where were you on the night in question?
Well I'm here to tell, the whole and nothing but, the truth,
That, Her man he done her wrong!
She met a guy who just like her, had a wayward, roving eye,
And for a woman of infidelity that was a bitter pill,
So the man just had to die!
One last tumble, one last time, she rolled him in the sack,
And carved her name with pride,
As she stabbed him in the back!
He bled his blood and his blood it bled,
Until it could bleed no more and her unfaithful man was dead!
I'm no psycho-analyst, but maybe the seeds of his demise,
Were sown way back when, in those balmy summer days.
When all the much more pretty girls were dating all the guys?
Although her act of malice was an act that we deplore,
Perhaps the fact she had to stay home nights?
She could never wash her hair and go,
To the dance, or to the Prom, to the drive-in movie show.
Is what turned Miss Otis into an over eager beaver?
When she started dating men.
Either way they found the bloodstained cleaver,
Hidden in the hope chest that was her bottom drawer.
But what happened next isn't justified.
They put her in a straight-jacket and took Miss 'O' away,
She's awaiting execution at the penitentiary.
She's waiting in the psycho-ward, and waiting to be fried,
Hanging out, on Death Row where so many men have died!
And that is why I have to say,
Miss Otis regrets that she is unable to lunch today,
But, it was cute of you to call!
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Welcome User, my name is JANET,
And I'm the biggest service provider on this planet.
Are you thirsty for some information Juice?
Come slip inside this terminal noose.
Hook-up to the computer brain,
I want your number not your name.
Settle back and watch it flow,
We must have more INFOTECH don't you know?
Here is your hitchhike guide to the galaxy,
Please follow the yellow brick super-highway.
Take a vacation from the daily grind,
Surf the NET inside your mind.
And when reality starts to ebb,
Fly into the World Wide Web.
The Global Rat Race has become a beast,
On which Media Moguls come to feast.
With Megabucks and Megabytes,
They trawl the NET and spin doctor the sites.
Garbage In and garbage Out,
Always question if in doubt.
When to the INTERFACE you surrender,
Never forget to remember,
NETS and WEBS are designed to catch the unwary,
Is all this I.T. labyrinth really necessary?
Are you the organ grinder's monkey?
The Lord of the Files and not the flunkey?
Time is precious, Time will tell,
Time itself will toll the bell!
Wasting Time is but a sin,
So close your ears to the Digital Din.
If ye seek for knowledge why not look?
Inside the covers of a BOOK!
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I'm alive,
I can write,
When I am dead,
I won't be able to,
I just want to warn,
All my family & friends,
Life is ephemeral.
I loved you all,
In my own way,
And for those who remain,
For those who stay,
I leave this advice,
Seize the moment,
And seize the day!
Work when you have to,
Rest when you can,
And think as you hold out,
A 'Helping Hand',
There but for the grace,
Go I.
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