General Chat

TASMANIA AUSTRALIA SOMEWHERE MY HOME AVENTURESS NICE PLACE FOR ME IN BUSH OR BY THE SEA AN HOUR TO ALL OF IT I COULD BE YES TASMANIA IS THE PLACE FOR ME

London Girls Some people sing about deutchy girls and girls from california they mite be alrite for a nite alrite, but dont trust them i warn ya i've been to the east and i've been out west and i been all the world around but i aint seen none come anywhere near the girls from london town (chorus) give me a london girl everytime, i've gotta find one i've made up my mind give me a london girl everytime, i want a london girl marry a girl from london town, and you know you can trust 'em they'll darn your socks and wash and mend, your trousers if you bust 'em there all good cooks and they got good looks and they wont leave you a dance i'm gonna find a london girl, if i get half a chance (chorus) give me a london girl everytime, i've gotta find one i've made up my mind give me a london girl everytime, i want a london girl london girls are the best in the world, there aint no doubt about it if you cant find a girl from london town, your better off doing without it they dont create when you come home late and your crawling up the passage floor and they wont muck about, when you've gone out with the geezer from the house nextdoor (chorus) give me a london girl everytime, i've gotta find one i've made up my mind give me a london girl everytime, i want a london girl if you ever go down to london town, your legs will turn to jelly cos the girls down there i swear are just like models off the telly but they dont need no make up, they look good as they are and they've always got a pound to buy a round when its their turn at the bar chorus

Godiva Alfred, Lord Tennyson I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this: Not only we, the latest seed of Time, New men, that in the flying of a wheel Cry down the past, not only we, that prate Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she Did more, and underwent, and overcame, The woman of a thousand summers back, Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled In Coventry: for when he laid a tax Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Their children, clamoring, 'If we pay, we starve!' She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone, His beard a foot before him and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And pray'd him, 'If they pay this tax, they starve.' Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, 'You would not let your little finger ache For such as these?' -- 'But I would die,' said she. He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul; Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear; 'Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!' -- 'Alas!' she said, 'But prove me what I would not do.' And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answer'd, 'Ride you naked thro' the town, And I repeal it;' and nodding, as in scorn, He parted, with great strides among his dogs. So left alone, the passions of her mind, As winds from all the compass shift and blow, Made war upon each other for an hour, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition; but that she would loose The people: therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, No eye look down, she passing; but that all Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd. Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt, The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath She linger'd, looking like a summer moon Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee; Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt In purple blazon'd with armorial gold. Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: The deep air listen'd round her as she rode, And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur Made her cheek flame; her palfrey's foot-fall shot Light horrors thro' her pulses; the blind walls Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field, Gleam thro' the Gothic archway in the wall. Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity; And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, The fatal byword of all years to come, Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peep'd -- but his eyes, before they had their will, Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head, And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused; And she, that knew not, pass'd: and all at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers, One after one: but even then she gain'd Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd, To meet her lord, she took the tax away And built herself an everlasting name. Sheila

thanks THANKS thanks its a great way to lurn about a PLACE and puts a SMILE on my FACE

Manchester High rising Energising Spirit raising Flag waving Lowry-loving Boundry shoving Cottonmilled Fountain-filled Sculpture clad Football mad Rainwashed Canal-crossed Night clubbing Shoulder rubbing Cultureshocked Bomb-rocked Unbroken Outspoken Manchester Lilxx

lil brill pmsl ann (from manchesre) x

I come from a place called Lancashire, The County Palatine, Where the people are so friendly And the scenery's divine. We're a hardy bunch in Lancashire, From true grit we are made, We have no airs and graces, We just call a spade a spade. We always give a helping hand To those who are in need, We've always lots of lovely food On which you all can feed. So if you want a holiday That fills your heart with cheer We'll open our arms and welcome you To dear old Lancashire. Jeff

Jeff you are so clever, thats really good thanks ann

SCOTLAND Thistles and heather everywhere breathing in that good clean air, going down the pub for a pint and a nip but it's quite strong that whisky, so best just a sip, Go visit Nessie, take a few snaps, or maybe some culture with castles perhaps. with abbeys and lochs there's loads to see Scotland is a place that wants to be free. Edinburgh and Glasgow are fun at night, all those people, Oh what a sight! Edinburgh festival is a thing not to miss, The military tattoo, you'd really like this, Scotland's weather is not always fair, but you're having fun, so you really don't care Go to the mountains for breathtaking views, then tell your pal's about the heilan' coos

Oh Jeff i knew you could not resits By Using your precious gift, And you tell it with sincerity and grace. And put a smile upon our face LOL really must get a job all this time on me hands is sending me daft pmsl Lilxx

For lil Fairy, Your right my love those Scottish hills They are so fresh and fair, I once took a girl called Sally On a little venture there. We lay down in the heather Beneath the blazing sun, And I really was exhausted When our little trip was done. Now some of you may be wondering What kind of things we did, Well if you want to know the truth Just send me twenty quid. Jeff x PMSL

pmsl again jeff xx

(to be read with a west country accent) oi cant read and oi cant write but that dont really matter coz oi come from the isle of wight and oi can drive a tractor! paul...

A poem about Romney Marsh near the south coast on the Kent / Sussex border.


In Romney Marsh


As I went down to Dymchurch Wall,
I heard the South sing o'er the land
I saw the yellow sunlight fall
On knolls where Norman churches stand.

And ringing shrilly, taut and lithe,
Within the wind a core of sound,
The wire from Romney town to Hythe
Along its airy journey wound.

A veil of purple vapour flowed
And trailed its fringe along the Straits;
The upper air like sapphire glowed:
And roses filled Heaven's central gates.

Masts in the offing wagged their tops;
The swinging waves pealed on the shore;
The saffron beach, all diamond drops
And beads of surge, prolonged the roar.

As I came up from Dymchurch Wall,
I saw above the Downs' low crest
The crimson brands of sunset fall,
Flicker and fade from out the West.

Night sank: like flakes of silver fire
The stars in one great shower came down;
Shrill blew the wind; and shrill the wire
Rang out from Hythe to Romney town.

The darkly shining salt sea drops
Streamed as the waves clashed on the shore;
The beach, with all its organ stops
Pealing again, prolonged the roar.

John Davidson

On A Distant View Of Harrow by George Gordon, Lord Byron Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection Embitters the present, compar'd with the past; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last; Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd! Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted, To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught. Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd, As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded, I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone. Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd; Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation, I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'd. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you! Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you: Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest. To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me, While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll! Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, More dear is the beam of the past to my soul! But if, through the course of the years which await me, Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.

London Pride 7/7 You come to place your bags of hate On bus and train, you made us late Yet we’ll be back again tomorrow We’ll carry on despite our sorrow Your bags of hate caused some to die Yet we stride out strong with heads held high You’ll never win, we will not bow You can’t defeat us, you don’t know how This London which we love with pride Is a town where scum like you can’t hide Don’t worry we will hunt you down Then Lock you up in name of Crown We’re London and we’re many races Just look you’ll see our stoic faces We all condemn your heinous act You will not win and that’s a fact We’ll mourn our dead and shed a tear But we will not bow to acts of fear You’re out there somewhere all alone There’s nowhere now you can call home Olympics ours we’ve won the race Your timing then a real disgrace Our strength you’ll find remains unbowed We’re London and we’re very proud.

what a great thread, enjoyed reading all the posts, especially yours Jeff. Does anyone know (or can write one) about wales? Joy

An old woman set me on a path to Wales Where dragons roamed and Knights had homes and wizards lived in epic poems and maidens leapt from burning homes I set on a path from sea to lair and picked up strands of broken hair I breathed in air that wasn't there and watched as sea was pushed by air An old woman set me on a path to Wales where broken swords lie with dragons tales and the waters sweet and never stale and where I'll live and never ail. found this on google

R.S. Thomas wrote poems about Wales..including this one. Welsh Landscape To live in Wales is to be conscious At dusk of the spilled blood That went into the making of the wild sky, Dyeing the immaculate rivers In all their courses. It is to be aware, Above the noisy tractor And hum of the machine Of strife in the strung woods, Vibrant with sped arrows. You cannot live in the present, At least not in Wales. There is the language for instance, The soft consonants Strange to the ear. There are cries in the dark at night As owls answer the moon, And thick ambush of shadows, Hushed at the fields' corners. There is no present in Wales, And no future; There is only the past, Brittle with relics, Wind-bitten towers and castles With sham ghosts; Mouldering quarries and mines; And an impotent people, Sick with inbreeding, Worrying the carcase of an old song.

thank you carol and gwyneth, though some unflattering lines in R S Thomas poem. I miss wales, and am feeling the 'hiraeth', a longing for my homeland. Joy