Silly Old Baboon - Spike Milligan
There was a Baboon
Who one afternoon
said 'I think I will fly to the sun'
So with two great palms,
strapped to his arms,
He started his take-off run.
Mile after mile,
he galloped in style,
but never once left the ground,
'You're running too slow',
Said a passing crow,
'try reaching the speed of sound'.
So he put on a spurt,
By god how it hurt,
The soles of his feet caught fire,
There were great clouds of steam,
As he raced through a stream,
But he still didn't get any higher.
Racing on through the night,
Both his knees caught alight,
And smoke billowed out from his rear,
Quick to his aid
Came the fire brigade
Who chased him for over a year,
Many moons passed by,
Did Baboon ever fly?
Did he ever get to the sun?
I've just heard today,
That he's well on his way,
He'll be passing through Acton at one.
Yonder moons ago when I was in High School, I had the incredible fortune to happen upon Maya Angelou and her work, one of her poems in particular means an incredible amount to me, and I imagine I shall doubtless call on it during my career many a time:
Still I Rise:
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
This one always stuck with me, even features in my sigs everywhere I am on tinterweb.
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expresive as the twins of Loeda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines! - they hold a treasure
Divine - a talisman - an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure -
The words - the syllables! Do not forget
the trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eye's scintillating soul,there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets - as the name is a poet's too.
It's lettters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto - Mendez Ferdinando -
Still form a synonym for Truth - Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-191
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.