Guess who is
Yes, It's yours truly! I'm gabberflasted!
HAD to share it with you!
Random thoughts and non-thoughts
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
ezFolk Featured Artist!
Monday, March 20, 2006
A Song to Celebrate the First Day of Spring
Nineteenth Time
words and music by Tony Provencher
Ah, Time...
The carousel on which we ride,
The wheel of chance that rules our lives...
'Round and 'round she goes,
Where she stops, nobody knows,
And even after we are gone
The carousel will still roll on.
And when my painted pony loped
Toward the green season of hope
For the nineteenth time for me
I saw you riding next to me.
Yes, Time was turning long before,
And so she will forever more,
days, and weeks, and months, and years,
Measuring our smiles and tears.
Ah, Time...
The carousel on which we ride,
The wheel of chance that rules our lives...
'Round and 'round she goes,
Where she stops, nobody knows,
And even after we are gone
The carousel will still roll on.
And, one day, in a magic dream,
We left our ponies for the green.
We left them going 'round and 'round
To walk the moist and grassy ground.
And, hand in hand, 'neath shady pines,
We followed in the Steps of Time,
Up a hill, and to the top,
And 'neath the tallest tree they stopped.
And, here, all alone, at the top of the hill,
You and I, we discovered where Time had stood still.
And here, where our lives were unbound,
And the world lay beneath us, unmeasured,
I kissed you... forever.
words and music by Tony Provencher
Ah, Time...
The carousel on which we ride,
The wheel of chance that rules our lives...
'Round and 'round she goes,
Where she stops, nobody knows,
And even after we are gone
The carousel will still roll on.
And when my painted pony loped
Toward the green season of hope
For the nineteenth time for me
I saw you riding next to me.
Yes, Time was turning long before,
And so she will forever more,
days, and weeks, and months, and years,
Measuring our smiles and tears.
Ah, Time...
The carousel on which we ride,
The wheel of chance that rules our lives...
'Round and 'round she goes,
Where she stops, nobody knows,
And even after we are gone
The carousel will still roll on.
And, one day, in a magic dream,
We left our ponies for the green.
We left them going 'round and 'round
To walk the moist and grassy ground.
And, hand in hand, 'neath shady pines,
We followed in the Steps of Time,
Up a hill, and to the top,
And 'neath the tallest tree they stopped.
And, here, all alone, at the top of the hill,
You and I, we discovered where Time had stood still.
And here, where our lives were unbound,
And the world lay beneath us, unmeasured,
I kissed you... forever.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Twenty Years Ago: January 28, 1986
Nova
(Christa's Song)
*
in memory of the Challenger Seven
*
My mind was filled with wonder at the beauty of the sight
As the pure white cloud exploded in a sky of azure blue,
And seven shooting stars sailed into the silent sea.
Then I awoke and realised that one of them was you.
*
Reach for the stars, you told us, reach for the stars.
Teach us how to soar and to be greater than we are.
*
I stood alone for many years, rooted to this place,
Planning plans and dreaming dreams that never ever flew.
You stole my hopes and plans and dreams and fantasies away,
And bravely soared away with them into the mystic blue.
*
Reach for the stars, you told us, reach for the stars.
Teach us how to soar and to be greater than we are.
*
And now, when I go out beneath the stellar canopy,
I see my hopes and plans and dreams blazing in the sky.
And I will always think of you, and how we all held our breath,
As we watched you go Nova in the winking of an eye.
*
Reach for the stars, you told us, reach for the stars.
Teach us how to soar and to be greater than we are.
*
And my mind was filled with wonder at the beauty of the sight
As the pure white cloud exploded in a sky of azure blue,
And seven shooting stars sailed into the silent sea.
Then I awoke and realised that one of them was you.
*
Thursday, January 05, 2006
The Toy Boy by John Lennon - Search Is Over!
My long search for an "official" copy of John Lennon's poem, The Toy Boy, has ended with the felicitous acquisition of a copy of the December 1965 issue of McCall's Magazine, in which it was first published. Many thanks to Sandra and Victoria at the 84 Charing Cross Bookstore.
You can view the pages in their original size by clicking the images.
Click here for magnified image of poem.
Below in text format is the poem in its entirety. Enjoy!
THE TOY BOY
BY JOHN LENNON“I don't believe a word of it,
I think it's too absurd of it,
It's just an Old Wives' Tale, I bet,
The silliest and softest yet.
Imagine, if it walked and that,
Surely it would crush us flat!
It's such a giant thing, you know.
All in all, it goes to show
How stupid can you be?"
This was Ralph the Elephant,
Talking loud and eloquent,
Bossing all the Bears and Cats, .
All the Dogs and Policemen's Hats,
Shouting down the Wise Old Shoe,
Who said that what he said was true.
"I don't care what you say to me.
I've been on his foot, you see?"
And he had.
"I've beard it squeaking," said the horse.
"Though I can't be sure! of course—
I could have sworn it climbed on me
When I was asleep, you see!"
"What nonsense!" Ralph replied at length.
"Do you think it has the strength?
I call this meeting to a close.
All in favor—raise their nose.
We'll take a vote!"
"Unfair, unfair!" the Toys all said.
"Shoes and Hats have got no head!"
"How can they vote, I ask you now?”
Said the 'Brown but friendly Cow.
"We'll wait until the break of day,
To prove the truth of what we say."
"Agreed, agreed!" said Sydney Shoe,
Who felt he was the one who knew.
He probably was.
The Clock struck eight, as clocks will do,
At eight o'clock—that's nothing new
Except that this clock never could,
Unless you asked it if it would.
The clock obligingly conferred,
"I will not chime unless I'm heard!"
He was an artiste, so you see—
He didn't like to chime for free!
You know how it is.
As it struck, the room went dead.
A little voice came from the bed.
"Is anybody there?" it spoke.
"Or is this someone's kind of joke?
I could have sworn I heard a voice-
Perhaps me grannie made the noise,
Her early-warning coughing fit
As she gets her ciggie lit—
But I doubt it.
"Im sure it came from over there,
From my toys, beneath the chair.
I can't believe it—but it's true
Somebody has moved my shoe!
The one I got from Uncle Tom,
Who said he only needed one.
And Elephant and Carol Cow,
They must have moved—I wonder how?
It's most peculiar!
“I think I ought to tell my dad.
I have no secrets," said the lad.
"And Mother, she's a right to see
All this nonconformity."
So he went and told them all,
And suddenly he felt so small,
Because they took him in the car
To see that awful Doctor Parr,
Who certified him.
There you are.
COPYRIGHT© 1965 BYJOHN LENNON
You can view the pages in their original size by clicking the images.
Click here for magnified image of poem.
Below in text format is the poem in its entirety. Enjoy!
THE TOY BOY
BY JOHN LENNON“I don't believe a word of it,
I think it's too absurd of it,
It's just an Old Wives' Tale, I bet,
The silliest and softest yet.
Imagine, if it walked and that,
Surely it would crush us flat!
It's such a giant thing, you know.
All in all, it goes to show
How stupid can you be?"
This was Ralph the Elephant,
Talking loud and eloquent,
Bossing all the Bears and Cats, .
All the Dogs and Policemen's Hats,
Shouting down the Wise Old Shoe,
Who said that what he said was true.
"I don't care what you say to me.
I've been on his foot, you see?"
And he had.
"I've beard it squeaking," said the horse.
"Though I can't be sure! of course—
I could have sworn it climbed on me
When I was asleep, you see!"
"What nonsense!" Ralph replied at length.
"Do you think it has the strength?
I call this meeting to a close.
All in favor—raise their nose.
We'll take a vote!"
"Unfair, unfair!" the Toys all said.
"Shoes and Hats have got no head!"
"How can they vote, I ask you now?”
Said the 'Brown but friendly Cow.
"We'll wait until the break of day,
To prove the truth of what we say."
"Agreed, agreed!" said Sydney Shoe,
Who felt he was the one who knew.
He probably was.
The Clock struck eight, as clocks will do,
At eight o'clock—that's nothing new
Except that this clock never could,
Unless you asked it if it would.
The clock obligingly conferred,
"I will not chime unless I'm heard!"
He was an artiste, so you see—
He didn't like to chime for free!
You know how it is.
As it struck, the room went dead.
A little voice came from the bed.
"Is anybody there?" it spoke.
"Or is this someone's kind of joke?
I could have sworn I heard a voice-
Perhaps me grannie made the noise,
Her early-warning coughing fit
As she gets her ciggie lit—
But I doubt it.
"Im sure it came from over there,
From my toys, beneath the chair.
I can't believe it—but it's true
Somebody has moved my shoe!
The one I got from Uncle Tom,
Who said he only needed one.
And Elephant and Carol Cow,
They must have moved—I wonder how?
It's most peculiar!
“I think I ought to tell my dad.
I have no secrets," said the lad.
"And Mother, she's a right to see
All this nonconformity."
So he went and told them all,
And suddenly he felt so small,
Because they took him in the car
To see that awful Doctor Parr,
Who certified him.
There you are.
COPYRIGHT© 1965 BYJOHN LENNON
Monday, January 02, 2006
Happy New Year
Happy "New" Year
What does "new", (often combined with "improved",) mean?
That the container is bigger, but the contents are fewer, and the price has gone up...
What does "new", (often combined with "improved",) mean?
That the container is bigger, but the contents are fewer, and the price has gone up...
Simon Swanson
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Christmas in the Trenches
words & music by John McCutcheon
Inspired by a back-stage conversation with an old woman in Birmingham, AL, this song tells a story that is not only true, but well-known throughout Europe. For some of the history behind the 1914 WWI Christmas Truce, click here.
My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.
Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.
My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.
©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Taken from The John McCutcheon Folk Music Page
Inspired by a back-stage conversation with an old woman in Birmingham, AL, this song tells a story that is not only true, but well-known throughout Europe. For some of the history behind the 1914 WWI Christmas Truce, click here.
My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.
Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.
My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.
©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Taken from The John McCutcheon Folk Music Page
Friday, October 07, 2005
George, God here ...
President Bush has words with the Almighty
Terry JonesFriday October 22, 2004
"George?"
"Yes?"
"This is God here ..."
"Hi, God. What can I do for you?"
"I want you to stop this Iraq thing, George."
"But you told me to do it, God!"
"No I didn't, George ..."
"But you did! You spoke to me through Karl, Rumsey and Dick and all those other really clever guys!"
"How did you know it was me talking, George?"
"Instinct, God. I just knew it!"
"Do you really think I'd want you to unleash all this horror and bloodshed on another lot of human beings?"
"But they're Muslims! They don't believe in You, God!"
"But, George, they do believe in me. Jews, Christians and Moslems all worship the same Me! Didn't you do comparative theology at school, George?"
"No, of course not! You think I'm some sort of peace-waving dope-headed liberal faggot-lover, God?"
"No, of course not, George, but I expect you to know something about the people you're bombing."
"Oh, come on! I know it's right to bomb those oily rag-heads until there's not one left to wipe a wrench on!"
"How do you know that, George?"
"Cause You tell me that's what I should do, God."
"George, I do not tell you to do that!"
"But I hear You, God! You speak to me! You tell me what to do! You tell me what is Right and what is Wrong! That's why I don't need to listen to any soft-baked, mealy-mouthed liberal Kerry-pickers!"
"George, you're deluding yourself."
"God! How can you say that? I got some of the most powerful people on this planet down on their knees every day in the White House just a-praying to You! Now are you gonna tell me You ain't listening? Because if You ain't listening, God, that's Your problem - not mine!"
"George, of course I'm listening - it's you who is not listening to Me!"
"And I'll tell you why! 'Cause You ain't addressing me right."
"What d'you mean, you jumped-up little Ivy League draft-dodger?"
"If you're so 'omniscient', God, you oughta know that you gotta go through Karl Rove, John Ashcroft, Rumsey and Dick ... those fellas know what they're talking about! I can't listen to just any deity who can pick up the phone!"
"But, I'm God, George!"
"Does Karl say you are?"
"But why do you believe Karl?"
"Because my gut tells me he's right!"
"Listen, you ignorant little pinch-eyed Billy Graham convert! Can't you get it into your head that I'm God and I'm telling you to stop all this 'pre-emptive strike' nonsense! Stop destroying Iraq! Stop supporting that monster Sharon! Stop picking a fight with the only other human beings on the planet that believe in Me! You're leading the world into unbelievable chaos and horror!"
"That's enough, God! That's just the sort of defeatist crap that I won't allow in the White House! Get out of here!"
"I cannot believe I'm hearing this, George."
"Well you better start believing, God, because this is the new reality. Don'tcha know that a recent Gallup poll shows that 42% of Americans identify themselves as 'born again'? That cuts across Republicans and Democrats, rich and poor, white and black! This is a real political power base, God, and you'd better believe it!"
"Look, all I'm asking is for you to show a little compassion to your fellow human beings!"
"I'm not going to debate this with you, God! You're beginning to sound like you belong to the reality-based community!"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Well by the 'reality-based community', we mean people who believe that solutions emerge from their judicious study of discernible reality."
"Sounds fair enough..."
"But, as one of my advisors told Ron Suskind of the Wall Street Journal: 'The reality-based community is not the way the world really works any more. We're an empire now and, when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality - judiciously, as you will - we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do'."
"You mean...you don't give a damn, George?"
"I mean You speak through me, God, not the other way round! Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr President."
Terry JonesFriday October 22, 2004
"George?"
"Yes?"
"This is God here ..."
"Hi, God. What can I do for you?"
"I want you to stop this Iraq thing, George."
"But you told me to do it, God!"
"No I didn't, George ..."
"But you did! You spoke to me through Karl, Rumsey and Dick and all those other really clever guys!"
"How did you know it was me talking, George?"
"Instinct, God. I just knew it!"
"Do you really think I'd want you to unleash all this horror and bloodshed on another lot of human beings?"
"But they're Muslims! They don't believe in You, God!"
"But, George, they do believe in me. Jews, Christians and Moslems all worship the same Me! Didn't you do comparative theology at school, George?"
"No, of course not! You think I'm some sort of peace-waving dope-headed liberal faggot-lover, God?"
"No, of course not, George, but I expect you to know something about the people you're bombing."
"Oh, come on! I know it's right to bomb those oily rag-heads until there's not one left to wipe a wrench on!"
"How do you know that, George?"
"Cause You tell me that's what I should do, God."
"George, I do not tell you to do that!"
"But I hear You, God! You speak to me! You tell me what to do! You tell me what is Right and what is Wrong! That's why I don't need to listen to any soft-baked, mealy-mouthed liberal Kerry-pickers!"
"George, you're deluding yourself."
"God! How can you say that? I got some of the most powerful people on this planet down on their knees every day in the White House just a-praying to You! Now are you gonna tell me You ain't listening? Because if You ain't listening, God, that's Your problem - not mine!"
"George, of course I'm listening - it's you who is not listening to Me!"
"And I'll tell you why! 'Cause You ain't addressing me right."
"What d'you mean, you jumped-up little Ivy League draft-dodger?"
"If you're so 'omniscient', God, you oughta know that you gotta go through Karl Rove, John Ashcroft, Rumsey and Dick ... those fellas know what they're talking about! I can't listen to just any deity who can pick up the phone!"
"But, I'm God, George!"
"Does Karl say you are?"
"But why do you believe Karl?"
"Because my gut tells me he's right!"
"Listen, you ignorant little pinch-eyed Billy Graham convert! Can't you get it into your head that I'm God and I'm telling you to stop all this 'pre-emptive strike' nonsense! Stop destroying Iraq! Stop supporting that monster Sharon! Stop picking a fight with the only other human beings on the planet that believe in Me! You're leading the world into unbelievable chaos and horror!"
"That's enough, God! That's just the sort of defeatist crap that I won't allow in the White House! Get out of here!"
"I cannot believe I'm hearing this, George."
"Well you better start believing, God, because this is the new reality. Don'tcha know that a recent Gallup poll shows that 42% of Americans identify themselves as 'born again'? That cuts across Republicans and Democrats, rich and poor, white and black! This is a real political power base, God, and you'd better believe it!"
"Look, all I'm asking is for you to show a little compassion to your fellow human beings!"
"I'm not going to debate this with you, God! You're beginning to sound like you belong to the reality-based community!"
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Well by the 'reality-based community', we mean people who believe that solutions emerge from their judicious study of discernible reality."
"Sounds fair enough..."
"But, as one of my advisors told Ron Suskind of the Wall Street Journal: 'The reality-based community is not the way the world really works any more. We're an empire now and, when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality - judiciously, as you will - we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do'."
"You mean...you don't give a damn, George?"
"I mean You speak through me, God, not the other way round! Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr President."
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Autumn's Child
by Snoupi
The leaves are turning brown and gold,
And evening shivers from the cold.
The Autumn wind blows free and wild,
And I am born - Autumn's child.
Another year has passed away,
And it's getting close to end of day.
Soon the world will sleep in snow.
I wonder - where do dead days go?
Sunset slowly drips away
The graceful exit of the day
In the caverns of my mind.
And every Fall I look behind.
The leaves are turning brown and gold,
And evening shivers from the cold.
The Autumn wind blows free and wild,
And I am born - Autumn's child.
Autumn Evening's shadows cast
The thought of friends and lovers past
Into my melancholy mind,
Sending shivers down my spine.
I'm walking down forgotten ways
In reruns of forgotten days.
I feel forgotten tears and smiles,
And Death gives birth to Autumn's child.
The leaves are turning brown and gold,
And evening shivers from the cold.
The Autumn wind blows free and wild,
And I am born - Autumn's child.
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