Date: Fri, 9 Feb 2001 18:53:05 -0700
Reply-To: John Klun <jklun@GJ.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: John Klun <jklun@GJ.NET>
Subject: Re: Frydaye Follies for Friendly Ffolkes or Fickle Fussbudgets!
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Hey Joel!
Why dontcha put all your pomes ina book for us to buy... I'd buy one if
they were all f(p)unny like that...
Joel Walker wrote:
> well, i haven't gotten time and energy to write any new stuff for a
> long time, so this is all rehashing stuff that's already been
> 'published' once or twice. what the heck ... :)
>
> it's Klassical Poultry!!! makes you wanna run right back and retake
> that English Literature course you suffered through! ;)
>
> Depictus??
> by Billie Ernie Hindleg
>
> Under the bus that carries me,
> Black as the grease on CV balls,
> I thank whatever gods may be
> For my decrepit overalls.
>
> Smudges from axles, loosely gripped;
> I have not flinched nor cried aloud
> As blood from my knuckles (socket slipped)
> Has colored the surface of this shroud.
>
> Above these spots and greasy smears
> Are streak-ed paints of different shade,
> And stains of ketchup, mustard, beers ...
> I wear them proudly, unafraid.
>
> It matters not how loud the gripe
> From friends or neighbors, wives, et al ...
> I will not wash, though they be ripe,
> These funky stinking overalls.
>
> Elegy Written on a Country Junkyard
> by Thomas Gray Metallic
>
> The setting sun defines the end of day,
> As doors and windows close against the night,
> When tools and parts are left just where they lay,
> For easy use tomorrow at first light.
>
> The cursing fades, the laughter ceases now,
> In ones and twos, the men are gone away.
> Old Sol is slow to take his final bow
> As insects tune themselves and start to play.
>
> It matters not the model nor the year
> Nor cost of purchase when the cars were new,
> For like a graveyard, all will enter here
> To rust beneath the sun and morning dew.
>
> But there are some whose Karma reaches far
> To kindred souls, for help to cheat the grave;
> And whether whole, or parted out, they are
> Extending lives upon the road they crave.
>
> For these, the kindred few, this yard is not
> A place wherein some dread should make them shy;
> Not like a graveyard, with decay and rot,
> But more a warehouse, open to the sky.
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