Date:         Fri, 1 Oct 1999 20:44:15 -0500
Reply-To:     Joel Walker <jwalker@URONRAMP.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Joel Walker <jwalker@URONRAMP.NET>
Subject:      FFFFrydaye Follies, an olde tradition resurfaces. :)
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well, ok. in the old days, we used to write poety (laughingly so called),
about various subjects that happened to be upon the list's mind (?) at the
time. some were actually pretty neat. then there were the ones i wrote. :)
well ... i happened to keep the ones i wrote, so that's what you're gonna
get!

Klassical Po'try  (for those of you who remember English Literature, in its
many forms ...)

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 smear
  Are streak-ed paints of different shade
And stains of ketchup, mustard, beer ...
  I wear them proudly, unafraid.

It matters not how loud the gripe
  From friends or neighbors, wives, et all ...
I will not wash, though they be ripe,
  These funky stinking overalls.

............................
ok, how about another one? :) perhaps a bit more elevated in subject matter?

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 out
  To kindred souls, for help to cheat the grave,
And whether whole, or whether parted out,
  Extend their lives upon the road they crave.

For these, the kindred few, this yard is not
   A place wherein their dread should make them shy,
Not like a graveyard, with decay and rot,
   But more a warehouse, open to the sky.

......................

and one of my favorites ... ;)

Tales of the Workshop
by Robert W. Service-Advisor   :)

            The Rules

When they step up inside, as you go for a ride,
And the first thing they see are the tools,
Then they'll ask with a smirk if you do your own work,
Cause they have no idea of The Rules.

For it's Tried and it's True: What you carry with you
Will help you get back; and it's certain
What you leave back at home, as the country you roam,
Will not help on the road when you're hurtin'.

As you go through the years, you will learn from your tears
All the tools you will need on the road,
And you increase the weight, in attempts to cheat fate,
Adding more and more tools to your load.

So the bus weighs a lot. Even more when you've got
All the spare parts your money can buy
Hidden under the seat, stacked so careful and neat,
In the hope Murphy's Law won't apply.

Now, it's sad, but in trucks, fuel economy sucks,
And gets worse with all that piled aboard,
But the point we make here is that gas ain't so dear;
Don't let tools and spare parts be ignored.

But since Murphy still lives, and he seldom forgives,
No matter how much you have pleaded,
The Rules make it plain, but we'll state it again:
Carry with you whatever is needed.

unca joel