Nice Comment

Comment by Stephen on May 7, 2020 at 9:30am

Georgie Porgy pudding and pie. Yeah I remember that one being sung in the playground at school 

Comment by Davy on May 7, 2020 at 9:14am

Yes there was more to English Nursery rhymes than meets the eye.
Like I have heard the that this  rhyme

Georgie Porgy Kissed the girls

and made them cry

When the boys came out to play

Georgie Porgy ran away

Was a reference to  George the third.

Comment by Stephen on May 6, 2020 at 2:20pm

I and my friend Jack were playing a general knowledge game. And a section of the game asked us about the old and dark poems and nursery rhymes of English folklore. And it would seem the older the verse the darker the meaning.

The Comic Adventures of Old Mother Hubbard and her Dog is attributed to Sarah Catherine Martin (1768–1826)

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the Cupboard,
To give the poor Dog a bone;

When she came there,
The Cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none.

She went to the Bakers
To buy him some Bread;
When she came back
The Dog was dead!

She went to the Undertakers
To buy him a coffin;
When she came back
The Dog was laughing.

MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY (1744) 

“Contrary” is one way to describe a murderous psychopath. This popular English nursery rhyme, which reads like a solicitation for gardening advice, is actually a recounting of the homicidal nature of Queen Mary I of England, a.k.a. Bloody Mary. A fierce believer in Catholicism, her reign as queen—from 1553 to 1558—was marked by the execution of hundreds of Protestants. (Silver bells and cockle shells are torture devices, not garden accouterments.)

The Dark Origins of 11 Classic Nursery Rhymes 

https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/55035/dark-origins-11-classic-n...

Comment by Stephen on May 6, 2020 at 1:33pm

Thanks, Davy. I enjoyed that.

Comment by Davy on May 6, 2020 at 7:49am

Purblind Man

Oh! Purblind man
how arrogant thou art
Look! You cry
Look, see how much we learnt, learnt, advanced
Split the atom, we did.
Upon other world our machines do sit.

Ah! what of your society?
Is that advanced as well?
Split the atom you did, first for murder
then for peace.
Into space machines you sent,
while countless of your fellow man,
starved amidst natures bounty,
locked up by your greed.

So advancing your technology
forgetting to advance your Society.
Forgotten by you, The Web of Life.
Purblind to the fate of fellow humans,
to the others that also dwell on the planet

Your Society has reverted
to the days,
where you clung, scampered
in forests primeval
in fear
of predatory animals
though now you fear yourself,
no other beasts.

Forgotten are the wise words
of past wise humans.
How arrogant thou art, thinking,
past has nothing to teach.
We men of the present know
better than them
Oh! Really!

Then pray tell, why then
Wars still rage?
Poverty and Famine
still stalk the world?
Lifeforms fast disappearing?
Oceans and lands polluted?

No!
You are not an advanced civilisation.
Just Homo hablis
with advanced technology.

Advanced civilisations don’t
sanction mass murder
by waging wars.
None of its citizens live in
poverty nor fear famine.
Lifeforms disappear more
slowly, more naturally.
Oceans and lands are not its
cess pit or garbage dumps
and burdened by their pollutants

Oh! How Purblind though art
man of to-day!

Mullity Nik-ken-bah 2020

Comment by Chris on December 30, 2018 at 1:23am

Round the world.

Funny 

Some if not many think armageddon is the best relief.

Sorry for saying that I dislike people who worship armageddon.

 

Comment by Chris on December 30, 2018 at 1:19am

It isn't sweet to die for your country - 

It's bullshit and any one who thinks  so is  stupid.

Comment by Stephen on December 13, 2018 at 1:58pm

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

( "It is sweet and proper to die for one's country.") The biggest lie ever told to young men and women.

A draft of ‘Dulce et decorum est’ in Owen’s handwriting at the Bodleian Library

Dulce et Decorum Est
Launch Audio in a New Window

By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Comment by Stephen on February 19, 2017 at 4:08pm

Comment by Stephen on February 17, 2017 at 8:27pm

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