There was a time not long ago
When life was quite a blast.
Now I fully understand
About ‘Living in the Past’
We used to go to weddings,
Football games and lunches..
Now we go to funeral homes
And after-funeral brunches.
We used to have hangovers,
From parties that were gay.
Now we suffer body aches
And wile the night away.
We used to go out dining,
And couldn’t get our fill.
Now we ask for doggie bags,
Come home and take a pill.
We used to often travel
To places near and far.
Now we get sore asses
From riding in the car.
We used to go to nightclubs
And drink a little booze.
Now we stay home at night
And watch the evening news.
That, my friend is how life is,
And now my tale is told.
So, enjoy each day and live it up…
Before you’re too damned old!
I am standing upon the seashore.
and starts for the blue ocean.
and I stand and watch until at last she hangs
like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says,
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of destination.
when someone at my side says,
“There she goes!”
there are other eyes watching her coming . . .
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout .. .
Come all ye fair young maidens and harken unto me, never trust a cricketer, whoever he may be.
Randier than a sailor who’s been six months at sea, never let a cricketer’s hand an inch above your knee.
First let’s take the pace man, pure speed from first to last! My darlings do be careful; his balls are hard and fast.
Then there’s the medium pacer, his balls swing either way; he’s really most persistent and can keep it up all day!
Beware the off-spinner, girls, another awkward chap. If you leave him half an opening, he will slip one through the gap!
Then there’s the wily ‘slow’, pure cunning is his strength; he’ll tempt you, then he’ll trap you with his very subtle length.
So ladies, do be careful, your mothers would agree. Never trust a cricketer, whoever he may be.
And what about the opening bat, his struggles never cease! His only one ambition, to linger at the crease.
The number three is a dasher, he seldom prods and pokes. When he goes into action, he has a fine array of strokes..
And do beware the slogger, not content with one or two; when he arrives at the crease then only six will do.
Then there’s the real stone-waller, girls, he knows what he’s about; and if you let him settle in, it’s hard to get him out!
We come now to the last man, I hope this will not shock, he doesn’t mind if he’s last man in, as long as he gets a knock.
So, darlings, do be careful, and be well warned by me: Never trust a cricketer, whoever he may be.
And watch the wicket-keeper, girls, he’s full of flair and dash; and if you raise your heels, he’ll whip them off in a flash.
If you take the field with the captain, you had better know the score; or he’ll have you in positions that you never knew before!
And the commentator is a nasty sort of bloke, he watches all the action and describes it stroke by stroke.
Even the kindly umpire, who looks friendly as a pup; you’ll quickly find you’ve had it, when he puts his finger up!
So, darlings, please remember and repeat it after me: !!!!NEVER TRUST A CRICKETER, WHOEVER HE MAY BE!!!!!
* * * * *
* * * * *
I have a little Satnav
I’ve had it all my life
It’s better than the normal ones
My Satnav is my wife.
It gives me full instructions
Especially how to drive
“It’s thirty miles an hour”, it says,
“You’re doing thirty five”.
It tells me when to stop and start
And when to use the brake
And tells me that it’s never ever
Safe to overtake.
It tells me when a light is red
And when it goes to green
It seems to know instinctively
Just when to intervene.
It lists the vehicles just in front
And all those to the rear
And taking this into account
It specifies my gear.
I’m sure no other driver
Has so helpful a device
For when we leave and lock the car
It still gives its advice.
It fills me up with counselling
Each journey’s pretty fraught
So why don’t I exchange it
And get a quieter sort?
Ah well, you see, it cleans the house,
Makes sure I’m properly fed,
It washes all my shirts and things
And – keeps me warm in bed!
Despite all these advantages
And my tendency to scoff,
I do wish that once in a while
I could turn the damned thing off!
Oh, my email, woe is me
I wake up, the number says 23
23? Since half past twelve?
Working hard, those overnight elves!
Out for a run, back in the door
The number has jumped to 54
Delete 6 or 7, then take a shower
Praying to a higher power
Or perhaps a super hero
To bring me down to inbox zero.
Dried and dressed, all clean
I sit back down at the screen,
What I find, to my horror
Is the number 64
And death shall have no dominion. Dead mean naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, They shall have stars at elbow and foot; Though they go mad they shall be sane, Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily; Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through; Split all ends up they shan’t crack; And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion. No more may gulls cry at their ears Or waves break loud on the seashores; Where blew a flower may a flower no more Lift its head to the blows of the rain; Though they be mad and dead as nails, Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953)