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Previously on "Alf's Final Friday Poetry Corner"

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  • suityou01
    replied
    Yep bye.

    Leave a comment:


  • zoco
    replied
    Originally posted by Scruff View Post
    Just a blanket tosser...
    He was a good bloke was Alf.

    Would answer any post with the lyrics to a song.

    Edit: I knew him from my days as a lurker of course.

    Leave a comment:


  • Scruff
    replied
    Just a blanket tosser...

    Leave a comment:


  • zoco
    replied
    Originally posted by AlfredJPruffock View Post
    Well My Friends - after all this time I have decided to put Alf to Sleep - perchance to dream and all that.

    I considered various candiates for this last posting eg TS Ellitots Pruffrocks and other Observations

    The morning comes to consciousness
    Of faint stale smells of beer
    From the sawdust-trampled street
    With all its muddy feet that press
    To early coffee-stands.
    With the other masquerades
    That time resumes,
    One thinks of all the hands
    That are raising dingy shades
    In a thousand furnished rooms.



    And then again - as readers of the FPC know I do enjoy a spot of WH Auden ..


    Time will say nothing but I told you so,
    Time only knows the price we have to pay;
    If I could tell you I would let you know.


    If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
    If we should stumble when musicians play,
    Time will say nothing but I told you so.

    There are no fortunes to be told, although,
    Because I love you more than I can say,
    If I could tell you I would let you know.


    Decisions ...decisions ...


    You tossed a blanket from the bed,
    You lay upon your back, and waited;
    You dozed, and watched the night revealing
    The thousand sordid images
    Of which your soul was constituted;
    They flickered against the ceiling.
    And when all the world came back
    And the light crept up between the shutters,
    And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
    You had such a vision of the street
    As the street hardly understands;
    Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
    You curled the papers from your hair,
    Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
    In the palms of both soiled hands.


    Or perhaps a spot of Keats

    My spirit is too weak—mortality
    Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
    Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,

    And each imagined pinnacle and steep
    Of godlike hardship tells me I must die


    ... ah but this one yes - this will be my last farewell ! Adieu Mes Amis !

    And in the End
    The Love you Take
    Is Equal to the Love -
    You Make
    There but remains one question.

    Who are you now?

    Leave a comment:


  • AlfredJPruffock
    started a topic Alf's Final Friday Poetry Corner

    Alf's Final Friday Poetry Corner

    Well My Friends - after all this time I have decided to put Alf to Sleep - perchance to dream and all that.

    I considered various candiates for this last posting eg TS Ellitots Pruffrocks and other Observations

    The morning comes to consciousness
    Of faint stale smells of beer
    From the sawdust-trampled street
    With all its muddy feet that press
    To early coffee-stands.
    With the other masquerades
    That time resumes,
    One thinks of all the hands
    That are raising dingy shades
    In a thousand furnished rooms.



    And then again - as readers of the FPC know I do enjoy a spot of WH Auden ..


    Time will say nothing but I told you so,
    Time only knows the price we have to pay;
    If I could tell you I would let you know.


    If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
    If we should stumble when musicians play,
    Time will say nothing but I told you so.

    There are no fortunes to be told, although,
    Because I love you more than I can say,
    If I could tell you I would let you know.


    Decisions ...decisions ...


    You tossed a blanket from the bed,
    You lay upon your back, and waited;
    You dozed, and watched the night revealing
    The thousand sordid images
    Of which your soul was constituted;
    They flickered against the ceiling.
    And when all the world came back
    And the light crept up between the shutters,
    And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
    You had such a vision of the street
    As the street hardly understands;
    Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
    You curled the papers from your hair,
    Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
    In the palms of both soiled hands.


    Or perhaps a spot of Keats

    My spirit is too weak—mortality
    Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
    Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,

    And each imagined pinnacle and steep
    Of godlike hardship tells me I must die


    ... ah but this one yes - this will be my last farewell ! Adieu Mes Amis !

    And in the End
    The Love you Take
    Is Equal to the Love -
    You Make

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