Ode to Keith

[keithgood838]

Thank you Maxine, John et al.

TAXING TRIBULATIONS

Taxes are a form of capital punishment.

One third of a price of beer goes in tax.
Not until you are halfway through your pint
do you stop drinking for the government
and start drinking for yourself.

It's true that nothing is certain except death
and taxes. Sometimes we wish they came in that order.

Don't get too excited about a tax cut; it's like
a mugger giving you back your bus fare.

[mariana44]

That sounds about right !!!!

[ROBERT M.]

Was it Oscar Wilde who said only two things in life are certain death and taxes

[ROBERT M.]

karl, I think Keith was a bit annoyed when the site went off air a few weeks ago and some of Keiths posts disappeared

[keithgood838]

I hope the following verse will fare better than my previous
Great War commemoration which, like the many stalwarts
of that conflict, simply disappeared:

THE UNKNOWN WARRIOR
(A study in sacrifice, 1914-1918)

A buoyant private in the Pals Battalion,
he embarked eagerly on the military adventure
to teach the obstreporous Boche
some lessons. The semester would end at Christmas.

Instead he found himself undergoing a forensic examination
of his character: seeing his fellow-freshers bullet-lacerated
or shelled to smithereens again and again ...
The grim principal eventually committed him
to a slow painful expulsion via a battlefield
of cloying mud and acicular rain ...

A lonely Erebus-on-Earth fate
for which the award of an Abbey memorial
could scarcely compensate.

Keith Good

[Eman]

Awesome Keith

[Lena & Harry Smith]

Thanks for posting Keith. It was the war of all wars.

[Marian]

Thank you for posting Keith. Captures the terrible feeling of wartime.

[keithgood838]

Wilfred Owen captures the enormity of WW1 arguably better than any other poet.
Here's a verse by a less well known poet that may lighten the mood. Anyone can
make a mistake but when a Greek god is the perpetrator the ramifications for our
fair capital are far-reaching:

THE BLUNDER

Some god, quite irresponsible and young,
Has jumbled time and space and dealt amiss:
A day of Grecian spring-time he has flung
Into this winter-bound metropolis.
O blessed blunderer! Today the air
Is blue as the Aegean, soft as wine,
And there are Tritons in Trafalgar Square
And white-limbed Naiads in the Serpentine.
Today great Centaurs gallop down the Row;
Hyde Park's a silver mist of olive trees;
And all the costers' barrows overflow
With golden apples from Hesperides.
Hide, careless god! There'll be, without a doubt,
Hades to pay in heaven when Zeus finds out!

Jan Struther
(1901-1953)

PS Other poems by this unheralded lady
are accessible on the internet.

[Eman]

Wow ! Never heard of this poet Keith but it's sure a nice poem.

[keithgood838]

Hi Eman
Today is Poet's Day. Guests on a morning television chat show here
were asked to recite a verse from memory. It's not a problem for me;
I always rely on the most easily memorised lines, which I was able to
commit to memory on two readings. I post it here just for you; it has
no title, however I have taken the liberty of calling it OMNIPRESENCE:

I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes;
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
the thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice, and carven by his power,
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea.
His crown of thorns is crowned by every thorn,
His cross is every tree.

Joseph Plunkett
(1879-1916)

[maxine]

Lovely Keith....i always end up sniffling when I watch the programmes about the wars ......the verses are so touching ...

[Eman]

Wow Keith,
That was a really touching and moving poem.
Poet's Day..I think they should have that here.

[keithgood838]

Hi Eman
It may not mean much to you, however yesterday was the 50th birthday of
our most popular football t.v. programme. So happy birthday Match of the Day!

FOOTBALL FARE
(A lyric to the iconic theme tune)

We are guests at the feast of footie served by the BBC;
a menu of savoury highlights
or choice game for us to see,
garnished by Lineker or Chapman with frills of punditry;
mmmm, the bliss of zesty broadcast bites -
eye-cuisine for everybody.

Repeat the sestet and add:

Our goal-hungry appetites are sated by MOTD.

Keith Good

[maxine]

This programme is in my psyche from childhood ...I'm older than IT by a couple of months

...great Keith ...memories of Saturday night with my dear mum and dad and mum and I falling asleep when it came on .....whilst dad watched the footy ...