hughesyardie - Sat 17 Mar 2012 21:19 GMT
Taff Minton - Tue 28 Feb 2012 23:27 GMT
hughesyardie - Mon 27 Feb 2012 17:52 GMT
june - Wed 08 Feb 2012 08:22 GMT
jenna55us - Mon 06 Feb 2012 00:51 GMT
vanessa - Mon 30 Jan 2012 20:57 GMT
shef64 - Mon 23 Jan 2012 17:42 GMT
Tenerife Marine - Sat 21 Jan 2012 11:00 GMT
jim - Thu 29 Dec 2011 18:25 GMT
FoxnWolf - Thu 29 Dec 2011 00:18 GMT
Wednesday, February 16
by FoxnWolf on Wed 16 Feb 2011 00:27 GMT
With writing like this, there really is no need for pictures
"We met in a secluded field, the sun almost kissing the horizon. The warm breeze was full of that earthy, musky scent, that only those fortunate to live outside the urban rat race know, and the quiet whispering of leaves in the weeping willow overhead added the final touch to the most romantic scene.
We lay there, both naked. I knew that I had to have her, and have her now.
Without a word being spoken, I moved into a position of dominance. I could feel instantly that this was what she was waiting for, as she frantically thrust her pelvis at my approaching organ. I moved slowly at first, inch by inch, until I was fully inside her.
Then, as the tension rose, we threw caution to the wind, and abandoned ourselves to the moment.
Although inexperienced, she approached every change of position with enthusiasm, moaning with despair, every time I withdrew to prevent myself from ending it all too soon.
As the sexual tension heightened towards the inevitable, mind-blowing climax, it was all I could do to hold out any longer. Finally, the moment that we had been building towards was upon us, and passed all too quickly.
Breathlessly we rolled together in the now damp grass. As the last deep orange glow of the long setting sun melted into the darkness of approaching night, we lay there still entwined in an amorous embrace. I kissed her long and lovingly, and whispered reassurance of how good she had been.
She tenderly and sensuously licked my inner ear, then whispered ""Baaaaaaaa"" and rejoined the flock."
Scroll down to continue;
This novel is only for sale in New Zealand, Australia, Wales, Ballymena and certain parts of Yorkshire and Derbyshire.
Sunday, December 19
by FoxnWolf on Sun 19 Dec 2010 13:55 GMT
THE MEN OF PIKE
After the Mining Disaster
They came from near and far away
The men of Pike to work that day
The afternoon shift way down deep
Beneath the mountains oh so steep
A long way in but further out
The afternoon shift sets about
A job not flash but hard and trying
A job that holds the risk of dying
From seventeen to sixty two
They start their shift to see it through
For one his first, for all their last
How could they know there’d be a blast?
For all at once no siren whining
Suddenly the worst in mining
Dust and rubble fill the air
A loader driver thrown clear
Just one other finds the light
The rest are hidden from our sight
And so we learn as news is spread
The news that mining families dread
It’s up at Pike there’s an explosion
Faces drop and hearts are frozen
Who, how many, where and why ----
Will they make it ---- will they die
Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons
Coasters, Kiwis, Aussies, Poms
Mates and friends who we are seeking
Methane gas from coal seams leaking
Vents exploded, phones unheeded
Level heads and strength are needed
The world above unites as one
To bring the missing to the sun
Rescue teams are standing by
As holes are drilled and experts try
To find a way that’s safe and sound
To rescue those beneath the ground
Could robots work where men are mortal
To pierce the dangers of that portal
But alas all effort fails
The darkness of the mine prevails
A second blast of rock and thunder
Hope and prayers are rent asunder
A nation weeps and Coasters mourn
Pike falls silent, dark, forlorn
A hole remains within the ground
Devoid of joy, of life, of sound
Another hole within the heart
Of those forever set apart
From those they loved who went to toil
Digging coal beneath the soil
Those who gave their lives that day
To work a shift for honest pay
They wait at rest within their mine
The men of Pike, the Twenty Nine
Tuesday, November 9
Tuesday, August 2
by FoxnWolf on Tue 02 Aug 2011 16:30 BST
The New Teacher
Is a dove a doo Dad
Is a doo a dove
Is a cow a coo Dad
A sparrow jist a spyug
And is a wall a waw Dad
Is a dog a dug
She's gonny warm ma ear Dad
Instead o' skelp ma lug.
Ma teacher's awfy posh Dad
She changes aw oor names
Wee Shugie now is Hugh Dad
And Jimmy's ayeways James
I'm scunnered wi' it aw Dad
The way she shoogles words
A must be glaickit no' tae ken
That feathered friends are burds.
Ye lernt me all wrong Dad
Ye called a ball a baw
Yur wife is now my Mother
You said it wis ma Maw
Ah'm no share hoo tae spell Dad
Ah'll niver pass ma test
Whit is this ah'm wearin' Dad
A simmet or a vest.
Ah gave ma nose a dicht Dad
When it began tae dreep
She gave me sich a fricht Dad
A nearly fell aff ma seat
Haven't you a handkerchief
She roared as if in pain
No, a jist use ma sleeve, Miss
And wiped ma nose again.
Ah cawd a mouse a moose Dad
Ah shid hiv held ma tongue
That's manure on yir bits Dad
Nae longer is it dung
It's turnips and potatoes
No tatties noo and neeps
She said I'd ripped ma trousers
When I'd only torn ma breeks.
There's twoch words fir awthin' Dad
They're jumbled in ma heed
Hoo kin a be well bred Dad
When ah keep sayin' breed
Now is a crow a craw Dad
Is a bull a bul
Ah'll try to git it richt Dad
I will, I will, ah wull.
Sunday, May 30
by FoxnWolf on Sun 30 May 2010 12:49 BST
I cross ocean, poor and broke. Take bus, see employment folk.
Nice man treat me good in there. Say I need to see welfare.
Welfare say, 'You come no more, we send cash right to your door.'
Welfare cheques - they make you wealthy! NHS - it keep you healthy!
By and by, I get plenty money. Thanks to you, you British dummy!
Write to friends in motherland. Tell them 'come fast as you can.'
They come in turbans and Ford trucks, And buy big house with welfare bucks!
They come here, we live together. More welfare cheques, it gets better!
Fourteen families, they moving in, but neighbour's patience wearing thin. Finally, British guy moves away. Now I buy his house, then I say.
'Find more immigrants for house to rent.' And in the yard I put a tent.
Everything is very good, and soon we own the neighbourhood.
We have hobby, it's called breeding. Welfare pay for baby feeding. Kids need dentist? Wives need pills? We get free! We got no bills! British crazy! They work all year, to keep the welfare running here.
We think UK darn good place. Too darn good for British race!
If they no like us, they can scram. Got lots of room in Afghanistan!
Sunday, April 18
Tuesday, March 2
by FoxnWolf on Tue 02 Mar 2010 12:55 GMT
A WOMAN'S POEM:
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand.
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean.
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother.
A MAN'S POEM:
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with
big tits who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking. This
doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.
Thursday, January 7
by FoxnWolf on Thu 07 Jan 2010 14:57 GMT
A' coorse ah love ye darlin'
Ye're a bloody top notch burd.
An' when ah say ye're gorgeous
Ah mean iv'ry single word.
So yer bum is oan the big side
Ah don't mind a bit o flab.
It means that whin ah'm ready
There's somethin' therr tae grab.
So yer belly isny flat nae merr
Ah tell ye, ah don't cerr.
So long as when ah cuddle ye
I cin get mah erms roon' therr.
Nae wummin wha is your age
Hiz nice roon' perky breasts.
They jist gave in tae gravity
Bit ah know ye did yer best.
Ah'm tellin ye the truth noo
Ah nivir tell ye lies.
Ah think its very sexy
Thit ye've goat dimples oan yer thighs.
Ah swerr oan mah grannies grave noo
The moment thit we met.
Ah thocht ye wiz as guid as
Ah wiz ivir goanie get.
Nae maitter whit ye look like
Ah'll aywiz love ye dear.
Noo shut up while the fitba's oan
An' fetch anither beer
Tuesday, December 29
by FoxnWolf on Tue 29 Dec 2009 13:01 GMT
Wednesday, December 23
by FoxnWolf on Wed 23 Dec 2009 16:24 GMT
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
My son slumbered softly, safe in my arms,
I was happy to be blessed with all of their charms,
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps Canadian, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Dieppe on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in that Korean Land ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
Something red and, white, .... a Canadian flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a trench with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."P
Tuesday, December 15
by FoxnWolf on Tue 15 Dec 2009 09:16 GMT
l was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp--
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics and the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.
Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.
And why is everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue.'
'Hush, child,' He said, 'they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you.'
Remember...Justgoing to church doesn't make you a
Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car.
Monday, December 14
by FoxnWolf on Mon 14 Dec 2009 15:49 GMT
T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE AND TO SEE JUST WHO, IN THIS SMALL HOME DID LIVE
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE - NO TINSEL NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE. NO STOCKING BY THE MANTLE JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF A FAR DISTANT LAND, WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS.
THEN A SOBER THOUGHT CAME INTO MY MIND
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, IT WAS DARK AND DREARY, T'WAS THE HOME OF A SOLDIER, ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN DISORDER NOT HOW I PICTURED A LONE SOLDIER. WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ, CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED
I REALISED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS, WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT AND SOON ROUND THE WORLD THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY
THEY ALL ENJOY FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE. I COULDN'T HELP BUT WONDER, HOW MANY ALONE, ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME?
THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY THE SOLDIER AWAKENED, I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE "SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE. I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE, MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS"
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP. I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL AND WE BOTH SAT AND SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHTS CHILL. I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE, ON THAT COLD DARK NIGHT, THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOUR, SO WILLING TO FIGHT...
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE
WHISPERED "CARRY ON SANTA, CHRISTMAS DAY IS SECURE" ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT "MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND - AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"
THIS POEM WAS WRITTEN BY A BRITISH PEACE KEEPING SOLDIER STATIONED OVERSEAS. PLEASE WOULD YOU DO ME THE KIND FAVOUR OF SENDING THIS TO AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU CAN.......
CHRISTMAS WILL BE COMING SOON AND MUCH CREDIT IS DUE TO OUR BRITISH SERVICE MEN AND WOMEN FOR OUR BEING ABLE TO CELEBRATE THESE FESTIVITIES. LET'S TRY IN THIS
Tuesday, November 24
by FoxnWolf on Tue 24 Nov 2009 10:29 GMT
There comes a point in your life when you realize:
Who never did,
Who won't anymore...
And who always will.
So, don't worry about people from your past,
there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future
Friday, November 13
by Gongdonkey on Fri 13 Nov 2009 00:31 GMT
Plus ca change - plus c'est la meme chose !
The more things change - the more they remain the same. I would love to think that politicians voted with a conscience rather than support a dishonest leader or just follow a party line - but I doubt that it will ever happen. As politics goes round and round, so does the world ...... and the actions within it. Politicians propose - ordinary people deal with the outcome.
On 4th November 1918 - in "the war to end all wars" - the poet Wilfred Owen was shot in action and died. Not a "wilting violet" - he had been awarded the Mlitary Cross previously. He died one week before the armistice.
To show the "bravery" of the politicians of today who send people to war on lies, please read the following - Three by Wilfred Owen - theirs is a resonance that comes through, even today. The final one is by another poet who wrote of war - but survived his time in war - Siegfried Sassoon, M.C..
Smile, smile, smile
Head to limp head, the sunk eyed wounded scanned
Yesterday's Mail; the casualties ( typed small)
And (large) Vast Booty from our latest Haul.
Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned;
For, said the Paper,"When this war is done
The mens first instinct will be making homes.
Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,
It being certain war has just begun.
Peace would do wrong to our undying dead -
The sons we offered might regret they died
If we got nothing lasting in their stead.
We must be solidly indemnified.
Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,
We rulers sitting in this ancient spot
Would wrong our very selves if we forgot
The greatest glory will be theirs who fought
Who kept this Nation in integrity.
Nation ? The half-limbed readers did not chafe
But smiled at one another curiously
Like secret men who know their secret safe.
This is the thing they know and never speak
Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,
And people in whose voice real feeling rings
Say: How they smile ! They're happy now, poor things.
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark
And shivered in his suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day
'Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
And girls danced lovelier as the light grew dim
- In the old times before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
How girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands
All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face
For it was younger than his youth last year.
Now he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Pour'd it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a blood smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg
He thought he'd better join. He wondered why.
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de Corps, uniform for young recruits.
And soon he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheered "Goal".
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes
And do what things rules consider wise,
And take what pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole,
How cold and late it is Why don't they come
And put him to bed ? Why don't they come ?
After the blast of lightning from the east
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased
And from the bronze west long retreat has blown
Shall life renew these bodies ? Of a truth
All deaths will he annul, All tears assuage
Or fill these void veins full again with youth.
And wash with an immortal water age?
When I do ask white age, he saith not so -
"My head hangs weighted down with snow"
And when I harken to the Earth she saith
My fiery heart sinks aching - it is death
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified
Nor by titanic tears the seas be dried.
and finally, by Siegfried Sassoon :
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soudly through the lonesome dark
And whistled early with the lark
In winter trenches, cowed and glum
with cramps and lice and lack of rum
He put a bullet through his brain
No-one spoke of him again.
You smug faced crowds with kindly eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The Hell where youth and laughter go.
Just think on, both you politicians who send them - and the people who cheer them in the headlines. It doesn't always stop when the war does !
Politicians like Blair, Bush and Brown propose - they are not there to dispose ! Nor are they willing to pick up the pieces. That is both the sadness and the truth ........ perhaps Kipling ( who lost his son in war) was correct :
It's "Tommy this" and "Tommy that"
And "Kick him out, the brute"
But he's the "Saviour of his Country
When the guns begin to shoot !"
Sometimes it certainly seems that way.
Wednesday, November 4
by FoxnWolf on Wed 04 Nov 2009 17:44 GMT
Tommy (with apologies to Kipling)
Written by Patrick Campbell
They flew me 'ome from Baghdad with a bullet in me chest. Cos they've closed the army 'ospitals, I'm in the NHS. The nurse, she ain't no Britisher an' so she ain't impressed. It's like I'm some street corner thug who's come off second best. Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "You're not welcome 'ere". But when Saddam was collar'd, they was quick enough to cheer.
They're proud when Tommy Atkins 'olds the thin red line out there, But now he's wounded back at 'ome, he has to wait for care. Some stranger in the next bed sez, "Don't you feel no shame? You kill my Muslim brothers!" So it's me not 'I'm to blame! An' then the cleaner ups an' sez "Who are you fightin' for? It ain't for Queen and country 'cos it's Bush's bloody war!" It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, what's that smell?" But it's "God go with you, Tommy," when they fly us out to 'ell.
O then we're just like 'eroes from the army's glorious past. Yes, it's "God go with you, Tommy," when the trip might be your last. They pays us skivvy wages, never mind we're sitting ducks, When clerks what's pushing pens at 'ome don't know their flippin' luck."Ah, yes" sez they "but think of all the travel to be 'ad."
Pull the other one. Does Cooks do 'olidays in Baghdad?
It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, know your place," But it's "Tommy, take the front seat," when there's terrorists to chase.
An' the town is full of maniacs who'd like you dead toot sweet. Yes, it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins," when they find you in the street. There's s'pposed to be a covynant to treat us fair an' square But I 'ad to buy me army boots, an' me combats is threadbare. An' 'alf the bloody 'elicopters can't get into the air, An' me pistol jammed when snipers fired. That's why I'm laid up 'ere.
Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, "We 'ave to watch the pence"; Bold as brass the P.M. sez, "We spare them no expense.
"But I'll tell you when they do us proud an' pull out all the stops, It's when Tommy lands at Lyneham in a bloomin' wooden box!
by FoxnWolf on Wed 04 Nov 2009 16:34 GMT
The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining, Just as brightly as his brass.
'Step forward now, you soldier, How shall I deal with you ?
Have you always turned the other cheek? To My Church have you been true?'
The soldier squared his shoulders and said, 'No, Lord, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry guns, Can't always be a saint.
I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I've been violent, Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep....
Though I worked a lot of overtime, When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place, Among the people here.
They never wanted me around, Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here, Lord, It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand.
There was a silence all around the throne, Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly, For the judgment of his God.
'Step forward now, you soldier, You've borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell.'
Wednesday, August 5
by FoxnWolf on Wed 05 Aug 2009 16:39 BST
It's the VETERAN not the preacher, who has given us freedom of religion...
It's the VETERAN not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press...
It's the VETERAN not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech...
It is the VETERAN not the campus organizer, who has given us freedom to assemble...
It is the VETERAN not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial...
It's the VETERAN not the politician, who has given us the right to vote...
It's the VETERAN who salutes the Flag...
It's the VETERAN who serves under the Flag.......
Thanx Rod & Tom
Tuesday, July 14
by FoxnWolf on Tue 14 Jul 2009 11:54 BST
Goodbye to my England.......
So long my old friend Your days are numbered, being brought to an end. To be Scottish, Irish or Welsh that's fine But don't say you're English, that's way out of line.
The French and the Germans may call themselves such So may Norwegians, the Swedes and the Dutch. You can say you are Russian or maybe a Dane But don't say you're English ever again.
At Broadcasting House the word is taboo In Brussels it's scrapped, in Parliament too Even schools are affected, staff do as they're told They must not teach children about England of old.
Writers like Shakespeare, Milton and Shaw The pupils don't learn about them anymore How about Agincourt, Hastings, Arnhem or Mons? When England lost hosts of her very brave sons. We are not Europeans, how can we be? Europe is miles away over the sea We're the English from England, let's all be proud, Stand up and be counted - Shout it out loud !
Let's tell our Government and Brussels too We're proud of our heritage and the Red, White and Blue. Fly the flag of Saint George or the Union Jack Let the world know.
WE WANT OUR ENGLAND BACK !!!!
Rod Spinks 2009
Tuesday, July 7
by FoxnWolf on Tue 07 Jul 2009 12:52 BST
Mr Common Sense.......
My parents told me about Mr. Common Sense early in my life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions. It seems he was always around in my early years but less and less as time passed by until today I read his obituary. Please join me in a moment of silence in remembrance. For Common Sense had served us all so well for so many generations.
Obituary for Mr Common Sense.......
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.
Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentions but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a class mate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.
Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.
Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.
Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.
Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his Daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.
Common Sense is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.
If you still remember Common Sense pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.
Dont You Remember ???????
Friday, June 19
by FoxnWolf on Fri 19 Jun 2009 11:34 BST
When you're lying alone in your Afghan bivvy, And your life it depends on some MOD civvie When the body Armour's shared (one set between three),
And the firefight's not like it is on TV.
Then you'll look to your oppo, your gun and
your God, As you follow that path all Tommies have trod. When
the gimpy has jammed and you're down to one round,
Wednesday, June 10
by FoxnWolf on Wed 10 Jun 2009 21:31 BST
We all came together, Both young and old To fight for our freedom, To stand and be bold.
In the midst of all evil, We stand our ground, And we protect our country From all terror around.
Peace and not war, Is what some people say. But I'll give my life, So you can live the American way.
I give you the right To talk of your peace. To stand in your groups, and protest in our streets..
But still I fight on, I don't fuss, I don't whine. I'm just one of the people Who is doing your time.
I'm harder than nails, Stronger than any machine. I'm the immortal soldier,
I'm a U.S. MARINE!
So stand in my shoes, And leave from your home. Fight for the people who hate you,
With the protests they've shown. Fight for the stranger, Fight for the young. So they all may have, The greatest freedom you've won.
Fight for the sick, Fight for the poor Fight for the cripple, Who lives next door.
But when your time comes, Do what I've done. For if you stand up for freedom, You'll stand when the fight's done.
By: Corporal Aaron M. Gilbert US Marine Corps
USS SAIPAN, PERSIAN GULF
by FoxnWolf on Wed 10 Jun 2009 21:27 BST
You can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, ' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
by FoxnWolf on Wed 10 Jun 2009 21:25 BST
"Order the signal, Hardy."
"Aye, aye sir."
"Hold on, that's not what I dictated to the signal officer. What's the meaning of this?"
"England expects every person to do his duty, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, religious persuasion or disability. What gobbledygook is this?"
"Admiralty policy, I'm afraid, sir. We're an equal opportunities employer now. We had the devil's own job getting 'England' past the censors, lest it be considered racist."
"Gadzooks, Hardy. Hand me my pipe and tobacco."
"Sorry sir. All naval vessels have been designated smoke-free working environments."
"In that case, break open the rum ration. Let us splice the main brace to steel the men before battle."
"The rum ration has been abolished, Admiral. Its part of the Government's policy on binge drinking."
"Good heavens, Hardy. I suppose we'd better get on with it. Full speed ahead."
"I think you'll find that there's a 4 knot speed limit in this stretch of water."
"Damn it man! We are on the eve of the greatest sea battle in history. We must advance with all dispatch. Report from the crow's nest, please."
"That won't be possible, sir."
"Health and safety have closed the crow's nest, sir. No harness. And they said that rope ladder doesn't meet regulations. They won't let anyone up there until proper scaffolding can be erected."
"Then get me the ship's carpenter without delay, Hardy."
"He's busy knocking up a wheelchair access to the fo'c'sle Admiral."
"Wheelchair access? I've never heard anything so absurd."
"Health and safety again, sir. We have to provide a barrier-free environment for the differently abled."
"Differently abled? I've only one arm and one eye and I refuse even to hear mention of the word. I didn't rise to the rank of admiral by playing the disability card."
"Actually, sir, you did. The Royal Navy is under-represented in the areas of visual impairment and limb deficiency."
"Whatever next? Give me full sail. The salt spray beckons."
"A couple of problems there too, sir. Health and safety won't let the crew up the rigging without crash helmets. And they don't want anyone breathing in too much salt - haven't you seen the adverts?"
"I've never heard such infamy. Break out the cannon and tell the men to stand by to engage the enemy."
"The men are a bit worried about shooting at anyone, Admiral."
"What? This is mutiny."
"It's not that, sir. It's just that they're afraid of being charged with murder if they actually kill anyone. There are a couple of legal aid lawyers on board, watching everyone like hawks."
"Then how are we to sink the Frenchies and the Spanish?"
"Actually, sir, we're not."
"No, sir. The Frenchies and the Spanish are our European partners now. According to the Common Fisheries Policy, we shouldn't even be in this stretch of water. We could get hit with a claim for compensation."
"But you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil."
"I wouldn't let the ship's diversity co-coordinator hear you saying that sir. You'll be up on disciplinary."
"You must consider every man an enemy who speaks ill of your King."
"Not any more, sir. We must be inclusive in this multicultural age. Now put on your Kevlar vest; it's the rules."
"Don't tell me - health and safety. Whatever happened to rum, sodomy and the lash?"
"As I explained, sir, rum is off the menu. And there's a ban on corporal punishment."
"What about sodomy?"
"I believe it's to be encouraged, sir."
"In that case ...kiss me, Hardy."