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Strays

Cast: Skyler Day, Marque Richardson, Jim Cody Williams, Mark Furze

trailer for Strays, directed by Peter Hutton, screenplay by Peter Hutton (2015)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Big Jilm

Rollin and wheelin, stealin and dealin - big jim
Bol weevil, its a pleasel, its a pleasel, my weasel - big jim
Dreamin and schemin, screamin and bleedin - big jim
Froggy in the meadow under the log - big jim
Rollin and wheelin, stealin and dealin - big jim
Bol weevil, its a pleasel, its a pleasel, my weasel - big jim
Big jim
Whats the biggest thing you ever did done see?
Big jim
I mean, whats the biggest, biggest thing you ever did done see?
Big jim
Rollin and wheelin, stealin and dealin - big jim (big jim! big jim!)
(doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo)
Bol weevil, its a pleasel, its a pleasel, my weasel - big jim (big jim!)
Dreamin and schemin, screamin and bleedin - big jim (big jim! big jim!)
Froggy in the meadow under the log - big jim (big jim!)
Big jim
I mean, biggest thing you ever did done see?
Big jim (big jim)
Biggest thing you ever did done see - big jim (big jim! big jim!)
Doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo (big jim)
Doo doo doo

song performed by Ween
Added by Lucian Velea
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Suicide Lovers

suicide lovers 6x
suicide lovers are always there in the dark still together
still huging eachother still holding eachother up
suicide lovers are the only ones in the dark
shering ther feeling and shering ther thoughts
feeling pain and feeling love thinking about dieing
and thinking about been with eachotherno matter what
they talk about how there going to die together
holding hands and deareming about the day that comes

suicide lovers are the only ones int he dark still
hugging eachother and holding eachother up dreaming
about love and dreaming about the heart when it stops
we all die and we'll never give it up they think life has no point
theres nothing in the worldfor them exept for eachother
ther thinking about having a baby and dieing together

suicide lovers have a babythere baby is growing up good
and strong. healthy and stands up for herself the
she finds a guy just like her they are together forevere
they will never give it up ther love becomes pure and up ther
thinking about marriageand having a baby of there own
they have a son there dreams come truethey will call him
skyler a name they both like, they are thinking about another
baby so they have a girl and call her carli they thought that carli was
a goog name for there child skyler and carli are getting along
one is 17 and one is 21, damb they grow ou fast and strong
i cant belive what they been throug years dreaming and thinking
the world of each other they both find ther one and the both
are happy so they will be together forever! !
suicide lovers, suicide lovers, suicide lovers
suicide suicide i already diiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeedddddd...... loverrrrrrrrrrrrrss
suicide lovers suicide lovers are always in the dark

suicide lovers 6x
suicide lovers are always there in the dark still together
still huging eachother still holding eachother up
suicide lovers are the only ones in the dark
shering ther feeling and shering ther thoughts
feeling pain and feeling love thinking about dieing
and thinking about been with eachotherno matter what
they talk about how there going to die together
holding hands and deareming about the day that comes

suicide lovers are the only ones int he dark still
hugging eachother and holding eachother up dreaming
about love and dreaming about the heart when it stops
we all die and we'll never give it up they think life has no point
theres nothing in the worldfor them exept for eachother
ther thinking about having a baby and dieing together

[...] Read more

poem by Valya Madden
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James Holladay (Demo)

James Holladay was a working man
He made his living on the land
But living alone was too much to stand
So Jim found a woman to understand
Two years passed living in joy
When out of the blue came a baby boy
Just to keep up the family name
Mister Holladay said we'll call him little James
So you better run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away
You better better run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away
You better better run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away (Jim you gotta get away)
Little James became a working man
He followed his pa right across the land
At the end of the day when his work was done
He'd sit and watch the setting southern sun
Nineteen years had come and gone
Little Jimmy had grown up big and strong
He didn't know that his time had come
When they handed him a shiny black gun
So his pa said, run, run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta getaway
So you better run, run, run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away
So you better run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away (Jim you gotta get away)
Run, run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta getaway
You better better run, run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away
You better better run, run, run, run, run, run (Jim you gotta get away)
Jim, you gotta get away
(fade)

song performed by America
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Mylora Elopement

By the winding Wollondilly where the weeping willows weep,
And the shepherd, with his billy, half awake and half asleep,
Folds his fleecy flocks that linger homewards in the setting sun
Lived my hero, Jim the Ringer, "cocky" on Mylora Run.
Jimmy loved the super's daughter, Miss Amelia Jane McGrath.
Long and earnestly he sought her, but he feared her stern papa;
And Amelia loved him truly -- but the course of love, if true,
Never yet ran smooth or duly, as I think it ought to do.

Pondering o'er his predilection, Jimmy watched McGrath, the boss,
Riding past his lone selection, looking for a station 'oss
That was running in the ranges with a mob of outlaws wild.
Mac the time of day exchanges -- off goes Jim to see his child;

Says, "The old man's after Stager, which he'll find is no light job,
And tomorrow I will wager he will try and yard the mob.
Will you come with me tomorrow? I will let the parson know,
And for ever, joy or sorrow, he will join us here below.

"I will bring the nags so speedy, Crazy Jane and Tambourine,
One more kiss -- don't think I'm greedy -- good-bye, lass, before I'm seen --
Just one more -- God bless you, dearie! Don't forget to meet me here,
Life without you is but weary; now, once more, good-bye, my dear."

* * * * *
The daylight shines on figures twain
That ride across Mylora Plain,
Laughing and talking -- Jim and Jane.
"Steady, darling. There's lots of time,
Didn't we slip the old man prime!
I knew he'd tackle that Bowneck mob,
I reckon he'll find it too big a job.
They've beaten us all. I had a try,
But the warrigal devils seem to fly.
That Sambo's a real good but of stuff
No doubt, but not quite good enough.
He'll have to gallop the livelong day,
To cut and come, to race and stay.
I hope he yards 'em, 'twill do him good;
To see us going I don't think would."
A turn in the road and, fair and square,
They meet the old man standing there.
"What's up?" "Why, running away, of course,"
Says Jim, emboldened. The old man turned,
His eye with wild excitement burned.
"I've raced all day through the scorching heat
After old Bowneck: and now I'm beat.
But over that range I think you'll find
The Bowneck mob all run stone-blind.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Cody And Wyat

Two little boys that wanted to be like each other,
did a lot of funny things; they were comical brothers.
Cody was the little one, he never wanted to nap, only have fun.
He followed me and Wyat everywhere,
brought Razel puppet with, he was well aware.
We could never get Cody to “power nap”,
That was O.K. Cody never snapped.
Wyat wanted to be like Cody’s with diapers and all,
Wyat would sneak in Cody’s crib, luckily the crib would never give.
He would climb right in when no one was around,
start sucking his thumb and pull blankets up some.
Now one day, mother did explain,
that Wyat was caught wearing Cody’s diapers,
to make sure he didn’t do it again.
Mother went to work and was on her way,
that’s when Wyat had a funny thing to say.
He said, “Look what the Bratz dolls did,
they put on my diapers, I’m like Cody, I’m not a kid.”
I looked at him, and he just grinned,
Then he said, “Write that down”.
I laughed it was the funniest comment I have found.

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Cody And Wyat

Two little boys that wanted to be like each other,
did a lot of funny things; they were comical brothers.
Cody was the little one, he never wanted to nap, only have fun.
He followed me and Wyat everywhere,
brought Razel puppet with, he was well aware.
We could never get Cody to "power nap",
That was O.K. Cody never snapped.
Wyat wanted to be like Cody's with diapers and all,
Wyat would sneak in Cody's crib, luckily the crib would never give.
He would climb right in when no one was around,
start sucking his thumb and pull blankets up some.
Now one day, mother did explain,
that Wyat was caught wearing Cody's diapers,
to make sure he didn't do it again.
Mother went to work and was on her way,
that's when Wyat had a funny thing to say.
He said, "Look what the Bratz dolls did,
they put on my diapers, I'm like Cody, I'm not a kid."
I looked at him, and he just grinned,
Then he said, "Write that down".
I laughed it was the funniest comment I have found.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on November 7,2011

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Epitaph on an Unread Verse after William Carlos Williams' Red Wheelbarrow

This is just to play on plum phrases
hibernating in your brainbox,
which your neurones were probably waiting for
to break free fast.

Forgive me their taste is delicious,
so neat and so bold.

An agèd poet with hollow laughter
swiftly sprayed her incisive syllables
in consonant activity and, yearning,
paid [s]lip service:

so much depends
upon lifelong learning's expectations,
an unread verse [s]pokes for comments,
reigns above lily-livered chicken-hearted critics
before a blank screen.

so much more depends
upon monochromatic ash clouds
glazed with silicates
beside Icelandic
eruptions.

Life is verse role-reversing uninclined ignorance
shadowing dis...inclined ink lined page.

(Revised 3 October 2009 and19 Aptil 2010)

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
William Carlos Williams 1883_1963

Variation on a Theme by William Carlos Williams
1 I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next summer. I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do and its wooden beams were so inviting.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?"

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead.
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and thro' the tree
Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
"Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize."

To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

"Would rather you had let them fall," she cried,
"Plunge and be lost--ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!--ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given--
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river--that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Last Tournament

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a withered leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, `Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?'

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead,
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutched at the crag, and started through mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and through the tree
Rushed ever a rainy wind, and through the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarred from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
`Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize.'

To whom the King, `Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear.'

`Would rather you had let them fall,' she cried,
`Plunge and be lost-ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!-ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given-
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river-that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Jim

'Now, be the Hokey Fly!' sez Peter Begg.
'Suppose 'e comes 'ome with a wooden leg.
Suppose 'e isn't fit to darnce at all,
Then, ain't we 'asty fixin' up this ball?
A little tournament at Bridge is my
Idear,' sez Peter. 'Be the Hokey Fly!'

Ole Peter Begg is gettin' on in years.
'E owns a reel good farm; an' all 'e fears
Is that some girl will land 'im, by an' by,
An' shar it with 'im - be the Hokey Fly.
That's 'is pet swear-word, an' I dunno wot
'E's meanin', but 'e uses it a lot.

'Darncin'!' growls Begg. We're fixin' up the 'all
With bits uv green stuff for a little ball
To welcome Jim, 'oo's comin' 'ome nex' day.
We're 'angin' flags around to make things gay,
An' shiftin' chairs, an' candle-greasin' floors,
As is our way when blokes comes 'ome from wars.

'A little game uv Bridge,' sez Peter Begg.
'Would be more decent like, an' p'r'aps a keg
Uv somethin' if the 'ero's feelin' dry.
But this 'ere darncin'! Be the Hokey Fly,
These selfish women never thinks at all
About the guest; they only wants the ball.

'Now, cards,' sez Begg, 'amuses ev'ry one.
An' then our soldier guest could 'ave 'is fun
If 'e'd lost both 'is legs. It makes me sick
'Ere! Don't spread that candle-grease too thick
Yeh're wastin' it; an' us men 'as to buy
Enough for nonsense, be the Hokey Fly!'

Begg, 'e ain't never keen on wastin' much.
'Peter,' I sez, 'it's you that needs a crutch.
Why don't yeh get a wife, an' settle down?'
'E looks reel fierce, an' answers, with a frown,
'Do you think I am goin' to be rooked
For 'arf me tucker, jist to get it cooked?'

I lets it go at that, an' does me job;
An' when a little later on I lob
Along the 'omeward track, down by Flood's gate
I meet ole Digger Smith, an' stops to state
Me views about the weather an' the war…
'E tells me Jim gets 'ere nex' day, at four.

An' as we talk, I sees along the road

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Jim

Never knew Jim, did you? Our boy Jim?
Bless you, there was the likely lad;
Supple and straight and long of limb,
Clean as a whistle, and just as glad.
Always laughing, wasn't he, dad?
Joy, pure joy to the heart of him,
And, oh, but the soothering ways he had,
Jim, our Jim!

But I see him best as a tiny tot,
A bonny babe, though it's me that speaks;
Laughing there in his little cot,
With his sunny hair and his apple cheeks.
And my! but the blue, blue eyes he'd got,
And just where his wee mouth dimpled dim
Such a fairy mark like a beauty spot --
That was Jim.

Oh, the war, the war! How my eyes were wet!
But he says: "Don't be sorrowing, mother dear;
You never knew me to fail you yet,
And I'll be back in a year, a year."
'Twas at Mons he fell, in the first attack;
For so they said, and their eyes were dim;
But I laughed in their faces: "He'll come back,
Will my Jim."

Now, we'd been wedded for twenty year,
And Jim was the only one we'd had;
So when I whispered in father's ear,
He wouldn't believe me -- would you, dad?
There! I must hurry . . . hear him cry?
My new little baby. . . . See! that's him.
What are we going to call him? Why,
Jim, just Jim.

Jim! For look at him laughing there
In the same old way in his tiny cot,
With his rosy cheeks and his sunny hair,
And look, just look . . . his beauty spot
In the selfsame place. . . . Oh, I can't explain,
And of course you think it's a mother's whim,
But I know, I know it's my boy again,
Same wee Jim.

Just come back as he said he would;
Come with his love and his heart of glee.
Oh, I cried and I cried, but the Lord was good;
From the shadow of Death he set Jim free.
So I'll have him all over again, you see.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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Tambaroora Jim

He never drew a sword to fight a dozen foes alone,
Nor gave a life to save a life no better than his own.
He lived because he had been born—the hero of my song—
And fought the battle with his fist whene’er he fought a wrong.
Yet there are many men who would do anything for him—
A simple chap as went by name of ‘Tambaroora Jim.’
He used to keep a shanty in the ‘Come-and-find-it Scrub,’
And there were few but knew the name of Tambaroora’s pub.
He wasn’t great in lambing down, as many landlords are,
And never was a man less fit to stand behind a bar—
Off-hand, as most bush natives are, and freckled, tall, and slim,
A careless native of the land was ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

When people said that loafers took the profit from his pub,
He’d ask them how they thought a chap could do without his grub;
He’d say, ‘I’ve gone for days myself without a bite or sup—
‘Oh! I’ve been through the mill and know what ’tis to be hard-up.’
He might have made his fortune, but he wasn’t in the swim,
For no one had a softer heart than ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

One dismal day I tramped across the Come-and-find-it Flats,
With ‘Ballarat Adolphus’ and a mate of ‘Ballarat’s’;
’Twas nearly night and raining fast, and all our things were damp,
We’d no tobacco, and our legs were aching with the cramp;
We couldn’t raise a cent, and so our lamp of hope was dim;
And thus we struck the shanty kept by ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

We dropped our swags beneath a tree, and squatted in despair,
But Jim came out to watch the rain, and saw us sitting there;
He came and muttered, ‘I suppose you haven’t half -a-crown,
‘But come and get some tucker, and a drink to wash it down.’
And so we took our blueys up and went along with him,
And then we knew why bushmen swore by ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

We sat beside his kitchen fire and nursed our tired knees,
And blessed him when we heard the rain go rushing through the trees.
He made us stay, although he knew we couldn’t raise a bob,
And tuckered us until we made some money on a job.
And many times since then we’ve filled our glasses to the brim,
And drunk in many pubs the health of ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

A man need never want a meal while Jim had ‘junk’ to carve,
For ‘Tambaroora’ always said a fellow couldn’t starve.
And this went on until he got a bailiff in his pub,
Through helping chaps as couldn’t raise the money for their grub.
And so, one rainy evening, as the distant range grew dim,
He humped his bluey from the Flats—did ‘Tambaroora Jim.’

I miss the fun in Jim’s old bar—the laughter and the noise,
The jolly hours I used to spend on pay-nights with the boys.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Runaway Jim

I had a dog.
His name was Jim
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Took all of my old clothes with him.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
He was twelve years old when his trip began,
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Hauling down the highway in my old sedan.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway.)
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Now I wish someone'd tell me where old Jim went,
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
'Cause he took all the money that I saved for rent.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
By the time he came home he was seventeen.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
That's a hundred nineteen to you and me.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Now I'm gonna go up to the mountain.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Singing for Jim who's swimming in the fountain.
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
Whoa-ooooooooooooooo oh Runaway Jim
"By the time he came home..."
before the 1st break, and comes out of it with:
He ran away again on the night he died
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)
'Cause I knew I would miss him from the other side *
(Runaway, runaway, runaway)*
or
"Cause I knew I'd be with him on the other side

song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
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Miss Reid's Speed Seeds Misread Red Weed Barrow Greed Screed

Miss Reid's Speed Seeds Misread Red Weed Barrow Greed Screed

So much depends upon callow Monsanto’s
arrow minded rein reign
glazed with gain and, again, phrased with pain,

wheedling sallow farmers who see red
forced to furrow b[l]ushels of transgenic sterile crop seeds
on narrow plain
lots which soon lie fallow
rather than wide marrow
raised with rain
and fertile appetizers

Need greed's speed weed reeds
beside white ants’
terror might nest?

Fazed again, who chickens out of errors?

12 October 2009 robi3_1928_will5_0006 PVW_JNX
Parody William Carlos Williams 1883_1963 The Red Wheelbarrow

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon
a red
wheelbarrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

William Carlos WILLIAMS 1883_1963

WILLIAMS William Carlos 1883_1963 will5_0001_will5_0000 PXX_NXX The Red Wheelbarrow_So Much Depends
__________________

The Yellow Goldfish

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Before the War

'Before the war,' she sighs. 'Before the war.'
Then blinks 'er eyes, an' tries to work a smile.
'Ole scenes,' she sez, 'don't look the same no more.
Ole ways,' she sez, 'seems to 'ave changed their style.
The pleasures that we had don't seem worth while
Them simple joys that passed an hour away
An' troubles, that we used to so revile,
'Ow small they look', she sez. ''Ow small today.

'This war!' sighs ole Mar Flood. An' when I seen
The ole girl sittin' in our parlour there,
Tellin' 'er troubles to my wife Doreen.
As though the talkin' eased 'er load 'uv care,
I thinks uv mothers, 'ere and everywhere,
Smilin' a bit while they are grievin' sore
For grown-up babies, fightin' Over There;
An' then I 'ears 'em sigh, 'Before the war.'

My wife 'as took the social 'abit bad.
I ain't averse - one more new word I've learned
Averse to tea, when tea is to be 'ad;
An' when it comes I reckon that it's earned.
It's jist a drink, as fur as I'm concerned,
Good for a bloke that toilin' on the land;
But when a caller comes, 'ere am I turned
Into a social butterfly, off-'and.

Then drinkin' tea becomes a 'oly rite.
So's I won't bring the family to disgrace
I guts a bit 'uv coachin' overnight
On ridin' winners in this bun-fed race.
I 'ave to change me shirt, an' wash me face,
An' look reel neat, from me waist up at least,
An sling remarks in at the proper place,
An' not makes noises drinkin', like a beast.

''Ave some more cake. Another slice, now do.
An' won't yeh 'ave a second cup uv tea?
'Ow is the children?' Ar, it makes me blue!
This boodoor 'abit ain't no good to me.
I likes to take me tucker plain an' free:
Tea an' a chunk out on the job for choice,
So I can stoke with no one there to see.
Besides, I 'aven't got no comp'ny voice.

Uv course, I've 'ad it all out with the wife.
I argues that there's work that must be done.
An' tells 'er that I 'ates this tony life.
She sez there's jooties that we must not shun.
You bet that ends it; so I joins the fun,

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Old Jim Crow

Ron vander groef, jackie alper, nina simone
Old jim crow
Where you been baby
Down mississippi and back again
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Whats wrong with you
It aint your name
Its the things you do
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow
Yes, dont you know
Its all over now
Its all over now
Old jim crow
You know its true
When you hurt my brother
You hurt me too
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
I thought I had you beat
Now I see you walkin
And talkin up and down my street
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over now
Old jim crow
Youve been around too long
Gotta work the devil
til your dead and gone
Old jim crow dont you know
Its all over
All over
Oh lord, its all over
All over
Its all over
Its all over
Its all over now.

song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jim Jim

jim jim
your ever so prim
sitting there in your chair
making fun as you do
wondering what next to do
jim jim
you're a fun friend
thank you for being there
evn thow your just sitting there
jim jim
your ever so prim
just sitting there inont know
your chair
whats next you ask to do
oh i dont know
lets have a brew
maybe then you can tell me all
whats going on
oh lets have a ball
jim jim
your fun to know
you make me laugh
did you know
jim jim your ever so prim.

for my friend jim mcElderry...(x-factor winners dad) ...the end

poem by Christina McIntosh
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Jim

(verse):
Why am I sitting alone tonight,
When I could be out where the lights are bright?
Its all because of jim, its all because of jim.
Why am I wasting these precios years?
Why am I crying these bitter tears?
Its all because of jim, its all because of jim.
(chorus):
Jim doesnt ever bring me pretty flowers,
Jim never tries to cheer my lonely hours,
Dont know why Im so crazy for jim.
Jim never tells me Im his hearts desire.
I never seem to set his love afire
Gone are the years Ive wasted on him.
Sometimes when I get feeling low,
I say lets call it quits.
Then I hang on and let him go
Breaking my heart in bits.
Some day I know tht jim will up and leave me,
But even if he does you can believe me,
Ill go on carrying the torch for jim.

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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