DD 10/29/08 Poem by my hero, the Great McGonagall

THE TAY BRIDGE DISASTER
by William McGonagall

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Tuesday DD 10/21/08 Poem by William Stafford

Traveling Through The Dark

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

William Stafford

DD 10/14/08 Broadside ballad THE RAT-CATCHER'S DAUGHTER

Broadside ballad published in mid 1800s
Transcription
THE
RAT-CATCHER'S
DAUGHTER.
In Westminster, not long ago,
There lived a rat-catcher's daughter-
She was not born in Westminster,
But on t'other side of the water.
Her father kill'd rats, and she sold sprats;
All round and over the water,
And the gentlefolks they all bought sprats
Of the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Of the pretty, &c.

She wore no hat upon her head,
No cap, or dandy bonnet-
Her hair it hung about her neck,
Just like a bunch of carrots,
If she cried sprats in Westminster,
She'd such a loud sweet voice, sirs,
You might hear her all down Parliamentstreet,
As far as Charing Cross, sirs.
As far, &c.

The rich and great came far and near,
To marry her all sought her,
But at friends and foes she cock'd her nose,
Did the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
For there was a man cried lily white sand,
In Cupid's net had caught her,
And over head and ears in love,
Was the pretty ratcatcher's daughter.
Was the, &c,

Now lily white sand so run in her head,
When coming along the Strand, sirs-
She forgot she'd got sprats, so 'tis Said,
And cried, "buy my lily white sand O!"
The folks amaz'd all thought her craz'd,
All along the strand O-
To hear a girl with sprats on her head,
Cry, "buy my lily white sand, O!"
Cry, &c.

The rat catcher's daughter so run in his head,
He didn't know what he was arter-
'Stead of crying, buy my lily white sand,
Cried, "d'ye want any rat-catcher's daugh-ter?"
The donkey cock'd his ears and bray'd-
Folks wonder'd what he was arter-
To hear a lily white sand-man cry,"
Do you want any rat-catcher's daughter?"
Do you, &c.

Now they agree'd to married be
Upon the Easter Sunday-
But the rat catcher's daughter had a dream,
She shouldn't be alive on the Monday,
To buy some sprats once more she went,
And tumbled into the water-
And down to the bottom, all cover'd with mud,
Went the pretty rat-catcher's daughter.
Went, &c.

When the lily white sand-man heard the news,
Both his eyes run down with water-
Says he, " in love, I'll constant prove-
Blow me if I live long arter!"
So he cut his throat with a bit of glass,
And stabb'd his donkey arter,
So donkey and lily white sand-man died
Through love of the rat-catcher's daughter.
Through, &c.

DD 10/7/08 THEY'RE MOVING FATHER'S GRAVE TO BUILD A SEWER

Here's an old favorite British drinking song. For some reason, it kept unning through my head during the Obama Mc Cain debate tonight.

They're moving father's grave to build a sewer
They're moving it regardless of expense.
They're moving his remains to lay down nine-inchdrains
To irrigate some rich bloke's residence.

Now what's the use of having a religion?
If when you're dead you cannot get some peace
'Cause some high society twit wants a pipeline for his shit
They won't let poor old Daddy rest in peace...

Now father in his life was not a quitter
And I'm sure that he'll not be a quitter now.
And in his winding sheet, he will haunt that shit-house seat
And only let them go when he'll allow.

Now won't there be some bleedin' constipation,
And won't those city toffs begin to rave!
But it's no more than they deserve, 'cause they hadthe bleedin' nerve
To muck about a British workman's grave.