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Thank you, Hawkman!
The next line is from Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love":
Come live with me and be my love
The full text of the poem is here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173941
The deadline will be March 1, 2015.
Thanks for the comments and the heads up on Phil Harris, I was not familiar with that song and his name was only a foggy recollection, but now you have me you tubing.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hawkman
EDIT
Hold on, now I remember, he's the voice behind Thomas O'Malley...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRET1vsfiJM
Well done Yes/No and I'll quote the next challenge to keep it fresh...
Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
By way of bumping this thread, I thought I'd contribute a non-entry to the contest since it is Valentine's Day:
Valentine’s Day Offer
Come live with me and be my love.
Forget that guy you’re dreaming of
Although I know he’s nice and strong
And with him you could not go wrong,
He’s with another sweetheart, dear,
Who doesn’t like to share, I fear.
I know life isn’t over fair
And in the end it doesn’t care,
But all those stars that shine above
Are saying, “Stay and be his love.”
….
I didn’t think you’d want to stay.
I thought I’d try though anyway
And that’s OK. I think so, too.
We both have better things to do.
Just a reminder that this contest is open. Write something with the phrase "come live with me and be my love" in it.
Vulcan Heat
All our yesterdays* doth stir barbaric passion,
inflamed emotions, contrary to your future code.
The grainy glow of Technicolor cheeks, Neanderthal fashion
would perforce hold you fast in her cavernous abode.
On her mammoth fur rug, entwined in push and shove,
held in Vulcan grip, her loneliness begins to thaw.
Zarabeth* pleads; “come live with me and be my love”,
green blood boils and hands begin to crawl.
Destiny is defined by logic and a nagging doctor’s word;
“You belong on a ship that sails 5,000 years hence.
And remember nurse Chapel, now there’s a lovely bird!
Forget your yesterday’s and find love in the present tense."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95ymspEhBOA
*Title and character from Star Trek episode. Credit Roddenberry, et al
Thanks, Gilliatt Gurgle! I will leave this open for one more week until Saturday, March 7th. There is still time for others to enter!
The passionate Lothario to his love.
Come live with me and be my love
Or better still my turtle dove,
Put your mother in a home
Turn your son outside to roam
Give your cats some euthanasia
Send your ****su back to Asia
Then to prove life's pleasures' true
I'll come and move in with you.
Thanks, prendrelemick! Now this is a contest.
Anyone else? Deadline is this Saturday!
Time is up!
Gilliatt Gurgle: Nice one on Vulcan love, replacing emotion with logic and boiling green blood.
prendrelemick: Also a nice one stating the conditions on which one will move in.
The winner: prendrelemick
Thanks y/n
Try this one.
"Nobody heard him, the dead man."
From Not waving but drowning, by Stevie Smith.
Nobody heard him. The dead man
Had nothing he wanted to speak.
His fear was now gone.
What lingered stayed on.
What lingered was no longer weak.
Elegie to His Corpulent Generosity, the Benevolent Ernie Gorge
Robust in girth and giving,
his banquets did supply
to excess for the living.
(He preferred a catfish fried)
Chompers missed a prickly bone,
wherefore he choked and died.
Six feet under a clover clad dale,
a portly roast wrapped in clay.
Earthly guests pass through shale,
to feast on Ernie’s last buffet.
“Nobody heard him, the dead man”,
the poet Smith did say.
Though death be silent from above,
beneath the lawn is a chorus.
The murmured gnawing of fleshy cud
(fishing looks good come August)
Let us bow our heads in prayer,
as the worms work in dead earnest.
Landfall
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
as bloated he floated face down;
the tether securing him under the waves
rotted and broke, so they said.
So up to the surface he bobbed, like a cork,
missing for weeks, and then found,
released more by accident than by design,
they dragged him out onto the shore.
Fish-nibbled lips, that glisten and twitch,
as the sunshine tries lightly to dry them,
unnoticed by saviours who come much too late,
form words that emit not a sound.
What prayers do the dead mumble into the air,
do deities listen or mark them?
Are they heeded or granted; is anyone there?
But the silent reply is profound.
just messing around
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
Though Hamlet claimed he had.
"He told me many, many things,
And sounded like my Dad."
"He sounded like my Dad, he did
Oh list, oh list, oh list,
He told me many dreadful things
And sent me round the twist".
The porches of my ear is full,
And so 's the vestibule,
With tales of horrid murder,
Most unnatural and cruel.
Now we've all been shuffled off,
With poisoned knife and drink,
Though we kept it in the family,
What will the neighbours think.
The rest, they say is silence,
But no one told my Dad,
And still he stalks the battlements,
In his old armour clad.
Another week I think, then I'll decide.