Q: What does the dentist of the year get?
A: A little plaque
Q: What game did the dentist play when she was a child?
A: Caps and robbers
Q: What do you call a dentist who doesn’t like tea?
A: Denis.
Q: What did the dentist say to the computer?
A: This won’t hurt a byte
Q: What is a dentist’s office?
A: A filling station
One of my dads favourite poems, he used to recite it when he had a few on him, haven’t a clue who wrote it.
One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,
One was blind and the other couldn’t, see
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don’t believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!
Cor! … I haven’t heard that poem since I were butter lad,Jem!
Thanks,mate! Just for a moment there,I was 9yo again and the world & all it’s hassles hadn’t pervaded the fortress walls of Junior Pug’s busy mind.
Ohhh,boy…where DID all those intervening years go,so quickly…
Hendrix comes to mind.
I like him. X
Good Night Possums. X
I had cause to go to a little enclave in the city yesterday, an oasis of calm, the sun was shining, the ladies were heading serenely towards the church, I found England for a short while.
OH, to be in England now that April ’s there
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 5
In England—now!
Robert Browning (1812 - 1889).
One of my favourite poems Paul.
I was saving this for later in the year, but, what the heck…
John Keats, 1795 - 1821
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Leisure
William Henry Davies
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
This poem was my mantra in another life.
What an evocative post, a light bulb moment, thanks El Spitto
for taking me back to the old days of OLD ENGLAND .
ENGLAND does still exist, but apart from the rare invocation experienced by yon lad, it exists only in pictures, poetry & our hearts and minds.
My DEAR spittoon… J. Hendrix Esq,master of playing right-handed guitars upside-down,of playing ANY guitar with verve and aplomb,of captivating the mind and the souls of those who witnessed him play live;well,he never LEAVES the minds of we lefty guitarists,old boy!
Captain Pugsy, my mind was altered by this piece of music, petitioned in a advert.
Mind blowing.
I think we all like Hendrix.
Best not Youtube the thread away.