Karma Freebie No.2
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jez-4-bikes-max
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Prometheus
Senior Retro Guru
pete_mcc":22j2ebfn said:I can't believe what people will do
for a single skewer,
that's one, not two
Hey, if you're skint
Just write down a rhyme
But here is a hint
I wouldn't waste your time
It's not even Ringle
It's actually quite shite
and remember its a single
but it'll keep your wheel tight
I don't want to sound bitchey
But if I wanted to fill a hole
I'd leave out Tom Ritchey
and just skewer Nicole.
Bravo that man.
Jamie yours are good too but well you know ..
Trying to think of a new monica .
Poet of the Month.. P.o.T.M oops
Bard of the month B.o.T.M nope can't use that one either..
Rhymer ..... maybe.
I might've had a go but I can't top Pete's contribution, pure class.
Dave.
poem
The Skewer
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a ritchey skewer of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony skewer beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no doer.
Ghastly grim and ancient skewer wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly axle to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing skewer above his chamber door -
Axle or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the skewer, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a washer then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have released before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have released before.'
Then the skewer said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the skewer still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of skewer and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous skewer of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous skewer of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the axle whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, axle or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy nut from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
And the skewer, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
A pair of skewers
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Jamie
I know its late and the light daples,
but tell me skewer boy,
how do you like them apples
The Skewer
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a ritchey skewer of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony skewer beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no doer.
Ghastly grim and ancient skewer wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly axle to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing skewer above his chamber door -
Axle or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the skewer, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a washer then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have released before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have released before.'
Then the skewer said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the skewer still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of skewer and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous skewer of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous skewer of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the axle whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, axle or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy nut from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
And the skewer, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
A pair of skewers
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Jamie
I know its late and the light daples,
but tell me skewer boy,
how do you like them apples
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Re: poem
And pray tell me Jamiedyer Shakespere ,from where dids't thou plagiarise that little lot from ?
Jamiedyer":h2w4kxu5 said:The Skewer
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a ritchey skewer of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony skewer beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no doer.
Ghastly grim and ancient skewer wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly axle to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing skewer above his chamber door -
Axle or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the skewer, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a washer then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have released before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have released before.'
Then the skewer said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the skewer still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of skewer and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous skewer of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous skewer of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the axle whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if skewer or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, axle or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy nut from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the skewer, `Nevermore.'
And the skewer, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
A pair of skewers
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Jamie
I know its late and the light daples,
but tell me skewer boy,
how do you like them apples
And pray tell me Jamiedyer Shakespere ,from where dids't thou plagiarise that little lot from ?
poem
erm ....ah.......well.........you see its like this..........I found it!
I confess, its not really about a Ritchey Skewer :shock:
It was really from Edgar Allen Key Poe and written about a single Shimano Skewer back in 1840 something. So at least its retro
The shame of it all................
I've been Mili Vanilli'ed
Jamie
erm ....ah.......well.........you see its like this..........I found it!
I confess, its not really about a Ritchey Skewer :shock:
It was really from Edgar Allen Key Poe and written about a single Shimano Skewer back in 1840 something. So at least its retro
The shame of it all................
I've been Mili Vanilli'ed
Jamie
Serge bike junky
Devout Dirtbag
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I thought it was written about a Cannondale "Raven"?!? :roll:
jez-4-bikes-max
Kona Fan
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Chris 667 is a winner!
Like that. Its rubbish still tho.
Ok send me your addy!
Like that. Its rubbish still tho.
Ok send me your addy!
How do I say
without hurting your feelings?
Don't want your skewer
it's not that appealing!
My only desire
was to play your game;
now I'm done
I have my fame.
I can't use your skewer
for which I am gutted;
the awful truth is
my axles are nutted.
For quick release was
a racing pretension
Speed is not
my sole intention.
Yet still I plod on
through the miles I'm stolid
for I know full well
my axles are solid.
(Fetches coat)
without hurting your feelings?
Don't want your skewer
it's not that appealing!
My only desire
was to play your game;
now I'm done
I have my fame.
I can't use your skewer
for which I am gutted;
the awful truth is
my axles are nutted.
For quick release was
a racing pretension
Speed is not
my sole intention.
Yet still I plod on
through the miles I'm stolid
for I know full well
my axles are solid.
(Fetches coat)
