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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

I tell you Godot it creeps up on you, this alcoholism, just looking at my consumption today is frightening, half a bottle of scotch and a quarter of a bottle of gin. Good lord how did this come about.

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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

I tell you Godot it creeps up on you, this alcoholism, just looking at my consumption today is frightening, half a bottle of scotch and a quarter of a bottle of gin. Good lord how did this come about.

Just managed a bottle of wine myself, not in your league. I found that the best way to avoid the bottle was to stop working. I don't think it is any coincidence that my workload has gone up recently. There is a natural flow to this: work = booze = less work = happiness.

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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

I tell you Godot it creeps up on you, this alcoholism, just looking at my consumption today is frightening, half a bottle of scotch and a quarter of a bottle of gin. Good lord how did this come about.

Just managed a bottle of wine myself, not in your league. I found that the best way to avoid the bottle was to stop working. I don't think it is any coincidence that my workload has gone up recently. There is a natural flow to this: work = booze = less work = happiness.

It's the stress I tell you Godot, will it never end. I never used to be a drinker, but lately I'm getting through half a bottle of spirits a day. I feel nothing, oh lord help me I'm numb.

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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

I tell you Godot it creeps up on you, this alcoholism, just looking at my consumption today is frightening, half a bottle of scotch and a quarter of a bottle of gin. Good lord how did this come about.

Just managed a bottle of wine myself, not in your league. I found that the best way to avoid the bottle was to stop working. I don't think it is any coincidence that my workload has gone up recently. There is a natural flow to this: work = booze = less work = happiness.

It's the stress I tell you Godot, will it never end. I never used to be a drinker, but lately I'm getting through half a bottle of spirits a day. I feel nothing, oh lord help me I'm numb.

Get off the spirits and on to something that lasts a bit longer like wine. Still, it never stopped Churchill. Have a cigar.

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Don't worry Tempus. You're never alone with Godot, have had few also. Or did I mean Oslo?

I tell you Godot it creeps up on you, this alcoholism, just looking at my consumption today is frightening, half a bottle of scotch and a quarter of a bottle of gin. Good lord how did this come about.

Just managed a bottle of wine myself, not in your league. I found that the best way to avoid the bottle was to stop working. I don't think it is any coincidence that my workload has gone up recently. There is a natural flow to this: work = booze = less work = happiness.

It's the stress I tell you Godot, will it never end. I never used to be a drinker, but lately I'm getting through half a bottle of spirits a day. I feel nothing, oh lord help me I'm numb.

Get off the spirits and on to something that lasts a bit longer like wine. Still, it never stopped Churchill. Have a cigar.

I wish it were that simple but I have never been partial to cigars. I'm on the slippery slope, I think my time is fast running out.

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Welcome Back Godot. Nothing like a bit of Betjeman and a rambling boozer to wheedle you out of retirement!

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Welcome Back Godot. Nothing like a bit of Betjeman and a rambling boozer to wheedle you out of retirement!

Old Tempus is still one of the sharpest bobbins (can a bobbin be sharp?) around here even when his eyelids are signalling "full". I missed you all so it's good to be back your mightiness. I do like Betjeman, not to mention WH Davies:

 

Leisure

 

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 and 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.

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Acquainted with the Night

by: Robert Frost

 

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

 

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

 

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

 

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

 

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

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Very apt in a spy thread, all this poetry. Could it be that communication is taking place in code between agents of a foreign power?

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Very apt in a spy thread, all this poetry. Could it be that communication is taking place in code between agents of a foreign power?

Yes, it's all turned a bit Catcher In The Rye, hasn't it?

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Very apt in a spy thread, all this poetry. Could it be that communication is taking place in code between agents of a foreign power?

 

Tulips are beautiful in October.

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Very apt in a spy thread, all this poetry. Could it be that communication is taking place in code between agents of a foreign power?

 

Tulips are beautiful in October.

My name is Milchmann

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Very apt in a spy thread, all this poetry. Could it be that communication is taking place in code between agents of a foreign power?

 

Tulips are beautiful in October.

My name is Milchmann

Just time to drope a line:

The boat is setting sail

The cheque is in the mail

Regards from

 

Magere Hein

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Today is national poetry day - in the UK anyway.

 

Prince Charles (old seven eggs) read a poem on the radio all about flowers and butterflies. It was pretty good.

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National Poetry week Godot, and so to a bit of Owen;

 

Dulce et Decorum est

 

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

 

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! -- - An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. -- -

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

In all my dreams before my helpless sight

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs

Bitten as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -- -

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori

 

(Some things never change)

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'The Fake'

 

You often take notice

While I'm around

Looking over your shoulder

And then staring back to the ground

And I see you with others

Some that you call friends

But what they don't know

Is that she pretends

 

So image obsessed

Believes to be a queen

As she sits on a plastic thrown

And gets high off caffeine

And what a junkie for attention

Lately her attitude is out of style

She has got a thousand personalities in one body

And she is living in denial

 

Weren't you broken down and crying?

In regret of when

You lived for the moment

And wasn't that a prioritie then?

You beg for me to help

And guide you in the right direction

But how can I do that?

If you don't show me any affection

 

Conversations turn to arguments

Stories have become lies

Mistakes are lessons

That make us wise

Although the truth to you

Is like a slow death

Has something caught your tongue

You seem short of breath?

 

Do you know the word respect?

And that could you even define

Tell me when you realize

Tell me when you draw the line

It's time you set standards for yourself

After all the pride and confidence you claimed to have lost

Your kindness is in debt

And will you ever be able to pay back the cost?

 

From now on when I see you

I'll just walk and look away

Until you drag yourself to me

In the heart of desperation one day

You will say 'How are you'

I will say 'I'm doing just the same'

And just like you did to me

I will say 'By the way what is your name?'

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The Mower

 

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found

A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,

Killed. It had been in the long grass.

 

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world

Unmendably. Burial was no help:

 

Next morning I got up and it did not.

The first day after a death, the new absence

Is always the same; we should be careful

 

Of each other, we should be kind

While there is still time.

 

 

Philip Larkin

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Baldrick's War Poem

 

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

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'A Strange Dream'

 

If you ever knew what she was like

I could guarentee you never met one before

God wasn't paying attention when he locked her out

And closed his gated door

She banged and pleaded and then she cried

But never did he hear a word

All things happen for a reason

And this was a reason he preferred

 

With not a choice but to be born

Into the world with a heritage and a name

When I looked in her eyes there I saw something

And that I just can't proclaim

It was just the way she moved

Her walk seemed to be a slow dance

Zoning and hypnotizing me

Under the influence of her beauty's trance

 

She brought heat like a heavenly fire

We slowly spoke that and this

I came close as did we both

But she pulled away from my kiss

I wanted her beyond explain

Though a voice inside me knew

I could hear the most silent whisper

'She isn't meant to be with you'

 

I could see her body began to glow

As I held her hand in mine

She spoke so softly and spoke so close

My heart began to refine

It must have been all a dream

As I awoke stickily in my bed

It seemed so lively and so real

I rose and washed the sheets instead.

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EVENING

 

Here I put some black for the night

I make a few pinpricks as stars

An old balloon makes a moon

 

I put on a stroke of orange

A train makes a suitable noise

Take candles for lights in the distance

 

The wind picks up, it gets cold

 

 

regards,

Hein

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'Contract of lies'

 

He laughed out loud pointing his finger at the doomed souls

With cracks in the ground and fire bursting through black holes

The joker danced with style and satanic cheer

The broken regretful men could just stand in deep fear

 

A small hooded figure had stepped out of the dark

With his dim lit lantern he whispered a remark

And his dog who only appeared to be a shadow viciously began to bark

As some of the men dropped to their knees and prayed to be protected

A judge with a tall black top hat covering his very eyes

Banged his gravel on the podium declaring they were rejected

 

Talkative conversations in several languages echo

But a word you could not understand

The voices became louder and began to grow

By the motion of the black conductors hand

 

Images of the past

Filled this hell with color and life

There these men could see themselves

In times of violence and strife

A white door had appeared in broad vision

Opening wide with a business man walking through

Gray haired and calmly he spoke

'Gentleman I have a deal for you'

 

He promised pleasure and he promised love

In the great country of the beast

Asked upon those who wished to join him

For a grand old feast

 

One man had walked forward

And took this offer very wise

The business man said 'follow me'

With darkness in his eyes

He presented a contract

That would forgive all his sins

The business man said 'Sign on the dotted line'

As he wickedly grinned

 

And there stood the Joker

Dancing to the melody of pan

Pointing his finger at this man

Laughing harder then anybody can

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Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair

Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't very fuzzy, was he?

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One old spy who should be remembered here is Geoffrey Prime, sentenced to 38 years for spying and pedophilia, he's been out of jail for the past six years, living at an undisclosed address. But we shouldn't forget about him, although George Blake will probably die before him.

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This could have fitted equally well into the assassinations thread but there seems to be some doubt over Oleg Gordievsky's state of mind, not to mention his health. This story says he has been "ill for the past year." The spies have been a little too quiet of late. He might make a good Deathlist candidate for 2009.

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