Name Taken Two Forum Posts

Apr 13, 2022

RE: Where have all the fun intellectual and obnoxious forum people gone?

I miss him too, was gonna make a thread, but got bashed for it the last time..

Hope he's well..

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Apr 13, 2022

RE: One for the road..

A big Dino thanks right at ya, it's like a regular thanks, but much sweeter...

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Apr 13, 2022

RE: Where have all the fun intellectual and obnoxious forum people gone?

I'm not so sure about thet, sure didn't you win the award a few weeks oh mighty master of the whine?

Think it's Mozzarella dipped honey, it is in my dream anyhowz..

Gettin' on the funky bus..

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Apr 13, 2022

RE: One for the road..

Love it G, I'll hummin' it all day now..

Very thankful indeed..

Muchly appreciated..

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Apr 13, 2022

RE: One for the road..

One of my favourite Marley tracks, 1 hour till my birthday so I'll play it for all.. Happy Birthday to me.. Bless..

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Apr 13, 2022

RE: Where have all the fun intellectual and obnoxious forum people gone?

Oh look, another whine, here have some cheese with that..

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OPApr 13, 2022

The date was going well, until...

The date was going well, until I came out of the restroom wearing my Dino's date shirt

*Order online@Dinosdatetips.com for only $9.00

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OPApr 13, 2022

The date was going well, until...

She's my forever friend..

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OPApr 13, 2022

This poem by W.B. Yeats commemorates the martyrs of the Easter Rising, an insurrection against the British government in Ireland in 1916, which resulted in the execution of several Irish nationalists whom Yeats knew personally. The poem examines the nature of heroism and its incongruity with everyday life.

Easter 1916
W.B. Yeats

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our wingèd horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road,
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-c*ck call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone’s in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse –
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.