[Karmillo]

Ok I can see how that ryhmes, but not saw and more/sore

[stepurhan]

Karmillo posted all the time
How saw and more just didn't rhyme
It seems he can't have read right through
The poem that contained those two
Or else he might have come to see
It's dangerous to upset me
My toolbox loaded, off I go
To take a trip up to Glasgow.

[Karmillo]

Up to glasgow Step made his way
Just as night had engulfed the day
He lightly tapped on Karmillo's door
Holding the saw that ryhmed with more
But some guy playing trackmania is catching my eye
So ill just end this abruptly and say it was the wrong guy

[simpson_yellow]

Everyone relax
And let things mellow
This is clearly a saw point
For young Karmillo

[Kingzjester]

I have created a monster on par with the three-word story and this thread must die. On a related note, I didn't know that Karmillo rhymed with mellow. Then again, I always pronounced that name as if it had an extra vowel in the center, like caramel.

[Maquisard]

Is there an English dialect in which saw is pronounced the same as "sore"?

It's not inconceivable, considering how some pronounce Washington as "Warshington" (Jon Stewart).

[simpson_yellow]

Originally Posted by Kingzjester

On a related note, I didn't know that Karmillo rhymed with mellow.

It doesn't, so you've learnt nothing new today.

[RLacey]

Originally Posted by Muzzy

Is there an English dialect in which saw is pronounced the same as "sore"?

"Saw" and "sore" are always pronounced in the same way...

[Jelena]

Originally Posted by RLacey

"Saw" and "sore" are always pronounced in the same way...

Prove it!

[RLacey]

Click here and here.

Actually, hmm, that doesn't work. Well, the standard English pronunciation of "saw" is the same as the American pronunciation of "sore". Only without the "r". At least in my way of speaking. So there .

[Jelena]

Originally Posted by RLacey

At least in my way of speaking. So there .

Prove it

[simpson_yellow]

I believe this calls for more Lacey™ .wavs

[stepurhan]

Originally Posted by Jelena

Prove it

I have a licence. I don't need to prove anything.

[SSH]

When you go
will you send back
a saw from America?

Lochaber no mooa
Sutherland no mooa
Lewis no mooa
Irvine no mooa

[stepurhan]

Are you truing to claim some of what The Proclaimers sang was actually words?

I just figured they were making up sounds as they went along.

[MoriartyL]

Originally Posted by stepurhan

For clients I had work to do
But now they're in a lovely stew
I cut them into little bits
'cos they were all annoying gits
Who'd call and rant and rave and moan
They just would not leave me alone
I could not take it any more
And so I took axe, knife and saw
To maim, dismember and to slash
She who screws up her petty cash
The man with cash book which inside he
Scribbles with a scrawl untidy.
The woman whose main invoice file
Looks like she dropped it in the Nile
And into pieces really small
The man with no records at all
The whole bunch couldn't get much dimmer
So in the pot they go to simmer
But for these acts to go to jail
I feel would be beyond the pale
And so, before policemen come
I'll hide the bodies in my tum.[/CENTER]

Dahlicious! I don't like the rhythm of your second poem though- maybe I'm just not "getting" it.

Originally Posted by Jazhara7

Mirror

A look into a mirror
Will show me someone else.

A poet and a wise one,
A great fool and a child.

I never see the same visage;
There's always something changed.

One time I think I know the face,
But see it's more than strange.

I see the shy girl,
And the proud
Explorer and the sloth,
The fighter and the thief.

A rational person,
Soon to become
A loony wit all heart.

But in all faces,
There's something
That links them all to one.

The wonder of a mind so free,
To roam in dreams,
My fantasy.

Very pretty.

Originally Posted by samIamsad

An empty shell, I am nothing.
A slave.
A drone.
Your servant till death.
You have destroyed my creative mind.
To an empty.
Barren.
Wasteland.


Forgotten.

Hilarious!

Stepurhan, your "Warning to Newbies" made my day.



Oh, and also:


ENOUGH ABOUT BRITISH ACCENTS!!!!
Honestly, you people can't get over a british rhyme? Bl'bah!

[MoriartyL]

I'm going to post an autobiographical poem I finished on July 26th now.
It took more than five weeks to write it so you'd better like it. [bares teeth:] GRRRR

The forum won't let me write it all in one post, so I'm splitting it (very awkwardly) into two posts. Ignore the gap.

[MoriartyL]

The Older Pianist

Back when I was in seventh grade
In the school Yeshivat Dvir,
There was an older guy who played
Piano songs by ear.
At every chance I got, I sat
Nearby his playing to hear.
I never could have played like that-
That much was crystal clear.

I listened to the music filled with curiosity:
He could play a tune he knew and improvise the harmony!
So I asked him how he got such skill and he said modestly
That he'd been playing since he was five, but he still wasn't very good.

Well, that wasn't quite the answer I was expecting.
No teacher?
No teacher, he said.
No notes to play from?
No notes, he said.
A genius! I said.
And he asked me to leave the room.

I left that room quite satisfied
That I now understood:
This twelfth-grader is so bright inside-
No wonder he's so good!
And at such an age a bona fide
Piano genius starts to play;
If for fifty years I tried
Would I come close? I cannot say.

This didn't really bother me
When I sat at the keys.
I pressed a few notes randomly-
It really was a breeze.
I had no clue how I might do
Successful harmonies
But had no fears, for my own ears
Were all I had to please.

Even so, I sometimes wondered how he made such lovely sounds.
So I'd play some songs from movies when nobody was around.
Or at least I'd try. I knew not why an octave's all I found
For accompaniment, as opposed to all those arpeggios and fancy stuff he did.

I didn't understand it.
Try a broken chord!, I told myself.
But I couldn't do it.
Try an interesting harmonic progression!, I told myself.
But I couldn't do it.
So go back to pressing notes randomly like an idiot, I told myself.
And there was nothing to it.

For the next two years I trained my ears
To tell which noises were nice.
Though all of my tunes befitted buffoons
I never was concise:
I'd turn each grain I liked into
A long piece more precise.
Meanwhile, I heard but never listened to
My teachers' best advice.



I met another player then
Who practiced every day.
He only ever played Chopin-
I listened anyway.
All I could do was marvel at
The speed his hands could play.
That I never could have played like that
I didn't have to say.

He'd practice some Prelude, and I would sit nearby and stare:
He could play with such emotion, with such energy and flair.
So I asked him how he got to be so excellent a player.
I practice a lot, he said.

I didn't care for that answer at all.
Didn't you play at a young age? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Don't you have a very good teacher? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Don't you get sick of Chopin? I asked.
I love it! he said.
An oddball, I told myself.
But a serious oddball.

There was one time when an art student
Wanted to come in and play.
But the pianist said, it's prudent
To practice at least three hours a day.
And since I haven't done so yet, would you kindly go away.
No matter how much he'd insist,
This other guy still begged to come.
So he asked his fellow pianist
To voice agreement. I said, ummmm....

Three hours? Blecch. I practiced less
Than half an hour in a week.
I preferred an improv'd mess,
Which every day would be unique.
I played my lessons poorly,
I had terrible technique.
But three full hours? Surely
Such a process would be bleak.

Sometimes I'd play for people and they all would stare and blink-
And they asked me how I got such skill and I would say, I think
It's been something like four years now, but you ought to know I stink.
A genius! they said.

No, no, I told them. A pretender, see?
They didn't see.
See, I just press some notes randomly!
They didn't see.
It's only force of habit! I insisted angrily.
They didn't see.
I can't play Beethoven correctly!
My left hand plays imperfectly!
We don't understand all that stuff like you do, they said.
But I don't understand a thing, I said!
I don't have a clue what I'm doing, I said!
What we do know, they said, is

(continued..)

[MoriartyL]

That if we tried with all our might,
Not stopping 'til we got it right,
And played all day and then all night,
We know one thing is true:
That if we did all this we still
Could never play like you.

I was shocked.
I was shocked at their sheer stupidity.
How could they make such a ridiculous mistake? I asked myself.
As hard as it may be to believe, I answered,
These people understand music even less than I do.

Then Dvir closed down. I didn't care-
I hadn't really planned on staying.
I tried out at the Academy, where
They asked to hear my piano playing.
I played my piece and tried my hardest,
Knowing they'd see I was a fake.
They accepted me regardless,
Which was, clearly, a mistake.

My playing was extremely crude,
As they all were willing to tell.
So they got me a new teacher who'd
Teach me how to play this stuff well.
In the halls the lovely sounds
From every room gave me a scare.
Out of all the kids around,
I was just the worst one there!

I listened to the music more with envy than with awe-
How could I compare to dedication of the likes I saw?
They were perfect, and each note that I played would be called a flaw...
What was I doing there?

I was silent.

One guy, one year older than me,
Was more friendly than the rest.
I'd sit by the piano when he
Played, 'cause he could play the best.
The teachers saw him not as such,
But rather as a pest.
They said he didn't practice much.
That must have been a jest!

In my lessons, I was taught
How to play with greater skill.
Piano was deeper then I thought.
(I didn't ever practice still.)
Meanwhile, I improvised duets
And played for fun for hours each day.
For two years, without any frets
I steadily improved my play.

In the bagrut I played some Mozart almost perfectly.
So I said to my teacher, that was okay, but surely you'd agree
That I didn't play it half as well as it was meant to be?
No, that's pretty much it, she said.

What do you mean, that's it?
You played it well, she said.
But a good player would have played it much better, right?
No, you played it well, she said.
But my technique is terrible!
No, you played it well, she said.
But you said I had a lot of catching up to do! I insisted.
Not anymore, she said.
You played it well.
But...
But I don't understand a thing about music! I said.
You played it well, she said.
And I had nothing more to say.

I never got a chance to show
My class a single melody.
Never will I get to know
What they would have thought of me.
Since then I've had no teacher.
No notes.
I'm free.



I play piano often now-
Doesn't matter what or how.
I just sit down at the keys
And play exactly as I please-
It's just for fun, y'know?
Don't matter if it's new or old,
Don't matter if it's trash or gold,
Don't matter if there's anyone to show.
I don't care about the players above me.
I just play, and one day I realized:
It sounds lovely.

But so what?, I asked myself.
I'm better than I ever was
And I still don't understand anything!

But then- who does?


I think back to the time I spent
In seventh grade at Dvir-
How every time he played, I went
To any surface near,
And there in silent calm I sat
To listen and to peer.
I never could have played like that-
..and yet, somehow, I'm here.

[Jelena]

Oh, I like it!
It's so interesting to get to know your story and your way of thinking about your music.
I'm very impressed by it, so far you've only played Prism for us and it was a delight.
In my youth I used to be the kind of pianist who practised a lot, I could very well sit by the piano up to three hours a day. I also loved Chopin even though my fingers would get into a tangle, but also played others. Right before I stopped playing I was most fond of the Pathetique Sonata in C-minor by Beethoven.
One thing about Chopin though. He must have been a very passionate man. I remember studying one of his waltzes. And it became more and more obvious that the entire piece was all about the sexual act. So playing Chopin can indeed be very interesting.

I never improvised though and I admire you for having that true musicality to be able to create harmonies and such a lovely piece as Prism.