National Poetry Day

Today is National Poetry Day....So everone lift up your heads and read the poem below by I M R T Hamilton Bruce [1846-1899] since this may reflects perfectly the typical day traders feelings
DOH!!


"Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishment the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul".......................

I first came across this inside the cover of my coursework book when doing Probability And Statistics..........

What goes round comes round...

the great trader dies and goes to heaven

at the pearly gates he is met by st peter who says.....

up here my son, a day is but a million years and.........

a pound is but a million pound.

the trader then says .... will you lend me a pound?

and st peter says .........well....... give me a couple of days

heres a few poems by a not so well know indian poet, Majboor....
Hope it doesn't have to be related to trading....


The highest
You dwell
The lowest
I live
Just a lift
If you can give
"Majboor"


Tell you the truth
Truth you can't tell
"Majboor"


Some one to some one said ......
Ask the living
Ask the dead
Life is what you lived
Not you wanted to.

"Majboor"



I thought above were great... hope others do as well....

She wanted embroidered on pants and her bra
a message that told him that he'd gone too far.
A motif that told him
"If you can read this, You're much too close, so give it a miss."

"Certainly Modom," the saleslady said.
"In what kind of script would you like it read?
Copperplate? San Serif? Bold wouldn't fail."
She thought for a moment and then she said… "Braille."

Copyright; Roger Wooller

The dark ages came,
or so we think,
because the monks ran out of ink

She stood on the bridge at midnight,
her lips were all of a quiver!
She gave a cough,
and her leg fell off,
and floated down the river.

I wanted one life

you wanted another

we couldn't have our cake

so we ate one another





Roger McGough 1937 -

there was a maths teacher called paul

he had a hexagonal ball

its cubical weight plus his chopper plus eight

was 3/9ths of 4/5ths of f### all