Poetry anyone?

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mayfly

Life Member
May 25, 2005
690
1
Switzerland
Going through one of my intermittent poetry reading phases. Lots of freebies on Project Gutenberg like Ernest Dawson. This was sparked listening to Radio 4 Poetry Please a few weeks ago. This is my favourite:

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter.
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

What's your favourite poem or verse?

Chris
 

Calculon

Tenderfoot
Jul 17, 2008
83
1
Old South Wales
I love poetry

I like this by WW1 poet Edward Thomas. He was killed in battle 1917


Lights Out

I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.

Many a road and track
That, since the dawn's first crack,
Up to the forest brink,
Deceived the travellers,
Suddenly now blurs,
And in they sink.

Here love ends,
Despair, ambition ends,
All pleasure and all trouble,
Although most sweet or bitter,
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble.

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter and leave alone
I know not how.

The tall forest towers;
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf above shelf;
Its silence I hear and obey
That I may lose my way
And myself.

Edaward Thomas

Funnily enough my post signature is the opening line of
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by TS Eliot :)
 

Draven

Native
Jul 8, 2006
1,530
6
34
Scotland
I tend to like some of the bleaker poems, though I'm not too sure why. The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe is a favourite, as is The Goblin Market by Christina Rosetti (both far too long to quote - The Raven being about 3 pages, and the Goblin Market being a rather whopping 12, though the lines are short. The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri is also a fantastic piece of writing, but again, far too long to quote! Dante Rossetti wrote a sonnet sequence called the House of Life which is, I suppose, a collection rather than a single poem, consisting of (I think) 100 poems I'm quite fond of. The Highwayman is also very well done, and Loreena McKennitt did a song version that's pretty good. I have a few favourites as you can see :eek:

More quoteable, though, my two favourites are A Poison Tree by William Blake and an unnamed (AFAIK) poem by an unknown poet - it's attributed to a few people, but I don't think anything's certain.

Blake's:
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles,
And with soft, deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
'Til it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

And the unknown one:
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there;, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die

Pete
 

helixpteron

Native
Mar 16, 2008
1,469
0
UK
I have a particular liking for Hilaire Belloc, after listening to a Radio 4 programme by the late Sir Clement Freud on the poet.

Whatever happens we have got,
The Maxim Gun, and they have not!
 

johnnytheboy

Native
Aug 21, 2007
1,884
14
45
Falkirk
jokesblogspot.blogspot.com
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.
The river was cut by the worlds great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.
On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.
Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

That is poetry for me
 

AJB

Native
Oct 2, 2004
1,821
9
56
Lancashire
I have a particular liking for Hilaire Belloc, after listening to a Radio 4 programme by the late Sir Clement Freud on the poet.

Whatever happens we have got,
The Maxim Gun, and they have not!


I'd never heard of him, many thanks - I love this...

A Trinity

Of three in One and One in three
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet.

Hilaire Belloc

If only I knew a nice girl called Juliet :)
 

AJB

Native
Oct 2, 2004
1,821
9
56
Lancashire
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there;, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die

My god Pete, that's wonderful!
 

Calculon

Tenderfoot
Jul 17, 2008
83
1
Old South Wales
Another favourite.

The Hand That Signed the Paper

The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand the holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

Dylan Thomas
 

Calculon

Tenderfoot
Jul 17, 2008
83
1
Old South Wales
I'd never heard of him, many thanks - I love this...

A Trinity

Of three in One and One in three
My narrow mind would doubting be
Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met
And all at once were Juliet.

Hilaire Belloc

If only I knew a nice girl called Juliet :)


IIRC Hilaire Belloc wrote creepy short stories too. I remember reading some when I was a nipper in "The Pan Book of Horror Stories" series, anyone else remember them?

Calc
 

EdS

Bushcrafter (boy, I've got a lot to say!)
another for Blake here:


Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The ***** and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
 

TeeDee

Full Member
Nov 6, 2008
10,451
3,654
50
Exeter
Not really a Poem.



Apache Blessing (Author Unknown)

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be the shelter for each other.
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be the warmth for the other.
Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before.
Go now to your dwelling place to enter into the days of your life together.
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.Treat yourselves and each other with respect, and remind yourselves often of what brought you together.
Give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness and kindness that your connection deserves. When frustration, difficulty and fear assail your relationship - as they threaten all relationships at one time or another - remember to focus on what is right between you, not only the part which seems wrong.
In this way, you can ride out the storms when clouds hide the face of the sun in your lives - remembering that even if you lose sight of it for a moment, the sun is still there. And if each of you takes responsibility for the quality of your life together, it will be marked by abundance and delight.
 

Melonfish

Bushcrafter (boy, I've got a lot to say!)
Jan 8, 2009
2,460
1
Warrington, UK
oh dear, i'll have to dig a couple out then....



Pains of glass,
Windows of time,
Mirrors of the soul,
Faces of mime.

An endless task,
A pointless cause,
A needless phrase,
Without a pause.

A sharp reaction,
A sudden cry,
My window broke,
And here I lie.

The 'old man of the woods' we called it,
that tree we used to play on,
we'd climb among those lofty boughs,
our names we'd draw with crayon.

through our years of playful joy,
that oak stood tall and true,
we'd build our forts and castles there,
our gang, our club our rules.

we'd pitch a tent and shelter there,
we'd hide there in times of need,
we watched the acorns fall from high,
we helped to plant its seed.

Then one day when winter storms
and rain blew through the town.
we came upon our faithfull friend
its bough's lay on the ground.

we each took a piece away with us,
to remember our fallen friend
my carving sits on my alter now,
so i never forget my dear friend.

both by me a way back. lol
 

Draven

Native
Jul 8, 2006
1,530
6
34
Scotland
My god Pete, that's wonderful!

It is a rather nice one :) I may normally like the bleaker side of poetry, but I've never read a poem that struck me as that one did.

Melonfish - rather talented one you are :D I love the first one, the pace reminds me very much of Blake's Poison Tree I quoted earlier.

Pete
 

AJB

Native
Oct 2, 2004
1,821
9
56
Lancashire
And the unknown one:

Do not stand at my grave and weep...

Pete

Pete - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_not_stand_at_my_grave_and_weep


Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Andy
 

Melonfish

Bushcrafter (boy, I've got a lot to say!)
Jan 8, 2009
2,460
1
Warrington, UK
It is a rather nice one :) I may normally like the bleaker side of poetry, but I've never read a poem that struck me as that one did.

Melonfish - rather talented one you are :D I love the first one, the pace reminds me very much of Blake's Poison Tree I quoted earlier.

Pete

actually that first one got me into a quarter final for a large poetry contest back in oooh 98, 99. it was some big american thing that ended up with a large book being printed.
the sad thing is i cannot replicate that damned thing, nothing else comes close and when i wrote it it was one of those off the cuff things that just lined itself up out of my head rather then something i thought about...
shows what being stuck in work and bored of the internet (i've worked for ISP's for ages) does to you...
:lmao:

one poem i truelly love, and this shows the child in me is The Lesson by Roger McGough.
its got a fantastic tempo and is dark yet funny

Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the nooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din

"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"

He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out

"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said
 

andywinkk

Full Member
Nov 12, 2007
602
0
51
wigan
www.garmentsdirectltd.co.uk
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.

Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage


out of the film into the wild also... my favourite

so true aswell
 

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