Poems

[Fisherman Mike]

I love poems this is my all time favorite. Its actually believed to be a war poem. If anyone has experienced the area in high summer then they will instantly be aware of the romantic ambience it evokes... always takes me back to a special place when I read it....the long halcyon days of school holidays when the area was an irresistible magnet to me and my cycle..and I had not a care in the world

 

we should read more poetry...

 

Adlestrop

 

 

Yes, I remember Adlestrop --

The name, because one afternoon

Of heat the express-train drew up there

Unwontedly. It was late June.

 

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.

No one left and no one came

On the bare platform. What I saw

Was Adlestrop -- only the name

 

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,

And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,

No whit less still and lonely fair

Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

 

And for that minute a blackbird sang

Close by, and round him, mistier,

Farther and farther, all the birds

Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

 

 

Edward Thomas

Edited July 31, 2012 by Fisherman Mike

[TbirdX]

I wish I were a glow worm

For they are never glum

How can you be grumpy

When the sun shines out your bum

[hendersons]

Brilliant thread Mike and not one I was really expecting on here my two all time favourites are classics That need no introduction my first being Kiplings If and the other is wordsworths A farewell

Nick

[Fisherman Mike]

Brilliant thread Mike and not one I was really expecting on here my two all time favourites are classics That need no introduction my first being Kiplings If and the other is wordsworths A farewell

Nick

 

 

A Farewell yes a lovely piece...

[henry d]

Spine Millington`s (sic) famous poem

 

There was a baboon

Who one afternoon

Said "I think I shall fly to the sun"

So with two great palms

Strapped to his arms

He started his takeoff run

 

Mile after mille

He Galloped in style

But never once left the ground

"You're running too slow"

Said a passing crow

"Try reaching the speed of sound"

 

So he put on a spurt

By God how it hurt

The soles of his feet caught fire

There were great clouds of steam

As he ran through a stream

But he still didn't get any higher

 

Racing on through the night

Both his knees caught alight

And smoke billowed out from his rear

Quick to his aid

Came a Fire Brigade

Who chased him for over a year

 

Many moons passed by

Did Baboon ever fly?

Did he ever get to the sun?

I've just heard today

That he's well on his way

He'll be passing through Acton at one

[zipdog]

When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire

Full well I served my master for nigh on seven years

Till I took up to poaching as you shall quickly hear

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

As me and my companions was setting out a snare

'Twas then we spied the gamekeeper, for him we didn't care

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump from anywhere

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

As me and my companions was setting four or five

And taking them all up again, we caught a hare alive

We caught a hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

We threw him over my shoulder, boys, and then we trudged home

We took him to a neighbour's house and sold him for a crown

We sold him for a crown, my boys, but I divven't tell you where

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire

(Alt. Bad luck to every magistrate)

Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare

Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year

[Gimlet]

Grey's Elegy and Thomas Hardy's The Darkling Thrush.

[FarmerSim]

Favourite poem would be Betjemin's Myfanwy.

 

Google will find it, or www.johnbetjeman.com/poetry.html

 

Wrote some good stuff that man!

 

ATB

 

Sim

[CZ550Kevlar]

The Raven

[NickS]

Always one of my favourites.... Naming of Parts by Henry Reed

 

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,

We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,

We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,

To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica

Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,

          And to-day we have naming of parts.

 

This is the lower sling swivel. And this

Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,

When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,

Which in your case you have not got. The branches

Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,

          Which in our case we have not got.

 

This is the safety-catch, which is always released

With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me

See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy

If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms

Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see

          Any of them using their finger.

 

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this

Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it

Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this

Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards

The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:

          They call it easing the Spring.

 

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy

If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,

And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,

Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom

Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,

          For to-day we have naming of parts.

[CZ550Kevlar]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more,'

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

Merely this and nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -

Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Nevermore.'

 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Never-nevermore."'

 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[keg]

Zipdog, is that the Lincolshire Poacher?

 

I have two, as i child i loved "The Hag", then as i got older i got into the war poets and Rupert Brook's "The soldier", never fails to bring a lump to my throat.

 

THe Hag is astride,

This night for to ride;

The Devill and shee together:

Through thick, and through thin,

Now out, and then in,

Though ne'r so foule be the weather.

 

2. A Thorn or a Burr

She takes for a Spurre:

With a lash of a Bramble she rides now,

Through Brakes and through Bryars,

O're Ditches, and Mires,

She followes the Spirit that guides now.

 

3. No Beast, for his food,

Dares now range the wood;

But husht in his laire he lies lurking:

While mischeifs, by these,

On Land and on Seas,

At noone of Night are working,

 

4. The storme will arise,

And trouble the skies;

This night, and more for the wonder,

The ghost from the Tomb

Affrighted shall come,

Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder

 

 

 

 

IF I should die, think only this of me;

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's breathing English air,

washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

 

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

[NickS]

Another one; one that ins spired and gave strength to Nelson Mandela during his 27 year incarceration, many of which were spent onRobben Island.

 

Invictus

 

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 punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

 

W.E. Henley

[Gimlet]

This, carved beneath a clock on Chester Cathedral and since reproduced on countless souvenirs and tombstones. But never a truer word said.

 

When as a child, I laughed and wept,

Time crept.

When as a youth, I dreamt and talked,

Time walked.

When I became a full-grown man,

Time ran.

When older still I daily grew,

Time flew.

Soon I shall find on travelling on,

Time gone.

O Christ, wilt thou have saved me then?

Amen.

[amateur]

Spine Millington`s (sic) famous poem

 

and another one from Spike, which usually raises a chuckle from my 6 year old grand-daughter.

 

A Lion is fierce,

His teeth can pierce

The skin of a postman's knee.

 

It serves him right

That, because of his bite,

He gets no letters, you see

[Guest newarcher1]

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

[Bloke]

My Grandad was in India in WWI and they had a copy of this on the wall of his barracks - stayed with me as a favourite since:

 

The 'eathen

By Rudyard Kipling

 

The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;

'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own;

'E keeps 'is side-arms awful: 'e leaves 'em all about,

An' then comes up the regiment an' pokes the 'eathen out.

 

All along o' dirtiness, all along o' mess,

All along o' doin' things rather-more-or-less,

All along of abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho, *

Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

 

* abby-nay: Not now. kul: To-morrow. hazar-ho: Wait a bit.

 

The young recruit is 'aughty -- 'e draf's from Gawd knows where;

They bid 'im show 'is stockin's an' lay 'is mattress square;

'E calls it bloomin' nonsense -- 'e doesn't know no more --

An' then up comes 'is Company an' kicks 'im round the floor!

 

The young recruit is 'ammered -- 'e takes it very 'ard;

'E 'angs 'is 'ead an' mutters -- 'e sulks about the yard;

'E talks o' "cruel tyrants" 'e'll swing for by-an'-by,

An' the others 'ears an' mocks 'im, an' the boy goes orf to cry.

 

The young recruit is silly -- 'e thinks o' suicide;

'E's lost 'is gutter-devil; 'e 'asn't got 'is pride;

But day by day they kicks 'im, which 'elps 'im on a bit,

Till 'e finds 'isself one mornin' with a full an' proper kit.

 

Gettin' clear o' dirtiness, gettin' done with mess,

Gettin' shut o' doin' things rather-more-or-less;

Not so fond of abby-nay, kul, nor hazar-ho,

Learns to keep 'is rifle an' 'isself jus' so!

 

The young recruit is 'appy -- 'e throws a chest to suit;

You see 'im grow mustaches; you 'ear 'im slap 'is boot;

'E learns to drop the "bloodies" from every word 'e slings,

An' 'e shows an 'ealthy brisket when 'e strips for bars an' rings.

 

The cruel-tyrant-sergeants they watch 'im 'arf a year;

They watch 'im with 'is comrades, they watch 'im with 'is beer;

They watch 'im with the women at the regimental dance,

And the cruel-tyrant-sergeants send 'is name along for "Lance".

 

An' now 'e's 'arf o' nothin', an' all a private yet,

'Is room they up an' rags 'im to see what they will get;

They rags 'im low an' cunnin', each dirty trick they can,

But 'e learns to sweat 'is temper an' 'e learns to sweat 'is man.

 

An', last, a Colour-Sergeant, as such to be obeyed,

'E schools 'is men at cricket, 'e tells 'em on parade;

They sees 'em quick an' 'andy, uncommon set an' smart,

An' so 'e talks to orficers which 'ave the Core at 'eart.

 

'E learns to do 'is watchin' without it showin' plain;

'E learns to save a dummy, an' shove 'im straight again;

'E learns to check a ranker that's buyin' leave to shirk;

An' 'e learns to make men like 'im so they'll learn to like their work.

 

An' when it comes to marchin' he'll see their socks are right,

An' when it comes to action 'e shows 'em 'ow to sight;

'E knows their ways of thinkin' and just what's in their mind;

'E knows when they are takin' on an' when they've fell be'ind.

 

'E knows each talkin' corpril that leads a squad astray;

'E feels 'is innards 'eavin', 'is bowels givin' way;

'E sees the blue-white faces all tryin' 'ard to grin,

An' 'e stands an' waits an' suffers till it's time to cap 'em in.

 

An' now the hugly bullets come peckin' through the dust,

An' no one wants to face 'em, but every beggar must;

So, like a man in irons which isn't glad to go,

They moves 'em off by companies uncommon stiff an' slow.

 

Of all 'is five years' schoolin' they don't remember much

Excep' the not retreatin', the step an' keepin' touch.

It looks like teachin' wasted when they duck an' spread an' 'op,

But if 'e 'adn't learned 'em they'd be all about the shop!

 

An' now it's "'Oo goes backward?" an' now it's "'Oo comes on?"

And now it's "Get the doolies," an' now the captain's gone;

An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear

'Is voice, the same as barrick drill, a-shepherdin' the rear.

 

'E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split,

But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take the bit;

The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play,

An' 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day!

 

The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone;

'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own;

The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began,

But the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man!

 

Keep away from dirtiness -- keep away from mess.

Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less!

Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho;

Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so!

[AlistairB]

 

IF I should die, think only this of me;

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's breathing English air,

washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

 

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

 

Rupert Brooke, a fantastic poem. :good:

 

AB

[ack-ack]

I'm not that well read and as such my taste in poetry is a tad GCSE.

 

I loved the one about the smugglers - Watch the wall my darling as the gentleman go by???

 

The night train crossing the border one is another that always makes my ears ***** up.

 

My grandfather could sit and recite poetry for hours. It sometimes took four of us to beat him into submission. He loved Burns which was quite apt as he set his kitchen alight twice.

[Thunderbird]

When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire

Full well I served my master for nigh on seven years

Till I took up to poaching as you shall quickly hear

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

As me and my companions was setting out a snare

'Twas then we spied the gamekeeper, for him we didn't care

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump from anywhere

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

As me and my companions was setting four or five

And taking them all up again, we caught a hare alive

We caught a hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

We threw him over my shoulder, boys, and then we trudged home

We took him to a neighbour's house and sold him for a crown

We sold him for a crown, my boys, but I divven't tell you where

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.

 

Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire

(Alt. Bad luck to every magistrate)

Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare

Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year

 

OR:

 

When I was a clencher's bogleman in famous Lincoln town

I often clenched my bogling fork for less than half-a-crown

And I would joggle and nurk, my boys, as I shall quickly tell

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night, on a foggy night as well.

 

Oh, once I took my moulies and set them in a snare

'Twas there I spied a scroper's man a whirdling a hare

But I was not afeared, my boys, of that there is no doubt.

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night when the coppers aren't about

 

Although I'm over 80 now, my boggles still I clench

And I will flutter my artefacts at any passing wench

I've tickled many a screebling nut as on my way I go

Oh, 'tis my delight on a shiny night at one-and-nine a throw."

 

Guess who that was?

 

I loved the one about the smugglers - Watch the wall my darling as the gentleman go by???

 

I love that one too

 

A lot of amazing poetry in song too though, one of the most profound IMO, Nick Cave in the song 'The She Goes My Beautiful World':

 

I look at you and you look at me and

deep in our hearts babe we know it

That you weren't much of a muse

but then I weren't much of a poet

 

Says it all really, when you think about it.

Edited August 1, 2012 by Thunderbird

[ack-ack]

I remember a Seamus Heaney one about drowning kittens. He described their claws scraping the side of the pale. I hated it as it was obvious that he was speaking from experience.

[storme37]

john cooper clark.

[Thunderbird]

john cooper clark.

 

Beasley Street - genius.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euD0o0x-jAo

Edited August 2, 2012 by Thunderbird

[mikky]

another spike milligan

 

The mother tern

said to the baby tern

would you like a brother

the baby tern said to the mother tern

yes

one good tern

deserves another

 

mikky

[lordofthewings]

Robert Burns. A mans a man for awe that. Love Pam Ayres comic verse. LOTW