Poems

[petethegeek]

Two for the price of one; Spike Milligan does John Masefield.

 

I must go down to the sea again,

to the lonely sea and the sky;

I left my shoes and socks there -

I wonder if they're dry?

[sandspider]

Interesting thread this. Surprised to see Edward Thomas mentioned at the top - he's a distant relative of mine!

 

Another vote for The Raven, and also for A Smuggler's Song ("Watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by...")

 

And a more personal one for me - "Do not stand at my grave and weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye. That still brings a lump to my throat even now.

[Fisherman Mike]

Another by Milligan... perhaps the most appropriate for the forum..

 

 

A baby rabbit With eyes full of pus...

This is the work Of scientific us !

[Thunderbird]

I remember doing Philip Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings for A Level English Lit, the last lines of the eponymous poem are:

 

And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled

A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower

Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.

 

I liked that.

 

And not from the above but:

 

They **** you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

 

But they were ****** up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself

[D_No]

I remember doing Philip Larkin's The Whitsun Weddings for A Level English Lit, the last lines of the eponymous poem are:

 

And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled

A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower

Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.

 

I liked that.

 

And not from the above but:

 

They **** you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

 

But they were ****** up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.

 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself

 

I always used to thing the Offspring must have heard that poem before they penned these lyrics:

 

Way Down the Line

 

 

Nothing changes cause it's all the same

The world you get's the one you give away

It all just happens again

Way down the line

 

There is a chain that's never broken

You know the story it's sad but true

An angry man gets drunk and beats his kids

The same old way his drunken father did

What comes around well it goes around

 

Nothing changes cause it's all the same

The world you get's the one you give away

It all just happens again

Way down the line

 

At 17 Shannon is pregnant

As young as her mom when she had her

Her kid is never gonna have a dad

The same old way that Shannon never had

What comes around well it goes around

 

Nothing changes cause it's all the same

The world you get's the one you give away

It all just happens again

Way down the line

 

And all the things you learn when you're a kid

You'll **** up just like your parents did

It all just happens again

Way down the line

 

And welfare moms have kids on welfare

And fat parents they have fat kids too

You know it's never gonna end

The same old cycle's gonna start again

What comes around well it goes around

 

Nothing changes cause it's all the same

The world you get's the one you give away

It all just happens again

Way down the line

 

And all the things you learn when you're a kid

You'll **** up just like your parents did

It all just happens again

Way down the line

[D_No]

As far as poetry goes, I have a particular fondness for William Blake and post 1914 literature

[Thunderbird]

As far as poetry goes, I have a particular fondness for William Blake

 

Yes I remember well the Songs of Innocence and Experience and the Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

 

Funny also how the song "Jerusalem' is just a snippet of verse born of his obsession with Paradise Lost.

[washerboy]

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;

Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,

Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,

Attempted to Believe Matilda:

The effort very nearly killed her,

And would have done so, had not She

Discovered this Infirmity.

For once, towards the Close of Day,

Matilda, growing tired of play,

And finding she was left alone,

Went tiptoe to the Telephone

And summoned the Immediate Aid

Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.

Within an hour the Gallant Band

Were pouring in on every hand,

From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.

With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,

They galloped, roaring through the Town,

'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'

Inspired by British Cheers and Loud

Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,

They ran their ladders through a score

Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;

And took Peculiar Pains to Souse

The Pictures up and down the House,

Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded

In showing them they were not needed;

And even then she had to pay

To get the Men to go away,

It happened that a few Weeks later

Her Aunt was off to the Theatre

To see that Interesting Play

The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.

She had refused to take her Niece

To hear this Entertaining Piece:

A Deprivation Just and Wise

To Punish her for Telling Lies.

That Night a Fire did break out--

You should have heard Matilda Shout!

You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,

And throw the window up and call

To People passing in the Street--

(The rapidly increasing Heat

Encouraging her to obtain

Their confidence) -- but all in vain!

For every time she shouted 'Fire!'

They only answered 'Little Liar!'

And therefore when her Aunt returned,

Matilda, and the House, were Burned.

[WelshLamb]

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 sun 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 circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

[steve_b_wales]

One of my favourites.

 

~~ HOW DID YOU LIVE YOUR DASH?~~

 

> I read of a man who stood to speak

> At the funeral of a friend

> He referred to the dates on her tombstone

> From the beginning...to the end.

>

> He noted that first came her date of birth

> And spoke the following date with tears,

> But he said what mattered most of all

> Was the dash between those years. (1934 -2000)

>

> For that dash represents all the time

> That she spent alive on earth...

> And now only those who loved her

> Know what that little line is worth.

>

> For it matters not, how much we own;

> The cars...the house...the cash,

> What matters is how we live and love

> And how we spend our dash.

>

> So think about this long and hard...

> Are there things you'd like to change?

> For you never know how much time is left,

> That can still be rearranged.

>

> If we could just slow down enough

> To consider what's true and real,

> And always try to understand

> The way other people feel.

>

> And be less quick to anger,

> And show appreciation more

> And love the people in our lives

> Like we've never loved before.

>

> If we treat each other with respect,

> And more often wear a smile..

> Remembering that this special dash

> Might only last a little while.

>

> So, when your eulogy's being read

> With your life's actions to rehash...

> Would you be proud of the things they say

> About how you spent your dash?

[amateur]

I remember this one from school

 

The Railway Train

by Emily Dickenson

 

I like to see it lap the miles,

And lick the valleys up,

And stop to feed itself at tanks;

And then, prodigious, step

 

Around a pile of mountains,

And, supercilious, peer

In shanties by the sides of roads;

And then a quarry pare

 

To fit its sides, and crawl between,

Complaining all the while

In horrid, hooting stanza;

Then chase itself down hill

 

And neigh like Boanerges;

Then, punctual as a star,

Stop--docile and omnipotent--

At its own stable door.

[Pushkin]

This is one that has stayed with me from all those years ago at school.

 

Anthem for Doomed Youth.

 

(By Wilfred Owen.)

 

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

- Only the monsterous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

 

 

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

 

 

This one is also a favourite of mine and what an atmosphere it evokes.

 

 

 

THE LISTENERS

 

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grass

Of the forest's ferny floor;

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller's head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

"Is there anybody there?" he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller's call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

'Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head:--

"Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word," he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

 

By Walter de la Mare

 

Pushkin B)

[subsonicnat]

Here is a small rendition from the war years:

 

This wonderful film is based quite closely on the real life exploits of a young girl born in London to an English father and a French mother.

 

Called upon at a time of national peril, she "did her duty".

 

The code-poem used in the film was the real code poem used by Violette Szabo while she was sending messages back from occupied France. The poem was written by 'Leo Marks' (qv) who was a cryptographer for SOE and often used poems like this for agents to use.

 

The life that I have is all that I have, The life that I have is yours.

 

The love that I have of the life that I have Is yours and yours and yours.

 

A sleep I shall have, A rest I shall have Yet death will be but a pause.

 

For the peace of my years In the long green grass Will be yours and yours and yours..

 

short but nice:

[JDog]

Yes I remember well the Songs of Innocence and Experience and the Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

 

Funny also how the song "Jerusalem' is just a snippet of verse born of his obsession with Paradise Lost.

 

 

But don't you think that 'Jerusalem', and the vision of it, is out of context with this ...'green and pleasant land?'

[Thunderbird]

Yes I do which is why it's ironic that it has been picked up as such a stirring patriotic song when in fact it isn't really.

[Gimlet]

LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND

 

Pet was never mourned as you,

Purrer of the spotless hue,

Plumy tail, and wistful gaze

While you humoured our queer ways,

Or outshrilled your morning call

Up the stairs and through the hall-

Foot suspended in its fall-

While, expectant, you would stand

Arched, to meet the stroking hand;

Till your ways you chose to wend

Yonder, to your tragic end.

 

Never another pet for me!

Let your place all vacant be;

Better blankness day by day

Than companion torn away.

Better bid his memory fade,

Better blot each mark he made,

Selfishly escape distress

By contrived forgetfulness,

Than preserve his prints to make

Every morn and eve an ache.

From the chair whereon he sat

Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat:

Rake his little pathways out

Mid the bushes roundabout;

Smooth away his talons' mark

From the claw-torn pine-tree bark,

Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,

Waiting us who loiter round.

 

Strange it is this speechless thing,

Subject to our mastering,

Subject for his life and food

To our gift, and time, and mood.

Timid pensioner of us Powers,

His existence ruled by ours,

Should- by crossing at a breath

Into safe and shielded death,

By the merely taking hence

Of his insignificance-

Loom as largened to the sense,

Shape as part, above man's will,

Of the imperturbable.

 

As a prisoner, flight debarred,

Exercising in a yard,

Still retain I, troubled, shaken,

Mean estate, by him forsaken;

And his home, which scarcely took

Impress from his little look,

By his faring to the dim

Grows all eloquent of him.

 

Housemate, I can think you still

Bounding to the window-sill,

Over which I vaguely see

Your small mound beneath the tree,

Showing in the autumn shade

That you moulder where you played.

 

Thomas Hardy.

[JDog]

Yes I do which is why it's ironic that it has been picked up as such a stirring patriotic song when in fact it isn't really.

 

Agreed

[grasscutter]

I'm glad to read there are plenty of fans for Spike

 

 

I eat my peas with honey,

I've done it all my life.

It makes the peas taste funny,

But it keeps them on the knife.

[harpoonlouis]

First saw this as a " Poems on the Underground" while riding the tube in London.

 

Sometimes

 

Sometimes things don't go, after all,

from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,

sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

 

A people sometimes step back from war;

elect an honest man; decide they care

enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.

Some men become what they were born for.

 

Sometimes our best efforts do not go

amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.

The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow

that seemed hard frozen: may it happen to you

 

~ Sheenagh Pugh ~

[Paddy Galore!]

just started "suttree," it's all poetry...

Edited August 6, 2012 by GRAM71

[Gimlet]

just started "suttree," it's all poetry...

 

Hooray! A Cormac McCarthy fan. One of the best American novels of the 20th Century, If not the best, by the best American writer of the 20th century.

You are a man of taste!

[Cottonseed]

A bird finds its way in to a cinema,

flies down the beam

And smashes into a picture of two people being nice to each other.

Real blood, real intestines

slither down the likeness of a tree.

We don't want this, cry the audience.

This is not what we came to see...

 

 

Brian Patten, 1960s.

[Thunderbird]

That reads like an over-long haiku.

[Cottonseed]

That reads like an over-long haiku.

 

 

Yes. I think that's how he described it originally.

[Thunderbird]

Is it? That's interesting. I haven't counted it all but I reckon it's about 3/4-in-one!