Poems-U-Like

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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Abs » Sun Sep 16, 2018 4:27 am

Bella wrote:i prefer music with lyrics to get me through these difficult times....




Not crazy about the song, but the video is beautiful. Lovely places.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby NastyNickers » Sun Sep 16, 2018 1:05 pm

The thing about pain,
Is it won’t last forever,
And it kills you right now,
But with time it gets better,
The thing about scars,
Is they all start to fade,
Until nothing is left,
Of the cuts that were made,
The thing about today,
Is there’s always tomorrow,
And if you can’t find your smile
I have one you can borrow,
The thing about help,
Is beside you it stands,
But it won’t know it’s needed,
Unless you reach out your hand,
The thing about love,
Is you can’t feel it’s touch,
Until you let someone know,
That the world is too much.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Abs » Sun Sep 16, 2018 10:34 pm

NastyNickers wrote:The thing about pain,
Is it won’t last forever,
And it kills you right now,
But with time it gets better,
The thing about scars,
Is they all start to fade,
Until nothing is left,
Of the cuts that were made,
The thing about today,
Is there’s always tomorrow,
And if you can’t find your smile
I have one you can borrow,
The thing about help,
Is beside you it stands,
But it won’t know it’s needed,
Unless you reach out your hand,
The thing about love,
Is you can’t feel it’s touch,
Until you let someone know,
That the world is too much.



Never seen that one before NN I really like that a lot. I can relate to it all too well right now. :smilin:
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby art0hur0moh » Mon Sep 17, 2018 5:14 am

Gerst wrote:Yes, I think we're kind of restricted to shorter poems on forums, though it's no problem really. I had a similar thread on another board years ago and someone posted Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis in a sort of protest, which went on for about eight pages.

I know one of Spike Milligan's favourite poets was The World's Worst Poet, William McGonagall:

The chicken is a noble beast,
The cow is much forlorner:
Standing in the pouring rain
With a leg at every corner.

A man built a boat to sail away, it sank. There was a hoose stood on a hill, tis naw there noo it shifted. Not shure if it can be considered a poem ( and pronounce it properly :grrrrr: : p )? One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight, back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby art0hur0moh » Mon Sep 17, 2018 5:26 am

Stooo wrote:
W. Wordsworth wrote:A boy stood on the burning deck
picking his nose like mad
he rolled it into little balls
and flicked it at his dad


A boy stood on the burning deck playing a game of cricket.

The ball ran up his trouser leg and stumped his middle wicket! :yikes:

The boy stood on the burning deck, his feet where full of blisters, the fire burned hi s nickers off, so he had to wear his sisters.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Lady Murasaki » Wed Sep 19, 2018 7:12 pm

Abs wrote:
Lady Murasaki wrote:Well you’ve got the last laugh Abs because they live under a bridge without a working boiler.
Sod them.

I should write some poetry some day. :artist:



You should, have you written before? Other than the few poems I wrote about my son and dads passing, I haven't written in ages. I have so much stuff in me and start jotting stuff down, but then never go back to finish them. It's also therapeutic.


I have had a go but the temptation to rhyme takes over and it becomes too comical when I intended it to be serious and meaningful. It’s quite good fun as well as therapeutic, you find yourself verbalising things you didn’t know you felt. :ooer:
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Lady Murasaki » Wed Sep 19, 2018 7:13 pm

Bella wrote:i prefer music with lyrics to get me through these difficult times....



Yeah, good songwriters and rappers are the modern day poets.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Rolluplostinspace » Wed Sep 19, 2018 8:04 pm

Ballad of the Bread Man (1968)
Charles Causley

Mary stood in the kitchen
Baking a loaf of bread.
An angel flew in through the window.
‘We’ve a job for you,’ he said.

‘God in his big gold heaven
Sitting in his big blue chair,
Wanted a mother for his little son.
Suddenly saw you there.’

Mary shook and trembled,
‘It isn’t true what you say.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said the angel.
‘The baby’s on its way.’

Joseph was in the workshop
Planing a piece of wood.
‘The old man’s past it,’ the neighbours said.
‘That girl’s been up to no good.’

‘And who was that elegant fellow,’
They said. ‘in the shiny gear?’
The things they said about Gabriel
Were hardly fit to hear.

Mary never answered,
Mary never replied.
She kept the information,
Like the baby, safe inside.

It was the election winter.
They went to vote in town.
When Mary found her time had come
The hotels let her down.

The baby was born in an annexe
Next to the local pub.
At midnight, a delegation
Turned up from the Farmers’ Club.

They talked about an explosion
That made a hole in the sky,
Said they’d been sent to the Lamb and Flag
To see God come down from on high.

A few days later a bishop
And a five-star general were seen
With the head of an African country
In a bullet-proof limousine.

‘We’ve come,’ they said ‘with tokens
For the little boy to choose.’
Told the tale about war and peace
In the television news.

After them came the soldiers
With rifle and bombs and gun,
Looking for enemies of the state.
The family had packed up and gone.

When they got back to the village
The neighbours said, to a man,
‘That boy will never be one of us,
Though he does what he blessed well can.’

He went round to all the people
A paper crown on his head.
Here is some bread from my father.
Take, eat, he said.

Nobody seemed very hungry.
Nobody seemed to care.
Nobody saw the God in himself
Quietly standing there.

He finished up in the papers,
He came to a very bad end.
He was charged with bringing the living to life.
No man was that prisoner’s friend.

There’s only one kind of punishment
To fit that kind of crime.
They rigged a trial and shot him dead.
They were only just in time.

They lifted the young man by the leg,
Thy lifted him by the arm,
They locked him in a cathedral
In case he came to harm.

They stored him safe as water
Under seven rocks.
One Sunday morning he burst out
Like a jack-in-the-box.

Through the town he went walking.
He showed them the holes in his head.
Now do you want any loaves? he cried.
‘Not today’ they said.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Bella » Wed Sep 19, 2018 8:57 pm

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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Abs » Thu Sep 20, 2018 11:08 pm

Rolluplostinspace wrote:Ballad of the Bread Man (1968)
Charles Causley

Mary stood in the kitchen
Baking a loaf of bread.
An angel flew in through the window.
‘We’ve a job for you,’ he said.

‘God in his big gold heaven
Sitting in his big blue chair,
Wanted a mother for his little son.
Suddenly saw you there.’

Mary shook and trembled,
‘It isn’t true what you say.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said the angel.
‘The baby’s on its way.’

Joseph was in the workshop
Planing a piece of wood.
‘The old man’s past it,’ the neighbours said.
‘That girl’s been up to no good.’

‘And who was that elegant fellow,’
They said. ‘in the shiny gear?’
The things they said about Gabriel
Were hardly fit to hear.

Mary never answered,
Mary never replied.
She kept the information,
Like the baby, safe inside.

It was the election winter.
They went to vote in town.
When Mary found her time had come
The hotels let her down.

The baby was born in an annexe
Next to the local pub.
At midnight, a delegation
Turned up from the Farmers’ Club.

They talked about an explosion
That made a hole in the sky,
Said they’d been sent to the Lamb and Flag
To see God come down from on high.

A few days later a bishop
And a five-star general were seen
With the head of an African country
In a bullet-proof limousine.

‘We’ve come,’ they said ‘with tokens
For the little boy to choose.’
Told the tale about war and peace
In the television news.

After them came the soldiers
With rifle and bombs and gun,
Looking for enemies of the state.
The family had packed up and gone.

When they got back to the village
The neighbours said, to a man,
‘That boy will never be one of us,
Though he does what he blessed well can.’

He went round to all the people
A paper crown on his head.
Here is some bread from my father.
Take, eat, he said.

Nobody seemed very hungry.
Nobody seemed to care.
Nobody saw the God in himself
Quietly standing there.

He finished up in the papers,
He came to a very bad end.
He was charged with bringing the living to life.
No man was that prisoner’s friend.

There’s only one kind of punishment
To fit that kind of crime.
They rigged a trial and shot him dead.
They were only just in time.

They lifted the young man by the leg,
Thy lifted him by the arm,
They locked him in a cathedral
In case he came to harm.

They stored him safe as water
Under seven rocks.
One Sunday morning he burst out
Like a jack-in-the-box.

Through the town he went walking.
He showed them the holes in his head.
Now do you want any loaves? he cried.
‘Not today’ they said.


Great poem, loved it.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Abs » Thu Sep 20, 2018 11:13 pm

Bella wrote:



Well that was certainly different.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Gerst » Sat Sep 22, 2018 7:37 pm

A poem by Edward Thomas, who was killed at the Battle of Arras in 1917.

Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Gerst » Sun Sep 30, 2018 8:09 pm

Give me women, wine, and snuff

Until I cry out "hold, enough!"

You may do so sans objection

Till the day of resurrection;

For bless my beard they aye shall be

My beloved Trinity.
– John Keats



To My Daughter, by Raymond Carver

Everything I see will outlive me.
– Anna Akhmatova


It’s too late now to put a curse on you – wish you
plain, say, as Yeats did his daughter. And when
we met her in Sligo, selling her paintings, it’d worked –
she was the plainest, oldest woman in Ireland.
But she was safe.
For the longest time, his reasoning
escaped me. Anyway, it’s too late for you,
as I said. You’re grownup now, and lovely.
You’re a beautiful drunk, daughter.
But you’re a drunk. I can’t say you’re breaking
my heart. I don’t have a heart when it comes
to this booze thing. Sad, yes, Christ alone knows.
Your old man, the one they call Shiloh, is back
in town, and the drink has started to flow again. 
You’ve been drunk for three days, you tell me,
when you know goddamn well drinking is like poison
to our family. Didn’t your mother and I set you
example enough? Two people
who loved each other knocking each other around,
knocking back the love we felt, glass by empty glass,

curses and blows and betrayals?
You must be crazy! Wasn’t all that enough for you?
You want to die? Maybe that’s it. Maybe
I think I know you, and I don’t.
I’m not kidding, Kiddo. Who are you kidding?
Daughter, you can’t drink.
The last few times I saw you, you were out of it.
A cast on your collarbone, or else
a splint on your finger, dark glasses to hide
your beautiful bruised eyes. A lip
that a man should kiss instead of split.
Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ!
You’ve got to take hold now.
Do you hear me? Wake up! You’ve got to knock it off
and get straight. Clean up your act. I’m asking you.
Okay, telling you. Sure, our family was made
to squander, not collect. But turn this around now.
You simply must – that’s all!
Daughter, you can’t drink.
It will kill you. Like it did your mother, and me.
Like it did.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Guest » Sun Sep 30, 2018 10:33 pm

Dover Beach
BY MATTHEW ARNOLD
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
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Re: Poems-U-Like

Postby Gerst » Tue Oct 02, 2018 7:55 pm

^ A great 19th Century poem, and one of my favourites too. There's a lot of resonance in that last stanza, with the 'ignorant armies', but one reference I remember is to a story most Victorian schoolboys who had studied 'Greats' would know: a Greek army was marching in a long column at night in enemy territory when they were attacked on their flank by another army. They fought for a while until they realised it was the back of their own column which had swung round alongside them in the dark and so they were fighting their own men.
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