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The Forum's Favourite Poems
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Wendywu
Active Member
I write poems everyday. They aren't brilliant but I just love writing them.
I have a small poetry group on Facebook. This is a recent one I wrote
I am confused and doubtful
I really cannot see
Why you try and make me stay,
There's nothing right with me
You tease me and you bully me
You shout and also yell
You tell me that I'm stupid
And I make your life pure hell
You call me fat, and tell me how lucky that I am
That I should be grateful that I have got a man
No one else would want me
I'm useless can't you see
Embarrassed to be seen with
Thankful I should be
If I say hot you say cold
No matter if I'm right
When I'm dressed up and feeling good
You tell me I'm a sight
There's absolutely nothing that I can converse about
Opinions do not count for me
Shut up or get a clout
I'm lazy but I do it all
While you sit and moan
And then you pick and criticise and tell me to go home
I'm not allowed a hobby and I cannot have a friend
Because you feel threatened and it drives you round the bend
My job is something that I love
You hate it cause I do
You try to make me quit at it
It's now a threat to you
I have a small poetry group on Facebook. This is a recent one I wrote
I am confused and doubtful
I really cannot see
Why you try and make me stay,
There's nothing right with me
You tease me and you bully me
You shout and also yell
You tell me that I'm stupid
And I make your life pure hell
You call me fat, and tell me how lucky that I am
That I should be grateful that I have got a man
No one else would want me
I'm useless can't you see
Embarrassed to be seen with
Thankful I should be
If I say hot you say cold
No matter if I'm right
When I'm dressed up and feeling good
You tell me I'm a sight
There's absolutely nothing that I can converse about
Opinions do not count for me
Shut up or get a clout
I'm lazy but I do it all
While you sit and moan
And then you pick and criticise and tell me to go home
I'm not allowed a hobby and I cannot have a friend
Because you feel threatened and it drives you round the bend
My job is something that I love
You hate it cause I do
You try to make me quit at it
It's now a threat to you
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
There's a thread for that sort of malarkey -
http://www.staffordforum.com/xf/index.php?threads/rather-than-twiddle-your-thumbs-write-a-poem.229/
- i don't care if they're brilliant but i just love reading them.
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
The Reeds of Runnymede
(Magna Carta, June 15, 1215)
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
What say the reeds at Runnymede?
The lissom reeds that give and take,
That bend so far, but never break,
They keep the sleepy Thames awake
With tales of John at Runnymede.
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede:
'You musn't sell, delay, deny,
A freeman's right or liberty.
It wakes the stubborn Englishry,
We saw 'em roused at Runnymede!
When through our ranks the Barons came,
With little thought of praise or blame,
But resolute to play the game,
They lumbered up to Runnymede;
And there they launched in solid line
The first attack on Right Divine,
The curt uncompromising "Sign!'
They settled John at Runnymede.
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Your rights were won at Runnymede!
No freeman shall be fined or bound,
Or dispossessed of freehold ground,
Except by lawful judgment found
And passed upon him by his peers.
Forget not, after all these years,
The Charter signed at Runnymede.'
And still when mob or Monarch lays
Too rude a hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.
And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,
And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
Their warning down from Runnymede!
RUDYARD KIPLING
p. 1911
(Magna Carta, June 15, 1215)
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
What say the reeds at Runnymede?
The lissom reeds that give and take,
That bend so far, but never break,
They keep the sleepy Thames awake
With tales of John at Runnymede.
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede:
'You musn't sell, delay, deny,
A freeman's right or liberty.
It wakes the stubborn Englishry,
We saw 'em roused at Runnymede!
When through our ranks the Barons came,
With little thought of praise or blame,
But resolute to play the game,
They lumbered up to Runnymede;
And there they launched in solid line
The first attack on Right Divine,
The curt uncompromising "Sign!'
They settled John at Runnymede.
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Your rights were won at Runnymede!
No freeman shall be fined or bound,
Or dispossessed of freehold ground,
Except by lawful judgment found
And passed upon him by his peers.
Forget not, after all these years,
The Charter signed at Runnymede.'
And still when mob or Monarch lays
Too rude a hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.
And Thames, that knows the moods of kings,
And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
Their warning down from Runnymede!
RUDYARD KIPLING
p. 1911
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
The Silver Tassie
Go bring to me a pint o wine,
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
Go bring to me a pint o wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,A service to my bonie lassie:
The boat rocks at the pier o Leith,Fu loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,And I maun leave my bony Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are rankèd ready,
The shouts o war are heard afar,The battle closes deep and bloody.
It's not the roar o sea or shore,Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o war that's heard afar –It's leaving thee, my bony Mary!
John Marwood
I ♥ cryptic crosswords
When I am sad and weary,
When I think all hope has gone,
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on
When I think all hope has gone,
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on
Noah
Well-Known Forumite
Of all the money that e'er I spent
I've spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I did
Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
If I had money enough to spend
And leisure to sit awhile
There is a fair maid in the town
That sorely has my heart beguiled
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips
I own she has my heart enthralled
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
Oh, all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be with you all
I've spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I did
Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
If I had money enough to spend
And leisure to sit awhile
There is a fair maid in the town
That sorely has my heart beguiled
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips
I own she has my heart enthralled
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
Oh, all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be with you all
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
Is it really too much to ask who and when?
Really?
And if you DARE lmgtfy, i will hunt you down and shout the entirety of THE TAY BRIDGE DISASTER at you until you beg for the mercy that i will be unwilling to give.
p.s. don't you dare bring #226 in evidence against me - that was the 25th Jan, man. Quite obviously that was Rab C. Nesbitt.
Noah
Well-Known Forumite
"Of all the money that e'er I spent ... "
Actually a traditional song lyric, the Parting Glass. This version The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem's 1959 LP "Come Fill Your Glass With Us" and several later LPs, much copied since including Steeleye Span, The Pogues, Sinead O'Connor & many others. Earlier versions and variants known, at least in fragment back to 1605 & the first printed version in 1770.
"The Tay Bridge Disaster", I could respond by one of the last "poems" by the same person on the illness of Edward VIII which delayed his coronation -
...
Over the electric telegraph
The electric message came
The King is little different
He is very much the same
...
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
Last edited:
Glam
Mad Cat Woman
If I had the power to turn back the clock,
Go back to that house, at the end of the block,
The house that was home, when I was a kid,
I know that I'd love it now, more than I did.
If I could go back there now, at my Mothers knee,
And here once again, all the things she told me,
I'd listen as I'd never listened before,
For she knew so well, what life had in store.
And all the advice my Dad used to give,
I'll remember his voice as long as I live,
But it didn't seem really important then,
What I'd give to live it all over again.
And what I would give, for the chance I once had,
To do so much more for my Mum and Dad,
To give them more joy and a little less pain.
A little more sunshine - a little less rain.
But the years roll on and we can't go back,
Whether we were born in a mansion or in a shack,
But we can start right now, in the hour that's here,
To do something more for the ones we hold dear.
And since time in it's flight is travelling so fast,
Let's not spend it regretting that which is past,
But let's make tomorrow a happier day,
By doing our 'good to others' today.
Author Unknown.
Go back to that house, at the end of the block,
The house that was home, when I was a kid,
I know that I'd love it now, more than I did.
If I could go back there now, at my Mothers knee,
And here once again, all the things she told me,
I'd listen as I'd never listened before,
For she knew so well, what life had in store.
And all the advice my Dad used to give,
I'll remember his voice as long as I live,
But it didn't seem really important then,
What I'd give to live it all over again.
And what I would give, for the chance I once had,
To do so much more for my Mum and Dad,
To give them more joy and a little less pain.
A little more sunshine - a little less rain.
But the years roll on and we can't go back,
Whether we were born in a mansion or in a shack,
But we can start right now, in the hour that's here,
To do something more for the ones we hold dear.
And since time in it's flight is travelling so fast,
Let's not spend it regretting that which is past,
But let's make tomorrow a happier day,
By doing our 'good to others' today.
Author Unknown.
Nicedave
Well-Known Forumite
Ode to Multiple Universes
I do have worlds enough and time
to spare an hour to find a rhyme
to take a week to pen an article
a day to find a rhyme for 'particle'.
In many worlds my time is free
to spend ten minutes over tea
And steal the time from some far moon
so words can take all afternoon,
Away beyond the speed of light
I'll write a novel in one night.
Aeons beckon, if I want 'em...
...but I can't have em', 'cos of Quantum.
-- Terry Pratchett
I do have worlds enough and time
to spare an hour to find a rhyme
to take a week to pen an article
a day to find a rhyme for 'particle'.
In many worlds my time is free
to spend ten minutes over tea
And steal the time from some far moon
so words can take all afternoon,
Away beyond the speed of light
I'll write a novel in one night.
Aeons beckon, if I want 'em...
...but I can't have em', 'cos of Quantum.
-- Terry Pratchett
John Marwood
I ♥ cryptic crosswords
Wen mi jus come to Landan toun
Mi use to work pan di andahgroun
But workin pan di andahgroun
Yu dont get fi know your way around
Mi use to work pan di andahgroun
But workin pan di andahgroun
Yu dont get fi know your way around
Glam
Mad Cat Woman
The Lion & Albert. By Marriott Edgar.
There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh-air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was their Albert
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
'E'd a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much to the ocean
The waves, they was fiddlin' and small
There was no wrecks... nobody drownded
'Fact, nothing to laugh at, at all.
So, seeking for further amusement
They paid and went into the zoo
Where they'd lions and tigers and cam-els
And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big lion called Wallace
His nose were all covered with scars
He lay in a som-no-lent posture
With the side of his face to the bars.
Now Albert had heard about lions
How they were ferocious and wild
And to see Wallace lying so peaceful
Well... it didn't seem right to the child.
So straight 'way the brave little feller
Not showing a morsel of fear
Took 'is stick with the'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear!
You could see that the lion didn't like it
For giving a kind of a roll
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im
And swallowed the little lad... whole!
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence
And didn't know what to do next
Said, "Mother! Yon lions 'et Albert"
And Mother said "Eeh, I am vexed!"
So Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Quite rightly, when all's said and done
Complained to the Animal Keeper
That the lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it
He said, "What a nasty mishap
Are you sure that it's your lad he's eaten?"
Pa said, "Am I sure? There's his cap!"
So the manager had to be sent for
He came and he said, "What's to do?"
Pa said, "Yon lion's 'eaten our Albert
And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too."
Then Mother said, "Right's right, young feller
I think it's a shame and a sin
For a lion to go and eat Albert
And after we've paid to come in!"
The manager wanted no trouble
He took out his purse right away
And said, "How much to settle the matter?"
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?"
But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone
She said, "No! someone's got to be summonsed"
So that were decided upon.
Round they went to the Police Station
In front of a Magistrate chap
They told 'im what happened to Albert
And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his o-pinion
That no-one was really to blame
He said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing
"And thank you, sir, kindly," said she
"What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!"
There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh-air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was their Albert
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
'E'd a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much to the ocean
The waves, they was fiddlin' and small
There was no wrecks... nobody drownded
'Fact, nothing to laugh at, at all.
So, seeking for further amusement
They paid and went into the zoo
Where they'd lions and tigers and cam-els
And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big lion called Wallace
His nose were all covered with scars
He lay in a som-no-lent posture
With the side of his face to the bars.
Now Albert had heard about lions
How they were ferocious and wild
And to see Wallace lying so peaceful
Well... it didn't seem right to the child.
So straight 'way the brave little feller
Not showing a morsel of fear
Took 'is stick with the'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear!
You could see that the lion didn't like it
For giving a kind of a roll
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im
And swallowed the little lad... whole!
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence
And didn't know what to do next
Said, "Mother! Yon lions 'et Albert"
And Mother said "Eeh, I am vexed!"
So Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Quite rightly, when all's said and done
Complained to the Animal Keeper
That the lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it
He said, "What a nasty mishap
Are you sure that it's your lad he's eaten?"
Pa said, "Am I sure? There's his cap!"
So the manager had to be sent for
He came and he said, "What's to do?"
Pa said, "Yon lion's 'eaten our Albert
And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too."
Then Mother said, "Right's right, young feller
I think it's a shame and a sin
For a lion to go and eat Albert
And after we've paid to come in!"
The manager wanted no trouble
He took out his purse right away
And said, "How much to settle the matter?"
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?"
But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone
She said, "No! someone's got to be summonsed"
So that were decided upon.
Round they went to the Police Station
In front of a Magistrate chap
They told 'im what happened to Albert
And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his o-pinion
That no-one was really to blame
He said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing
"And thank you, sir, kindly," said she
"What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!"
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
Mutability
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
PERCY
p. 1816
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
PERCY
p. 1816
Gramaisc
Forum O. G.
150 years of W B Yeats - this might be of interest - http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b05xcvb2 .
Gramaisc
Forum O. G.
Yeats Poetry Train, including Stafford's own Carol-Ann Duffy - Dublin to Sligo this Saturday.
http://yeats2015.com/event/poetry-train-dublin-to-sligo/
Get your name down for a free ticket.
http://yeats2015.com/event/poetry-train-dublin-to-sligo/
Get your name down for a free ticket.
Withnail
Well-Known Forumite
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.
SIR THOMAS WYATT
p. 1557
* 'In a net I seek to hold the wind' - i want this as my epitaph *
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.
SIR THOMAS WYATT
p. 1557
* 'In a net I seek to hold the wind' - i want this as my epitaph *
