Poetry, anyone? > Likes and Comments
One of my favourites.Jabberwocky
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“”
from Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1872).
This is my favourite.Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw--
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!
Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!
And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair--
But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
"It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
The Earth ChildOut of the veins of the world comes the blood of me;
The heart that beats in my side is the heart of the sea;
The hills have known me of old, and they do not forget;
Long ago was I friends with the wind; I am friends with it yet.
The hills are grey, they are strange, they breed desire
Of a tune that the feet may march and not tire;
For always up in the distance the thin roads wind,
And passing out of sight, they pass not out of mind.
I am glad when morning and evening alter the skies;
There speaks no voice of the stars but my voice replies;
When wave on wave all night cries out in it’s need;
I listen, I understand, my heart takes heed.
Out of the red-brown earth, out of the grey-brown streams,
Came this perilous body, cage of perilous dreams;
To the end of all waters and lands they are tossed, they are whirled;
For my dreams are one with my body, yea, one with the world.
Gerald Gould.
That's gorgeous Pat; gave me shivers. I didn't know that one - must look out for more by him.
Another I am fond of.The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to other way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ---
Took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost 1874-1963
Here's another of mine -The Song of Wandering Aengus - W B Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand
And hooked a berry to a thread:
And when white moths were on the wing
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
the silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
That makes me shiver.
Ingnite wrote: "That's gorgeous Pat; gave me shivers. I didn't know that one - must look out for more by him."Glad you like it. Do you know the Wander-Thirst? another by him
The Great VoicesA voice from the sea to the mountains,
From the mountains again to the sea;
A call from the deep to the fountains;
O Spirit! Be glad and be free!
A cry from the floods to the mountains,
And the torrents repeat the glad song
As they leap from the breast of the mountains:
O Spirit! be free and be strong!
The pine forest thrill with emotion
Of praise as the spirit sweeps by;
With a voice like the murmur of ocean
To the soul of the listener they cry.
Oh, sing, human heart, like the fountains
With joy reverential and free;
Contented and calm as the mountain,
And deep as the woods and the sea.
Charles Timothy Brooks
I better stop here and give someone else a chance.
CONSTANCY.They bid me forget him! As if I could tear
From my heart the dear image so long cherished there
Like a rose in the wilderness, blooming and free,
Like a fount in the desert that love is to me.
I brood o’er my thoughts in the stillness of night;
I cannot forget him – would not, if I might!
‘Tis the star that illumines my desolate way,
And gives it the glory and brightness of day.
When I was a kid I had a book called the Arrow Book of Funny Poems. I loved it and I think it fell apart in the end as my bros and sis also loved it! I don't know what's happened to it now...
I can still remember some of my shorter favourites but can't now remember who wrote them.
They strolled the lanes together
The sky was covered with stars
He walked her to the pasture gates
And lifted for her the bars.
She raised her brown eyes to him
There was nothing between them now
For he was the farmer's hired hand
And she was a Jersey cow!
'Twixt opitmist and pessimist the difference is droll
The optimist sees the donut - the pessimist sees the hole!
I think that I shall never see
A bill board lovely as a tree
Indeed, unless the bill boards fall
I'll never see a tree at all!
There was an old man from Blackheath
Who sat on his pair of false teeth!
Said he with a start,
"Oh Lord, bless my heart,
I've bitten myself underneath!"
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly "let us flee!"
Said the flea "let us fly!"
So the flew through a flaw in the flue!
It's surprising how many have come back to me when I haven't read the book for years!!
:0)
I can still remember some of my shorter favourites but can't now remember who wrote them.
They strolled the lanes together
The sky was covered with stars
He walked her to the pasture gates
And lifted for her the bars.
She raised her brown eyes to him
There was nothing between them now
For he was the farmer's hired hand
And she was a Jersey cow!
'Twixt opitmist and pessimist the difference is droll
The optimist sees the donut - the pessimist sees the hole!
I think that I shall never see
A bill board lovely as a tree
Indeed, unless the bill boards fall
I'll never see a tree at all!
There was an old man from Blackheath
Who sat on his pair of false teeth!
Said he with a start,
"Oh Lord, bless my heart,
I've bitten myself underneath!"
A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly "let us flee!"
Said the flea "let us fly!"
So the flew through a flaw in the flue!
It's surprising how many have come back to me when I haven't read the book for years!!
:0)
Cor Simon - you've got hidden depths haven't you?That one's short but stunning. Sounds like an Edwardian ballad?
Ok I'm not sure if this should be here or in the food section lol.Dug up from my school days at least 59 years ago. Shows what I thought about in those days
When I close my eyes it seems
They take me to the land of dreams
There the trees are sugar sticks
Houses made of chocolate bricks
Roofs and doors of ginger cake
Jelly swans on jelly lake
Chocolate horse pulls chocolate cart
Ponds are just a treacle tart
Fat brown cows of toffee made
Sugar sheep sleep in the shade
Such a lot of sweets it seems
Are only possible in dreams
I wonder if I’ll find my way
I’ve tried to be so good today
No title but Sweet Dreams seems apt. Some things might be wrong as it's all from memory.
Sounds like The Big Rock Candy Mountain - for children (no lake of stew and whisky too!)
Think I'd go for the stew and whiskey now!
I wish I could write Poetry. My Dyslexic dont help but I do enjoy writing stories. I think I have one of my stories on my profile that I have to write last year on my english course.
You stole my idea for a thread! Ah well, serves me right for not getting round to posting it...I've got a lot of favourite poems (including some of the above...) but I do like this one:
Christina Rossetti: Flint
An emerald is as green as grass,
A ruby red as blood;
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;
A flint lies in the mud.
A diamond is a brilliant stone,
To catch the world's desire;
An opal holds a fiery spark;
But a flint holds fire.
Alfred Noyes actually also wrote a poem called The Highwayman. We did it at GCSE and it's also a bit of a favourite but a bit long to post here.
Before the battle - Siefried SassoonMusic of whispering trees
Hushed by a broad-winged breeze
Where shaken water gleams;
And evening radiance falling
With reedy bird-notes calling.
O bear me safe through dark, you low-voiced streams.
I have no need to pray
That fear may pass away;
I scorn the growl and rumble of the fight
That summons me from cool
Silence of marsh and pool
And yellow lilies islanded in light.
O river of stars and shadows, lead me through the night.
I think it's amazing that someone could write such beauty in the first World War trenches. Leaves me humble.
What a nice thread. I like the Sassoon; it's incredibly beautiful but also very sad, especially the last line. Of course, we know the context it was written in, and that probably shapes the way we respond to it. It's lovely that Yeats is so popular. This is one of my favourites. His description of what being in love feels like goes right down my spine.
Never Give All The Heart
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
This was my favourite poem at school -I went and looked it up again recently, and it still thrills me..CLOUD-PUFFBALL, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-
built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.
Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm arches,
Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ' lashes lace, lance, and pair.
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ' ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest’s creases; in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed ' dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks ' treadmire toil there
Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, ' nature’s bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest ' to her, her clearest-selvèd spark
Man, how fast his firedint, ' his mark on mind, is gone!
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark
Drowned. O pity and indig ' nation! Manshape, that shone
Sheer off, disseveral, a star, ' death blots black out; nor mark
Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time ' beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart’s-clarion! Away grief’s gasping, ' joyless days, dejection.
Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. ' Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; ' world’s wildfire, leave but ash:
In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond.
Do you know Gingerlily, I read that (never seen it before) and I KNEW it would be by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Googled and it was confirmed.I love the way he uses language so creatively.
I love Yeats, Sharon4, and Sassoon and Robert Graves. I'll put a Graves poem on eventually. I nearly put a Hopkins on earlier too!
he is something special, isn't he. I would love to be able to write like that...
Yeah, but we're used to you now, Ingnite. ;)
Robert Graves A Slice of Wedding Cake
Why have such scores of lovely, gifted girls
Married impossible men?
Simple self-sacrifice may be ruled out,
And missionary endeavour, nine times out of ten
Repeat, 'impossible men': not merely rustic,
Foul-tempered or depraved
(Dramatic foils chosen to show the world
How well women behave, and always have behaved).
Impossible men: idle, illiterate,
Self pitying, dirty, sly,
For whose appearance even in City parks
Excuses must be made to casual passers-by.
Has God's supply of tolerable husbands
Fallen, in fact, so low?
Or do I always over-value woman
At the expense of man?
Do I?
It might be so.
This always makes me laugh. (Even I don't think men are all that bad!)
This was my Dad's favouriteJenny Kissed Me - James Henry Leigh Hunt
Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.
Our daughter, his first grandchild, is called Jenny.
I made a little snowman,His face was very white.
He caught the flu,
His face went hot,
He melted in the night. :((
There was a little mystery About a little fir tree
Owl says its his tree
Kanga says its her tree
Poets day - tomorrow's Saturday!Tide's Reach
I walk these wide moon-acres on the shore,
This land between the tides where no man dwells,
Its shifting boundaries between the sands
Where shells and pebbles grind and water swells.
Like Avalon of old or Hy-Brasil
With dream-like instability of form,
The ever-changing margins of this land
Are squeezed like potters' clay with every storm.
The hollow susurration of the waves
Whispers that in this place there is no peace.
The knock and rattle of the foam-rinsed stones
Grates ever on. The echoes never cease.
The swaying of the sea is in our blood
And with the tide-pull of the moon we yearn
For harbour and a shelter from the flood.
They say men pass from life at the tide's turn.
That is lovely. I don't know this one. Who is it by?
Ingnite!!!!!Wow! I'm smiling so big!
It's beautiful and I'm honoured that you shared it with us!
Aw thanks Pat and Patti. I do meddle with words a bit but I generally keep them to myself - except I trust you lot. Lord knows why!
Heck, don't be! It's only me - sorry - I!
Thanks Karen. I thought I'd just slip one in under the radar so to speak and see if it passed as a 'real' one.Promise not to do it again! That's not what the forum's for.
Cat among the Pigeons
Daniel the Spaniel has ears like rugs
Teeth like prongs of electric plugs
His back's a thundery winter sky
Black Clouds, white clouds rumbling by.
Cat among the Pigeons
Has fun illustrations too!
Yes it is. And what is wrong with posting what is goodwork. I would be happy to read more. If it is as good as the last one. #:-D)
Ah yes Simon, Kit Wright is a good bloke. I also like Julia Donaldson for Junior poetry.
I'm afraid I had to look Julia Donaldson up....The childrens books look fun. Perhaps I will nip up ASDA later and steal childrens books from unattended prams.
She has written a young adults book too!
Running on the Cracks
Room on the Broom, the Snail and The Whale - and, as they say, much much more.
Ingnite wrote: "Poets day - tomorrow's Saturday!Tide's Reach
I walk these wide moon-acres on the shore,
This land between the tides where no man dwells,
Its shifting boundaries between the sands
Where sh..."
That's a great poem, Kath, very pensive and ethereal.
Cornelius wrote: "Ingnite wrote: "Poets day - tomorrow's Saturday!
Tide's Reach
I walk these wide moon-acres on the shore,
This land between the tides where no man dwells,
Its shifting boundaries between the sands..."
Maybe you should think about publishing some of them on kindle, Ignite...!
:0)
Tide's Reach
I walk these wide moon-acres on the shore,
This land between the tides where no man dwells,
Its shifting boundaries between the sands..."
Maybe you should think about publishing some of them on kindle, Ignite...!
:0)
Ignite!,your poem made the hair stand up on the back of my neck, such talent. WOW.
Thank you Cornelius. From you, with your gift for writing, that means more than I can say.Karen, I love poetry, reading it, writing it. But even I wouldn't buy a book of poems from a complete unknown!
Thanks all the same though.
Thanks Philip(sarah)- sure it wasn't just a draught? (I think our posts crossed.) Thank you all for being so nice! I've never had much confidence in what I write but I have to say, I'm smiling a bit now.
Poetry ClassicsThe Slaves Dream Longfellow
He saw once more his dark-eyed queen
Among her children stand;
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,
They held him by the hand!—
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell into the sand.
And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel
Smiting his stallion's flank.
Before him, like a blood-red flag,
The bright flamingoes flew;
From morn till night he followed their flight,
O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.
At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,
Through the triumph of his dream.
The forests, with their myriad tongues,
Shouted of liberty;
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.
He did not feel the driver's whip,
Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,
And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!
Daddy fell into the Pond
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
There was nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day
And there seemed to be nothing beyond,
THEN
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight,
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed!"
Click.
Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft
And it sounded as though the old drake laughed.
O, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
WHEN
Daddy fell into the pond!
It always makes me smile and I've read it hundreds of times (I used to read it to the children).
I also loved reading the Ballad of Dick Turpin because our son lived in York for a couple of years. Once, when we visited him, he took us through the graveyard where Black Bess, Turpin's faithful horse, is buried "Because there's nack all else to see!" In York! What sort of a philistine have I rasied?
Anyone like to share a favourite poem? I've got loads but I'll stand back and see what happens.
(Edit - I put it in in full being as Patti had with hers.)