Put Your favourite poem here

[tantrum]

Cheers Tantrum

Tank, it was really no trouble, I have decided to spare you the rest of the poem,
but if you are interested in reading them let me know, I will send you the remaining few verses.

 

[HarlemShuffle]

I was walking down the stairs
And I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish that man would go away

[RED-DOG]

The Master seldom treats me right
he makes me leave my bed at night
I pander to his every whim
for I am but a slave to him

I do his bidding every day
yet still an awful toll must pay
My blind dependence brings him wealth
and in return he gives ill health

All those who serve the Master die
a needless death, and so will I
If you don't understand my plight
perhaps I'm wrong and you are right

But I guess my friend you've never been
a slave to Master Nicotine!

T McCready. (while i was still a smoker)

[tantrum]

Encounter


We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago.  Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

Czeslaw Milosz, translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Lillian Vallee.

[rudders]

gunga din......

 You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
"You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
"Hi! Slippy hitherao!
"Water, get it! Panee lao
"You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted " Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
"You put some juldee in it
"Or I'll marrow you this minute
"If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick' on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water green.
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen"
"'E's chawin' up the ground,
"An' 'e's kickin' all around:
"For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink" sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen.
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!


Note on vernacular expressions

bhisti - water-carrier
hitherao - come here
panee lao - bring water
Harry By - O Brother
juldee - quickly
marrow - hit

[Jon MW]

Only of thee and me the nightwind sings;
    Only of us the lovers speak at sea;
The earth is full of breathless whisperings
    Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me the forests chant;
    Only of us the stir in bush and tree;
The rain and sun inform the blossoming plant
    Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me till all shall fade;
    Only of us the world's first thought can be;
For we are love, and heaven itself is made
    Only of thee and me

Louis Untermeyer

[madasahatstand]

tank

that poem about the birth was very dark indeed:(
my best one is from a book of poems my dad gave me. i cant remeber all the words but im going to look the book out and post the rest later. i cant remember the poet


Late, too late my bird is dead
Pain is all that can be said
All my words are more than vain
To bring back his life again

There he lies apon the snow
Little bird that loved life so
Never more to wake and sing
In the budding days of spring..................................


its sad but beautiful

[ontilt]

I used to love that poem about the higwayman when i was a kid too. Here is one of my favourites

Louis MacNeice - Bagpipe Music

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison.

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty.

It's no go the Yogi-Man, it's no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.

Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture.

The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife 'Take it away; I'm through with overproduction'.

It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.

Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.

It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.

It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium,
It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections,
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.

It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.

[bolt pp]

One day of sunbathing weather this summer, please!!

As i drank from the air blood pored from my eye
spilling tears on my brow as the trenches up high
saw delectable red conquer clouds in the sky

On a day when the rain armed with sleet and with hail
joined the infantry winds and a fuselier gale
i was lost in the war which was once grey and pale

I was lost in the reach of a comforting hand
as victorious red captured decadent land
and saw colourless buildings distinctively grand

I was lost in the voice of an occupied sky
as melodious guards of a cloud drifting by
shot harmonious beams lest the captured should cry

I was lost in the trees that were brave on a day
when the fiery skies burned the squaller away
and the soldiers of red vanquished urban decay

I was lost in the sky as though under a spell
of a heavenly glow formed by colours from hell
as enchantment perturbed what i once knew so well

I was lost in the reach of a housing estate
that constrained what was ripe at a cautionary rate
as this tale of the sun was resigned to its fate

For the fiery army that glowed in the sky
with its radiant smile and chivalrous eye
only captured and killed what was ready to die

As the army of darkness with squadrons of frost
led a sobering chill to to a war with a cost
I was found with the injured where once i was lost

[Claw75]

Is that one of your poem's bolt?  Very good indeed.

[Acidmouse]

First They Came for the Jews

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.
Pastor Martin Niemöller

I like this one alot, kinda sums up whats wrong with people in todays society.

[Ironside]

there was a young lady from jersey
.................................................
.................................................
...................................................
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cant post rest due to blonde obsenaty rules

[RED-DOG]

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
    A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
    And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
    And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
    And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
    They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
    And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
    What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
    Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
    With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
    Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
    Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
    In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
    He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
    And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
    He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
    He's a man who won't

[Wardonkey]

The Leader
     
I wanna be the leader
I wanna be the leader
Can I be the leader?
Can I? I can?
Promise? Promise?
Yippee I'm the leader
I'm the leader

OK what shall we do?

Roger McGough

[AndrewT]

The Death of a Scoutmaster
     
how I remember the old scoutmaster
nobody could start a camp-fire faster
I can see the old scoutmaster in the old scout hut
saying always carry a plaster
in case you cut yourself
if it doesn't happen to you it could happen to your dog
you could be chopping up the firewood
when you mistake him for a log
if it doesn't happen to your dog
it could happen to your glasses
they could be knocked to the floor
by the long arm of the law
when you're standing on the corner
and a copper on a push-bike signalling a left turn passes by
if it's a friend you need you need a friend indeed
you need a plaster
you need your money and your keys
but more than these you need a plaster
always carry a plaster the scoutmaster told us
they found one in his pocket
the day a bus ran over him.

John Hegley