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majorbloodnock

Favourite poem and outstanding prose

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OK, following on from the "favourite quotes" thread, here's the offshoot that was suggested for people to post either favourite poems or sections of prose worthy of mention.

 

I've decided I'm going to start on a rather sombre note with Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum Est

 

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

 

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

 

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

 

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

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My favourite is this one :D

Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

 

By Jenny Joseph

 

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

 

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

 

 

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

 

cathy

x

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I've decided I'm going to start on a rather sombre note with Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum Est

 

That's such a moving poem :( . I wonder what others Owen would have written if he'd not been taken before his time?

 

One of my favourite poems is by W.B Yeats

 

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

 

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

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I'm not quite as high brow as you lot, this is one of my favourite poems

 

Bonfire Night

 

the doors open

everyone comes out

everyone is ready

for fireworks

all except the dog

Eddie

he is shut up in the sheddie

even out of doors we have indoor fireworks

Dad says it is better to be safe than dead

the air is full of the smell of next doors fireworks

Mum says they are very good this year

this year Christopher is allowed

to help his dad to light the fireworks

he is very excited

he is very proud

he is twenty-eight

 

John Hegley

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I love this thread!!! :D

 

Well, as I write and read lots of poetry this one's difficult for me to choose a favourite, but here's one of my favourite poems, well okay 2 poems from one of my favourite poets (who I've met twice now and he's a really nice chap!)

 

I'm not usually one for love poetry (tending to be more cynical about the subject like Dorothy parker!) but I think his love poetry connects with many people!

 

'Burning Genius' by Brian Patten

 

He fell in love with a lady violinist,

It was absurd the lengths he went to to win her affection.

He gave up his job in the Civil Service.

He followed her from concert hall to concert hall,

bought every available biography of Beethoven,

learnt German fluently,

brooded over the exact nature of inhuman suffering,

but all to no avail –

 

Day and night she sat in her attic room,

she sat playing day and night,

oblivious of him,

and of even the sparrows that perched on her skylight mistaking her music for food.

 

To impress her, he began to study music in earnest.

Soon he was dismissing Vivaldi and praising Wagner.

He wrote concertos in his spare time,

wrote operas about doomed astronauts and about monsters who, when kissed,

became even more furious and ugly.

He wrote eight symphonies taking care to leave several unfinished,

 

It was exhausting.

And he found no time to return to that attic room.

 

In fact, he grew old and utterly famous.

 

And when asked to what he owed

his burning genius,

he shrugged and said little,

 

but his mind gaped back until he saw before him

the image of the tiny room,

and perched on the skylight the timid

skeletons of sparrows still listened on.

 

 

'A blade of grass' by Brian Patten

 

You ask for a poem.

I offer you a blade of grass.

You say it is not good enough.

You ask for a poem.

 

I say this blade of grass will do.

It has dressed itself in frost,

It is more immediate

Than any image of my making.

 

You say it is not a poem,

It is a blade of grass and grass

Is not quite good enough.

I offer you a blade of grass.

 

You are indignant.

You say it is too easy to offer grass.

It is absurd.

Anyone can offer a blade of grass.

 

You ask for a poem.

And so I write you a tragedy about

How a blade of grass

Becomes more and more difficult to offer,

 

And about how as you grow older

A blade of grass

Becomes more difficult to accept.

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...and I adore this piece of prose!

 

 

"The best thing for being sad , replied Merlin, is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then, to learn.

Learn why the world wags and what wags it. This is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting...look at what a lot of things there are to learn"

 

T H White-from 'The Once and Future King'

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This is my favourite poem by the most inspirational woman of our times :D

 

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

 

 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

 

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

 

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

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I really like this one not sure if it is classed as a "poem" and is also sombre from W H Auden.

 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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I really like this one not sure if it is classed as a "poem" and is also sombre from W H Auden.

 

.....

 

 

it certainly is a poem! :D

 

I love Auden, didn't he write one about a cup of tea that is very funny, I'll see if I can find it.....

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I really like this one not sure if it is classed as a "poem" and is also sombre from W H Auden.

 

.....

 

 

it certainly is a poem! :D

 

I love Auden, didn't he write one about a cup of tea that is very funny, I'll see if I can find it.....

 

here it is, always makes me chuckle! :D

 

Foxtrot From a Play

by W. H. Auden (1907-1973)

 

The soldier loves his rifle,

The scholar loves his books,

The farmer loves his horses,

The film star loves her looks.

There’s love the whole world over

Wherever you may be;

Some lose their rest for gay Mae West,

But you’re my cup of tea.

Some talk of Alexander

And some of Fred Astaire,

Some like their heroes hairy

Some like them debonair,

Some prefer a curate

And some an A.D.C.,

Some like a tough to treat’em rough,

But you’re my cup of tea.

 

Some are mad on Airedales

And some on Pekinese,

On tabby cats or parrots

Or guinea pigs or geese.

There are patients in asylums

Who think that they’re a tree;

I had an aunt who loved a plant,

But you’re my cup of tea.

 

Some have sagging waistlines

And some a bulbous nose

And some a floating kidney

And some have hammer toes,

Some have tennis elbow

And some have housemaid’s knee,

And some I know have got B.O.,

But you’re my cup of tea.

 

The blackbird loves the earthworm,

The adder loves the sun,

The polar bear an iceberg,

The elephant a bun,

The trout enjoys the river,

The whale enjoys the sea,

And dogs love most an old lamp-post,

But you’re my cup of tea.

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I really like this one not sure if it is classed as a "poem" and is also sombre from W H Auden.

 

.....

 

 

it certainly is a poem! :D

 

Thanks! I was a bit worried about posting it :anxious: as I thought it was more suited to funerals - I particularly love the final verse. :D

 

I remember it was from Four Weddings Em, with the lovely scottish tones of John Hannah :D

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I really like this one not sure if it is classed as a "poem" and is also sombre from W H Auden.

 

.....

 

 

it certainly is a poem! :D

 

 

That's why I titled this thread the way I did. I wouldn't want an outstanding snippet of literature to be omitted by mere definition.

 

Something a little more lighthearted now. Outstanding in its ability to teach us how a mental picture can be painted by sounds without necessarily making any sense whatsoever :wink:

 

’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.

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There was a baboon

Who, one afternoon

Said, "I think I will fly to the sun".

So, with two great palms

Strapped to his arms,

He started his take off run.

 

Mile after mile

He galloped in style,

But never once left the ground.

"You're running too slow!",

Said a passing crow,

"Try reaching the speed of sound."

 

So he put on a spurt

By God, how it hurt.

The soles of his feet caught fire.

There were great clouds of steam

As he raced through a stream

But he still didn't get any higher.

 

Racing on through the night

Both his knees caught alight.

Smoke billowed out from the rear.

Quick to his aid

Came the Fire Brigade

Who chased him for over a year.

 

Many moons passed by.

Did Baboon ever fly?

Did he ever get to the sun?

I've just heard today

That he's well on his way;

He'll be passing through Acton at one.

 

Or....

 

A baby sardine saw her first submarine.

She was scared, and watched through a peephole.

"Oh, come, come, come.", said the sardine's mum,

"It's only a tin full of people!"

 

You can always rely on Spike Milligan for good old fashioned nonsense.....

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:lol: I love this thread! Some old favourites, some new found :D

This is my favourite. Short and simple, but it comes to mind almost every day when I'm out walking, watching the landscape through the changing seasons. I also used it as the theme for a photography project I did many years ago. The project was on landscapes, but I quoted this poem and my photos were all about seeing the beauty amongst the commonplace (and I got a distinction for it so good associations as well!) :lol:

By Wm Henry Davies:

 

"LEISURE"

 

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

 

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

 

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

 

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

 

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

 

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

 

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

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This was one of my favourites from when I was younger :D :

 

I found a tiny starfish

In a tidepool by the sand.

I found a tiny starfish

And put him in my hand.

An itty-bitty starfish

No bigger than my thumb,

A wet and golden starfish

Belonging to no one.

 

I thought that I would take him

From the tidepool by the sea,

And bring him home to give to you

A loving gift from me.

 

But as I held my starfish,

His skin began to dry.

Without his special seaside home,

My gift to you would die.

 

I found a tiny starfish

In a tidepool by the sea.

I hope whoever finds him next

Will leave them there, like me!

 

And the gift I've saved for you?

The best that I can give:

I found a tiny starfish

And for you, I let him live.

 

 

Dayle Ann Dodds

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Thsi has become a favourite in our house since I bought my son A Childrens Treasury of Milligan.

 

Maveric

 

Maveric Prowles

Had rumbling bowels

that thundered in the night

It shook the bedrooms all around

and gave the folks a fright

 

The doctor called

he was appaled

when through his stethoscope

he heard the sound of a baying hound

and the acrid smell of smoke

 

Was there a cure

the higher the fewer

the learned doctor said

then turned poor maveric inside out

and stood him on his head

 

Just as I thought

you've been and caught

an asiatic flu

you mustn't go near dogs I fear

unless then come near you

 

Poor Maveric cried

he went cross eyed

his legs went green and blue

the doctor hit him with a club

and charged him one and two

 

And so my friend

this is the end

a warning to the few

stay clear of doctors to the end

or they'll get rid of you.

 

My son manages half of this before we can't understand him through his giggles.

 

Dawn x

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As others has said a great thread to read.

 

When I was a student nurse I hadn't got the hang of small talk yet and I used to recite verses to my patients who were chronically ill. One of my favourites was Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter. Here is the first few verses, can you remember the rest?

 

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

 

 

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done--

"It's very rude of him," she said,

"To come and spoil the fun!"

 

 

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky:

No birds were flying overhead--

There were no birds to fly.

 

 

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand:

"If this were only cleared away,"

They said, "it would be grand!"

 

 

"If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year.

Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

"That they could get it clear?"

"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.

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Since we have some nonsense poetry here ..as we live by the coast (and eggs seem to be pertinent to this forum!) this is our favourite from Christopher Isherwood

 

 

The common cormorant or shag

Lays eggs inside a paper bag

The reason you will see no doubt

It is to keep the lightning out

But what these u"Ooops, word censored!"servant birds

Have never noticed is that herds

Of wandering bears may come with buns

And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

 

:D

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....

 

When I was a student nurse I hadn't got the hang of small talk yet and I used to recite verses to my patients who were chronically ill....

 

what a thoughtful thing to do!

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