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 Favourite poems 
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Joined: July 3rd, 2007, 10:37 pm
Posts: 973
I think we should aim to post at least one poem a day.

Here's a poem that particularly speaks to me:

I Am No Good At Love (Noel Coward)

I am no good at love
My heart should be wise and free
I kill the unfortunate golden goose
Whoever it may be
With over-articulate tenderness
And too much intensity.

I am no good at love
I batter it out of shape
Suspicion tears at my sleepless mind
And gibbering like an ape,
I lie alone in the endless dark
Knowing there's no escape.

I am no good at love
When my easy heart I yield
Wild words come tumbling from my mouth
Which should have stayed concealed;
And my jealousy turns a bed of bliss
Into a battlefield.

I am no good at love
I betray it with little sins
For I feel the misery of the end
In the moment that it begins
And the bitterness of the last good-bye
Is the bitterness that wins.


July 24th, 2007, 4:59 pm
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I think I put this on the last forum so apologies if you have seen this before - but this is my favourite poem.
(Not that I know many). It is by Robert Frost


The Road not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, 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 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--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


July 24th, 2007, 6:47 pm
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Strawberries

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air

in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

-- Edwin Morgan


July 24th, 2007, 9:50 pm
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Location: Balloch, Scotland
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Marvelous! All three of em.


http://uk.geocities.com/lifelinking@bti ... oarewe.jpg

Tom Leonard

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July 24th, 2007, 10:02 pm
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This is the poem which i would like to use as my epitaph


I fought with none for none were worth my strife
I loved nature first and second to nature art
I have warmed my hands at the fire of life
it stinks and i depart

by
Walter Savage Landor

how about youse guys?

Severus


July 25th, 2007, 10:35 pm
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It is poignant. Maybe we should start a separate 'epitaphs' thread, as I think the poems thread should maybe stand alone?


L

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July 25th, 2007, 11:36 pm
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Cool idea. When I've sobered up I'll split the epitaph off to a new thread. In the meantime... there are a number of poems I read and re-read or recite to myself, this is one of them.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death (Yeats)

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


July 25th, 2007, 11:47 pm
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Here's a favourite from the up-and-coming Scottish poet, Hamid Shami

Lost

To quote my distant friend Imran MacLeod,
'A man with no culture has no identity.'

The last I heard of him was, he was off
To the Himalayas.

He had a very confused childhood.

Father was Scottish,
Mother Pakistani.

They'd always be arguing over many things
Concerning him.

One was religion.

Father wanted him brought up
A Catholic, mother wanted a Muslim.

Was the only boy on our street who went
To mosque on Fridays and chapel on Sundays.

But in the mountains

God's sure to find him.

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July 26th, 2007, 12:01 am
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I like that.

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July 26th, 2007, 12:08 am
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my favourite poem is actually religious themed so perhaps some of the more anti religious of you will want to skip it for the sake of your blood pressures ;)

A Song for Simeon .. TS Eliot

Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and
The winder sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season has made stand.
My life is light, waiting for the death wind,
Like a feather on the back of my hand.
Dust in sunlight and memory in corners
Wait for the wind that chills towards the dead land.

Grant us thy peace.
I have walked many years in this city,
Kept faith and fast, provided for the poor,
have given and taken honour and ease.
There went never any rejected from my door.
Who shall remember my house, where shall live my children's
children?
When the time of sorrow is come?
They will take to the goat's path, and the fox's home,
Fleeing from foreign faces and the foreign swords.

Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation
Grant us thy peace.
Before the stations of the mountain of desolation,
Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow,
Now at this birth season of decease,
Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and unspoken Word,
Grant Israel's consolation
To one who has eighty years and no to-morrow.

According to thy word.
They shall praise Thee and suffer in every generation
With glory and derision,
Light upon light, mounting the saints' stair.
Not for me the martyrdom, the ecstasy of thought and prayer,
Not for me the ultimate vision.
Grant me thy peace.
(And a sword shall pierce thy heart,
Thine also).
I am tired with my own life and the lives of those after me,
I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those after me.
Let thy servant depart,
Having seen thy salvation.

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July 26th, 2007, 11:45 am
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:thumbsup: I love many of TS Eliot's poems

On a lighter note...anyone else like Wendy Cope?

After the Lunch - Wendy Cope

On Waterloo bridge, where we said our goodbyes
The weather conditions brings tears to my eyes,
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love

On Waterloo bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. You're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?

On Waterloo bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
The head does it's best, but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I'm halfway across


July 26th, 2007, 8:57 pm
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I've heard of her but not read much of hers ... what others does she write?

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July 26th, 2007, 9:26 pm
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My favourite Wendy Cope is...

Engineers' Corner

'Why isn't there an Engineers' Corner in Westminster Abbey? In Britain we've always made more fuss of a ballad than a blueprint ... How many schoolchildren dream of becoming great engineers?'
Advertisement placed in The Times by the Engineering Council


We make more fuss of ballads than of blueprints --
That's why so many poets ends up rich,
While engineers scrape by in cheerless garrets.
Who needs a bridge or dam? Who needs a ditch?

Whereas the person who can write a sonnet
Has got it made. It's always been the way,
For everybody knows that we need poems
And everybody reads them every day.

Yes, life is hard if you choose engineering --
You're sure to need another job as well;
You'll have to plan your projects in the evenings
Instead of going out. It must be hell.

While well-heeled poets ride around in Daimlers,
You'll burn the midnight oil to earn a crust,
With no hope of a statue in the Abbey,
With no hope, even, of a modest bust.

No wonder small boys dream of writing couplets
And spurn the bike, the lorry and the train.
There's far too much encouragement for poets --
That's why the country's going down the drain.

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July 26th, 2007, 10:01 pm
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This one is for all the dog lovers, Lewis Goldie, et al. I fill up every time I read it :boohoo:
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July 26th, 2007, 10:02 pm
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Christina Rossetti is one of my favourites. A bit religious at times and frequently depressing, but nevertheless...

A BIRTHDAY

by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.


July 28th, 2007, 12:41 am
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Whoops - we missed Friday.

Here's one that is very meaningful to me and my wife:

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which I have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be -
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me,
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

e e cummins


July 28th, 2007, 12:42 am
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During the summer holidays, I've been doing some creative writing stuff for the Cooncil wi kids at the local Youthie. You might like this one. It's by a guy called John Ord, aged 16.

Where is God? I've got him

I have God tied up in my basement
I have tied him up using ordinary string
I have tied him to an ordinary chair
Doesn’t seem so great now, does he?

Never mind why I have him.
If he got himself into this mess,
Don’t you think a great lord could get out?

If you ever want to see God again
Send me £100 000 in an unmarked bag
Or alternatively
£5 a viewing
£10 a picture
£50 a punch!

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July 28th, 2007, 8:35 pm
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Quote:
Bryn.
Whoops - we missed Friday.
Doh, everybody was at the party! :moon:

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July 28th, 2007, 9:08 pm
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Here's a favourite o' mine......
Rabbie Burns (natch)

"A Man's a man for a' that." (A man is a man for all that) - One of the most poignant of Burns' songs, which draws stark comparison between the rich nobility and the poor peasant. Interestingly, the Socialites of the time did not appear to notice that they themselves were the subjects of Rabbie's scorn. (Nothing has changed today!) The piece is powerful and emotional and describes in the most wonderfully potent yet humbling words, just what makes a true Man.


A Man's A Man For A' That.

Is there for honesty poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave -- we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that,
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that,
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that,
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that,
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brithers be for a' that.
:wink:


July 29th, 2007, 8:42 pm
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Modern Prayer, by DH Lawrence.

Almighty Mammon, make me rich!
Make me rich quickly, with never a hitch
in my fine prosperity! Kick those in the ditch
Who hinder me, Mammon, great son of a bitch!


July 31st, 2007, 10:35 am
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