Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
BlueBearBoots said:
perfectly put
Bootsy
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Poetry
- Thread starter Bill Walker
- Start date
perfectly put
Bootsy
Some of my favourites....
The Tree Outside My Window - Ciaran O' Driscoll
There are many mansions in
the tree outside my window
James Joyce is there, reciting
the sequel to Finnegan's Wake
to oysters eating fillets of the rich
in its seafood restaurant,
and there's the repentant Pope
nodding in total agreement
with the Marxist theologians
of its leafy constellations.
And the cringing olive-eyed
mongrel from down the lane
takes the evening paper
from his former master's mouth,
while the children of Peru
throw away their begging bowls
and screaming with delight
climb to the topmost branches.
O the fine ales the beautiful dead
drink in the tree outside my window!
Green is its darkness and its silver
in the breeze is starlight.
* * *
Economy - Pat Ingoldsby
Only eight words are contained in this line,
the way they pay poets, I couldn't afford nine.
* * *
Counting the Mad - Donald Justice
This one was put in a jacket,
This one was sent home,
This one was given bread and meat
But would eat none,
And this one cried No No No No
All day long.
This one looked at the window
As though it were a wall,
This one saw things that were not there,
This one things that were
And this one cried No, No, No No
All day long
This one thought himself a bird,
This one a dog,
And this one thought himself a man,
An ordinary man,
And cried No No No No
All day long.
* * *
Bugs Bunny- Paul Durcan
There is a schoolteacher in my town and he looks like Bugs Bunny;
He is a mass murderer and I'm not being funny
* * *
And finally, if I may, one by me...
For Adam
You are
the A and the Z
and all of the letters in between.
Numbers?
Pass nought, then don't stop
til you're rocking past infinity.
You exceed
Lee, Bell and Summerbee,
Aguerooo and 99 at Wemberlee!
You spend
your mother's laughter
like its going out of date.
Precious,
my pride you inflate
til its way beyond my control
Glorious,
the ease with which
you etched these stretch marks on my soul.
* * *
The Tree Outside My Window - Ciaran O' Driscoll
There are many mansions in
the tree outside my window
James Joyce is there, reciting
the sequel to Finnegan's Wake
to oysters eating fillets of the rich
in its seafood restaurant,
and there's the repentant Pope
nodding in total agreement
with the Marxist theologians
of its leafy constellations.
And the cringing olive-eyed
mongrel from down the lane
takes the evening paper
from his former master's mouth,
while the children of Peru
throw away their begging bowls
and screaming with delight
climb to the topmost branches.
O the fine ales the beautiful dead
drink in the tree outside my window!
Green is its darkness and its silver
in the breeze is starlight.
* * *
Economy - Pat Ingoldsby
Only eight words are contained in this line,
the way they pay poets, I couldn't afford nine.
* * *
Counting the Mad - Donald Justice
This one was put in a jacket,
This one was sent home,
This one was given bread and meat
But would eat none,
And this one cried No No No No
All day long.
This one looked at the window
As though it were a wall,
This one saw things that were not there,
This one things that were
And this one cried No, No, No No
All day long
This one thought himself a bird,
This one a dog,
And this one thought himself a man,
An ordinary man,
And cried No No No No
All day long.
* * *
Bugs Bunny- Paul Durcan
There is a schoolteacher in my town and he looks like Bugs Bunny;
He is a mass murderer and I'm not being funny
* * *
And finally, if I may, one by me...
For Adam
You are
the A and the Z
and all of the letters in between.
Numbers?
Pass nought, then don't stop
til you're rocking past infinity.
You exceed
Lee, Bell and Summerbee,
Aguerooo and 99 at Wemberlee!
You spend
your mother's laughter
like its going out of date.
Precious,
my pride you inflate
til its way beyond my control
Glorious,
the ease with which
you etched these stretch marks on my soul.
* * *
Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
The Tree Outside My Window - Ciaran O' Driscoll
posted twice in this thread, a well known piece
Heres another by Ciaran
A CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS 2012
CAROL
In the presence of the present
that was present all along,
some things are terribly right
and some are terribly wrong.
Some things are terribly clear
and some are still subliminal.
They’re singing the same old song
from the new Higgs Boson Hymnal.
The octopus dreams of the fisherman’s wife.
The sea is a gift and an affliction.
The trees outside my window
are bare without exception.
The dishwasher’s gulping water.
The world’s been brought to its knees.
Fingers reach for the moon
on the boughs’ extremities.
© Ciaran O'Driscoll 2012
posted twice in this thread, a well known piece
Heres another by Ciaran
A CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS 2012
CAROL
In the presence of the present
that was present all along,
some things are terribly right
and some are terribly wrong.
Some things are terribly clear
and some are still subliminal.
They’re singing the same old song
from the new Higgs Boson Hymnal.
The octopus dreams of the fisherman’s wife.
The sea is a gift and an affliction.
The trees outside my window
are bare without exception.
The dishwasher’s gulping water.
The world’s been brought to its knees.
Fingers reach for the moon
on the boughs’ extremities.
© Ciaran O'Driscoll 2012
johnny on the spot
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 19 Jul 2006
- Messages
- 24,748
Too many favourites to list here, but Christina Rossetti and 'Laughing' Ted Hughes I love particularly.
I met Simon Armitage a few years back at the Hay Festival. Sound as a pound and his translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is spot on.
Now hear this from William Blake:
Little Fly
Thy summer's play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
I met Simon Armitage a few years back at the Hay Festival. Sound as a pound and his translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is spot on.
Now hear this from William Blake:
Little Fly
Thy summer's play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
nimrod said:The Tree Outside My Window - Ciaran O' Driscoll
posted twice in this thread, a well known piece
Heres another by Ciaran
A CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS 2012
CAROL
In the presence of the present
that was present all along,
some things are terribly right
and some are terribly wrong.
Some things are terribly clear
and some are still subliminal.
They’re singing the same old song
from the new Higgs Boson Hymnal.
The octopus dreams of the fisherman’s wife.
The sea is a gift and an affliction.
The trees outside my window
are bare without exception.
The dishwasher’s gulping water.
The world’s been brought to its knees.
Fingers reach for the moon
on the boughs’ extremities.
© Ciaran O'Driscoll 2012
I had no idea that Ciaran was so well recognised. We were both amongst the founder members of the Limerick Writers Group, back in the 80's.
His is a very fine talent and his recognition is extremely well deserved.
Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
One of my faves, Michael Gambon recites this beautifully in the film The Good Shepherd
A true work of art imo.
SONG
A bud has burst on the upper bough
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
I know where the pale green grasses show
By a tiny runnel, off the way,
And the earth is wet.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Not yet.”)
I nabbed the fly in a briar rose
(The linnet to-day in my heart did sing);
Last night, my head tucked under my wing,
I dreamed of a green moon-moth that glows
Thro’ ferns of June.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “So soon?”)
Good-bye, for the pretty leaves are down
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
The last gold bit of upland’s mown,
And most of summer has blown away
Thro’ the garden gate.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Too late.”)
Trumbull Stickney
A true work of art imo.
SONG
A bud has burst on the upper bough
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
I know where the pale green grasses show
By a tiny runnel, off the way,
And the earth is wet.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Not yet.”)
I nabbed the fly in a briar rose
(The linnet to-day in my heart did sing);
Last night, my head tucked under my wing,
I dreamed of a green moon-moth that glows
Thro’ ferns of June.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “So soon?”)
Good-bye, for the pretty leaves are down
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
The last gold bit of upland’s mown,
And most of summer has blown away
Thro’ the garden gate.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Too late.”)
Trumbull Stickney
ColinBellsjockstrap
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 23 Dec 2009
- Messages
- 8,484
mad4city said:PS: speaking of reading to my five year old, has anybody got the words of "On the Ning Nang Nong" by Spike Milligan, please and thank you?
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
blueish swede
Well-Known Member
Sam Laycock
Tha’rt welcome, little bonny brid ,
But shouldn’t ha’ come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We’re short o’ pobbies for eawr Joe,
But that, of course, tha didn’t know,
Did ta, lad?
Aw’ve often yeard mi feyther tell,
'At when aw coom i’th’ world misel’
Trade wur slack;
And neaw it’s hard wark pooin’ throo-
But aw munno fear thee,- iv aw do
Tha’ll go back.
Cheer up! These toimes ‘ll awter soon;
Aw’m beawn to beigh another spoon-
One for thee;-
An’, as tha’s sich a pratty face
Aw’ll let thi have eawr Charley’s place
On mi knee.
God bless thi, love! aw’m fain tha’rt come,
Just try and mak’ thisel awhoam:
Here’s thi nest;
Tha’rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha’s thi feyther’s nose, aw see,
Well, aw’m blest!
Come, come, tha needn’t look so shy,
Aw am no’ blamin’ thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An’ tak’ this haupney for thisel’,
There’s lots of sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i’th’ teawn.
Aw know when first aw coom to th’ leet ,
Aw’re fond o’ owt 'at tasted sweet;
Tha’ll be th’ same.
But come, tha’s never towd thi dad
What he’s to co thi yet, mi lad,
What’s thi name?
Hush! hush! tha mustn’t cry this way,
But get this sope o’ cinder tay
While it’s warm;
Mi mother used to give it me,
When aw wur sich a lad as thee,
In her arm.
Hush-a-babby, hush-a-bee,-
Oh, what a temper!-dear-a-me
Heaw tha skrikes!
Here’s a bit o’ sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an’ then aw’ll gie thee
Owt tha likes.
We’ve nobbut getten coarsish fare,
But, eawt o’ this tha’ll get thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha’ll never want a meal,
But allus fill thi bally weel
While tha’rt here.
Thi feyther’s noan been wed so lung,
An’ yet tha sees he’s middlin’ thrung
Wi’ yo’ o.
Besides thi little brother Ted,
We’ve one upsteers, asleep i’ bed,
Wi’ eawr Joe.
But tho’ we’ve childer two or three,
We’ll mak’ a bit o’ reawm for thee,
Bless thee, lad!
Thar’t th’ prattiest brid we have i’th’ nest,
So hutch up closer to mi breast;
Aw’m thi dad.’
Written before the baby was born - it turned out to be a girl.
Tha’rt welcome, little bonny brid ,
But shouldn’t ha’ come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We’re short o’ pobbies for eawr Joe,
But that, of course, tha didn’t know,
Did ta, lad?
Aw’ve often yeard mi feyther tell,
'At when aw coom i’th’ world misel’
Trade wur slack;
And neaw it’s hard wark pooin’ throo-
But aw munno fear thee,- iv aw do
Tha’ll go back.
Cheer up! These toimes ‘ll awter soon;
Aw’m beawn to beigh another spoon-
One for thee;-
An’, as tha’s sich a pratty face
Aw’ll let thi have eawr Charley’s place
On mi knee.
God bless thi, love! aw’m fain tha’rt come,
Just try and mak’ thisel awhoam:
Here’s thi nest;
Tha’rt loike thi mother to a tee,
But tha’s thi feyther’s nose, aw see,
Well, aw’m blest!
Come, come, tha needn’t look so shy,
Aw am no’ blamin’ thee, not I;
Settle deawn,
An’ tak’ this haupney for thisel’,
There’s lots of sugar-sticks to sell
Deawn i’th’ teawn.
Aw know when first aw coom to th’ leet ,
Aw’re fond o’ owt 'at tasted sweet;
Tha’ll be th’ same.
But come, tha’s never towd thi dad
What he’s to co thi yet, mi lad,
What’s thi name?
Hush! hush! tha mustn’t cry this way,
But get this sope o’ cinder tay
While it’s warm;
Mi mother used to give it me,
When aw wur sich a lad as thee,
In her arm.
Hush-a-babby, hush-a-bee,-
Oh, what a temper!-dear-a-me
Heaw tha skrikes!
Here’s a bit o’ sugar, sithee;
Howd thi noise, an’ then aw’ll gie thee
Owt tha likes.
We’ve nobbut getten coarsish fare,
But, eawt o’ this tha’ll get thi share,
Never fear.
Aw hope tha’ll never want a meal,
But allus fill thi bally weel
While tha’rt here.
Thi feyther’s noan been wed so lung,
An’ yet tha sees he’s middlin’ thrung
Wi’ yo’ o.
Besides thi little brother Ted,
We’ve one upsteers, asleep i’ bed,
Wi’ eawr Joe.
But tho’ we’ve childer two or three,
We’ll mak’ a bit o’ reawm for thee,
Bless thee, lad!
Thar’t th’ prattiest brid we have i’th’ nest,
So hutch up closer to mi breast;
Aw’m thi dad.’
Written before the baby was born - it turned out to be a girl.
Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
nimrod said:One of my faves, Michael Gambon recites this beautifully in the film The Good Shepherd
A true work of art imo.
SONG
A bud has burst on the upper bough
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
I know where the pale green grasses show
By a tiny runnel, off the way,
And the earth is wet.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Not yet.”)
I nabbed the fly in a briar rose
(The linnet to-day in my heart did sing);
Last night, my head tucked under my wing,
I dreamed of a green moon-moth that glows
Thro’ ferns of June.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “So soon?”)
Good-bye, for the pretty leaves are down
(The linnet sang in my heart today);
The last gold bit of upland’s mown,
And most of summer has blown away
Thro’ the garden gate.
(A cuckoo said in my brain: “Too late.”)
Trumbull Stickney
Here it is, starts at 2:20 minutes, its almost like Gambon's voice was designed for poetry :)
[video]http://vimeo.com/39880765[/video]
ColinBellsjockstrap said:mad4city said:PS: speaking of reading to my five year old, has anybody got the words of "On the Ning Nang Nong" by Spike Milligan, please and thank you?
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
As I suspected, this had the audience rolling in the aisles.
There was even an encore.
Many thanks!!