Post up your favourite poem..

[FantasyIreland]

I first read this as a schoolboy studying WW1. I was profoundly moved by it. I still am.

Wilfred Owen

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 disappointed shells 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 floundering 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.

• Owen Seaman's "Pro Patria"
• Sargent's painting, Gassed
• film from the war

Someone beat you to it.

 

[Magicpole]

Someone beat you to it.

I missed the bit about it being a race. :)

 

[jimmy blue shoes]

Like a Night Club in the morning, you're the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you're clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow's
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You're certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.

You're like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You've got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death in a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our Smartie,
you're no use to anyone.
like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive's face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
TWAT

 

[BimboBob]

Another Milligan...

My sister Laura's bigger than me
And lifts me up quite easily.
I can't lift her, I've tried and tried;
She must have something heavy inside.

 

[manctheknife]

The green eye of the little yellow god.
J. Milton Hayes. Verse 1....of loads!

There's a one-eyed yellow idol
To the north of Kathmandu;
There's a little marble cross below the town;
And a brokenhearted woman
Tends the grave of 'Mad' Carew,
While the yellow god for ever gazes down.

 

[manctheknife]

Or....The Raven. ...Poe.

Extract.....
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Beautiful ...

 

[Saddleworth2]

I missed the bit about it being a race. :)

I posted it mate. Seems our Scottish education covered the same WWI poets.

 

[Saddleworth2]

Most of my favourite poems are sad or have a melancholy feel. I really like this one:

Remember
Christina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

 

[che_don_john]

Not a big fan of poetry these days as I think a lot of it of is a little contrived (like those ones that people narrate over some BBC montage before the FA Cup final, that sound like they've been put together in 20 minutes), but the older stuff is great and when it's good it's really bloody brilliant. Love War poetry (Owen, Sasoon et al.) and a few classics, but my two favourites are:

A. E. Houseman
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows.
What are those blue remembered hills?
What spires? What farms are those?
That is the land of lost content
I see it shining plain.
Those happy highways I once went
And can not come again.

Omar Khayyam
And do you think that unto such as you,
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatical crew,
God gave a secret but denied it me?!
Well, what matters it, believe that too.

 

[Deleted member 13905]

baudelaire.
who else!

il faut être toujours ivre
tout est là
c’est l’unique question
pour ne pas sentir l’horrible fardeau du temps
qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre
il faut vous enivrer sans trêve
mais de quoi?
de vin
de poésie
ou de vertu
à votre guise
mais enivrez-vous
et si quelquefois
sur les marches d’un palais
sur l’herbe verte d’un fossé
dans la solitude morne de votre chambre
vous vous réveillez
l’ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue
demandez au vent
à la vague
à l’étoile
à l’oiseau
à l’horloge
à tout ce qui fuit
à tout ce qui gémit
à tout ce qui roule
à tout ce qui chante
à tout ce qui parle
demandez quelle heure il est
et le vent
la vague
l’étoile
l’oiseau
l’horloge
vous répondront
"il est l’heure de s’enivrer!"
pour n’être pas les esclaves martyrisés du temps
enivrez-vous
enivrez-vous sans cesse!
de vin
de poésie
ou de vertu
à votre guise


in english it's summat like this...

we should always be drunk
that is the be-all and end-all
the only choice there is
to no longer feel the horrible burden of time
which racks your shoulders and bows you downwards to the earth
you must make yourself ceaselessly drunk
but drunk on what?
wine
poetry
virtue
whichever you prefer
only - get drunk!
and from time to time
whether on a palace stair
or in the green grass of a ditch
or in the gloomy loneliness of your room
you waken with your drunkenness wearing off or already gone
then ask the wind and the waves
the stars or the birds or the clocks
whatever is fleeting
whatever moans or spins or sings or speaks
ask them what time it is
then wind and wave and star and bird and clock will answer you
"it is time to get drunk!"
so
as never to be the martyred slaves of time
get drunk without respite
with wine or poetry or virtue
whichever you prefer