EL APACHE TEVEZ
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- 1 Sep 2008
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- 21,981
Brilliant
Post up your favourite poem..
- Thread starter ColinBellsjockstrap
- Start date
Fred_Quimby
Well-Known Member
Dear Madam
I am a soldier and my speech is rough and plain
I'm not much used to writing and I hate to give you pain
But I promised I would do it and he thought it might be so
If it came from one who loved him perhaps it would ease the blow
By this time you must have guessed the truth I fain will hide
And you'll pardon me for rough soldier words while I tell you how he died
It was in the mortal battle, it rained the shot and shell
I was standing close beside him and I saw him when he fell
So I took him in my arms and laid him on the grass
It was going against orders but they thought to let it pass
'Twas a minie ball that struck him, it entered at his side
But we didn't think it fatal till this morning when he died
"Last night I wanted so to live, I seemed so young to go.
This week I passed my birthday. I was just nineteen, you know.
When I thought of all I planned to do it seemed so hard to die
But now I pray to God for grace and all my cares gone by."
And here his voice grew weaker as he partly raised his head
And whispered "Goodbye, mother," and your soldier boy was dead
I carved another headboard as skillful as I could
And if you wish to find it I can tell you where it stood
I send you back his hymn book and the cap he used to wear
The lock I cut the night before of his bright, curly hair
I send you back his Bible. The night before he died
I turned its leaves together and read it by his side
I'll keep the belt he was wearing, he told me so to do
It had a hole upon the side just where the ball went through
So now I've done his bidding, there's nothing more to tell
But I shall always mourn with you the boy we loved so well
Anon, Civil War poem.
I am a soldier and my speech is rough and plain
I'm not much used to writing and I hate to give you pain
But I promised I would do it and he thought it might be so
If it came from one who loved him perhaps it would ease the blow
By this time you must have guessed the truth I fain will hide
And you'll pardon me for rough soldier words while I tell you how he died
It was in the mortal battle, it rained the shot and shell
I was standing close beside him and I saw him when he fell
So I took him in my arms and laid him on the grass
It was going against orders but they thought to let it pass
'Twas a minie ball that struck him, it entered at his side
But we didn't think it fatal till this morning when he died
"Last night I wanted so to live, I seemed so young to go.
This week I passed my birthday. I was just nineteen, you know.
When I thought of all I planned to do it seemed so hard to die
But now I pray to God for grace and all my cares gone by."
And here his voice grew weaker as he partly raised his head
And whispered "Goodbye, mother," and your soldier boy was dead
I carved another headboard as skillful as I could
And if you wish to find it I can tell you where it stood
I send you back his hymn book and the cap he used to wear
The lock I cut the night before of his bright, curly hair
I send you back his Bible. The night before he died
I turned its leaves together and read it by his side
I'll keep the belt he was wearing, he told me so to do
It had a hole upon the side just where the ball went through
So now I've done his bidding, there's nothing more to tell
But I shall always mourn with you the boy we loved so well
Anon, Civil War poem.
Daz_Blue
Well-Known Member
Anything by
Exeter Blue I am here
Well-Known Member
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!
Personally though I always liked this........
The General
BY SIEGFRIED SASSOON
“Good-morning, good-morning!” the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
“He's a cheery old card,” grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
But he did for them both by his plan of attack.
Keats ?
casserole of nonsense
Well-Known Member
Was also going to post "This Be The Verse", so we'll go with some classic JCC instead:
Satisfaction, comes and goes
Biological action, cannot be froze
A sexual recharge, a plug in a socket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
More on the sick, down in the dumps
Visit the clinics, where the stethescopes jump
On the love-sick side effects
Tell me "what was it"
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
The memory lingers, in the clean routine
Another man's fingers, under my jeans
They give me a card, some antibiotics
Said "conditional discharge," a sticky deposit
Satisfaction, comes and goes
Biological action, cannot be froze
A sexual recharge, a plug in a socket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
A random fuck, dirty sheets
A crack in a cup, a lavatory seat
I'm in the dark about where I got it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
Sexual freedom, left me alone
In a garden of eden, syndrome
It's on the cards, you'll come across it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
The up's and down's, of times like these
Fuckin' around, is a social disease
When the public-at-large don't know they got it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
A problem of leisure, measured in turns
Of pain plus pleasure, plus poisoned sperm
Take this diagram, keep it in your pocket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
Satisfaction, comes and goes
Biological action, cannot be froze
A sexual recharge, a plug in a socket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
More on the sick, down in the dumps
Visit the clinics, where the stethescopes jump
On the love-sick side effects
Tell me "what was it"
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
The memory lingers, in the clean routine
Another man's fingers, under my jeans
They give me a card, some antibiotics
Said "conditional discharge," a sticky deposit
Satisfaction, comes and goes
Biological action, cannot be froze
A sexual recharge, a plug in a socket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
A random fuck, dirty sheets
A crack in a cup, a lavatory seat
I'm in the dark about where I got it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
Sexual freedom, left me alone
In a garden of eden, syndrome
It's on the cards, you'll come across it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
The up's and down's, of times like these
Fuckin' around, is a social disease
When the public-at-large don't know they got it
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
A problem of leisure, measured in turns
Of pain plus pleasure, plus poisoned sperm
Take this diagram, keep it in your pocket
Conditional discharge, a sticky deposit
crazyg
Well-Known Member
I went down to the sea today
To the lonely sea and the sky
I left my vest and socks there
I wonder if they're dry?
Spike Milligan
To the lonely sea and the sky
I left my vest and socks there
I wonder if they're dry?
Spike Milligan
Saddleworth2
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- Joined
- 27 Jan 2014
- Messages
- 21,699
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep - Poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Saddleworth2
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 27 Jan 2014
- Messages
- 21,699
I Like this one very much, albeit the poet is a scouser and a member of Scaffold:
Let me die a youngman's death
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
Roger McGough
Let me die a youngman's death
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
Roger McGough
Saddleworth2
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 27 Jan 2014
- Messages
- 21,699
Apologies if already posted although I couldn't see it. This was voted the nations favourite poem a few years ago;
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;
If you can think- -and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on! '
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings- -nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And- -which is more- -you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;
If you can think- -and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on! '
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings- -nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And- -which is more- -you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling