kerryh Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 The Soldier by Rupert Brooke. I had to read in in a school assembly once and it really moved me. If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam; A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
kerryh Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 Oh and my other one! I'm on a roll now. Twas the Night before Christmas Poem Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! "Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly! He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose! He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
rossporterlc Posted 26 July 2005 Author Posted 26 July 2005 Oh and my other one!I'm on a roll now. Twas the Night before Christmas Poem Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! "Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly! He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose! He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" 144275[/snapback] i used to have that on tape quality
Solihullfox Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 Oh dear liitle Flo I love you so Especially in your nightie When the moonlight flits Across your t*ts Oh Jesus Christ Almighty.
Solihullfox Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 this a dark day for foxestalk 144296[/snapback] You obviously don't appreciate the magic and majesty of the english language Collymore.
filbertway Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 The RavenIf 144267[/snapback] The raven one is a novel not a poem
rossporterlc Posted 26 July 2005 Author Posted 26 July 2005 The RavenIf 144267[/snapback] The raven one is a novel not a poem 144302[/snapback] it was a poem, the book was called : The Raven and Other Poems (1845, Poe's fourth published collection of poetry, RAOP)
Collymore Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 this a dark day for foxestalk 144296[/snapback] You obviously don't appreciate the magic and majesty of the english language Collymore. 144301[/snapback] obviously not
Thracian Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Kubla Khan 144418[/snapback] I'm a squash club Doobie, A fall guy of sorts, I search for opponents, And pays for their courts, My body's not made for a game of such pace, I've big round the middle, And I'm red in the face. This young bloke I'm playing, He's fit and he's strong. What he does is right, What I does is wrong. He hits every ball an inch from the tin, Not where I'm going but where I've just been. Each rally means pain, As I charge round the court, No matter how far, My score stays at nought, What pleasure, I'm asked, Do I get sweating blood, So I tell them in truth, I make others look good!.
Jay Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 my current favourite is not really a poem but it's a song that reads like a poem it's from the Dropkick Murphys new album but it's a traditional irish song called Willie Mcbride, I have removed the chorus for full effect oh how do you do, young willy mcbride do you mind if i sit here down by your graveside and rest for a while in the warm summer sun i've been walking all day, and im nearly done and i see by your gravestone you were only nineteen when you joined the great fallen in 1916 well i hope you died quick and i hope you died clean oh willy mcbride, was is it slow and obscene and did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind in some loyal heart is your memory enshrined and though you died back in 1916 to that loyal heart you're forever nineteen or are you a stranger without even a name forever enshrined behind some old glass pane in an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained and faded to yellow in a brown leather frame the sun shining down on these green fields of france the warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance the trenches have vanished long under the plow no gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing down but here in this graveyard that's still no mans land the countless white crosses in mute witness stand till' man's blind indifference to his fellow man and a whole generation were butchered and damned and i can't help but wonder oh willy mcbride do all those who lie here know why they died did you really believe them when they told you the cause did you really believe that this war would end wars well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame the killing and dying it was all done in vain oh willy mcbride it all happened again and again, and again, and again, and again
Deathside Posted 26 July 2005 Posted 26 July 2005 On the Ning Nang Nong by Spike Milligan 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 it's 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!! You just can't argue with the shear genius of the man
Rincewind Posted 27 July 2005 Posted 27 July 2005 Can I pick mine own? No maybe not. This ones quite good. Albert and the Lion by Marriott Edgar (bookmark) (print) (next) Author Category: English. Written in 1933. Show lines. There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool, That's noted for fresh air and fun, And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom Went there with young Albert, their son. A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell. They didn't think much of the Ocean: The waves, they were fiddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all. So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too. There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars - He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars. Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild - To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child. So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear. You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole. Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom - Quite rightly, when all's said and done - Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son. The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap. Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for. He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone. She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' - So that was decided upon. Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap. The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name. At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she. 'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Comment? This poem is thought to be in the public domain. If this is the case, you may print and distribute copies as you wish.
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