#4010291 - 09/15/14 10:37 PM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Oct 1999
Posts: 6,105
tony draper
Hotshot
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Hotshot
Joined: Oct 1999
Posts: 6,105
newcastle/united kingdom
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Drummer Hodge,Thomas Hardy
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest Uncoffined -- just as found: His landmark is a kopje-crest That breaks the veldt around: And foreign constellations west Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the drummer never knew -- Fresh from his Wessex home -- The meaning of the broad Karoo, The Bush, the dusty loam, And why uprose to nightly view Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain Will Hodge for ever be; His homely Northern breast and brain Grow to some Southern tree, And strange-eyed constellations reign His stars eternally.
Last edited by tony draper; 09/15/14 10:38 PM.
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#4010396 - 09/16/14 10:29 AM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Aug 2002
Posts: 4,010
PV1
sometime mudslinger
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sometime mudslinger
Senior Member
Joined: Aug 2002
Posts: 4,010
Ladner, Wet Coast, Canada
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Ozymandias
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."
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DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Wilfred Owen
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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines 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 flound'ring 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.
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Happiness
Alan Alexander Milne
John had Great Big Waterproof Boots on; John had a Great Big Waterproof Hat; John had a Great Big Waterproof Mackintosh -- And that (Said John) Is That.
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#4010401 - 09/16/14 11:19 AM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: Nixer]
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Joined: Nov 2005
Posts: 3,076
RedToo
Senior Member
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Senior Member
Joined: Nov 2005
Posts: 3,076
Bolton UK
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Great one OG.
Never considered myself much of a poetry fan, but had a teacher in like 5th grade who was really into Robert Frost. Always loved this one and freaked when he read it at JFK's inauguration....yeah I am that old.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. A good little poem Nixer. One that I enjoy teaching to year 6 (10-11 ytrs old) over here in Blighty! RedToo.
My 'Waiting for Clod' thread: http://tinyurl.com/bqxc9eeAlways take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.Elie Wiesel. Romanian born Jewish writer, professor, political activist, Nobel Laureate, Holocaust survivor. 1928 - 2016. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. C.S. Lewis, 1898 - 1963.
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#4010708 - 09/16/14 10:47 PM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: May 2012
Posts: 534
WolfDancer
Member
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Member
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 534
Ontario, Canada
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An Irish Airman Foresees His Death by W.B. Yeats (The poem recited in the movie Memphis Belle.)
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.
War is the continuation of natural selection by other means.
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#4010711 - 09/16/14 10:55 PM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Nov 2001
Posts: 24,106
oldgrognard
Administrator
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Administrator
Lifer
Joined: Nov 2001
Posts: 24,106
USA
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PV1, I've always liked Ozymandius. Good choice.
Good people sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.
Someday your life will flash in front of your eyes. Make sure it is worth watching.
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#4010712 - 09/16/14 10:58 PM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Nov 2001
Posts: 24,106
oldgrognard
Administrator
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Administrator
Lifer
Joined: Nov 2001
Posts: 24,106
USA
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General Patton liked poetry. Not only did he like it, he wrote it.
"Through a Glass, Darkly" General George S. Patton, Jr.
Through the travail of the ages, Midst the pomp and toil of war, I have fought and strove and perished Countless times upon this star.
In the form of many people In all panoplies of time Have I seen the luring vision Of the Victory Maid, sublime.
I have battled for fresh mammoth, I have warred for pastures new, I have listed to the whispers When the race trek instinct grew.
I have known the call to battle In each changeless changing shape From the high souled voice of conscience To the beastly lust for rape.
I have sinned and I have suffered, Played the hero and the knave; Fought for belly, shame, or country, And for each have found a grave.
I cannot name my battles For the visions are not clear, Yet, I see the twisted faces And I feel the rending spear.
Perhaps I stabbed our Savior In His sacred helpless side. Yet, I've called His name in blessing When after times I died.
In the dimness of the shadows Where we hairy heathens warred, I can taste in thought the lifeblood; We used teeth before the sword.
While in later clearer vision I can sense the coppery sweat, Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.
Hear the rattle of the harness Where the Persian darts bounced clear, See their chariots wheel in panic From the Hoplite's leveled spear.
See the goal grow monthly longer, Reaching for the walls of Tyre. Hear the crash of tons of granite, Smell the quenchless eastern fire.
Still more clearly as a Roman, Can I see the Legion close, As our third rank moved in forward And the short sword found our foes.
Once again I feel the anguish Of that blistering treeless plain When the Parthian showered death bolts, And our discipline was in vain.
I remember all the suffering Of those arrows in my neck. Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage As I died upon my back.
Once again I smell the heat sparks When my Flemish plate gave way And the lance ripped through my entrails As on Crecy's field I lay.
In the windless, blinding stillness Of the glittering tropic sea I can see the bubbles rising Where we set the captives free.
Midst the spume of half a tempest I have heard the bulwarks go When the crashing, point blank round shot Sent destruction to our foe.
I have fought with gun and cutlass On the red and slippery deck With all Hell aflame within me And a rope around my neck.
And still later as a General Have I galloped with Murat When we laughed at death and numbers Trusting in the Emperor's Star.
Till at last our star faded, And we shouted to our doom Where the sunken road of Ohein Closed us in it's quivering gloom.
So but now with Tanks a'clatter Have I waddled on the foe Belching death at twenty paces, By the star shell's ghastly glow.
So as through a glass, and darkly The age long strife I see Where I fought in many guises, Many names, but always me.
And I see not in my blindness What the objects were I wrought, But as God rules o'er our bickerings It was through His will I fought.
So forever in the future, Shall I battle as of yore, Dying to be born a fighter, But to die again, once more.
Good people sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.
Someday your life will flash in front of your eyes. Make sure it is worth watching.
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#4010718 - 09/16/14 11:11 PM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Dec 2010
Posts: 2,654
trindade
Mach2 Club
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Mach2 Club
Senior Member
Joined: Dec 2010
Posts: 2,654
Portugal
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"To be happy is to recognize that life, is worth living, even with all its challenges, misunderstandings, and its periods of crisis.
To be happy, is to stop being the victim of problems and being the author of your own story.
To cross deserts outside of yourself, and to find the oasis inside your soul.
To thank God for each morning for the miracle of life.
To be happy, is not to be afraid of your own emotions. It is knowing how to speak about yourself.
To have the courage to listen to a “no”. To have the strength to receive a criticism, even when unjust.
Stones in the road? I save every single one, one day I´ll build a castle."
Fernando Pessoa
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#4010824 - 09/17/14 04:24 AM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Jun 2001
Posts: 7,444
Mad Max
survivor
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survivor
Hotshot
Joined: Jun 2001
Posts: 7,444
NSW, Australia
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The Moon shone on the village green, It shone on little Nell, Was she plucking daisies?, Was she bloody hell. She was waiting for her lover, The captain of a lugger, Who wasn't fit to shovel sh1t, From one port to another.. The rest would violate forum rules
"You'll never take me alive" said he, And his ghost may be heard if you pass by that billabong "Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me?"
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#4010854 - 09/17/14 09:12 AM
Re: Poetry Please!
[Re: RedToo]
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Joined: Oct 1999
Posts: 6,105
tony draper
Hotshot
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Hotshot
Joined: Oct 1999
Posts: 6,105
newcastle/united kingdom
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The Calf-Path
One day, through the primeval wood, A calf walked home, as good calves should; But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then two hundred years have fled, And, I infer, the calf is dead. But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bell-wether sheep Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep, And drew the flock behind him, too, As good bell-wethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade, Through those old woods a path was made; And many men wound in and out, And dodged, and turned, and bent about And uttered words of righteous wrath Because ‘twas such a crooked path. But still they followed -- do not laugh -- The first migrations of that calf, And through this winding wood-way stalked, Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane, That bent, and turned, and turned again; This crooked lane became a road, Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath the burning sun, And traveled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, The road became a village street, And this, before men were aware, A city’s crowded thoroughfare; And soon the central street was this Of a renowned metropolis; And men two centuries and a half Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout Followed the zigzag calf about; And o’er his crooked journey went The traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead. They followed still his crooked way, And lost one hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach, Were I ordained and called to preach; For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf-paths of the mind, And work away from sun to sun To do what other men have done. They follow in the beaten track, And out and in, and forth and back, And still their devious course pursue, To keep the path that others do.
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh, Who saw the first primeval calf! Ah! many things this tale might teach -- But I am not ordained to preach.
Sam Walter Foss
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