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Favourite poems

Discussion in 'Personal' started by guinnesspuss, Feb 18, 2016.

  1. guinnesspuss

    guinnesspuss Star commenter

    I've just posted on another thread an answer that made me think about a poem I always loved. Very apposite for today I think.
    D H Lawrence's
    Last Lesson of the Afternoon

    When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?

    How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart,

    My pack of unruly hounds! I cannot start

    Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt,

    I can haul them and urge them no more.


    No longer now can I endure the brunt

    Of the books that lie out on the desks; a full threescore

    Of several insults of blotted pages, and scrawl

    Of slovenly work that they have offered me.

    I am sick, and what on earth is the good of it all?

    What good to them or me, I cannot see!


    So, shall I take

    My last dear fuel of life to heap on my soul

    And kindle my will to a flame that shall consume

    Their dross of indifference; and take the toll

    Of their insults in punishment? — I will not! -


    I will not waste my soul and my strength for this.

    What do I care for all that they do amiss!

    What is the point of this teaching of mine, and of this

    Learning of theirs? It all goes down the same abyss.


    What does it matter to me, if they can write

    A description of a dog, or if they can't?

    What is the point? To us both, it is all my aunt!

    And yet I'm supposed to care, with all my might.


    I do not, and will not; they won't and they don't; and that's all!

    I shall keep my strength for myself; they can keep theirs as well.

    Why should we beat our heads against the wall

    Of each other? I shall sit and wait for the bell.




    How simple it must have been.
     
    indusant likes this.
  2. FrankWolley

    FrankWolley Star commenter

    Not sure it's my favorite, but it sometimes seems appropriate:

    The Lesson

    Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
    as bravely the teacher walked in
    the nooligans ignored him
    his voice was lost in the din

    'The theme for today is violence
    and homework will be set
    I'm going to teach you a lesson
    one that you'll never forget'

    He picked on a boy who was shouting
    and throttled him then and there
    then garrotted the girl behind him
    (the one with grotty hair)

    Then sword in hand he hacked his way
    between the chattering rows
    'First come, first severed' he declared
    'fingers, feet or toes'

    He threw the sword at a latecomer
    it struck with deadly aim
    then pulling out a shotgun
    he continued with his game

    The first blast cleared the backrow
    (where those who skive hang out)
    they collapsed like rubber dinghies
    when the plug's pulled out

    'Please may I leave the room sir? '
    a trembling vandal enquired
    'Of course you may' said teacher
    put the gun to his temple and fired

    The Head popped a head round the doorway
    to see why a din was being made
    nodded understandingly
    then tossed in a grenade

    And when the ammo was well spent
    with blood on every chair
    Silence shuffled forward
    with its hands up in the air

    The teacher surveyed the carnage
    the dying and the dead
    He waggled a finger severely
    'Now let that be a lesson' he said

    Roger McGough
     
    guinnesspuss likes this.
  3. cuteinpuce

    cuteinpuce Star commenter

    A Description of the Morning
    By Jonathan Swift

    Now hardly here and there a Hackney-Coach
    Appearing, show'd the Ruddy Morns Approach.
    Now Betty from her Masters Bed had flown,
    And softly stole to discompose her own.
    The Slipshod Prentice from his Masters Door
    Had par'd the Dirt, and Sprinkled round the Floor.
    Now Moll had whirl'd her Mop with dext'rous Airs,
    Prepar'd to Scrub the Entry and the Stairs.
    The Youth with Broomy Stumps began to trace
    The Kennel-Edge, where Wheels had worn the Place.
    The Smallcoal-Man was heard with Cadence deep;
    'Till drown'd in Shriller Notes of Chimney-Sweep.
    Duns at his Lordships Gate began to meet,
    And Brickdust Moll had Scream'd through half a Street.
    The Turnkey now his Flock returning sees,
    Duly let out a Nights to Steal for Fees.
    The watchful Bailiffs take their silent Stands,
    And School-Boys lag with Satchels in their Hands.
     
  4. indusant

    indusant Senior commenter

    I like this one on the subject of school:

    The Schoolboy
    by William Blake

    I love to rise in a summer morn,
    When the birds sing on every tree;
    The distant huntsman winds his horn,
    And the skylark sings with me:
    O what sweet company!

    But to go to school in a summer morn, -
    O it drives all joy away!
    Under a cruel eye outworn,
    The little ones spend the day
    In sighing and dismay.

    Ah then at times I drooping sit,
    And spend many an anxious hour;
    Nor in my book can I take delight,
    Nor sit in learning's bower,
    Worn through with the dreary shower.

    How can the bird that is born for joy
    Sit in a cage and sing?
    How can a child, when fears annoy,
    But droop his tender wing,
    And forget his youthful spring!

    O father and mother if buds are nipped,
    And blossoms blown away;
    And if the tender plants are stripped
    Of their joy in the springing day,
    By sorrow and care's dismay, -

    How shall the summer arise in joy,
    Or the summer fruits appear?
    Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
    Or bless the mellowing year,
    When the blasts of winter appear?
     
    guinnesspuss likes this.
  5. cuteinpuce

    cuteinpuce Star commenter

    Goodness that takes me back.

    I don't think I've ever felt as bored as I did in my youth sitting in class on sunny summer afternoons with the teacher's voice droning away in the background. There was a quality to the boredom which was almost torture, especially since through the window you could see fields and trees and distant hills where all kinds of unknown adventures were possible; but there in class you were reduced to watching motes of dust drifting slowly down through the sunlight in the knowledge that there was an endless age to go before the bell went. :(

    Of course, the pupils in my class never experience such feelings! :D
     
    guinnesspuss and indusant like this.
  6. cuteinpuce

    cuteinpuce Star commenter

    Goodness that takes me back.

    I don't think I've ever felt as bored as I did in my youth sitting in class on sunny summer afternoons with the teacher's voice droning away in the background. There was a quality to the boredom which was almost torture, especially since through the window you could see fields and trees and distant hills where all kinds of unknown adventures were possible; but there in class you were reduced to watching motes of dust drifting slowly down through the sunlight in the knowledge that there was an endless age to go before the bell went. :(

    Of course, the pupils in my class never experience such feelings! :D
     

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