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What are your favourite poems?

Discussion in 'Personal' started by TES_Rosaline, Sep 13, 2019.

  1. sunshineneeded

    sunshineneeded Star commenter

    I like 'The Soldier' too, and I've always liked Tennyson's 'The Eagle'.
    But this one makes me smile (even though the message behind it is not a happy one)

    We haven't got a turkey
    'Cos Daddy's out of workey
    Though it isn't very pudgy
    We'll have to eat the budgie.
    Aquamarina1234 likes this.
  2. Andy_91

    Andy_91 New commenter

    Yes - should have added the name.
  3. mothorchid

    mothorchid Star commenter

    "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell.

    Had we but world enough and time,
    This coyness, lady, were no crime.
    We would sit down, and think which way
    To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
    Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
    Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
    Of Humber would complain. I would
    Love you ten years before the flood,
    And you should, if you please, refuse
    Till the conversion of the Jews.
    My vegetable love should grow
    Vaster than empires and more slow;
    An hundred years should go to praise
    Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
    Two hundred to adore each breast,
    But thirty thousand to the rest;
    An age at least to every part,
    And the last age should show your heart.
    For, lady, you deserve this state,
    Nor would I love at lower rate.
    But at my back I always hear
    Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
    And yonder all before us lie
    Deserts of vast eternity.
    Thy beauty shall no more be found;
    Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
    My echoing song; then worms shall try
    That long-preserved virginity,
    And your quaint honour turn to dust,
    And into ashes all my lust;
    The grave’s a fine and private place,
    But none, I think, do there embrace.
    Now therefore, while the youthful hue
    Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
    And while thy willing soul transpires
    At every pore with instant fires,
    Now let us sport us while we may,
    And now, like amorous birds of prey,
    Rather at once our time devour
    Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
    Let us roll all our strength and all
    Our sweetness up into one ball,
    And tear our pleasures with rough strife
    Through the iron gates of life:
    Thus, though we cannot make our sun
    Stand still, yet we will make him run.

    It makes me smile and sad all at once. Brilliant.

    Marvell died in 1678, so I hope I have not infringed copyright.
    FrankWolley likes this.
  4. FrankWolley

    FrankWolley Star commenter

    Another wonderful poem; I remember introducing it to Mrs FW long before she was Ms FW! ;);)
  5. mothorchid

    mothorchid Star commenter

    And I bet the poem may be one reason why she is Mrs FW...:)
    FrankWolley likes this.
  6. Mangleworzle

    Mangleworzle Star commenter

    Always loved To a Mouse by Robert Burns:

    Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
    O, what a pannic's in thy breastie!
    Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
    Wi' bickering brattle!
    I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
    Wi' murd'ring pattle!

    I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
    Has broken nature's social union,
    An' justifies that ill opinion,
    Which makes thee startle
    At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
    An' fellow-mortal!

    I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
    What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
    A daimen icker in a thrave
    'S a sma' request;
    I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
    An' never miss't!

    Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
    It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
    An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
    O' foggage green!
    An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
    Baith snell an' keen!

    Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
    An' weary winter comin fast,
    An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
    Thou thought to dwell-
    Till crash! the cruel coulter past
    Out thro' thy cell.

    Thy wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
    Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
    Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
    But house or hald,
    To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
    An' cranreuch cauld!

    But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
    In proving foresight may be vain;
    The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
    Gang aft agley,
    An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
    For promis'd joy!

    Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
    The present only toucheth thee:
    But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
    On prospects drear!
    An' forward, tho' I canna see,
    I guess an' fear!

    English translation (!) here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_a_Mouse
    Dodros likes this.
  7. FrankWolley

    FrankWolley Star commenter

    Quite possibly...though I like to say it is my winning personality and enormous....
    sense of humour;)
  8. monicabilongame

    monicabilongame Star commenter

    Perverted Love

    I’m worried about my sixteen-year-old son
    His choice of a mate’s a peculiar one.

    Her warmth and her cleanliness can’t be denied
    And her floral perfume makes her smell like a bride.
    But she can be quite empty; she’s nothing to say
    And she’s frigid and hard when her warmth drains away.

    Though she isn’t the type that’s attractive to all
    I’m afraid he’s entranced by her; deep in her thrall.
    He spends hours in her company, night after night;
    For a boy of that age it just doesn’t seem right.

    He goes into her room, turns the key, locks the door,
    And I hear the soft rustling as clothes meet the floor.
    I can guess at the ecstatic look on his face
    As he starts to prepare for their loving embrace.

    Soon I know he’ll slip into her, warm, wet and deep,
    And then when he is done she will lull him to sleep.
    Then it’s back to his room; he won’t bother to dress,
    And it’s me in the morning who clears up the mess.

    I thought he’d grow out of what must be a phase –
    And spend his spare time in more usual ways –
    But no, he’s besotted, and here’s the worst thing…
    This morning I saw she was wearing his ring.

    I know it’s his business to choose his own path….
    But it’s really not normal to marry the bath!

    Copyright me, 2001
    caress and nomad like this.
  9. blazer

    blazer Star commenter

    There was a young man from Devises....
    monicabilongame likes this.
  10. Mrsmumbles

    Mrsmumbles Star commenter

    The man was grumpy but his poetry was awesome!
    ilovesooty and FrankWolley like this.
  11. Mrsmumbles

    Mrsmumbles Star commenter

    My favourite could be the anthem for all 21st century teachers. The poet’s own tough life teaching into perspective as well:

    Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.

    In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
    Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.

    Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
    And yet the menace of the years
    Finds and shall find me unafraid.

    It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll,
    I am the master of my fate,
    I am the captain of my soul.
    caress likes this.
  12. Mrsmumbles

    Mrsmumbles Star commenter

    The last two lines come in particularly handy in those off the cuff suddenly scheduled We Suddenly Hate You Meetings SLT which love so much...
  13. NoseyMatronType

    NoseyMatronType Star commenter

    If song lyrics are sometimes admissible as poetry, then this would get my vote.

    caress and primarycat like this.
  14. FrankWolley

    FrankWolley Star commenter

    When my much loved mother-in-law a few died a few years ago, her ashes were scattered in a wood where she'd played as a child (at her request).

    I recited this poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti at the time - it seemed appropriate:

    ilovesooty and mothorchid like this.

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