~your favorite poems~

[abbey]

This was one of my Great Grandfathers poems, written in Lancashire dialect.

It was turned into a song by a folk group called Fivepenny Piece.

A Gradely Prayer

Teddy Ashton

I

Give us, Lord, a bit o' sun

A bit o' work an' a bit o' fun

Give us all in t' struggle an' splutter,

Our daily bread an' a bit o' butter.



II

Give us health, our keep to make,

An' a bit to spare for poor folk's sake.

Give us sense (there's some of us duffers),

An' a heart to feel for all that suffers.

III

Give us, too, a bit of a song,

An' a tale an' a book to help us along.

An' give us our share o' sorrow's lesson,

That we may prove how grief's a blessin'.



IV

Give us, Lord, a chance to be

Our very best; brave, wise an' free.

Our very best for oursels an' others,

Till all men learn to live as brothers.

[BTS]

Wow abby your grandfather is Allen Clarke. Kool

[abbey]

BTS wrote: Wow abby your grandfather is Allen Clarke. KoolWay cool! But no, my Grandfather was Edward Clarke, my Great Grandfather was Allen Clarke.

[spot]

On the last hill that shows you all the valley

Look back to see what little's to be seen

Burned books left over from the rally

A worker-priest left bleeding in the alley

And realise this place was never green

On the last hill that shows you all your travel

Look back to see your tepees disappear

A team of army dump-trucks full of gravel

Comes to fill the graves and tamp them level

The buffalo will not return this year

On the last hill that brands you as a dreamer

Look back to see the dreams were always true

The Persians went ashore at Iwo Jima

Christ was in the gold mines at Kolyma

Denounced because his mother was a Jew

On the last hill that shows you all the battle

Look back to everywhere you cried for joy

The killer-dogs run down your barren cattle

Your kid Cassandra walks collecting metal

And you'll see when those rows of dust-clouds settle

There are helicopters on the walls of Troy



It's not technically a poem, it's a song lyric. I think it works as a poem too.

By Clive James.

[pink princess]

there was a young girl from ealing

who had a peculiar feeling

she laid on her back

opened her cr*ck and pi$$ed all over the celing!



ok so not my fave poem but amusing!!



seriously though, my fave poem, thats a tough one actually.......

[abbey]

Hiya Sam and a very big welcome to the Garden,

I feel as if i know your dad, he sounds as if he was a nice decent man.

and what a great eulogy x.

[abbey]

pink princess wrote: there was a young girl from ealing

who had a peculiar feeling

she laid on her back

opened her cr*ck and pi$$ed all over the celing!



ok so not my fave poem but amusing!!



seriously though, my fave poem, thats a tough one actually.......PP, I despair of you!! :wah:

[pink princess]

i do actually feel quite bad, theres some brilliantly touching poems being posted and here i am with that!!



hopefully it will bring a smile to someones face tho!!

[capt_buzzard]

Sam I Am wrote: Hiya Abbey,

Thanks for the welcome and nice feedback about my dad. Yep, he was a great guy who left some big footprints in the garden of life. He didn't have much of a green thumb but he left an impression all the same



Sam I AmHello Sam,

Welcome to FG.

[spot]

Travel, they say, improves the mind: an irritating platitude (which frankly, entre nous, is very far from true).

Personally I've yet to find that longitude and latitude can educate those scores of monumental bores who travel in groups and herds and troupes of various breeds and sexes, till the whole world reels to shouts and squeals and the clicking of Rolleiflexes.

Why do the wrong people travel, when the right people stay back home? What compulsion compels them, and who the hell tells them, to drag their bags to Zanzibar instead of staying quietly in Omaha? The Taj Mahal and the Grand Canal and the sunny French Riviera would be less oppressed if the Middle West would settle for somewhere rather nearer. Please do not think that I criticise or cavil at a genuine urge to roam but why, oh why, do the wrong people travel when the right people stay back home!

Why do the wrong people travel when the right people stay back home? What explains this mass mania to leave Pennsylvania and clack around like flocks of geese, demanding dry martinis on the Isles Of Greece? In the smallest street where the gourmets meet they invariably fetch up, and it’s hard to make them accept a steak that isn't served rare and smeared with ketchup.

It would take years to unravel every impulse that makes them roam but why, oh why, do the wrong people travel when the right people stay back home?

(Noel Coward)

[Jives]

Here are a few of mine:

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854

Written 1854



Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!' he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'

Was there a man dismay'd ?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd:

Their's not to make reply,

Their's not to reason why,

Their's but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre-stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

[Jives]

And also:

George Gray

I have studied many times

The marble that was chiseled for me--

A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination

But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;

Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;

Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.

Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail

And catch the winds of destiny

Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,

But life without meaning is torture

Of restlessness and vague desire--

It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

[spot]

I love my friends, and they love me. We're just as close as we can be.

And just because we really care, Whatever we get, we share!

I got it from Agnes, She got it from Jim.

We all agree it must have been Louise who gave it to him.

She got it from Harry, Who got it from Marie,

And everybody knows that Marie

got it from me.

Giles got it from Daphne, She got it from Joan,

Who picked it up in County Cork, A-kissing the Blarney Stone.

Pierre gave it to Sheila, Who must have brought it there.

He got it from Francois and Jacques: Haha!

Lucky Pierre!

Max got it from Edith, Who gets it every spring.

She got it from her Daddy, Who gives her everything.

She then gave it to Daniel, Whose spaniel has it now.

Our dentist even got it, And we're still

wondering how.

But I got it from Agnes, Or maybe it was Sue,

Or Millie or Billie or Jillie or Willie, It doesn't matter who.

It might have been at the club, Or at the pub, or in the loo,

And if you will be my friend, Then I might...(Mind you, I said "might")...

Give it to you!



Tom Lehrer, 1953.

[spot]

You've seen the way they get around

With nothing beyond burdens left to lose

The drying spine that bends them near the ground

The way their ankles fold over their shoes

They've had their day and half of the day after

And all the shares they ever held in laughter

Are now just so many old engravings

Their sands have run out long before their savings

And the fun ran out so long before the sands

They've lost touch with the touch of other hands

That once came to caress and then to help

A single tumble means a broken hip

The hair grows thinner on the scalp

And thicker on the upper lip

And who is there to care, or left to please?

It's so easy when we're young

For me to wield a silver tongue

And cleverly place you among

The girls the boys have always sung

It's so simple when it's you

For me to coax from my guitar

The usual on how fine you are

Like this calm night, like that bright star

And the rest would follow on

The rest would follow on

And there'll be time to try it all

I'm sure the thrill will never pall

The sand will take so long to fall

The neck so slim, the glass so tall.



Clive James.

[spot]

Say not the struggle naught availeth,

The labour and the wounds are vain,

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;

It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,

Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,

And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,

Seem here no painful inch to gain,

Far back, through creeks and inlets making,

Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,

When daylight comes, comes in the light;

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!

But westward, look, the land is bright!

-- Arthur Hugh Clough

[libertine]

A little 'lite' maybe..but the first poem past the nursery rhymes that I ever heard. It opened the door to a lot of wonderful poetry.

Jabberwocky

by Lewis carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought”

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

“And, hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

[theia]

This is one of my favourite verses:

From East Coker, T.S. Eliot

In order to arrive there,

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,

You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know

You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess

You must go by the way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not.

And what you do not know is the only thing you know

And what you own is what you do not own

And where you are is where you are not.



theia

[lady cop]

this is one Buzzard posted, i really like it, so with your permission Buzz..........





Join Date: Aug 2004

Location: Southern Ireland



Posts: 5,265



Old Woman of the roads

Old woman of the roads

O, to have a little house!

To own the hearth and stool and all!

The heaped up sods against the fire,

The pile of turf against the wall!

To have a clock with weights and chains

And pendulum swinging up and down!

A dresser filled with shining delph,

Speckled and white and blue and brown!

I could be busy all of the day

Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,

And fixing on their shelf again

My white and blue and speckled store!

I could be quiet there at night

Beside the fire and by myself,

Sure of a bed and loth to leave

The ticking clock and the shining delph!

Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,

And roads where there's never a house nor bush,

And tired I am of bog and road,

And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!

And I'm praying to God on high,

And I'm praying Him night and day,

For a little house, a house of my own

Out of the wind's and the rain's way.

[capt_buzzard]

lady cop wrote: this is one Buzzard posted, i really like it, so with your permission Buzz..........





Join Date: Aug 2004

Location: Southern Ireland



Posts: 5,265





Old Woman of the roads

Old woman of the roads



O, to have a little house!

To own the hearth and stool and all!

The heaped up sods against the fire,

The pile of turf against the wall!

To have a clock with weights and chains

And pendulum swinging up and down!

A dresser filled with shining delph,

Speckled and white and blue and brown!

I could be busy all of the day

Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,

And fixing on their shelf again

My white and blue and speckled store!

I could be quiet there at night

Beside the fire and by myself,

Sure of a bed and loth to leave

The ticking clock and the shining delph!

Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,

And roads where there's never a house nor bush,

And tired I am of bog and road,

And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!

And I'm praying to God on high,

And I'm praying Him night and day,

For a little house, a house of my own

Out of the wind's and the rain's way.Its an old Irish poem

[libertine]

Far Rider wrote: hahahah...



Sorry to pollute up your thread with trivial poetry but, the funny stuff is what gets me!



Far.


Shel Silverstein is one of our great current poets. Trivial it's not!!

Thanks for sharing

[spot]

Thoughts on reading Brooke Shields' op-ed in today's New York Times, by Spot.

Antidepressants sit heavily on my mind

as I consider the views of Mister Cruise.

I never was much of a mother,

but then, neither was Tom.

Postpartum depression has never been

high on my list of likely suspects,

unlike the environment,

the way people bridle up when they see me,

the sunshine frying my head,

the rain at night keeping me from sleeping, and

the people who come back whenever I succeed.

I don't need pills, I need

more television

noisier adverts

bigger portions

and especially

a blindfold.

Pass those tablets, will you?

[spot]

You must not go;

First you shall sup with me. My seneschal

Giovan Andrea dal Borgo a San Sepolcro,-

I like to give the whole sonorous name,

It sounds so like a verse of the Aeneid,-

Has brought me eels fresh from the Lake of Fondi,

And Lucrine oysters cradled in their shells:

These, with red Fondi wine, the Caecu ban

That Horace speaks of, under a hundred keys

Kept safe, until the heir of Posthumus

Shall stain the pavement with it, make a feast

Fit for Lucullus, or Fra Bastian even;

So we will go to supper, and be merry.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Michael Angelo, Part I, Ippolito".

[spot]

IN PRAISE OF YOUNG GIRLS, by Raymond Asquith.

Attend, my Muse, and, if you can, approve

While I proclaim the "speeding up" of Love;

For Love and Commerce hold a common creed--

The scale of business varies with the speed;

For Queen of Beauty or for Sausage King

The Customer is always on the wing--

Then praise the nymph who regularly earns

Small profits (if you please) but quick returns.

Our modish Venus is a bustling minx,

But who can spare the time to woo a Sphinx?

When Mona Lisa posed with rustic guile

The stale enigma of her simple smile,

Her leisure lovers raised a pious cheer

While the slow mischief crept from ear to ear.

Poor listless Lombard, you would ne'er engage

The brisker beaux of our mercurial age

Whose lively mettle can as easy brook

An epic poem as a lingering look--

Our modern maiden smears the twig with lime

For twice as many hearts in half the time.

Long ere the circle of that staid grimace

Has wheeled your weary dimples into place,

Our little Chloe (mark the nimble fiend!)

Has raised a laugh against her bosom friend,

Melted a marquis, mollified a Jew,

Kissed every member of the Eton crew,

Ogled a Bishop, quizzed an aged peer,

Has danced a Tango and has dropped a tear.

Fresh from the schoolroom, pink and plump and pert,

Bedizened, bouncing, artful and alert,

No victim she of vapours and of moods

Though the sky falls she's "ready with the goods"--

Will suit each client, tickle every taste

Polite or gothic, libertine or chaste,

Supply a waspish tongue, a waspish waist,

Astarte's breast or Atalanta's leg,

Love ready-made or glamour off the peg--

Do you prefer "a thing of dew and air"?

Or is your type Poppaea or Polaire?

The crystal casket of a maiden's dreams,

Or the last fancy in cosmetic creams?

The dark and tender or the fierce and bright,

Youth's rosy blush or Passion's pearly bite?

You hardly know perhaps; but Chloe knows,

And pours you out the necessary dose,

Meticulously measuring to scale,

The cup of Circe or the Holy Grail--

An actress she at home in every role,

Can flout or flatter, bully or cajole,

And on occasion by a stretch of art

Can even speak the language of the heart,

Can lisp and sigh and make confused replies,

With baby lips and complicated eyes,

Indifferently apt to weep or wink,

Primly pursue, provocatively shrink,

Brazen or bashful, as the case require,

Coax the faint baron, curb the bold esquire,

Deride restraint, but deprecate desire,

Unbridled yet unloving, loose but limp,

Voluptuary, virgin, prude and pimp.

[Tan]

My fiance gave me permission to use a couple of his poems





A Friend Over Time


A moutain in the mist stands proud and tall

The seasons pass by from winter to fall

Each day to day the sun fades away

Visitors come to see, but never stay

Dark covers the sky with occasional rain

All alone each night it happens again

After some time had passed the silence did break

No longer confined there were others awake

Shifting stars in the shadows of the clouds

Cried out to the king and their allegiance vowed

Playing chess throughout making great pawns

In good company now until the break of dawn


-M.S.

I didn't grasp this poem at first. Apparently, what it is meant to represent is a lonely mountain having to understand that it does not exsist alone at all. But that it's great surroundings are to be enjoyed just as the mountain itself is enjoyed by others.

[spot]

Tan wrote: I didn't grasp this poem at first. Apparently, what it is meant to represent is a lonely mountain having to understand that it does not exsist alone at all. But that it's great surroundings are to be enjoyed just as the mountain itself is enjoyed by others.It's an interesting mix of levels of meaning. Would you like to post the second? The more of one poet's work I read, the more I can hear what's his own voice and what's specific to each poem. More always helps.

[lady cop]

well i hope song lyrics count as poems~~~this is for my darling~who is working very hard~~

Neil Young

Harvest Moon Come a little bit closer

Hear what I have to say

Just like children sleepin'

We could dream this night away.



But there's a full moon risin'

Let's go dancin' in the light

We know where the music's playin'

Let's go out and feel the night.



Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon.



When we were strangers

I watched you from afar

When we were lovers

I loved you with all my heart.



But now it's gettin' late

And the moon is climbin' high

I want to celebrate

See it shinin' in your eye.



Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon.

[Majenta]

The Clod and The Pebble - William Blake

"Love seeketh not itself to please

Nor for itself hath anycare

But for another gives its ease

And builds a heaven in hell's despair"

So sang a little clod of clay

Trodden by the cattle's feet

But a pebble of the brook

Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only self to please

To bind another to its delight

Joys in another's loss of ease

And builds a hell in heaven's despite"



I just think it's so apt, it really sums up the two sides of being in love (in my experience). It's one of the only things I remember from A-level English lit!

[gimli3]

The Kitchen-cook's prayer:



God bless

This mess.

:-3

[chonsigirl]

A flea and a fly in a flue

Were caught, so what could they do?

Said the fly, "Let us flee."

"Let us fly," said the flea.

So they flew through a flaw in the flue.



-Anonymous

[lady cop]

...

LOVERS' INFINITENESS.

by John Donne



IF yet I have not all thy love,

Dear, I shall never have it all ;

I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,

Nor can intreat one other tear to fall ;

And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,

Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent ;

Yet no more can be due to me,

Than at the bargain made was meant.

If then thy gift of love were partial,

That some to me, some should to others fall,

Dear, I shall never have thee all.



Or if then thou gavest me all,

All was but all, which thou hadst then ;

But if in thy heart since there be or shall

New love created be by other men,

Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,

In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,

This new love may beget new fears,

For this love was not vow'd by thee.

And yet it was, thy gift being general ;

The ground, thy heart, is mine ; what ever shall

Grow there, dear, I should have it all.



Yet I would not have all yet.

He that hath all can have no more ;

And since my love doth every day admit

New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store ;

Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,

If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it ;

Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,

It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it ;

But we will have a way more liberal,

Than changing hearts, to join them ; so we shall

Be one, and one another's all.

[devist8me]

"Spot promised this a while ago, so here it is"

THE LAST JOURNEY

John Davidson

I felt the world a-spinning on its nave,

I felt it sheering blindly round the sun;

I felt the time had come to find a grave:

I knew it in my heart my days were done.

I took my staff in hand; I took the road,

And wandered out to seek my last abode.

Hearts of gold and hearts of lead

Sing it yet in sun and rain,

" Heel and toe from dawn to dusk,

Round the world and home again."

O long before the bere was steeped for malt,

And long before the grape was crushed for wine,

The glory of the march without a halt,

The triumph of a stride like yours and mine

Was known to folk like us, who walked about,

To be the sprightliest cordial out and out!

Folk like us, with hearts that beat,

Sang it too in sun and rain,

" Heel and toe from dawn to dusk,

Round the world and home again."

My feet are heavy now, but on I go,

My head erect beneath the tragic years.

The way is steep, but I would have it so;

And dusty, but I lay the dust with tears,

Though none can see me weep: alone I climb

The rugged path that leads me out of time.

Out of time and out of all,

Singing yet in sun and rain,

" Heel and toe from dawn to dusk,

Round the world and home again."

Farewell the hope that mocked, farewell despair

That went before me still and made the pace.

The earth is full of graves, and mine was there

Before my life began, my resting-place;

And I shall find it out and with the dead

Lie down for ever, all my sayings said.

Deeds all done and songs all sung,

While others chant in sun and rain,

"Heel and toe from dawn to dusk,

Round the world and home again."

[honest voice]

I write my own. Don't have a favourite poem. Used to listen to Pam Ayres years ago. Anyway,

Poetry a journey into wordsmith,

a ride on a tangent,

meanings dissecting into the drift,

put pen to paper,

work out the confusion,

the harmonies bringing you to bliss.

Well anyway, i do try anyway. byeeeeeeeeeeee.

[lady cop]

"my heart's in the highlands"

the poet robert burns---My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go


Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North

The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;

Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forrests and wild-hanging woods;

Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer

Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;

My heart's in the Highlands, whereever I go.

[chervil]

I have two favourite poems both written by William Allingham 1842 - 1889

Everything passes and vanishes;

Everything leaves its trace;

And often you see in a footstep

What you could not see in a face

and the other

No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone,

Corpse gazing, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness;

Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness

Yours still, you mine; remember all the best

of our past moments, and forget the rest;

And so, to where I wait, come gently on.



:-6 :-6 :-6

[lady cop]

Chervil, nice to meet you! in the same vein, and i have posted this before, but the eulogy from 4 weddings by Auden...breaks me up every time.... Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.



Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,

Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.



He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.



The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.:yh_flower

[lady cop]

and .......by Cristina Rossetti.... Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

[Bez]

There are so many....I'll post this one first...more to come



Sweet and Lowfrom The Princess






Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

[Bez]

The first one I learnt at school..........



I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

The stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company;

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought

What wealth to me the show had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

[Tariki]

Laura Gilpin's "The Two-headed Calf":

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this

freak of nature, they will wrap his body

in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north

field with his mother. It is a perfect

summer evening: the moon rising over

the orchard, the wind in the grass.

And as he stares into the sky, there

are twice as many stars as usual.

[Tariki]

theia wrote: This is one of my favourite verses:

From East Coker, T.S. Eliot

In order to arrive there,

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,

You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know

You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess

You must go by the way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not.

And what you do not know is the only thing you know

And what you own is what you do not own

And where you are is where you are not.



theia


theia,

I was just wandering through this thread - as a lover of poetry! - and came across this. Perhaps you are already aware of this, but T S Eliot was very much influenced by some of the writings of the Christian mystics and the words you quote are derived from the verse of St John of the Cross. I thought you might therefore like the following......................which are the words of St John of the Cross himself.....

To reach satisfaction in all

desire its possession in nothing.

To come to possess all

desire the possession of nothing.

To arrive at being all

desire to be nothing.

To come to the knowledge of all

desire the knowledge of nothing.

To come to the pleasure you have not

you must go by a way in which you enjoy not.

To come to the knowledge you have not

you must go by a way in which you know not.

To come to the possession you have not

you must go by a way in which you possess not.

To come to be what you are not

you must go by a way in which you are not.

When you turn toward something

you cease to cast yourself upon the all.

For to go from all to the all

you must deny yourself of all in all.

And when you come to the possession of the all

you must possess it without wanting anything.

Because if you desire to have something in all

your treasure in God is not purely your all.



Anyway, getting back to T S Eliot, I have always loved the ending to Little Gidding, the closing words of Four Quartets.......

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

Through the unknown, remembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

At the source of the longest river

The voice of the hidden waterfall

And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for

But heard, half-heard, in the stillness

Between two waves of the sea.

Quick now, here, now, always -

A condition of complete simplicity

(Costing not less than everything)

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

When the tongues of flame are in-folded

Into the crowned knot of fire

And the fire and the rose are one.

And here is another poem I love, by R S Thomas.....

Job Davies, eighty-five

Winters old, and still alive

After the slow poison

And treachery of the seasons.

Miserable? Kick my arse!

It needs more than the rain's hearse,

Wind drawn, to pull me off

The great perch of my laugh.

What's living but courage?

Paunch full of hot porridge,

Nerves strengthened with tea,

Peat-black, dawn found me

Mowing where the grass grew,

Bearded with golden dew.

Rhythm of the long scythe

Kept this tall frame lithe.

What to do? Stay green.

Never mind the machine,

Whose fuel is human souls.

Live large, man, and dream small.

[theia]

Hello Tariki. No, I didn't know that Eliot was influenced by St John of the Cross. But, strangely enough, I have had copies of The Spiritual Canticle, Ascent of Mount Carmel and Dark Night of the Soul for over 20 years (E. Allison Peers translation)! I have to admit to not having read all three all through, just various passages. But the Spiritual Canticle is my favourite.

Thank you for the information. I find it fascinating that part of me must have linked the two, subconsciously

[Tariki]

theia wrote: Hello Tariki. No, I didn't know that Eliot was influenced by St John of the Cross. But, strangely enough, I have had copies of The Spiritual Canticle, Ascent of Mount Carmel and Dark Night of the Soul for over 20 years (E. Allison Peers translation)! I have to admit to not having read all three all through, just various passages. But the Spiritual Canticle is my favourite.

Thank you for the information. I find it fascinating that part of me must have linked the two, subconsciously


theia,

Like yourself, I have never read all of the writings of St John of the Cross. To be honest, a lot of what I HAVE read goes way above my own "spiritual" head!!(It needs to be kept simple for me to understand and assimilate)

However, I am encouraged by his words........."If you wish to be sure of the road you tread on you must close your eyes and walk in the dark"

Best wishes