the poetry thread

[dont_do_it_doug.]

I wont post it as im sure youve all heard it a thousand times

Post it up man, that's the beauty of poetry, it doesn't matter how many times you hear it it's still capable of moving. Like music.

[Risso]

The rain it raineth every day

Upon the just and unjust fella,

But more upon the just because

The unjust hath the just's umbrella.

[Jon]

The rain it raineth every day

Sounds like a Manx special that Mr Rissworth!

[tomzep]

I wont post it as im sure youve all heard it a thousand times

Post it up man, that's the beauty of poetry, it doesn't matter how many times you hear it it's still capable of moving. Like music.

Here it is then. My favourite poem of all time

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

[Nigel]

...and we'll be playing 4,4 f*ckin 2!

[mjmooney]

I recommend some good ol' john donne for the ladies. you could melt the ice caps between their legs after a reading of his works.

THE KISS. A DIALOGUE.

by Robert Herrick

I.

Among thy fancies tell me this,

What is the thing we call a kiss ?

2.

I shall resolve ye what it is.

It is a creature born and bred

Between the lips (all cherry-red),

By love and warm desires fed.

Chor.

And makes more soft the bridal bed.

2.

It is an active flame that flies,

First, to the babies of the eyes ;

And charms them there with lullabies.

Chor.

And stills the bride, too, when she cries.

2.

Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks and flies, now here, now there,

'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near.

Chor.

And here and there and everywhere.

I.

Has it a speaking virtue ? 2. Yes.

I.

How speaks it, say ? 2. Do you but this ;

Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss

Chor.

And this love's sweetest language is.

I.

Has it a body ? 2. Aye, and wings

With thousand rare encolourings ;

And, as it flies, it gently sings,

Chor.

Love honey yields, but never stings.

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 winged 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 preserv'd 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 am'rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

may i feel said he by e e cummings

may i feel said he

(i'll squeal said she

just once said he)

it's fun said she

(may i touch said he

how much said she

a lot said he)

why not said she

(let's go said he

not too far said she

what's too far said he

where you are said she)

may i stay said he

which way said she

like this said he

if you kiss said she

may i move said he

is it love said she)

if you're willing said he

(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he

but your wife said she

now said he)

ow said she

(tiptop said he

don't stop said she

oh no said he)

go slow said she

(cccome?said he

ummm said she)

you're divine!said he

(you are Mine said she)

Should do the trick.

{cough} Allegedly. {cough}

[Risso]

The rain it raineth every day

Sounds like a Manx special that Mr Rissworth!

Or even Manchester!

Here's one for you Jon.

I'll be in Manchester in three weeks Jon, so give a little cheer

Shall we meet in the city centre, and have ourselves a beer?

[rjw63]

Time to have a shower,

Use a nice big sponge;

Got to clean my bits up,

Or I'll get no clunge.

[GarethRDR]

Time to have a shower,

Use a nice big sponge;

Got to clean my bits up,

Or I'll get no clunge.

And if I'm rebuffed

'cause her clunge is all blooden

I'll say "no probs luv;

I'll go up the wrong 'un".

[Risso]

Time to have a shower,

Use a nice big sponge;

Got to clean my bits up,

Or I'll get no clunge.

And if I'm rebuffed

'cause her clunge is all blooden

I'll say "no probs luv;

I'll go up the wrong 'un".

And when I'm spent, I'll up and leave

There's plenty more clunge for Scuba Steve

[dAVe80]

On VT's Off Topic, where the cool kids do dwell

Chrisp started a to topic, and it went down real well

With Poems and Sonnets and writings that rhyme

The members collated the best of all time

But some didn't like it, said Poets? No way!

This flowery language, is totally gay

To them I say stay clear, cus it only just begun

You're gonna hate this, like Rob loves the wrong 'un

[Jon]

The rain it raineth every day

Sounds like a Manx special that Mr Rissworth!

Or even Manchester!

Here's one for you Jon.

I'll be in Manchester in three weeks Jon, so give a little cheer

Shall we meet in the city centre, and have ourselves a beer?

That sounds a good idea, as long as I'm here, as I'm off to Amsterdam for 2 days.

Let's invite Peter Bland, and meet up as planned, but on the condition he pays.

[GarethRDR]

No good at haikus

always forget

the syllable rules

[theunderstudy]

Now the world has gone to bed

Darkness won't engulf my head

I can see by infra-red

How I hate the night

Now I lay me down to sleep

Try to count electric sheep

Sweet dream wishes you can keep

How I hate the night

[CarewsEyebrowDesigner]

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 winged 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 preserv'd 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 am'rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Ah, I have a friend that attempted this once, reciting it from heart. He got about half a stanza before the lady he attempted to woo said 'stop talking shite and buy me a drink'.

Modern romance, eh?

IF is a great one, however endless Wimbledon coverage has tainted it somewhat for me, although seeing Nadal and Federer read it before that final was bloody brilliant.

[theunderstudy]

Oh and I'm not posting any poems of mine in here.

They will stay forever locked in the suitcase in my wardrobe as they have been these last 4 years.

[GarethRDR]

Oh and I'm not posting any poems of mine in here.

They will stay forever locked in the suitcase in my wardrobe as they have been these last 4 years.

Or one could just read the sleeve notes from "Sunshine on Leith".

[theunderstudy]

Oh and I'm not posting any poems of mine in here.

They will stay forever locked in the suitcase in my wardrobe as they have been these last 4 years.

Or one could just read the sleeve notes from "Sunshine on Leith".

That's anti-poetry!

[CarewsEyebrowDesigner]

When it comes to personal favourites, I don't think you can go much wrong with Yeats.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

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.

[mjmooney]

When it comes to personal favourites, I don't think you can go much wrong with Yeats.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

(etc.)