Poetry Corner!
 

Sonnet XVIII: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


:colour:

Why Splodge :blush::blush:

You are too kind!

Hamlet 2.2.316:

'This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory;
This most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
This brave o’erhanging firmament,
This majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
Why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man!
How noble in reason!
How infinite in faculty!
In form and moving how express and admirable!
In action how like an angel!
In apprehension how like a god!'

:thumbs:

Daffodils
William Wordsworth

I wander'd 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,
They stretch'd 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
Out-did 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 the show to me 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.

http://www.cfmsinc.org/Photos/ddweb/P0000848s.jpg

Noah’s Ark

A long time ago, when God looked down,
Everything he saw made him frown,
The people were cruel, the people were bad,
Everything he saw made him sad.

Then God saw Noah, a very good man,
Do this for me Noah, said God, if you can,
Build a great big boat, take the animals in,
Then I can save you all from this world full of sin.

So the boat was built, it was called ‘the Ark’
With a place for each creature from the lion to the lark,
When the rain started falling, a new path was set,
The world had changed; it was wet, wet, wet.

But Noah and his family, and the animals too,
Were all waiting there, to start a new.

Our songs tell a story,
In the Bible it is read,
The story of a man,
Who did as God said.

Boris ....2003

( introduction to next weeks Parents Assembly by the Reception children !)
http://www.thewoodentoyemporium.co.u..._ark-large.jpg

I know it's rather obscure and it's a bit rude in a 17thc way but I love it. I've put up just the last part. Basically he's trying to persuade her to ...how shall I put it...give her all.

To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell

...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.

Mice
by Rose Fyleman

I think mice are rather nice.
Their tails are long
Their faces small,
They haven't any
Chins at all.
Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white,
They run about
The house at night.
They nibble things
They shouldn't touch
And no one seems
To like them much.
But I think mice
Are rather nice!


http://www.sanfords.net/Spots_free_g...Mice/mouse.gif


:thumbs:

The Tyger
William Blake (1757–1827)

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

http://www.uselessgraphics.com/whitetiger.gif

Hey Diddle Diddle
By Anon


Hey diddle diddle
the cat did a piddle
all over the kitchen floor,
the little dog laughed
to see such fun,
so the cat did a little bit more!


:laugh:


http://www.uselessgraphics.com/cat5.gif

Janette, will you please stop lowering the tone? :nono::nono::nono:

This one is from Peachy, and I think it's an anthem for Floss and Bunty:

Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

By Jenny Joseph






When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.



You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.



But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

This one's from me:

THE JUMBLIES

http://www.ongoing-tales.com/SERIALS...s/jumblies.gif

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all there freinds could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned'
They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
'O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


III

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, 'How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
'O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a sieve and a crockery jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, 'How tall they,ve grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore;
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made with beautiful yeast;
And every one said, 'If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve, -
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

I am off to M & S as we speak..........

(have run out of purple briefs)

Dear Peachy and Floss....I aready am and do !!!

THE MORE LOVING ONE

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total darkness sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.


WH Auden

I think Maya Angelou is an inspiration and we can all learn a lot from her about coping with adversity.


Still I Rise
Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you behest with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got goldmines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise?
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the hurts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I studied this at school a long time ago (god was it really that long ago :shocked: ) and have always loved it since.

The Thought Fox
Ted Hughes

I imagine this midnight moments forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still: the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

I'd not read either of your poems before, LEE.

One was so joyful and one was so sad but both were really beautiful.

:wavey:

Good Grief LEE. I can't believe it. I answered questions about this in my 'A' level examinations, also one about 'Cows' by Ted Hughs and a very poignant one by Christina Rossetti.

Ted Huges was one of my A Level authors as well Boris.

There are some beautiful poems on this thread. Thanks all the contributors. I really enjoyed them, even Janette's!

Let's have a few more shall we.

I know it's a bit bleak, but it's a fabulous poem and somehow suits the dreadful times we are living through:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Dylan Thomas

I've enjoyed them all too, Peachy.

Here's another:

True Love
N. Chisholm

She sat there very quietly
He said "Come, sit upon my knee"
And when she did as she was told
He sighed "Be good for me"
Then gently he did stroke her neck
Caressed her tiny ears
He pulled her closer to him
And he banished all her fears
He said "You are a darling"
And did not want to go
She snuggled deeper in his arms
And did not want to go
Her face it was so pretty
Her eyes how they did shine
She was only a tiny kitten
And he was only nine

:love::love::love::love::love:

What a cultured lot we have turned out to be.

Thanks everyone.:spin2:

This is not exactly poetry BUT......

ON CHILDREN

AND a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of
Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.


YOU may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of to-morrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow
that is stable.

Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet

It may not be poetry as such, Splodge0 but it's beautiful nonetheless.

I've never heard of Kahlil Gibran but I appreciate the truth of what he's saying.

:wavey:

Worth buying the book!!:elephant:

:colour::colour::colour:
:colour::colour:
:colour: