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Hi everyone! :wave:

I felt that this forum lacked a poetry thread. 

Poetry is something that relaxes me and gets me thinking! I mostly love poems about nature and the cycle of life. 

I am not very talented in creating my own poems, but I would love it if any of you guys, could share your creations! :D 

I started this thread, to create a platform so that :

i) We can all share and discuss our favourite poems (or maybe even a few verses that caught your fancy). Feel free to share and discuss the most obscure / quirky poems (and not just poems by the greats such as Coleridge, Keats, Wordsworth, etc.). 

ii) Folks can share their own creations. Don't be shy! B) 

FYI, I did use the search function and I only came across a thread on poetry that was rather limited in scope, in terms of only serving as a means for people to showcase their poems and not as a thread to discuss poetry, in general. 

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I am going to begin by sharing an incredibly quirky poem, published in a famous British magazine called 'Punch' (founded in 1841) that was famous for its humorous and satirical look at everything from sports to politics. Sorry guys, but only cricket fans or regular followers of the game, will be able to understand the actual meaning and significance of this poem.

The poem was called 'The Lesson of the Licking', originally published on the 9th of September, 1882, that not only lamented the death of English cricket (as a result of losing to Australia on English soil at Old Trafford on the 29th of August, 1882), but also (in a way) ridiculed the team and attributed their defeat, to the bowling techniques of legendary Australian pace bowler Fred 'Demon' Spofforth. Interestingly, this poem, at the same time advises the English cricket team, to hold their nerve and battle on, with a cool head. This particular test match was significant for two reasons:

i) It was England's first defeat on home soil

ii) This test match was one of the most critical starting points of one of cricket's most intriguing contests - The Ashes

The%20Lesson%20of%20the%20Licking_zpss2p

During Victorian times, the English prided themselves on being superior at the very game they invented (Cricket), in comparison to the 'Colonists', the Australians! I guess the English public couldn't get themselves to come to terms with this defeat (but at the same time, wanted to encourage their team in some way) and this poem and a 'mock obituary' ('death notices' were very common in Victorian times) published in a weekly magazine called 'Cricket', pretty much summed up the mood of the public, at the time, hence, giving rise to the ultimate cricketing quest 'to recover the Ashes'! 

Here is the original page from 'Punch', sourced from a digital archive: http://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/diglit/punch1882a/0117

The poem was also cited in a New Zealand newspaper (on the 6th of January, 1921) called 'Northern Advocate' : http://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast?a=d&d=NA19210106.2.67

 

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Thanks for the information on similar past threads. But, since I started an actual poetry thread, I think that I'll stick with it. Except for the second thread on your list, I couldn't help but notice that all the other so-called poetry threads, were started in various Led Zeppelin sections of this forum. Since my thread is in the 'Ramble On' section, I don't think that I am stepping on any toes by starting this thread. Anyway, again, I appreciate the information. Thanks. :peace: 

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Getting back to the topic, I can't help but refer to a monologue from William Shakespeare's play 'As You Like It'. It is called 'All The World's A Stage'. I first came across this monologue during poetry class in high school, when I had to do a literary criticism on it, in the 11th grade. I grew to love this particular passage and I still do, to this day! It is such a simple, yet powerful piece. Pretty unforgettable, IMO! :) Oh and since I am a hard core fan of 'Rush', I just couldn't help but appreciate the rather indirect reference, in the song 'Limelight'! B) 

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

 

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The lovely full moon that I witnessed a couple of days ago (with its gorgeous silvery light), reminded me of a cute little children's poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, taken from A Child's Garden of Verses and Underwoods:

The Moon
 
THE MOON has a face like the clock in the hall; 
She shines on thieves on the garden wall, 
On streets and fields and harbour quays, 
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. 
  
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,         5
The howling dog by the door of the house, 
The bat that lies in bed at noon, 
All love to be out by the light of the moon. 
  
But all of the things that belong to the day 
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;  10
And flowers and children close their eyes 
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

 

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Yesterday (the 31st of October) was John Keats' birthday.

Here's one of my favourite poems:

Ode on a Grecian Urn

 
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
       Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
       A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
       Of deities or mortals, or of both,
               In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
       What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
               What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
 
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
       Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
       Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
       Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
               Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
       She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
               For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
 
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
         Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
         For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
         For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
                For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
         That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
                A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
 
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
         To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
         And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
         Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
                Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
         Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
                Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
 
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
         Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
         Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
         When old age shall this generation waste,
                Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
         "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
                Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
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He walked in as she had just ended her life

He sat and cried as he read the note

He went from being a good guy to someone filled with strife

He would paddle alone, visions of a drowning boat

He found someone with a warm musical note

Someone reached out with a helping hand

Helping him again to become a good man

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Thanks for the information on similar past threads. But, since I started an actual poetry thread, I think that I'll stick with it. Except for the second thread on your list, I couldn't help but notice that all the other so-called poetry threads, were started in various Led Zeppelin sections of this forum. Since my thread is in the 'Ramble On' section, I don't think that I am stepping on any toes by starting this thread. Anyway, again, I appreciate the information. Thanks. :peace: 

I agree. What is the deal with some of these thread Nazis always reminding people of dead threads?  And then if you go ahead a search out a thread topic and bump it up, there is this whole other tribe who complain that you bumped the thread--WTF!

Kiwi, I appreciate your attempts to bring something interesting and thoughtful to this forum section... just saying.

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Rules And Regulations - Poem by Lewis Carroll

A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation,
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.

Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles,
With lightsome laughter,
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.

Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.

Moral: Behave.

 
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I agree. What is the deal with some of these thread Nazis always reminding people of dead threads?  And then if you go ahead a search out a thread topic and bump it up, there is this whole other tribe who complain that you bumped the thread--WTF!

Kiwi, I appreciate your attempts to bring something interesting and thoughtful to this forum section... just saying.

I appreciate the support, LIVIN'! Cheers! :drinks: 

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  • 3 weeks later...

Flippy The Mule (Rough Draft) by Panther

 

In a small town in Iowa, just east of Omaha,

Was a a mule named Flippy! And our hearts were filled with joy.

Took him home, raised him up. I even brushed his mane.

He would thrash and squeal and kick about, in the thunder and the rain.
__________________________________________________________________

On a land without a goatherd, that mule would start to bray.

A tasty breakfast munchie! Gimme prune jam! Gimme hay.

Built a barn that's strong enough. Didn't spend a dime.

Flippy could return to here..and you fill in the rhyme.____

And I built that barn from some old wood

It was raining cats and dogs.

And I had a little compny. A cow and lots of hogs.

His Chinese friend the Panda

wished him "Rots of Ruck!"

Flippy didn't want for nothing

Cause he didn't g Right as rain is to a duck.

________________________________________________

Liked to eat some chitlins.

And he liked to eat some beans.

It gave him strength and made him kick,

cause in this life if you're free
_________________________________________________________________________
Ewe can do just anything

and that's what Flippy'd do.

I'd rush to meet him at the barn,

and check the bottom of my shoe.
____________________________________________________________________

And as the years grew longer,

I could see where I had erred.

All alone was Flippyyy

Never thought to have him paired.
______________________________________________________________________

Went to the farmer's market.

"I need a female donkey, Bud"

So I bought him the lady mule.

And put Flippy out to stud.

And they lived in that barn from some old wood

It was raining cats and dogs.

He finally had some compny b'side a cow and some hogs.

His Chinese friend the Panda

smiled & wished them "Rots of Ruck!"
_____________________________________________________________

Just happy that he had a place

and now he not alone.

Yes just happy that he got a place

where he could rest his bones.

mule21.jpg

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I may be weird, I must admit,
a grinning devil full of shit.
A golden god, so some may say,
I freak all night, and smile all day.

I gotta make you a confession,
I love to feast on your expression.
Cause I’m a beast with an erection,
unleashed for carnal satisfaction.

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Going through the changes

in this weird old film called life

First you're getting booted

by your never future wife

 

Trying hard to hold on

‘til she empties out your home

Leaving nothing but a cat

so you won't be alone

 

Oh, this is the strangest life you ever had

Oh, seems the whole world is slightly mad

(Oh yes it is indeed)

 

Sweating in a factory

just tryin to make some cash

laughing with the working girls

who love to smoke some hash

 

Never seen a madder place

don't know if you're awake

Make enough to pay the rent

and have free German cake

 

Oh, this is the strangest life you ever had

Oh, seems the whole world is slightly mad

(Oh sure it is indeed)

 

Walkin in the dark of night

the bike just let you down

Underneath the starlit sky

at the rear end of the town

 

Maybe you should sob and cry

because life is just ain't fair

But you keep on smiling

and enjoy the silence in the air

 

Going thru the changes

in this mighty film called life

Always keep on smiling

comes the other great surprise

 

Oh, this is the best life that you had

Oh, and yes it is fun cause it's

such a mad mad mad mad world to behold

The strangest story ever told

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(The first poem was written in a somewhat cynical and horny mood, the second was written on a piece of toilet paper after my bike indeed did let me down after work.....was a long walk, but I guess it was somehow worth it.....maybe I'll make a song out of it).

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Anyway, back to the good stuff...

Haiku anyone?

 

Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

- Matsuo Basho

Literal Translation

Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)

Various Translations:

The old pond-
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Translated by Robert Hass

 

Old pond...
a frog jumps in
water's sound.
Translated by William J. Higginson

 

An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Translated by Harry Behn

 

There is the old pond!
Lo, into it jumps a frog:
hark, water's music!
Translated by John Bryan

 

The silent old pond
a mirror of ancient calm,
a frog-leaps-in splash.
Translated by Dion O'Donnol

 

old pond
frog leaping
splash
Translated by Cid Corman

 

Antic pond-
frantic frog jumps in-
gigantic sound.
Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond

 

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I have a friend named Topsy

He lives a life of ease

He likes to sell the tourists

Bags of cool island breeze

And he drinks pure cane rum

From an old calabash

He's always up for drinking

But he never has no cash

Too bad there isn't a "Like" button here.....good one Jimmie.....oooooh Jimmie!!!!!!

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Too bad there isn't a "Like" button here.....good one Jimmie.....oooooh Jimmie!!!!!!

That was recited by a drunken "taxi" (old beatup van full of empty beer cans) driver in the carribean, as best as I remember it. Things got a little less quaint when he suddenly pulled over in the middle of nowhere and went off on a rant about how someone "gave" him cancer. It was like something out of a zombie movie.

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(The first poem was written in a somewhat cynical and horny mood, the second was written on a piece of toilet paper after my bike indeed did let me down after work.....was a long walk, but I guess it was somehow worth it.....maybe I'll make a song out of it).

Destined to be a song!

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  • 3 weeks later...

Listening To The Darkness Sing

 

My tragedian of timeliness, mon maître de la mélancolie,

the heart breathes and you stand fastened, absorbing the world

huge as the hole in the night reclining on causeless ceaseways

where amazing grace swells and Hell's on the other side

of forever, for at least this moment, this lasting instant and all

the love, the need, the wanting of it all, now consonant,

now pacific, now the silent mother-of-pearl moon swirling,

tumbling down to kiss your wounded words, illuminated,

not simply by light, but the price of honouring the bearing

the soul – slashed by half yet seamlessly whole – bestows.

 

Judith Fitzgerald, Adagios Quartet, BOOK III: Electra's Benison (2006)

 

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