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Poems, poems, poems
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By *stella OP Woman
over a year ago
London |
I’ve been reading a poem a day, and thoroughly enjoying discovering new ones.
Which poems would you recommend me, either old favourites or new discoveries?
Here’s one from me to you.
Marrysong - by Dennis Scott
He never learned her, quite. Year after year
That territory, without seasons, shifted
under his eye. An hour he could be lost
in the walled anger of her quarried hurt
on turning, see cool water laughing where
the day before there were stones in her voice.
He charted. She made wilderness again.
Roads disappeared. The map was never true.
Wind brought him rain sometimes, tasting of sea -
and suddenly she would change the shape of shores
faultlessly calm. All, all was each day new;
the shadows of her love shortened or grew
like trees seen from an unexpected hill,
new country at each jaunty helpless journey.
So he accepted that geography, constantly strange.
Wondered. Stayed home increasingly to find
his way among the landscapes of her mind.
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
This Be The Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself. |
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By *stella OP Woman
over a year ago
London |
"I write my own..sometimes I ll read Browning or Keats or Wordsworth to get my mind in tune..poetry can be so very beautiful.  "
Oh! Would you be willing to tell us one of your own?
Also, funplay - the Larkin one is brilliant  |
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"I write my own..sometimes I ll read Browning or Keats or Wordsworth to get my mind in tune..poetry can be so very beautiful.
Oh! Would you be willing to tell us one of your own?
Also, funplay - the Larkin one is brilliant "
It is brilliant..one I'll remember. And I don't do poetry. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"This Be The Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself."
Very similar to ones I ve written on same subject as it relates to my history...good parents are great parents..bad ones are downright dangerous and unhealthy...thankfully I write more of the beautiful things in life and nature now.. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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When the battle scars have faded
And the truth becomes a lie
And the weekend smell of liniment
Could almost make you cry.
When the last rucks well behind you
And the man that ran now walks
It doesn’t matter who you are
The mirror sometimes talks
Have a good hard look old son!
The melons not that great
The snoz that takes a sharp turn sideways
Used to be dead straight
You’re an advert for arthritis
You’re a thoroughbred gone lame
Then you ask yourself the question
Why the hell you played the game?
Was there logic in the head knocks?
In the corks and in the cuts?
Did common sense get pushed aside?
By manliness and guts?
Do you sometimes sit and wonder
Why your time would often pass
In a tangled mess of bodies
With your head up someone’s......?
With a thumb hooked up your nostril
Scratching gently on your brain
And an overgrown Neanderthal
Rejoicing in your pain!
Mate – you must recall the jersey
That was shredded into rags
Then the soothing sting of Dettol
On a back engraved with tags!
It’s almost worth admitting
Though with some degree of shame
That your wife was right in asking
Why the hell you played the game?
Why you’d always rock home legless
Like a cow on roller skates
After drinking at the clubhouse
With your low down d r u n k e n mates (censor kicked in !)
Then you’d wake up – check your wallet
Not a solitary coin
Drink bitter by the bucket
Throw an ice pack on your groin
Copping Sunday morning sermons
About boozers being losers
While you limped like Quasimodo
With a half a thousand bruises!
Yes – an urge to hug the porcelain
And curse Tetley’s name
Would always pose the question
Why the hell you played the game!
And yet with every wound re-opened
As you grimly reminisce it
Comes the most compelling feeling yet
God, you bloody miss it!
From the first time that you laced a boot
And tightened every stud
That virus known as rugby
Has been living in your blood
When you dreamt it when you played it
All the rest took second fiddle
Now you’re standing on the sideline
But your hearts still in the middle
And no matter where you travel
You can take it as expected
There will always be a breed of people
Hopelessly infected
If there’s a teammate, then you’ll find him
Like a gravitating force
With a common understanding
And a beer or three, of course
And as you stand there telling lies
Like it was yesterday old friend
You’ll know that if you had the chance
You’d do it all again
You see – that’s the thing with rugby
It will always be the same
And that, I guarantee
Is why the hell you played the game! |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I write my own..sometimes I ll read Browning or Keats or Wordsworth to get my mind in tune..poetry can be so very beautiful.
Oh! Would you be willing to tell us one of your own?
Also, funplay - the Larkin one is brilliant "
I ll see if I can lay my hands on one similar to the one you posted but it would be later. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
TWAT by John Cooper Clarke
Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend
You give me the horrors
Too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
Are lousy coz of you
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain
You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag
Do us all a favour, here… wear this polythene bag
You’re like a dose of scabies
I’ve got you under my skin
You make life a fairy tale… Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive
You’ve got this slippery quality
It makes me think of phlegm
And a dual personality
I hate both of them
Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away
Like a death a birthday party
You ruin all the fun
Like a sucked and spat our smartie
you’re no use to anyone
Like the shadow of the guillotine
On a dead consumptive’s face
Speaking as an outsider
What do you think of the human race
You went to a progressive psychiatrist
He recommended suicide…
Before scratching your bad name off his list
And pointing the way outside
You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart
You’re heading for a breakdown
Better pull yourself apart
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss
Your attitudes are platitudes
Just make me wanna piss
What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you
But I can…
TWAT |
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I'm completely in love with the poetry of Hieu Minh Nguyen. He is brutally honest about body issues and tackles subjects such as diabetes and abuse. He is a wonderful wordsmith. Go look him up.
Personally my own poetry exists to amuse myself but I would love to publish it all in a few years. |
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By *eliWoman
over a year ago
. |
Caged Bird by Maya Angelou
I'm only going to include a paragraph because it is rather long but this is my flavour of poetry right now.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. |
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"Caged Bird by Maya Angelou
I'm only going to include a paragraph because it is rather long but this is my flavour of poetry right now.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom."
That's pretty powerful |
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By *stella OP Woman
over a year ago
London |
"Caged Bird by Maya Angelou
I'm only going to include a paragraph because it is rather long but this is my flavour of poetry right now.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom."
Adore Maya’s poems. I have a particular love of And Still I Rise.  |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
I think this is my favourite love poem, it's by Wislawa Szymborska and it's called Love at First Sight:
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways—
perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don’t remember—
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver?—
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thicket?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
There was a young lass called Estella,
Whose threads brought her many a fella,
From questions to ditties,
From flowers to titties,
Or do you like Sting or Paul Weller? |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
Some of these are really beautiful. I don't tend to seek out poetry to read but I do write my own and read ones that get sent to me by various writer friends. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I’ve been reading a poem a day, and thoroughly enjoying discovering new ones.
Which poems would you recommend me, either old favourites or new discoveries?
Here’s one from me to you.
Marrysong - by Dennis Scott
He never learned her, quite. Year after year
That territory, without seasons, shifted
under his eye. An hour he could be lost
in the walled anger of her quarried hurt
on turning, see cool water laughing where
the day before there were stones in her voice.
He charted. She made wilderness again.
Roads disappeared. The map was never true.
Wind brought him rain sometimes, tasting of sea -
and suddenly she would change the shape of shores
faultlessly calm. All, all was each day new;
the shadows of her love shortened or grew
like trees seen from an unexpected hill,
new country at each jaunty helpless journey.
So he accepted that geography, constantly strange.
Wondered. Stayed home increasingly to find
his way among the landscapes of her mind.
"
I love that |
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By *abonWoman
over a year ago
L’boro/Ashby & Cheltenham |
"I think this is my favourite love poem, it's by Wislawa Szymborska and it's called Love at First Sight:
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways—
perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don’t remember—
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver?—
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thicket?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
"
That is beautiful!! |
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Do not go gentle - Dylan Thomas
This is one of my favourites, and seems very suitable at this time when it seems that some people are ready to just dump the elderly in a ditch:
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. |
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By *stella OP Woman
over a year ago
London |
Nothing is permanent. All things must end.
Iron will oxidise and fabric rend.
The material world is never stable.
Now becomes history, fact melds with fable.
Truth is merely the viewer’s perspective,
Not fixed and certain, ever subjective.
Everything’s relative, nothing made fast,
All moral certitude lives in the past.
Disinformation, deception and lies,
Never believe what you see with your eyes.
Ours is a time of trumpery and show,
Honesty is lost in the undertow.
To those who subscribe to a divine plan:
Always allow for the follies of man. |
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"This Be The Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself."
Another favourite of mine. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I’ve been reading a poem a day, and thoroughly enjoying discovering new ones.
Which poems would you recommend me, either old favourites or new discoveries?
Here’s one from me to you.
Marrysong - by Dennis Scott
He never learned her, quite. Year after year
That territory, without seasons, shifted
under his eye. An hour he could be lost
in the walled anger of her quarried hurt
on turning, see cool water laughing where
the day before there were stones in her voice.
He charted. She made wilderness again.
Roads disappeared. The map was never true.
Wind brought him rain sometimes, tasting of sea -
and suddenly she would change the shape of shores
faultlessly calm. All, all was each day new;
the shadows of her love shortened or grew
like trees seen from an unexpected hill,
new country at each jaunty helpless journey.
So he accepted that geography, constantly strange.
Wondered. Stayed home increasingly to find
his way among the landscapes of her mind.
"
 that's beautiful |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
APART FROM THE REVOLUTION
Each drop of blood a rose shall be
all sorrow shall be dust
blown by breezes to the sea
whose fingers thrust
into the corners of restless night
where creatures of the deep
avoid the flashing harbour lights
in search of endless sleep
there were executions
somebody had to pay
apart from the revolution
it’s another working day
a million angels sing
peasants eating cake
wedding bells are ringing
the room begins to shake
the children free from measles all
have healthy teeth and gums
they live in the cathedrals
and worship in the slums
poverty and pollution
have all swept away
apart from the revolution
it’s another working day |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
Water by Nikita Gill
When they ask why you love
the rain, the ocean, the river,
tell them
it is because
unlike the people
who should have
loved you better,
the water was never afraid
to touch you;
even when you were
at your most damaged
and broken.
I do like the water |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
2 METRES, NO MEETERS
Protect the NHS, save lives, stay at home,
being on your own isn't the only way for us to feel alone,
with our only connection to life through a mobile phone,
we've all become a personal mobile no-go zone,
we peak out our window and clap on the street,
there's shopping and exercise but we're scared of the people we meet,
masks used to mean muggers or robbers, with knives,
these days they're the things keeping most of us alive,
now we're the villains if we stop and talk or go for a drive,
society wilts like abandoned nursery flowers, but Corona thrives,
as strong as the flow of the flood of tears from our eyes,
we weep and mourn as another one dies. |
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Prinked our he was, as if he were a mead,
All full of fresh cut flowers white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting, all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
That's from The Squire in Canterbury Tales. I think you can see the man he's talking about when you read it |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately."
It's a thing with words and some of them rhyme,
it's usually at the end but not all of the time,
you can have limericks and such that like to take the piss,
or maybe try a haiku that goes a little something like this.....
To-con-vey one’s mood
In sev-en-teen syll-able-s
Is ve-ry dif-fic |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice. "
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that. |
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"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that."
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that.
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station. "
That's where Alexa would come in handy, no need to move then. |
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"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that.
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station.
That's where Alexa would come in handy, no need to move then."
Does it respond to "shut the f**k up Dick Van Dyke singing about chimneys"?  |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
Just heard this on the radio and it brole me a little bit...
Black Dog by Arlo Parks
I'd lick the grief right off your lips
You do your eyes like Robert Smith
Sometimes it seems like you won't survive this
And honestly it's terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
I take a jump off the fire escape
To make the black dog go away
At least I know that you are trying
But that's what makes it terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
|
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that.
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station.
That's where Alexa would come in handy, no need to move then.
Does it respond to "shut the f**k up Dick Van Dyke singing about chimneys"? "
I never thought I'd say this but after watching the new Mary Poppins film recently, I totally forgive him. The new one is so bad I'd take his accent over any performance from the new movie. |
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By *stella OP Woman
over a year ago
London |
"Just heard this on the radio and it brole me a little bit...
Black Dog by Arlo Parks
I'd lick the grief right off your lips
You do your eyes like Robert Smith
Sometimes it seems like you won't survive this
And honestly it's terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
I take a jump off the fire escape
To make the black dog go away
At least I know that you are trying
But that's what makes it terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
"
I see you. |
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"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that.
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station.
That's where Alexa would come in handy, no need to move then.
Does it respond to "shut the f**k up Dick Van Dyke singing about chimneys"?
I never thought I'd say this but after watching the new Mary Poppins film recently, I totally forgive him. The new one is so bad I'd take his accent over any performance from the new movie. "
Oh! I haven't had the (dubious) pleasure. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"I've never really liked poetry, I just dont get it unfortunately.
I really dislike performance poetry. Where they read it in a sort of sing song voice.
It's a bit like some musicals where they sing their lines. I can't stand that.
Nor I . "let's do the show right here" No, really it's fine...
Elaine Paige's radio show is on at the moment. I really don't like it but I can't be bothered to get up and change the station.
That's where Alexa would come in handy, no need to move then.
Does it respond to "shut the f**k up Dick Van Dyke singing about chimneys"?
I never thought I'd say this but after watching the new Mary Poppins film recently, I totally forgive him. The new one is so bad I'd take his accent over any performance from the new movie.
Oh! I haven't had the (dubious) pleasure. "
Don't worry. I'm sure someone of your talents knows a better way to occupy herself for a couple of hours. |
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"Just heard this on the radio and it brole me a little bit...
Black Dog by Arlo Parks
I'd lick the grief right off your lips
You do your eyes like Robert Smith
Sometimes it seems like you won't survive this
And honestly it's terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
I take a jump off the fire escape
To make the black dog go away
At least I know that you are trying
But that's what makes it terrifying
Let's go to the corner store and buy some fruit
I would do anything to get you out your room
Just take your medicine and eat some food
I would do anything to get you out your room
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
It's so cruel
What your mind can do for no reason
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