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By *ezzels OP Man
over a year ago
cheshire and north wales |
As an avid and reader and writer of poetry , I’m sure there are some like minded people on here to share a few poems..what’s your favourite..I’ve put one up for those interested…by Yeats..x |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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Like a nightclub in the morning, you're the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shithouse, you're clean round the bend
You give me the horrors
Too bad to be true
All of my tomorrows
Are lousy 'cause 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 favor, here, wear this polythene bag
You're like a dose of scabies
I've got you under my skin
You make life a fairytale
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
You're 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 it some kind of bat?
They can't find a good word for you
But I can
Twat! |
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I can't choose one favourite.
I like Scaffolding by Seamus Heaney
Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;
Make sure that planks won’t slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.
And yet all this comes down when the job’s done
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.
So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me
Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall
Confident that we have built our wall. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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So many ! But I often return to Robert Frost:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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wife used to say:
Why spend hours at the gym, to keep yourself slim?
Nobody's looking at you!
Why mess with your head, dye your hair red?
Nobody's looking at you!
Why wear your smart suit, on the daily commute?
Nobody's looking at you!
Why watch what you eat, with a face like regurgitated meat?
Nobody's looking at you!
So I hit her with a spade, on the floor she lays splayed.
Nobody's looking at you!
Her eyes roll back in her head, I'm certain she's dead.
Nobody's looking at you!
There's blood on the floor, as she's dragged through the door.
Nobody's looking at you!
She burns in the fire, the flames roaring higher,
Nobody's looking at you!
I've killed that is true, but I'll get away with it too,
Because........ |
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My aunt had many, many books including a lot of poetry books. I inherited most of them. She was aware she had limited time. I took one of her poetry books from the shelf recently and it fell open at Crossing The Bar Tennyson
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
She'd obviously referred back to that many times |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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"My aunt had many, many books including a lot of poetry books. I inherited most of them. She was aware she had limited time. I took one of her poetry books from the shelf recently and it fell open at Crossing The Bar Tennyson
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
She'd obviously referred back to that many times"
I think we often refer back to poetry, quotes and song lyrics to guide us through the dark. |
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"My aunt had many, many books including a lot of poetry books. I inherited most of them. She was aware she had limited time. I took one of her poetry books from the shelf recently and it fell open at Crossing The Bar Tennyson
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
She'd obviously referred back to that many times
I think we often refer back to poetry, quotes and song lyrics to guide us through the dark. "
True. She was not a believer in God so I wonder who she thought of as her pilot. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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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 (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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"Dulce et decorum est.
I was a bit of a odd child and became obsessed with this poem. I know it word for word.
Just read the poem, horrific. Poor sods. "
Isn't it? Brilliant though. |
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