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There's lots of thread's about novels, well there's at least one. Nothing for poetry that I know of though so I thought I'd start one Lets have your favourites from any era and anywhere.
I'll start
Dylan Thomas
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
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.
There's also this by Paul Reekie
WHEN CEASAR’S MUSHROOM IS IN SEASON
When Caesar’s mushroom is in season
It is the reversal of the mushroom season
As Caesar’s mushroom comes in march
The mushroom season is in September
Six months earlier
One half year
Equinoctal
Autumnal to vernal
Do you hope for more
Than a better balance
Between fear and desire
It’ll only be the straying
That finds the path direct
Neither in the woods nor in the field
No robes, like Caesar’s, trimmed with purple
Rather an entire street trimmed with purple
And every door in it
Wrapped in a different sort of Christmas paper
The September mushrooms of midnight
Show the rhythms of vision
Can’t move for tripping over them
Wipe your tapes
Wipe your tapes with lightning
Reading this with my 6yo boy 😃
I'm also a fan of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
So here's some of it.
Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav’n and strikes
The Sultán’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.
2
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
“When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why nods the drowsy Worshiper outside?”
3
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted—“Open, then, the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more.”
Won't post the texts, but favourites include Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Tam O'Shanter, Paul Revere's Ride, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (particularly the Iron Maiden version), Stop All the Clocks and many others. Particularly enjoy hearing them performed as that can really bring a poem to life.
Also enjoy the comedy ones. McAvity the Mystery Cat is one I never tire of. However to end on a silly note you can't beat:-
Shake and shake,
The ketchup bottle,
None'll come,
And then a lot'll.
You might like this @kennyp
The Flamingo by Richard Medrington
Flamingos dress in fetching pink
But can be rather glum,
Their legs being made of plastic tubes
And bits of chewing gum
i discovered Robert Service a few years ago.
The Spell of the Yukon
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it—
Came out with a fortune last fall,—
Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn’t all.
No! There’s the land. (Have you seen it?)
It’s the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when He made it;
Some say it’s a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it
For no land on earth—and I’m one.
You come to get rich (damned good reason);
You feel like an exile at first;
You hate it like hell for a season,
And then you are worse than the worst.
It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
It twists you from foe to a friend;
It seems it’s been since the beginning;
It seems it will be to the end.
I’ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;
I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow
In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
And I’ve thought that I surely was dreaming,
With the peace o’ the world piled on top.
The summer—no sweeter was ever;
The sunshiny woods all athrill;
The grayling aleap in the river,
The bighorn asleep on the hill.
The strong life that never knows harness;
The wilds where the caribou call;
The freshness, the freedom, the farness—
O God! how I’m stuck on it all.
The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
The snows that are older than history,
The woods where the weird shadows slant;
The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
I’ve bade ’em good-by—but I can’t.
There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back—and I will.
They’re making my money diminish;
I’m sick of the taste of champagne.
Thank God! when I’m skinned to a finish
I’ll pike to the Yukon again.
I’ll fight—and you bet it’s no sham-fight;
It’s hell!—but I’ve been there before;
And it’s better than this by a damsite—
So me for the Yukon once more.
There’s gold, and it’s haunting and haunting;
It’s luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn’t the gold that I’m wanting
So much as just finding the gold.
It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,
It’s the forests where silence has lease;
It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.
Particularly enjoy hearing them performed as that can really bring a poem to life.
agree
Next, Please - Philip Larkin
Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,
Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!
Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,
Flagged, and the figurehead wit golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it's
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last
We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:
Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.
Bit of R L Stevenson, written for his friend S R Crockett and his beloved Galloway:
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying,
Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now,
Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying,
My heart remembers how!
Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places,
Standing Stones on the vacant wine-red moor,
Hills of sheep, and the howes of the silent vanished races,
And winds, austere and pure!
Be it granted me to behold you again in dying,
Hills of home! and to hear again the call;
Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees crying;
And hear no more at all.
I really need to do poetry more - I bump into the work of this local chap from time to time, and I always love it. One of his is the only book of poetry I've bought as an adult, it's fantastic.
Edit - that's an unfortunate and unrepresentative thumbnail...
Thanks for that Gallowayboy I'm a fan of both Stevenson and Crockett but hadn't read that before now
Kiss me goodbye
Pushing out before I sleep
Can't you see I try?
Swimming the same deep water as you is hard
The shallow drowned lose less than we
The strangest twist upon your lips
And we shall be together
And we shall be together
Kiss me goodbye bow your head and join with me
And face pushed deep, reflections meet
The strangest twist upon your lips
And disappear, the ripples clear
And laughing break against your feet
And laughing break the mirror sweet
So we shall be together
So we shall be together
Kiss me goodbye
Pushing out before I sleep
It's lower now, and slower now
The strangest twist upon your lips
But I don't see, and I don't feel
But tightly hold up silently
My hands before my fading eyes
And in my eyes your smile
The very last thing before I go
The very last thing before I go
The very last thing before I go
I will kiss you, I will kiss you
I will kiss you forever on nights like this
I will kiss you, I will kiss you
And we shall be together
(The Same Deep Water as You by The Cure – beautiful poetry set to music)
Here is my rendition of a currently popular one
There was a young man from Hebden
Who sent it, and pulled a tendon
His tendon healed, but his rims were a mess
so he bought some new carbon hoops
for £1500?! no less.
Down behind the dustbin
I met a dog called Sid.
He could smell a bone inside
But he couldn’t lift the lid.
Michael Rosen
This seems appropriate given it's the 25th anniversary of the Good Friday agreement.
A Brown Paper Carrier Bag By Roger Mcgough
IN THE TIME....
a spider's web woven across
the plateglass window shivers snaps
and sends a shimmering haze of lethal stars
across the crowded restaurant
IN THE TIME IT TAKES....
jigsaw pieces of shrapnel
glide gently towards children
tucking in to the warm flesh
a terrible hunger sated
IN THE TIME IT TAKES TO PUT DOWN....
on the pavement
people come apart slowly
at first
only the dead not screaming
IN THE TIMES IT TAKES TO PUT DOWN A BROWN PAPER CARRIER BAG.
Note:
When performed live a brown paper carrier bag was placed on a plinth at the beginning of the poem... and exploded at the end.
Utterly superb thanks @ slowoldman
Written 30+ years ago. Unfortunately prospects haven't changed for the youth of Porirua East.
Porirua Friday Night by Sam Hunt.
Acne blossoms on their cheeks,
these kids up Porirua East...
Pinned across this young girl's breast
a name tag on a supermarket badge,
a city-sky blue smock.
Her face unclenches like a fist.
Fourteen when I met her first
a year ago, she's now left school,
going with the boy she hopes
will marry her next year.
I asked her if she found it hard,
working in the store on Friday nights
when friends are out on the town.
She never heard, but went on, rather,
talking of the house her man
had put a first deposit on
and what it's like to be in love.
W B Yeats Easter 1916
With apologies, but always my first thought when...
"Waving at Trains"
Roger McGough
Do people who wave at trains
Wave at the driver, or at the train itself?
Or, do people who wave at trains
Wave at the passengers? Those hurtling strangers,
The unidentifiable flying faces?
They must think we like being waved at.
Children do perhaps, and alone
In a compartment, the occasional passenger
Who is himself a secret waver at trains.
But most of us are unimpressed.
Some even think they’re daft.
Stuck out there in a field, grinning.
But our ignoring them, our blank faces,
Even our pulled tongues and up you signs
Come three miles further down the line.
Out of harm’s way by then
They continue their walk.
Refreshed and made pure, by the mistaken belief
That their love has been returned,
Because they have not seen it rejected.
It’s like God in a way. Another day
Another universe. Always off somewhere.
And left behind, the faithful few,
Stuck out there. Not a care in the world.
All innocence. Arms in the air. Waving.
not to be complicit
not to accept everyone else is silent it must be alright
not to keep one’s mouth shut to hold onto one’s job
not to accept public language as cover and decoy
not to put friends and family before the rest of the world
not to say I am wrong when you know the government is wrong
not to be just a bought behaviour pattern
to accept the moment and fact of choice
I am a human being
and I exist
a human being
and a citizen of the world
responsible to that world
—and responsible for that world
Tom Leonard
heard this the other day:
A Vampire Considers Buying A New Mirror
On
Reflection
No.
– by Peter Mortimer
HARDtalk, John Cooper Clarke - Poet: www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m001lh4c via @bbciplayer
Nice one @gordimhor. There's a great poem by Simon Armitage, called About Ladybower. It's quite long, and I CBA to type the whole thing out, but here's an extract:
Mountain bikes! Great horse bikes! Great chargers, unknackerable
unstoppable, damn near unbuyable push-irons with a gear for every occasion.
After the preamble of tarmac, the small talking avenues we sidetrack a footpath
and are keen this time for the rolled-out chestnut paling of yesterday's ride,
the cleated bone-shaking walkway which end-stopped after a furlong
pitching us headlong, leaving us axle-high in a black pet soup
[...]
On the downslopes we sit tight, drop the seats, descend
at full tilt, knowing well the bikers' adage of 'what goes down
must lift again' - the zero average, the exact cancellation
of climbing versus falling
There's plenty more. It's worth looking out for: it's in his collection 'Kid'.
I'll look that up, knew there must be some MTB specific poetry outside of mintsauce
By Ogden Nash probably...
The one l-lama he's a beast
The two l-lama he's a priest
But I will bet a silk pyjama there isn't any three l-lama
The Song of the Smoke
BY W. E. B. DU BOIS
I am the Smoke King
I am black!
I am swinging in the sky,
I am wringing worlds awry;
I am the thought of the throbbing mills,
I am the soul of the soul-toil kills,
Wraith of the ripple of trading rills;
Up I’m curling from the sod,
I am whirling home to God;
I am the Smoke King
I am black.
I am the Smoke King,
I am black!
I am wreathing broken hearts,
I am sheathing love’s light darts;
Inspiration of iron times
Wedding the toil of toiling climes,
Shedding the blood of bloodless crimes—
Lurid lowering ’mid the blue,
Torrid towering toward the true,
I am the Smoke King,
I am black.
I am the Smoke King,
I am black!
I am darkening with song,
I am hearkening to wrong!
I will be black as blackness can—
The blacker the mantle, the mightier the man!
For blackness was ancient ere whiteness began.
I am daubing God in night,
I am swabbing Hell in white:
I am the Smoke King
I am black.
I am the Smoke King
I am black!
I am cursing ruddy morn,
I am hearsing hearts unborn:
Souls unto me are as stars in a night,
I whiten my black men—I blacken my white!
What’s the hue of a hide to a man in his might?
Hail! great, gritty, grimy hands—
Sweet Christ, pity toiling lands!
I am the Smoke King
I am black.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43025/the-song-of-the-smoke
I always read the forum home page as though it were a poem read by William Shatner.
Ministry of Crap Design – Office Loo Edition
Thurrock Council…wow!
All Pledge Allegiance to the New King
Brexit 2020+
steel frame comparison ?
How much? You could buy a Land Rover for that…
Local Elections
wildlife camera recommendations
Electrical question (smart switch)
Watches N+1…
Electric cars talk to me of the reality a long commute
Ukraine
England rugby tackle law change.
Saddleworth moor,route advice.cheers
2023 Chub Club
Excel help.. sorry
Electricians – Do I need this signing off or to be done by an electrician?
Can you buy a Continental Kryptotal F Enduro anywhere?
Have we had a Dune thread yet?
Waskally Wabbit…
Three Word Friday
Radness Alert! Frameworks Racing x Cotic Steel DH Bike Collab
Badger divide
It’s Eric Sykes’ centenary today
Remedies from the past
Old Attenborough films about Australia.
Weirdest breakfast
Defiantly VS Definitely
Gigs.
Arrrgghh! My Eye!
PSA – Stif sale
soccerball 22/23, the WC hump season
Baby talk (Dads give me some hope)
Don’t you hate it when…
Constant Pain and Tightness down the outsides of lower leg/calf
Does anyone make a 2x XC bike any more?
Parking ideas near Garve, Highlands please
BikeInn – buying a bike….?
Do I Need Bike Insurance? Your Bicycle Insurance Questions Answered
Tamiya and other R/C vehicles (not just for Christmas)
Anything better than a Buzz Rack E-Hornet?
iTunes query.
Who does the best tow-bar bike racks these days?
New Specialized Levo SL – This Is The Droid You’ve Been Looking For
Anyone successfully claimed compensation from Evri/Hermes?
XC Hardtail… which one?
Rear Shock Bobbing – Trek Remedy
Red Leader Standing By…
Hope RX4 driving me bonkers
By crikey trains are expensive
Squirt VS Smoove
ferry prices ??
The Solar Thread
Bike packing – Tent or Bivvy + Tarp?
Foot Injury Before a Bike Tour
Boltby Bash 2023 – who’s going?
Trying to get to 4w/kg
⛰️ The Hillwalking thread ⛰️
What’s your music roots?
Old climbing gear
psa: wiggle/crc New IT System Apr23 Order Info lost
Caersws Bikepark is back
Wordle
XT 12 speed shifter failure
Moon on a stick tyres: faster than Mezcal, gripper than Terreno
Generic handlebar extenders, 35mm?
“That fascist t-shirt was just resting on my body” – lol
Proper “long” baggies for wearing with pads?
Weekly photo challenge. 1.5.2023 – 7.5.2023 Dry stone walls
JRA carbon road wheels
PSA: Ragley Trig gravel bike with GRX. £1099.99.
CATS MBC / Midlands MBO Event on Sun 7th May
Hardtails rule? Critique my options…
Single-track’s space, rockets and astronauts thread
Kielder – is it a bit rubbish?
If your only gonna one cool retro mtb pic… make sure Senna is in it
joebristol
Best 24” tyre for pump track, pootling around with kids
Decathlon e bikes.
Big increase in military flights
Since it's Burns night
THE TREE OF LIBERTY
Heard ye o’ the tree o’ France,
I watna what’s the name o’t;
Around it a’ the patriots dance,
Weel Europe kens the fame o’t.
It stands where ance the Bastile stood,
A prison built by kings, man,
When Superstition’s hellish brood
Kept France in leading strings, man.
~
Upo’ this tree there grows sic fruit,
Its virtues a’ can tell, man;
It raises man aboon the brute,
It maks him ken himsel, man.
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit,
He’s greater than a lord, man,
An’ wi’ the beggar shares a mite
O’ a’ he can afford, man.
~
Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar and her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke,
And o’er her neighbours shine, man.
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon ’twill be agreed, man.
That sic a tree can not be found
’Twixt London and the Tweed, man.
~
Wi’ plenty o’ sic trees, I trow,
This warld would live in peace, man;
The sword would help to mak a plough,
The din o’ war wad cease, man.
Like brethren in a common cause,
We’d on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
Wad gladden every isle, man.