Apparently it's National Poetry Day today.
Got sent these earlier :

"For Want of a Better Title" by Roger McGough

The Countess
when the Count passed away

During a Bach
cello recital

Married an Archduke
the following day

For want of a better title.
-------------------------------------------

"Good Old William" by Roger McGough

'I concur
with everything you say,'
smiled William

'Oh yes,
I concur with that,
I agree.'

'If that's the general feeling
You can count on me.
Can't say fairer.'

Good old William, the Concurrer.
------------------------------------------------

"The Leader" by Roger McGough

I wanna be the leader
I wanna be the leader
Can I be the leader?
Can I? Can I?
Promise? Promise?
Yippee, I'm the leader
I'm the leader

OK what shall we do?
---------------------------------------------

"Dog Days" by Derek Mahon

'When you stop to consider
The days spent dreaming of a future
and say then, that was my life.'

For the days are long -
From the first milk van
To the last shout in the night,
An eternity. But the weeks go by
Like birds; and the years, the years
Fly past anti-clockwise
Like clock hands in a bar mirror.
------------------------------------------------

What's your favourite poem??

Nomme

How about some Ogden Nash for a giggle:

"Termites"
'Some primal termite knocked on wood
and tasted it, and found it good.
And that is why your cousin May
fell through the parlour floor today'

"Hippos"
'Behold the hippopotamus,
we laugh at hoe he looks to us.
And yet in moments dank and grim,
I wonder how we look to him.
Peace, peace, thou hippopotamus,
we really look all right to us.
As you no doubt delight the eye
of other hippopotami.'

"Icebreaker": 'Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.'

"The Ant"
'The ant has made his name illustrious
through constant industry industrious.
So what? Would you be calm and placid
if you were full of formic acid?'

The cat sat on the mat :thumbsup:

There was a young man called t020
who likes to stir up this forum a plenty
One day he did go,to a bar down Broomhall
and finally decided it was Ecclesall.


:D :headbang: :wink:

There was a young man called mikey
who's shoes were considered pikey
he went to a bar
in a nice flashy car
and said to the bouncer you likey?

Originally posted by max
There was a young man called mikey
who's shoes were considered pikey
he went to a bar
in a nice flashy car
and said to the bouncer you likey?
There was once an old man Max,
Who was always full of wisecracks,
He and Mikey saw red,
When a Bouncer once said,
I hope you two have got Jacks.
(Cos I've just nicked yer wheels)

Keep that up DB and you'll soon have your heart's desire - a complete merc.

Originally posted by max
Keep that up DB and you'll soon have your heart's desire - a complete merc.
I dont dislike mercs at all. Just hate the drivers (or majority of em). I like mercedes, but I wouldn't own one for fear of what I would become. I wouldn't want to be like the ones I have encountered.

But yeah, I think mercs look good!

Very good Max


There was an old man from Takapuna
who likes a good Chicken Bhuna
nowadays he does dress
in a mask knickers and vest
and puts his opponants to the test.

boom boom!! on guard!!

Originally posted by mikey
Very good Max


There was an old man from Takapuna
who likes a good Chicken Bhuna
nowadays he does dress
in a mask knickers and vest
and puts his opponants to the test.

boom boom!! on guard!!
You know our manager then? :D

They was once an old geezer called mikey,
Who tried to nick some old worn trainers by Nike,
Until he was caught red handed,
They're mine he demanded,
The copper said not bloody likely you pikey.

IF
Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep you head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you.
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat these two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man, my son!

Untitled Life, by RPG.

Awakened, he realises the chill down his spine is but a mere illusion/
he wishes for something more when he awakes, an untitled life is but a crime/
turn on the bright lights/
his day continues with no surprises, and nothing special to encounter/
later that day, hope arises but is dashed soon after/
turn off the bright lights/
he dreams a dream which is pure bliss, he's both needed and wanted, a chill flows down his spine eighteen seconds before sunrise/
Awakened, he realises the chill down his spine is but a mere illusion/

Night Sheffield by RPG

Sheffield disappears out of the daytime like an owl cloaking into the night/
Half lit streetlights compliment the evening chorus/
Empty cans rattle amongst papers and pigeons/
Finding your change in the dark night fills you with joy/
Finally it arrives, the transportation out of here/
Into the suburbs it travels, silently to the dark/
Eventually reaching my destination I disembark the tram/
Lonely walks home await me between here and there/
Deadly precision as I insert the key into the lock, im home./

there was a young girl called kat
she sleeps on a furry pink mat
her goldfish have died
theres tears in her eyes
so she put on her black mourning hat

There was a guy called Jon
Who went for a swim in the Don
He sank to the bottom cos he weighed more then a ton
But two years later turned up in Brazil after he fiddled the Halifax insurance oh what a con :loopy: :thumbsup:

I think you lot are missing the poem bit, and writing Limericks instead :loopy:

I thought my poem/limerick was very poignant and moving and should not be undermined like this. I shall be reporting this behaviour to Geoff as i think its a sackable offence.

Originally posted by kittykat
there was a young girl called kat
she sleeps on a furry pink mat
her goldfish have died
theres tears in her eyes
so she put on her black mourning hat

lol:D :D

Originally posted by RPG
I think you lot are missing the poem bit, and writing Limericks instead :loopy:

There was a young man called RPG
Who indulged in a bit of sanctimony
When asked, what's a rhyme
He said give me time
But then said your Limerick's a phoney

PS Limerick - 5 line poem

What are you lot on about??

I went off poetry after Woodhouse Grammar, where we were forced to consider the poem "Ode to a Grecian Urn", and I was asked to tell the rest of the class what the poet meant by various lines. I said that I hadn't a clue, but was more worried by a guy who writes poems about jugs than not knowing what he meant.:)

Originally posted by max
There was a young man called RPG
Who indulged in a bit of sanctimony
When asked, what's a rhyme
He said give me time
But then said your Limerick's a phoney

PS Limerick - 5 line poem
LMAO...so funny!

Originally posted by BigD
I said that I hadn't a clue, but was more worried by a guy who writes poems about jugs than not knowing what he meant.:)

Why are you worried?

I think a LOT of men spend their time looking at and thinking about 'jugs'.

Nomme

What's a Graecian urn?

About 2 euros an hour.

Hope it is not too late to offer you my favourite poem

Warning 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.

My three favourite poems – not including Haiku:

Daffodils

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.
William wordsworth (1770 – 1850)

The Vagabond

Give to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river
There's the life for a man like me;
There's the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.
Or let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field -
Warm the fireside haven -
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around,
And the road before me.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask the heaven above,
And the road below me.

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 94)

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking,
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878 – 1967)
:thumbsup:

Oh, and from my school-days:

Vitaï Lampada

THERE'S a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862 – 1938)

hmm- mine and max's were better.

Originally posted by Carlwarker
Oh, and from my school-days:



Is that from your Old Edwardian Days?

Barcelona is bleeding,
Barcelona is bleeding,
Barcelona is bleeding..............Hot!

But it is better than Oxford College
Which is grey and dull
And rather like porridge!

I had a great limerick too but it was quite rude, so I thought I'd try and bring in some culture instead:- My dad's favourite..

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
...............

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow--Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-- sans End
....................

There once was a man called Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave
He said "I admit
I am a bit of a ****
But think of the money I save".


Can't be serious all the time.
:D

hmm- mine and max's were better

I agree with Kat :D

but I like this one too

Loss

The day he moved out was terrible -
That evening she went through hell.
His absence wasn't a problem
But the cockscrew had gone as well

(Wendy Cope)

Ah well, if we're here to quote other people's poems rather than be original I quite like this one:

(Said in a Scottish accent)

On yonder hill there stands a cow
If he's no there he's away now

Originally posted by Funke88
There once was a man called Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave
He said "I admit
I am a bit of a ****
But think of the money I save".


Can't be serious all the time.
:D
There was once a young woman from China,
She stepped on an Ocean Liner,
She slipped to her back,
And opened her crack,
And now you can see her..... erm.... pink bits. :thumbsup:

How rude! :P

What's your favourite poem??

Nomme

this one from the pen of Spike Milligan, one of my favourite poets.

This rabbit with eyes full of fevered pus
Is the work of scientific us

Mary had a little lamb. She got a heavy fine and six months in the slammer.

Mary had a little lamb. The midwife fainted.

Mary had a little lamb, she fed it on cream crackers.
Every time it dropped a crumb she kicked it in the ..........more tea vicar ?:D

National Poetry Day is back! This year it's on Thursday 9th October. I will probably be reading some poetry on Thursday but I like reading poetry anyway.

The theme this year is Work. More information here:

http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/

I can't think of many poems about work at the moment so I will post this one.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=1YJS5E5NjrM&feature=PlayList&p=29A413385920592F&index=3

It's a reading of John Betjeman's short poem 'Business Girls'- about office girls in Camden having their morning baths before going to work.

National Poetry Day is back! This year it's on Thursday 9th October. I will probably be reading some poetry on Thursday but I like reading poetry anyway.

The theme this year is Work. More information here:

http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/

I can't think of many poems about work at the moment so I will post this one.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=1YJS5E5NjrM&feature=PlayList&p=29A413385920592F&index=3

It's John Betjeman reading his short poem 'Business Girls'- about office girls in Camden having their morning baths before going to work.

Oh, what's that Larkin one about work squatting on life like a toad? Anyone?

*goes off to google*

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can't I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?

Six days of the week it soils
With its sickening poison -
Just for paying a few bills!
That's out of proportion.

Lots of folk live on their wits:
Lecturers, lispers,
Losels, loblolly-men, louts-
They don't end as paupers;

Lots of folk live up lanes
With fires in a bucket,
Eat windfalls and tinned sardines-
they seem to like it.

Their nippers have got bare feet,
Their unspeakable wives
Are skinny as whippets - and yet
No one actually starves.

Ah, were I courageous enough
To shout Stuff your pension!
But I know, all too well, that's the stuff
That dreams are made on:

For something sufficiently toad-like
Squats in me, too;
Its hunkers are heavy as hard luck,
And cold as snow,

And will never allow me to blarney
My way of getting
The fame and the girl and the money
All at one sitting.

I don't say, one bodies the other
One's spiritual truth;
But I do say it's hard to lose either,
When you have both.


ETA: That's 'Toads' by Philip Larkin (1954).

I like this one very much, Jessica23 and 'Toads Revisited' is even better.

*Goes off to look for it*

Here it is:

Toads Revisited
Philip Larkin


Walking around in the park
Should feel better than work:
The lake, the sunshine,
The grass to lie on,

Blurred playground noises
Beyond black-stockinged nurses -
Not a bad place to be.
Yet it doesn't suit me.

Being one of the men
You meet of an afternoon:
Palsied old step-takers,
Hare-eyed clerks with the jitters,

Waxed-fleshed out-patients
Still vague from accidents,
And characters in long coats
Deep in the litter-baskets -

All dodging the toad work
By being stupid or weak.
Think of being them!
Hearing the hours chime,

Watching the bread delivered,
The sun by clouds covered,
The children going home;
Think of being them,

Turning over their failures
By some bed of lobelias,
Nowhere to go but indoors,
Nor friends but empty chairs -

No, give me my in-tray,
My loaf-haired secretary,
My shall-I-keep-the-call-in-Sir:
What else can I answer,

When the lights come on at four
At the end of another year?
Give me your arm, old toad;
Help me down Cemetery Road.


I think this was written in 1962 and to me it is strangely nostalgic. That picture of nurses with their black stockings outdoors (nowadays they can't go out in their uniforms), bread deliveries, playground noises, and a time when only the old, the ill and the odd were out of work. And facing Autumn literally and metaphorically with this grown up acceptance of some of the things you rejected when you were young.

Does anyone remember a tv programme a few years ago about the developing foetus in the womb. Roger Mcgough wrote and narrated the thoughts of the baby in verse throughout the programme. I wish I`d recorded it because it was lovely and funny at times. I have never seen it in print or recorded anywhere, but I`d love to hear it again.

I've had a look for this but I'm not sure I would recognise it even if I found it.

I did find this on Roger McGough's website though.

PAY-BACK TIME

O Lord, let me be a burden on my children
For long they've been a burden upon me.
May they fetch and carry, clean and scrub
And do so cheerfully.

Let them take it in turns at putting me up
Nice sunny rooms at the top of the stairs
With a walk-in bath and lift installed
At great expense.....Theirs.

Insurance against the body-blows of time
Isn't that what having children's all about?
To bring them up knowing that they owe you
And can't contract out?

What is money for but to spend on their schooling?
Designer clothes, mindless hobbies, usual stuff.
Then as soon as they're earning, off they go
Well, enough's enough.

It's been a blessing watching them develop
The parental pride we felt as each one grew.
But Lord, let me be a burden on my children
And on my children's children too.

Roger McGough Selected Poems Penguin, Feb'06

Conker2 thats a great poem. I discovered that the programme has been released on dvd but without the poetry which is a real shame. (apparently it was for the American market so it was left off - very strange)