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Post your favorite poem or lyrics
- Thread starter Bidude117
- Start date
InkOfTruth
On the Prowl
I probably read a wrong version, but this is the one I'm familiar with:
To see the world in a grain of sand,
and heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and eternity in an hour
Oh and it's by William Blake
Ekim23
Who is this Jackass ?
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it's my life, and it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive
My heart is like an open Highway
Like Frankie said I did it my way
I just wanna liv while i'm alive
-------------
Ohhh, if there's one thing I hang onto,
That gets me through the night.
I ain't gonna do what I don't want to,
I'm gonna live my life.
Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice,
Standing on the ledge, I show the wind how to fly.
When the world gets in my face,
I say, Have A Nice Day.
Have A Nice Day
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive
My heart is like an open Highway
Like Frankie said I did it my way
I just wanna liv while i'm alive
-------------
Ohhh, if there's one thing I hang onto,
That gets me through the night.
I ain't gonna do what I don't want to,
I'm gonna live my life.
Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice,
Standing on the ledge, I show the wind how to fly.
When the world gets in my face,
I say, Have A Nice Day.
Have A Nice Day
dscottsw
Slut
The Road Not Taken by 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 marked 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.
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 marked 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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^ Always loved that poem. 
Another favourite Frost poem ....
Mending Wall
by Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Another favourite Frost poem ....
Mending Wall
by Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
- Joined
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- Posts
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And yet another favourite poem by Mr Frost .... Out, Out .... Such a brilliantly gruesome little poem ... love the way he uses personification to make the buzzsaw seem so sinister yet at the same time, like a friend to the boy ....
'Out, Out ..' by Robert Frost
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them 'Supper'. At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap--
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh.
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all--
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart--
He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!'
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then -- the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little -- less -- nothing! -- and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
'Out, Out ..' by Robert Frost
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them 'Supper'. At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap--
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh.
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all--
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart--
He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!'
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then -- the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little -- less -- nothing! -- and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
dscottsw
Slut
No question, Robert Frost was a genius. I never tire of hearing his poetry and have memorized several to use in classes I teach. Thank you for reminding me of "The Wall." Here's another wonderful poem I found recently and wanted to share...
Escape by DANUSHA LAMÉRIS
Escape by DANUSHA LAMÉRIS
Do they ever want to escape?
Climb out of the curved white pages
and enter our world?
Holden Caulfield slipping in the side door
of the movie theater to catch the two o’clock.
Anna Karenina sitting in the local diner,
reading the paper as the waitress
in a bright green uniform
serves up a cheeseburger and a Coke.
Even Hector, on break from the Iliad,
takes a stroll through the park,
admires a fresh bed of tulips.
Who knows? Maybe
they were growing tired
of the author’s mind,
all its twists and turns,
or they were finally weary
of stumbling around Pamplona,
a bottle in each fist,
eating lotuses on the banks of the Nile.
Perhaps it was just too hot
in the small California town
where they’d been written into
a lifetime of plowing fields.
Whatever the reason, here they are,
content to spend the day
roaming the city streets, rain falling
on their phantasmal shoulders,
enjoying the bustle of the crowd.
Wouldn’t you, if you could?
Step out of your own story
to lean for an afternoon against the doorway
of the five-and-dime, sipping your coffee,
your life somewhere far behind you,
all its heat and toil nothing but a tale
resting in the hands of a stranger,
the dingy sidewalk ahead wet and glistening.
Climb out of the curved white pages
and enter our world?
Holden Caulfield slipping in the side door
of the movie theater to catch the two o’clock.
Anna Karenina sitting in the local diner,
reading the paper as the waitress
in a bright green uniform
serves up a cheeseburger and a Coke.
Even Hector, on break from the Iliad,
takes a stroll through the park,
admires a fresh bed of tulips.
Who knows? Maybe
they were growing tired
of the author’s mind,
all its twists and turns,
or they were finally weary
of stumbling around Pamplona,
a bottle in each fist,
eating lotuses on the banks of the Nile.
Perhaps it was just too hot
in the small California town
where they’d been written into
a lifetime of plowing fields.
Whatever the reason, here they are,
content to spend the day
roaming the city streets, rain falling
on their phantasmal shoulders,
enjoying the bustle of the crowd.
Wouldn’t you, if you could?
Step out of your own story
to lean for an afternoon against the doorway
of the five-and-dime, sipping your coffee,
your life somewhere far behind you,
all its heat and toil nothing but a tale
resting in the hands of a stranger,
the dingy sidewalk ahead wet and glistening.
dscottsw
Slut
OK - one more (at least for tonight...).
Love this one and have also used it in classes, although I am more familiar with the Simon & Garfunkel lyrics version than the original (by Edward Arlington Robinson). After looking at them both, I choose to post the original...
Richard Cory
Love this one and have also used it in classes, although I am more familiar with the Simon & Garfunkel lyrics version than the original (by Edward Arlington Robinson). After looking at them both, I choose to post the original...
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.
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William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
teadrinker
JUB Addict
The Windhover, Gerard Manley Hopkins:
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
(Who on earth could have imagined words could go together like that? It's an astonishing poetic tour de force.)
The world is a beautiful place, Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
(Who on earth could have imagined words could go together like that? It's an astonishing poetic tour de force.)
The world is a beautiful place, Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
dscottsw
Slut
Magnificent. Do people still believe in that kind of destiny or pre-determination?
dscottsw
Slut
dscottsw
Slut
Courage by Daniel Berrigan
It is not an invention of the
gods - nor of the godlike who
have at their command all
the paraphernalia
noble profiles - headlines - public fealty.
I was once told to seek it
out - so & so had the formula
Alas, he had perished,
the circumstances hard to
uncover - life was torn from his
side like a
heart - cast to the four
winds. Uncomforted,
I thought this a
clue.
It is not an invention of the
gods - nor of the godlike who
have at their command all
the paraphernalia
noble profiles - headlines - public fealty.
I was once told to seek it
out - so & so had the formula
Alas, he had perished,
the circumstances hard to
uncover - life was torn from his
side like a
heart - cast to the four
winds. Uncomforted,
I thought this a
clue.
braex27
Cerca Trova
By Michae Leunig
I shot a smile into the air
It came to earth I know not where
Perhaps on someone else’s face
In some forgotten quiet place.
Perhaps somewhere a sleeping child
Has had a happy dream and smiled
Or some old soul about to die
Who smiled and made a little sigh.
Has sighed a simple final prayer
Which lifts up gently in the air
And flows into the world so wild
Perhaps to wake the sleeping child.
I shot a smile into the air
It came to earth I know not where
Perhaps on someone else’s face
In some forgotten quiet place.
Perhaps somewhere a sleeping child
Has had a happy dream and smiled
Or some old soul about to die
Who smiled and made a little sigh.
Has sighed a simple final prayer
Which lifts up gently in the air
And flows into the world so wild
Perhaps to wake the sleeping child.
fetaby
dances atop the bellcurve
"Comfort Eagle"
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are widening the corridors
And adding more lanes
We are building a religion
A limited edition
We are now accepting callers
for these pendant key chains
To resist it is useless
It is useless to resist it
His cigarette is burning
But he never seems to ash
He is grooming his poodle
He is living comfort eagle
You can meet at his location
But you better come with cash
Now his hat is on backwards
He can show you his tattoos
He is in the music business
He is calling you "DUDE!"
Now today is tomorrow
And tomorrow today
And yesterday is weaving in and out
And the fluffy white lines
That the airplane leaves behind
Are drifting right in front
of the waining of the moon
He is handling the money
He's serving the food
He knows about your party
He is calling you "DUDE!"
Now do you believe
In the one big sign
The doublewide shine
On the bootheels of your prime
Doesn't matter if you're skinny
Doesn't matter if you're fat
You can dress up like a sultan
In your onion head hat
We are building a religion
We are making a brand
We're the only ones to turn to
When your castles turn to sand
Take a bite of this apple
Mr. corporate events
Take a walk through the jungle
Of cardboard shanties and tents
Some people drink Pepsi
Some people drink Coke
The wacky morning DJ
Says democracy's a joke
He says now do you believe
In the one big song
He's now accepting callers
Who would like to sing along
She says, do you believe
In the one true edge
By fastening your safety belts
And stepping towards the ledge
He is handling the money
He is serving the food
He is now accepting callers
He is calling me "DUDE!"
Now do you believe
In the one big sign
The doublewide shine
On the bootheels of your prime
There's no need to ask directions
If you ever lose your mind
We're behind you
We're behind you
And let us please remind you
We can send a car to find you
If you ever lose your way
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are building
A religion
A limited
Edition
We are now accepting callers...
For these beautiful...
Pendant key chains
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are widening the corridors
And adding more lanes
We are building a religion
A limited edition
We are now accepting callers
for these pendant key chains
To resist it is useless
It is useless to resist it
His cigarette is burning
But he never seems to ash
He is grooming his poodle
He is living comfort eagle
You can meet at his location
But you better come with cash
Now his hat is on backwards
He can show you his tattoos
He is in the music business
He is calling you "DUDE!"
Now today is tomorrow
And tomorrow today
And yesterday is weaving in and out
And the fluffy white lines
That the airplane leaves behind
Are drifting right in front
of the waining of the moon
He is handling the money
He's serving the food
He knows about your party
He is calling you "DUDE!"
Now do you believe
In the one big sign
The doublewide shine
On the bootheels of your prime
Doesn't matter if you're skinny
Doesn't matter if you're fat
You can dress up like a sultan
In your onion head hat
We are building a religion
We are making a brand
We're the only ones to turn to
When your castles turn to sand
Take a bite of this apple
Mr. corporate events
Take a walk through the jungle
Of cardboard shanties and tents
Some people drink Pepsi
Some people drink Coke
The wacky morning DJ
Says democracy's a joke
He says now do you believe
In the one big song
He's now accepting callers
Who would like to sing along
She says, do you believe
In the one true edge
By fastening your safety belts
And stepping towards the ledge
He is handling the money
He is serving the food
He is now accepting callers
He is calling me "DUDE!"
Now do you believe
In the one big sign
The doublewide shine
On the bootheels of your prime
There's no need to ask directions
If you ever lose your mind
We're behind you
We're behind you
And let us please remind you
We can send a car to find you
If you ever lose your way
We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are building
A religion
A limited
Edition
We are now accepting callers...
For these beautiful...
Pendant key chains
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2003
- Posts
- 14,971
- Reaction score
- 174
- Points
- 63
Roger McGough is a contemporary English poet whose verse I really enjoy. Love his quirky sense of humour and how he uses it to make a serious comment. Here are two of my favourites ...
"At Lunchtime - A story of Love"
When the bus stopped suddenly to avoid
damaging a mother and child in the road,
the young lady in the green hat sitting opposite
was thrown across me, and not being one to
miss an opportunity I started to make love
with all my body.
At first she resisted saying that it was too early in the morning and too soon
after breakfast and that anyway she found
me repulsive. But when I explained that
this being a nuclear age, the world was going
to end at lunchtime, she took off her green hat,
put her bus ticket in her pocket
and joined in the exercise.
The bus people, and there were many of them,
were shocked and surprised and amused and annoyed, but when the
word got around that the world was coming to an end at
lunchtime, they put their pride in their pockets with their bus tickets and
made love one with the other. And even the bus conductor,
being over, climbed into the cab and struck up some sort of
relationship with the driver.
That night, on the bus coming home,
we were all a little embarrassed, especially me and the young lady
in the green hat, and we all started to say in different ways how hasty
and foolish we had been. But then, always having been a bit of a lad,
I stood up and said it was a pity that the world didn't nearly end every lunchtime
and that we could always pretend. And then it happened.......
Quick as a crash we all changed partners
and soon the bus was aquiver with white
mothball bodies doing naughty things.
And the next day
And every day
In every bus
In every street
In every town
In every country
people pretended that the world was coming
to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't
Although in a way it has.
Icarus Allsorts
A little bit of heaven fell
From out the sky one day
It landed in the ocean
Not so very far away
The general at the radar screen
Rubbed his hands in glee
And grinning pressed the button
That started World War Three
From every corner of the earth
Bombs began to fly
There were even missile jams
No traffic lights in the sky
In the time it takes to blow your nose
The people fell, the mushrooms rose.
'House!' cried the fat lady
As the bingohall moved to various parts of the town
'Raus!' cried the German butcher
as his shop came tumbling down
Phillip was in the counting house
Counting out his money
The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey
When through the window
Flew a bomb
And made them go all funny
In the time it takes to draw a breath
Or eat a toadstool, instant death
The rich
Huddled outside the doors of their fallout shelters
Like drunken carol singers
The poor
Clutching shattered televisions
And last week's editions of T.V Times
(but the very last)
Civil defence volunteers
With their tin hats in one hand
And their heads in the other
C.N.D supporters
Their ban the bomb badges beginning to rust
Have scrawled 'I told you so' in the dust
A little bit of heaven fell
From out of the sky one day
It landed in Vermont
North-eastern USA
The general at the radar screen
He should have got the sack
But that wouldn't bring
Three thousand million, seven hundred, and sixty-eight people
back,
Would it?
This poem of Roger's cracks me up every time I read it (and I've fantasized about the situation depicted more than once with some of the classes I've taught over the years!
) ....
The Lesson
Chaos ruled in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the hooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din
"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"
He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)
Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"
He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game
The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out
"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired
The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade
And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air
The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said
"At Lunchtime - A story of Love"
When the bus stopped suddenly to avoid
damaging a mother and child in the road,
the young lady in the green hat sitting opposite
was thrown across me, and not being one to
miss an opportunity I started to make love
with all my body.
At first she resisted saying that it was too early in the morning and too soon
after breakfast and that anyway she found
me repulsive. But when I explained that
this being a nuclear age, the world was going
to end at lunchtime, she took off her green hat,
put her bus ticket in her pocket
and joined in the exercise.
The bus people, and there were many of them,
were shocked and surprised and amused and annoyed, but when the
word got around that the world was coming to an end at
lunchtime, they put their pride in their pockets with their bus tickets and
made love one with the other. And even the bus conductor,
being over, climbed into the cab and struck up some sort of
relationship with the driver.
That night, on the bus coming home,
we were all a little embarrassed, especially me and the young lady
in the green hat, and we all started to say in different ways how hasty
and foolish we had been. But then, always having been a bit of a lad,
I stood up and said it was a pity that the world didn't nearly end every lunchtime
and that we could always pretend. And then it happened.......
Quick as a crash we all changed partners
and soon the bus was aquiver with white
mothball bodies doing naughty things.
And the next day
And every day
In every bus
In every street
In every town
In every country
people pretended that the world was coming
to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't
Although in a way it has.
Icarus Allsorts
A little bit of heaven fell
From out the sky one day
It landed in the ocean
Not so very far away
The general at the radar screen
Rubbed his hands in glee
And grinning pressed the button
That started World War Three
From every corner of the earth
Bombs began to fly
There were even missile jams
No traffic lights in the sky
In the time it takes to blow your nose
The people fell, the mushrooms rose.
'House!' cried the fat lady
As the bingohall moved to various parts of the town
'Raus!' cried the German butcher
as his shop came tumbling down
Phillip was in the counting house
Counting out his money
The Queen was in the parlour
Eating bread and honey
When through the window
Flew a bomb
And made them go all funny
In the time it takes to draw a breath
Or eat a toadstool, instant death
The rich
Huddled outside the doors of their fallout shelters
Like drunken carol singers
The poor
Clutching shattered televisions
And last week's editions of T.V Times
(but the very last)
Civil defence volunteers
With their tin hats in one hand
And their heads in the other
C.N.D supporters
Their ban the bomb badges beginning to rust
Have scrawled 'I told you so' in the dust
A little bit of heaven fell
From out of the sky one day
It landed in Vermont
North-eastern USA
The general at the radar screen
He should have got the sack
But that wouldn't bring
Three thousand million, seven hundred, and sixty-eight people
back,
Would it?
This poem of Roger's cracks me up every time I read it (and I've fantasized about the situation depicted more than once with some of the classes I've taught over the years!
) ....The Lesson
Chaos ruled in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the hooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din
"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"
He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)
Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"
He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game
The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out
"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired
The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade
And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air
The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said
Harke the Boeotarch
Dreams Wash Away
Everybody Must Get Stoned
They'll stone you when you're trying to be so good
They'll stone you just like they said they would
They'll stone you when you're trying to go home
They'll stone you when you're there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
They'll stone you when you're walking on the street
They'll stone you when you're trying to keep your seat
They'll stone you when your walking on the floor
They'll stone you when your walking to the door
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
They'll stone you when you're at the breakfast table
They'll stone you when you are young and able
They'll stone you when you're trying to make a buck
They'll stone you and then they'll say good luck
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
Well They'll stone you and say that it's the end
They'll stone you and then they'll come back again
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car
They'll stone you when you're playing you guitar
Yes But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
Alright
Well They'll stone you when you are all alone
They'll stone you when you are walking home
They'll stone you and then say they're all brave
They'll stone you when you're send down in your grave
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
Attachments
haberfuckingdashery
Slut
- Joined
- Nov 30, 2009
- Posts
- 264
- Reaction score
- 1
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- 0
Rock n Roll Nigger - Marilyn Manson (Patti Smith version is great also)
baby was a black sheep, baby was a whore
baby got big and baby getting bigger
baby got something baby get more
baby baby baby was a rock n roll nigger
To Love Somebody - Janis Joplin
Everybody came up to me at one time and said, "you can do everything, every little thing" and i think i can.
But what good? what earthly good can it ever ever bring, if i aint got you?
Cos you don't know, you don't know what its like, no you don't know, baby you don't know, baby you don't know what it's like,
To love somebody, To love Anybody. the way i love you
These days - Powderfinger
This life oh it's slipping right thru my hands
These days turned out nothing like i had planned
Control oh it's slipping right thru my hands
These days turned out nothing like i had planned
baby was a black sheep, baby was a whore
baby got big and baby getting bigger
baby got something baby get more
baby baby baby was a rock n roll nigger
To Love Somebody - Janis Joplin
Everybody came up to me at one time and said, "you can do everything, every little thing" and i think i can.
But what good? what earthly good can it ever ever bring, if i aint got you?
Cos you don't know, you don't know what its like, no you don't know, baby you don't know, baby you don't know what it's like,
To love somebody, To love Anybody. the way i love you
These days - Powderfinger
This life oh it's slipping right thru my hands
These days turned out nothing like i had planned
Control oh it's slipping right thru my hands
These days turned out nothing like i had planned
haberfuckingdashery
Slut
- Joined
- Nov 30, 2009
- Posts
- 264
- Reaction score
- 1
- Points
- 0
"Rock 'N' Roll Nigger"
And the world spreads its legs....
And the world spreads its legs
For another fuckin' star!
'Cause I AM the all-american Antichrist.
I was made in america,
And america hates ME for what I am.
I am YOUR shit.
You should be ashamed of what you have eaten.
I'm a rock & roll nigger!
Baby was a black sheep.
Baby was a whore.
Baby's gotten big,
And baby's getting bigger.
Baby got somethin'.
Baby want more.
Baby, baby, baby was a rock & roll nigger.
How do you like the world around you?
Do you like what you see?
How do you like the world around you?
Ready to behave
[Chorus:]
Outside of society,
Waiting for me.
Outside of society
Is where I wanna be.
Baby was a black sheep.
Baby was a whore.
Baby got big,
And baby's getting bigger.
Baby got a gun,
Got her finger on the trigger.
Baby, baby, baby was a rock & roll nigger.
Rock & roll nigger.
I'm a rock & roll nigger.
This is your world in which we grow,
And we will grow to hate you.
We will grow to hate you.
We will grow. We will grow.
We will grow to hate you.
I was lost in the valley of pleasure.
I was lost in the infinite sea.
I was lost and begging for pleasure.
And this world is waiting for me.
Jimi Hendrix was a nigger.
Jesus Christ and grandma, too.
Brian Warner (what a nigger!)
Nigger, nigger, nigger nigger nigger!
Yeah! Yeah!
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
FUCK YOU!
i was lost and the cost didn't matter to me, i was lost and the cost was to be outside society.
outside of society is where i wanna be, outside of society, if you're looking that's where you'll find me.
And the world spreads its legs....
And the world spreads its legs
For another fuckin' star!
'Cause I AM the all-american Antichrist.
I was made in america,
And america hates ME for what I am.
I am YOUR shit.
You should be ashamed of what you have eaten.
I'm a rock & roll nigger!
Baby was a black sheep.
Baby was a whore.
Baby's gotten big,
And baby's getting bigger.
Baby got somethin'.
Baby want more.
Baby, baby, baby was a rock & roll nigger.
How do you like the world around you?
Do you like what you see?
How do you like the world around you?
Ready to behave
[Chorus:]
Outside of society,
Waiting for me.
Outside of society
Is where I wanna be.
Baby was a black sheep.
Baby was a whore.
Baby got big,
And baby's getting bigger.
Baby got a gun,
Got her finger on the trigger.
Baby, baby, baby was a rock & roll nigger.
Rock & roll nigger.
I'm a rock & roll nigger.
This is your world in which we grow,
And we will grow to hate you.
We will grow to hate you.
We will grow. We will grow.
We will grow to hate you.
I was lost in the valley of pleasure.
I was lost in the infinite sea.
I was lost and begging for pleasure.
And this world is waiting for me.
Jimi Hendrix was a nigger.
Jesus Christ and grandma, too.
Brian Warner (what a nigger!)
Nigger, nigger, nigger nigger nigger!
Yeah! Yeah!
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
FUCK YOU!
i was lost and the cost didn't matter to me, i was lost and the cost was to be outside society.
outside of society is where i wanna be, outside of society, if you're looking that's where you'll find me.