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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
4 days ago

Hereabouts

Let's start the New Year with some culture 🤓

Whats one of your favourite Poems?

Here's a brilliantly brutal one by Margaret Atwood.

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye

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By *asuallyChilledMan
4 days ago

Drogheda

The Listeners

- Walter de La Mare

•

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even louder, and lifted his head:

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

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By *lorentino ArizaMan
4 days ago

Killarney

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

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By *asuallyChilledMan
4 days ago

Drogheda

Also very partial to...

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

By William Butler Yeats

•

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

°

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

°

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

°

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By *hynot2399Couple
4 days ago

Sligo

"On the Ning Nang Nong,

Where the cows go Bong,

and the monkeys all day boo,

there's a Nong Nang Ning,

where the tree's go, PING!

and the teapots Jibber, Jabber, Joo...

On the Ning Nong Nang,

all the mice go, CLANG!

and you just can't catch them when they do,

So,

It's Ning Nang Nong,

cows go Bong,

Nong Nang Ning,

trees go Ping,

Ning Nong Nang,

mice go Clang!

What a noisy place to belong,

is the Ning Nang, Ning Nang Nong!!

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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
4 days ago

Hereabouts


""On the Ning Nang Nong,

Where the cows go Bong,

and the monkeys all day boo,

there's a Nong Nang Ning,

where the tree's go, PING!

and the teapots Jibber, Jabber, Joo...

On the Ning Nong Nang,

all the mice go, CLANG!

and you just can't catch them when they do,

So,

It's Ning Nang Nong,

cows go Bong,

Nong Nang Ning,

trees go Ping,

Ning Nong Nang,

mice go Clang!

What a noisy place to belong,

is the Ning Nang, Ning Nang Nong!!"

Bet that's Roald Dahl

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By *alvin.Man
4 days ago

Cork/Dublin

Spike Milligan

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By *og-ManMan
4 days ago

somewhere

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

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By *alvin.Man
4 days ago

Cork/Dublin

Candy is Dandy

Ogden Nash

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By *hynot2399Couple
4 days ago

Sligo


"Spike Milligan"

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By *alvin.Man
4 days ago

Cork/Dublin


"Spike Milligan

"

it was a guess, but it seemed right.

HNY..x

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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
4 days ago

Hereabouts


"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

"

💖 So beautiful.

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By *avie tCouple
4 days ago

otherside of nowhere

Has to be Raglan Road....but recently read some Imelda May worth checking out...

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By *TinyDelight-Woman
4 days ago

City Centre

The Shower

we like to shower afterwards

(I like the water hotter than she)

and her face is always soft and peaceful

and she'll wash me first

spread the soap over my balls

lift the balls

squeeze them,

then wash the cock:

"hey, this thing is still hard!"

then get all the hair down there,-

the belly, the back, the neck, the legs,

I grin grin grin,

and then I wash her. . .

first the cunt, I stand behind her, my cock in the cheeks of her ass

I gently soap up the cunt hairs,

wash there with a soothing motion,

I linger perhaps longer than necessary,

then I get the backs of the legs, the ass,

the back, the neck, I turn her, kiss her,

soap up the breasts, get them and the belly, the neck,

the fronts of the legs, the ankles, the feet,

and then the cunt, once more, for luck. . .

another kiss, and she gets out first,

toweling, sometimes singing while I stay in

turn the water on hotter

feeling the good times of love's miracle

I then get out. . .

it is usually mid-afternoon and quiet,

and getting dressed we talk about what else

there might be to do,

but being together solves most of it

for as long as those things stay solved in the history of women and man, it's different for each-

for me, it's splendid enough to remember past the memories of pain and defeat and unhappiness:

when you take it away

do it slowly and easily

make it as if I were dying in my sleep instead of in my life, amen.

CB

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By *lutterFlyWoman
4 days ago

Not Belfast but NI


"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

💖 So beautiful. "

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By *rishGuy2322Man
4 days ago

Near you

One of my favourites is - The Dash by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning to the end.

He noted first came the date of the birth and spoke the following date with tears.

But he said what mattered most of all was the dash between the years.

For that dash represents all the time that they spent life on Earth.

And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own, the cars, the house, the cash.

What matters is how we live and love, and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard. Are there things you’d like to change?

For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what’s true and real,

and always try to understand the way other people feel.

Be less quick to anger and show appreciation more,

and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile,

remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read with your life’s actions to rehash,

would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?

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By *panishRebelMan
4 days ago

Alicante Spain, and Cork City Ireland

Ceist na Teangan

..

Cuirim mo dhóchas ar snámh

i mbáidín teangan

faoi mar a leagfá naíonán

i gcliabhán

a bheadh fite fuaite

de dhuilleoga feileastraim

is bitiúmin agus pic

bheith cuimilte lena thóin

ansan é a leagadh síos

i measc na ngiolcach

is coigeal na mban sí

le taobh na habhann,

féachaint n’fheadaraís

cá dtabharfaidh an sruth é,

féachaint, dála Mhaoise,

an bhfóirfidh iníon Fharoinn?

..

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill

.

.

The Language Issue

.

I place my hope on the water

in this little boat

of the language, the way a body might put

an infant

in a basket of intertwined

iris leaves,

its underside proofed

with bitumen and pitch,

then set the whole thing down amidst

the sedge

and bulrushes by the edge

of a river

only to have it borne hither and thither,

not knowing where it might end up;

in the lap, perhaps,

of some Pharaoh's daughter.

.

--Irish; trans. Paul Muldoon

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By *asuallyChilledMan
4 days ago

Drogheda

I've always loved Jewel Kilcher (the singer Jewel). Her book of poetry is beautiful and thought-provoking. I recommend looking it up.

°

♂️♀️⚧️🐉🦄🌈

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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
4 days ago

Hereabouts

I'm delighted with this response, thanks all. some of these poems are new to me and a great selection!

Who's CB @tiny delight? 'The Shower' is 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

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By *exyScientistsCouple
4 days ago

Castlebar


"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

"

One of my favourites ❤️

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By *TinyDelight-Woman
4 days ago

City Centre


"Who's CB @tiny delight? 'The Shower' is 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻"

Charles Bukowski

He's not to everyone's taste but I like him.

Happy New Year Rubs 🥂🍾✨️

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By *ozzlesMan
4 days ago

galway

I like a bit of John Cooper Clarke

Like a night club in the morning, you're the bitter end

Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you're clean 'round the bend

You give me the horrors, too bad to be true

All of my 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 fairy tale

Grimm

People mention murder, the moment you arrive

I'd consider killing you if I thought you were alive

You've got this slippery quality, it makes me think of phlegm

And a dual personality, I hate both of them

You're bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay

Please, please, please, please, take yourself away

Like a death at a birthday party, you ruin all the fun

Like a sucked and spat-out Smartie, you're no use to anyone

Like the shadow of the guillotine on a dead consumptive's face

Speakin' 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 pointin' the way outside

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you wanna fart

You're headin' for a breakdown, better pull yourself apart

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss

Your attitudes, 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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By *exyScientistsCouple
4 days ago

Castlebar

As I Sit in heaven

As I sit in heaven

And watch you every day

I try to let you know with signs

I never went away

I hear you when you're laughing

And watch you when you sleep

I even place my arms around you

To calm you as you weep

I see you wish the days away

Begging to have me home

So I try to send you signs

So you know you aren't alone

Don't feel guilty that you have

The life that was denied to me

Heaven is truly beautiful

Just you wait and see

So live your life, laugh again

Enjoy yourself and be free

Then I know with every breath you take

You'll be taking one for me

(Don't know the author, sorry)

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By *anifestoMan
4 days ago

F

That would have to be Heaney's Blackberry Picking

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By *ipstick KissesWoman
4 days ago

There and Here

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

D*unk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen

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By *lutterFlyWoman
4 days ago

Not Belfast but NI

One of my favourites.

I Am Complete Simply Because I Am Imperfect by Rupi Kaur

we think we are lost

while our fuller

found and complete selves

are somewhere in the future

we get on our hands and knees

thinking self-improvement will

help us reach them

but this finding ourselves bullshit

is never going to end

i’m tired of putting off living until

i have more information on who i am

i’m a new person every month

always becoming and unbecoming

only to become again

our fuller selves are not off in the future

they’re right here

in the only moment that exists

i don’t need fixing

i will be searching for answers my whole life

not because i’m a half-formed thing

but because i’m brilliant enough to keep growing

everything necessary to live a vivid life

already exists in me!

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By *aptainpuffinMan
12 hours ago

Ballincollig

I quite like Dylan Thomas, Do not go gently into that good night - written , I believe for his father :

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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By *4thfloorTV/TS
12 hours ago

Dublin

Goodtime Jesus - James Tate

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn’t afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How ’bout some coffee? Don’t mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.

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By *ittleBoPeepingWoman
12 hours ago

Galway, Clare


"One of my favourites.

I Am Complete Simply Because I Am Imperfect by Rupi Kaur

we think we are lost

while our fuller

found and complete selves

are somewhere in the future

we get on our hands and knees

thinking self-improvement will

help us reach them

but this finding ourselves bullshit

is never going to end

i’m tired of putting off living until

i have more information on who i am

i’m a new person every month

always becoming and unbecoming

only to become again

our fuller selves are not off in the future

they’re right here

in the only moment that exists

i don’t need fixing

i will be searching for answers my whole life

not because i’m a half-formed thing

but because i’m brilliant enough to keep growing

everything necessary to live a vivid life

already exists in me!"

Oh I'm loving this ❤️

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By *ettaManMan
11 hours ago

Based in Kerry, work in Cork.

I'm not great for remembering poems, but here's one I wrote a while back.

____________________

The Last Blank Page

____________________

Romantic Ireland's long dead and gone,

Her grave unkempt, now desecrated.

Céad míle fault lines threaten to erupt

and spew forth the destructive magma of hatred.

---

What’s hate but fear enmeshed with anger,

the basest human sensibilities expressed with rancour.

Engendered when man or woman feels unheard,

their existential angst dismissed and called absurd.

---

Though fear itself may simply be

False evidence appearing real,

When tis chided and rebuked

It surely will not heal.

No, twill fester.

---

What good's it then the signalling of the "virtuous",

when ancient worries are heard through us,

prehistoric patterns repeating.

---

But we must not succumb,

To the feelings evolutionary ancestors relied upon.

Only wise compassion will overcome, not sympathetic naïveté.

But ancient wisdom too can guide the way,

To mindfully deciphering the spiritual genom’

uncovering the wise compassion that’s in our DNA.

---

Céad míle faults ya, have we all,

But not that alone have we in common,

from common ancestors do we descend,

yet not even there does our lineage end,

stretching back through every eon,

before even fish began to crawl.

---

For we are but waves in a cosmic ocean,

not at all separate but intrinsically connected,

yet somehow came the notion,

that our oneness must be rejected.

---

But it has not gone away,

like the sun shining brightly behind the clouds,

it's always there

It's where,

our divinity remains intact,

even though our humanity may seem to lack,

it's there, deep within, where we never seem to look,

It is what's written on the last blank page,

of your and my life's book.

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By *panishRebelMan
11 hours ago

Alicante Spain, and Cork City Ireland

Good poem. I'll need to read it a few more times.

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By *rakesterlingMan
11 hours ago

Dublin

You suffer, but why?

Napalm Death.

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By *acd03Man
11 hours ago

Naughtyville

One that sticks with me was by Yeats entitled "Reprisals"

Deeply political and deeply anti-war, it was written by way of a letter to Robert Gregory, Lady Gregory's son. At the time she and Yeats would have been involved in the founding of the Abbey Theatre.

Robert was a combat pilot in the Great War, he was shot down and killed within a short time of going into action, he had signed up to become an airman in spite of the widespread resentment towards the Crown and the atrocities committed on its behalf in many corners of Ireland at the time by the Black&Tans and suchlike

Lady Gregory wrote of young men being dragged out of their houses and shot in front of their parents, or beaten and tied to the back of lorries and trucks, driven over rough country roads until their heads were worn off.

The structure and rhythm and language is powerful, the subtle rhymes built in the middle of sentences.

Robert was already dead in Italy when Yeats wrote:

Some nineteen German planes, they say,

You had brought down before you died.

We called it a good death. Today

Can ghost or man be satisfied?

Although your last exciting year

Outweighed all other years, you said,

Though battle joy may be so dear

A memory, even to the dead,

It chases other thought away,

Yet rise from your Italian tomb,

Flit to Kiltartan cross and stay

Till certain second thoughts have come

Upon the cause you served, that we

Imagined such a fine affair:

Half-d*unk or whole-mad soldiery

Are murdering your tenants there.

Men that revere your father yet

Are shot at on the open plain.

Where may new-married women sit

And suckle children now? Armed men

May murder them in passing by

Nor law nor parliament take heed.

Then close your ears with dust and lie

Among the other cheated dead.

A fantastically powerful poem, within a series of four which were dedicated to Robert who had died.

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By *DSGCouple
11 hours ago

That place in


"The Listeners

- Walter de La Mare

•

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even louder, and lifted his head:

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone."

Love this also

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By *astelloWoman
11 hours ago

Far far away


"The Listeners

- Walter de La Mare

•

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even louder, and lifted his head:

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,’ he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone."

Haven't heard that poem in years. I absolutely loved it.

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By *acd03Man
11 hours ago

Naughtyville

Can sometimes just be a line that stays in your head, like Paddy Kavanagh's Pegasus.....a sort of autobiographical piece about how he wound up being a poet.

My soul was an ould horse

Offered for sale at many fairs

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By *astelloWoman
11 hours ago

Far far away

The Death of the Beloved

Though we need to weep your loss,

You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,

Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn

Brightening over our lives

Awakening beneath the dark

A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice

Found for us

A new music

That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze

Quickened in the joy of its being;

You placed smiles like flowers

On the altar of the heart.

Your mind always sparkled

With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,

Your spirit was live, awake, complete.

We look towards each other no longer

From the old distance of our names;

Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,

As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,

We know our soul’s gaze is upon your face,

Smiling back at us from within everything

To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,

Where we would grow lonely without you.

You would want us to find you in presence,

Beside us when beauty brightens,

When kindness glows

And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,

Darkest winter has turned to spring;

May this dark grief flower with hope

In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.

To serve the call of courage and love

Until we see your beautiful face again

In that land where there is no more separation,

Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,

And where we will never lose you again.

John O’Donoghue

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By *heCatWhoGotTheCream2024Man
11 hours ago

Funville

🫂 @ Castello, beautiful...

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By *aptain Caveman41Man
11 hours ago

Home

Raglan Road

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By *ollypop9Woman
10 hours ago

wouldn't you like to know

This is actually on my fab profile :

Like your mouth has the gift of reading and I'm your favorite book.

Find your favorite page in the soft spot between my legs and read it carefully.

Fluently.

Vividly.

Don't you dare leave a single word

untouched.

And I swear my ending will be so good. The last few words will come.

Running to your mouth.

And when you’re done.

Take a seat.

Cause it's my turn to make music with my knees pressed to the ground.

--Rupi Kaur

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By *arcelona30Man
10 hours ago

Naas

[Removed by poster at 05/01/25 01:29:26]

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By *arcelona30Man
10 hours ago

Naas

[Removed by poster at 05/01/25 01:28:15]

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By *arcelona30Man
10 hours ago

Naas

Timbuktu

Me and Tim a-huntin went,

Met three girls in a pop up tent.

They was three, and we was two,

So I bucked one, and Timbuktu.

Happy New Year to all!

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By *awkeye_30Man
10 hours ago

Limerick

Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all...

Those that know ...know

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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
2 hours ago

Hereabouts

How lovely to wake up and find this thread resurrected and more poems to enjoy! Thanks all

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By *radseman.jayMan
2 hours ago

allover

She offered her honour

He honoured her offer!

And all night long

He was on her and

OFF HER!!!

ANONYMOUS

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By *ubadubdub OP   Woman
2 hours ago

Hereabouts

Here's one, written by a German pastor after WW2, that has a ingrained itself into my core

FIRST THEY CAME

By Martin Niemöller

First they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me

And there was no one left

To speak out for me

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By *ionycusMan
1 hour ago

Babylon

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

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By *ionycusMan
1 hour ago

Babylon

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

Can't not mention this ....

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By *ustBoWoman
1 hour ago

Somewhere in Co. Down


"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

"

That's a beautiful poem .

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By *ustBoWoman
58 minutes ago

Somewhere in Co. Down

WB Yeats The Sto*en child

(The word with the star isn't allowed)

Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stol*n cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

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By *oo32Man
50 minutes ago

tipperary

Here I sit broken hearted

Paid my penny

But only faired

A fart so fierce it shook the bowl

And singed the hair around my hole

So here i sit in total vapour

Someone's nicked the toilet paper

Don't have time to sit and linger

Guess I'll have to use my finger

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