FabSwingers.com forum: Favourite poem lines

By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

Shall I compare thee to a summers day,

Thou art more lovely and more temperate

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Tiger tiger burning bright.

Look out you'll set the jungle alight!

(Spike Milligan from his book of milliganimals)

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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago

Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound

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 sandals,

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 pickle for a week,

And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats

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 will have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?

So people who know me

are not too shocked and surprised,

When suddenly I am old

and start to wear purple!

I already wear a fair amount of purple but now that I have a red fez to go with it I feel I should start enacting the rest of the poem.

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By *iamondjoeMan
over a year ago

Glastonbury

Yet each man kills the thing he loves

By each let this be heard.

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word.

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with the sword.

Oscar Wilde - the Ballad of Reading Gaol

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

No Platonic Love ~ William Cartwright

Tell me no more of minds embracing minds,

And hearts exchang'd for hearts;

That spirits spirits meet, as winds do winds,

And mix their subt'lest parts;

That two unbodied essences may kiss,

And then like Angels, twist and feel one Bliss.

I was that silly thing that once was wrought

To practise this thin love;

I climb'd from sex to soul, from soul to thought;

But thinking there to move,

Headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then

From soul I lighted at the sex again.

As some strict down-looked men pretend to fast,

Who yet in closets eat;

So lovers who profess they spririts taste,

Feed yet on grosser meat;

I know they boast they souls to souls convey,

Howe'r they meet, the body is the way.

Come, I will undeceive thee, they that tread

Those vain aerial ways

Are like young heirs and alchemists misled

To waste their wealth and days,

For searching thus to be for ever rich,

They only find a med'cine for the itch.

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By *ere-for-my-convenienceWoman
over a year ago

West Midlands

She left The Web

She left The loom

She made 3 paces through the room

She looked out to Camelot

Out flew the Web and floated wide

The mirror cracked from side to side

The curse has come upon me cried

The Lady of Shalot

Alfred Lord Tennyson

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

The old lie; Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

'All the world's a stage'

Just one line of the whole, but says a lot.

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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago

Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith

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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago

Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

The Cloths of Heaven, W.B. Yeats

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

One Day Butterfly

Aren't we all one day butterflies not aware of time.

Searching for partners or honey until death kisses us.

Then in his arms, tenderly rocked, waiting for a new chance to fly away again and join the dance of the one day butterfly.

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By *ce WingerMan
over a year ago

P.O. Box DE1 0NQ

Sea Fever

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

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.

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By *eMontresMan
over a year ago

Halesowen

You're breaking my heart

And tearing it apart

So fuck you

Harry Nilsson

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

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.

- From "The Dash" by Linda Ellis.

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By *ILLY aka SirslagWoman
over a year ago

Land of the Prince Bishops

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air.........

The Soldier ...

Rupert Brooke.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Stop all the clock's, cut off the telephone

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone

Silence the piano with a muffled drum

Bring out the coffin let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle mourning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead

Put crepe bows round the neck of public doves

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves

He wad my North, my South, my East, my West

My working week, my Sunday best

My noon, my midnight, my talk my song

I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun

Put away the ocean and sweep up the wood

For nothing now can ever come to any good

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By *igeiaWoman
over a year ago

Bristol

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I couldn't choose just one line. I love WB Yeats.

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By *oby BestMan
over a year ago

the shires

Dulce et decorem est pro patria morem

- how great the lie

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Goodbye to the life I used to live,

And the world I used to know.

And kiss the hills for me; just once,

For now I am ready to go.

From Farewell by Emily Dickinson

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They never mean to, but they do.

They give you all the faults they had

And add a couple, just for you.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

On a lighter note:

I eat my peas with honey

I've done it all my life

It makes the peas taste funny

But it keeps them on the knife

Spike

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I couldn't choose just one line. I love WB Yeats.

My favourite Yeats poem!

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"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 sandals,

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 pickle for a week,

And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats

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 will have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?

So people who know me

are not too shocked and surprised,

When suddenly I am old

and start to wear purple!

I already wear a fair amount of purple but now that I have a red fez to go with it I feel I should start enacting the rest of the poem.

Ah! I love this!! It's also my mother in laws fave. Describes her perfectly!!

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By *ere-for-my-convenienceWoman
over a year ago

West Midlands

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 sandals

And say we have 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

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

From the Robert Frost poem, 'The Road Not Taken':

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago

Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound

From a middle section in T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

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By *oughandCurvyCouple
over a year ago

galway

Below my window the wakening trees,

Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced

Suffering their brute necessities;

And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span

Is mutilated more?

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

I have an excerpt from one of my all time favourites The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson on my profile. So have picked the end of Ulysses instead :-

Come, my friends.

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Oh I have so many...

Kubla Khan

BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

I love the moment when your eyes close

and your lips open in slow motion"

------

"Her eyes were beautifully gift wrapped, long black lashes of velvet ribbon, and everytime she opened them, it felt like Christmas."

------

"It's no coincidence

that the two middle letters of life are 'if'..."

------

"there is no weapon sharper than will"

------

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By *oughandCurvyCouple
over a year ago

galway

Another favourite if mine

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

We have to dread from man or beast.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Belinda lived in a little white house,

With a little black kitten and a little grey mouse,

And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,

And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink

And the little grey mouse, she called her Blink,

And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,

But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,

And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,

Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,

And realio, trulio daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrelful of bears,

And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,

Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,

Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,

They all sat laughing in the little red wagon

At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,

And Blink said Weeek!, which is giggling for a mouse,

Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,

When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,

And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.

Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,

For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,

And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright;

His beard was black, one leg was wood.

It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried Help! Help!

But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,

Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,

And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,

Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,

With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm

He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,

And gulped some grog from his pocked flagon,

He fired two bullets, but they didn't hit,

And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him;

No one mourned for his pirate victim.

Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate

Around the dragon that ate the pirate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,

With her little black kitten and her little grey mouse,

And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,

And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrelful of bears,

And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,

Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

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By *oughandCurvyCouple
over a year ago

galway

Time will say nothing but I told you so,

Time only knows the price we have to pay;

If I could tell you I would let you know.

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By *LCCCouple
over a year ago

Cambridge

"When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,

For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today"

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By *omCoyoteMan
over a year ago

Northern England

She sat there, in her soot-wet mascara,

In flame-orange silks, in gold bracelets,

Slightly filthy with erotic mystery

From "Dreamers" by Ted Hughes.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

I must go down to the sea again

To the lonely sea and the sky

I left my socks and shoes behind

I wonder if they're dry

Spike Milligan

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Edwin muir the horses

Barely a twelvemonth after

The seven days war that put the world to sleep,

Late in the evening the strange horses came.

By then we had made our covenant with silence,

But in the first few days it was so still

We listened to our breathing and were afraid.

On the second day

The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.

On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,

Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day

A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter

Nothing. The radios dumb;

And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,

And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Out of the fire I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air. - Sylvia Plath, Lady Lazarus. Angry and sad lady, but that line has wedged itself in my head for the last 25 years for some reason.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

ON SEEING A LADY'S GARTER

Why blush, dear girl, pray tell me why?

You need not, I can prove it:

For though your garter met my eye,

My thoughts were far above it.

Anonymous (18th century)

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

From "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

The Boy stood on the Burning Deck

His legs were all a Quiver

He gave a cough

His Balls fell off

And floated down the River

Anon

Gimpus Erectus

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

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 (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

How do you choose a favourite poem? This one has always made me smile. How little men change eh? Andrew Marvell would have definitely been a swinger!

To His Coy Mistress - Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime.

We would sit down, and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love's day.

Thou by the Indian Ganges' side

Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the flood,

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love would grow

Vaster than empires and more slow;

An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near:

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found;

Nor, in thy marble vaults, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long-preserved virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust

And into ashes all my lust:

The grave's a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may,

And now, like amorous birds of prey,

Rather, at once, our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball,

And tear our pleasure with rough strife

Through the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

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By *appyguy17Man
over a year ago

walthamstow

Earth has not anything to show more fair,

Dull would he be a man who would pass by,

A sight so touching in it's majesty....

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By *appyguy17Man
over a year ago

walthamstow

William Wordsworth

Upon Westminster Bridge

EARTH has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Saucy pedantic wretch go chide

Donne

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Jabberwocky

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe

All mimsy were the borogoves

And the mome raths outgrabe

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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago

Thank you fab you have confirmed that their is some people here in the forums that love literature xx

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

It wreaths the trees with dimming light

It muffles sound

It dulls the sight

Brings cold and chill

The constant drip

Smoke without fire yet has no smell

The beast abroad but who can tell

A dragon’s breath but has no heat

Of swirling ghosts

A phantoms touch

In tombs I lays

In caves it hides

On autumns heels it follows

From arctic chill its strength it borrows

Within its shroud can evil hide

The stalking thief

The stabbing knife

But yet when the dawning sun arises

The ghosts they flee

The phantoms fade

The leaves and ground are wreathed in silk

A thousand threads

Each one with gems

A million gossamer diamonds

A myriad of spider’s pearls

That glow with growing silver light

And banish fear in to the night

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

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.

Love this ...x

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

The pointy bird's,

Pointy pointy,

Anoint my head,

Anointy nointy.

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By *ackandkateCouple
over a year ago

Truro

When a man grows old and his balls go cold

And the tip of his cock turns blue

And it bends in the middle like a one string fiddle

I'd say he was fucked,

Wouldn't you?

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

Inky Pinky Ponky

Daddy bought a Donkey

Donkey Died

Daddy Cried

Inky Pinky Ponky .....

Get's me every time ...

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

"When a man grows old and his balls go cold

And the tip of his cock turns blue

And it bends in the middle like a one string fiddle

I'd say he was fucked,

Wouldn't you?

Not if his name was Jack, Cos he'd bounce right back

And his cock would stiffen like starch

And it glows in the dark and lights up the park

Handy for dogging

Join the Queue !

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By *untimetonks69Couple
over a year ago

IRVING

Here I sit broken hearted

Spent a penny and only farted.

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

"Here I sit broken hearted

Spent a penny and only farted."

Had you had a penny more

You could have had one with a door.

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By *alandNitaCouple
over a year ago

Scunthorpe

There's loads of poetry I love, but my favourite lines I think were written by Christina Rossetti.

If all were rain and never sun

No bow would span the hill

If all were sun and never rain

There'd be no rainbow still

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"The old lie; Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori

This and other WW1 poetry including:

In Flanders fields, where poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row...

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By *imon_hydeMan
over a year ago

Stockport

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They never mean to, but they do.

They give you all the faults they had

And add a couple, just for you.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Roses are red

My name is Dave

This poem makes no sense

Microwave

So beautiful...

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

[Removed by poster at 09/06/15 23:20:29]

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

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.

I'd never seen this poem before but from the Wiki I read, I clearly should have. As someone that's suffered loss recently, these are quite the words.

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By *ranny-CrumpetWoman
over a year ago

The Town by The Cross

"Roses are red

My name is Dave

This poem makes no sense

Microwave

So beautiful..."

So talented . sigh

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By *ohnaronMan
over a year ago

london

To his moll cried the lynx eyed detective,

Can it be that my eye sight's defective,

But does the East tit,

Beat the West by a bit,

Or is it a trick of perspective?

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"Here I sit broken hearted

Spent a penny and only farted."

We always used the line,

Paid for a shit and only farted.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

My brother billy had a ten foot willy

And he showed it to the girl next door.

She thought it was a snake

So she hit with a rake

And now it's only five foot four.

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By *ediceTV/TS
over a year ago

Wrexham

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,

There's a little marble cross below the town;

There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,

And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

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 gays,

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.

Dylan Thomas.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Much may be conquer'd,

much may be endur'd,

Of what degrades and crushes us.

We know That we

have power over ourselves to do and suffer

what, we know not till we try;

But something nobler

than to live and die:

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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By *ovely CummingsWoman
over a year ago

Peaky Nipples

No terror in the night will bind us, no bitterness destroy.

The future will be moon clear and the past will be our guide,

as sorrow waters new growth, so pain will make us strong.

We will have redemption, we will be redeemed

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By *nvictusMan
over a year ago

Beeston

Wellbeing I won,

and wisdom too.

I grew and joyed in my growth,

from a word to a word,

I was led to a word,

from a deed to another deed.

Havamal.

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By *dam_TinaCouple
over a year ago

Hampshire

A thousand hairy savages, sitting down to lunch

Gobble gobble, glup glup

Munch munch munch

Spike Milligan

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Poetry really isn't my thing but some of the ones written during the wars are really touching

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By *rank EinsteinMan
over a year ago

Burton upon stather

Had I the heavens embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor have only my dreams.

I have spread my dreams under your feet,

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William butler yeats - he wishes for the cloths of heaven.

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By *bfoxxxMan
over a year ago

Crete or LANCASTER

Money talks,

I can't deny,

I saw it once,

It said 'Goodbye'.

Scouse poet,forgot his name.

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By *uietlyBohemianCouple
over a year ago

Newcastle-under-Lyme

Three particular favourite lines, the first two from very well known poems.

"The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas"

"...never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

"Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn."

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

My favourite Lesbian poem...

"Motel" by Brenda Brooks:

You make me think of

long days and nights driving

through a hot, lush state,

the watermelons voluptuous,

bursting to split,

offering their engorged pink,

their sweet water,

from the roadside.

You make me remember

the way moss clings so tight

to certain stones,

the lobes and blossoms and

purple hues of things,

the throb and syncopation

of the tropical insect chant.

You take me back

to apples at night

ripening in their bowls

beside a southern window,

the red-rimmed, rainy moon

and the drenched whisper

of your rude secrets.

The way your fingers

broke into me

like a ripe peach.

The way you spread your-

self and staggered small,

moist kisses over my thighs,

my stomach, my breasts,

the sliding flutter of you

on my tongue,

the taste of your spices

on my lips.

If I buried this

desire for you deep

in the ground beside a

dried up motel in a dusty

tumble place,

suddenly it would rain

and stay wet

all the purple night.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"I have an excerpt from one of my all time favourites The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson on my profile. So have picked the end of Ulysses instead :-

Come, my friends.

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. "

.....more Ulysses ..... O Lord I must stretch myself I wished he was here or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feel all fire inside me or if I could dream it when he made me spend the 2nd time tickling me behind with his finger I was coming for about 5 minutes with my legs round him I had to hug him after O Lord I wanted to shout out all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all only not to look ugly or those lines from the strain who knows the way hed take it you want to feel your way with a man theyre not all like him thank God some of them want you to be so nice about it I noticed the contrast he does it and doesnt talk I gave my eyes that look with my hair a bit loose from the tumbling and my tongue between my lips up to him the savage brute ............ Also ........why arent all men like that thered be some consolation for a woman like that lovely little statue he bought I could look at him all-day long curly head and his shoulders his finger up for you to listen theres real beauty and poetry for you I often felt I wanted to kiss him all over also his lovely young cock there so simply I wouldnt mind taking him in my mouth if nobody was looking as if it was asking you to suck it so clean and white he looked with his boyish face I would too in 1/2 a minute even if some of it went down what its only like gruel or the dew theres no danger besides hed be so clean compared with those pigs of men I suppose never dream of washing it from 1 years end to the other the most of them only thats what gives the women the moustaches Im sure itll be grand if I can only get in with a handsome young poet at my age Ill throw them the 1st thing in the morning till I see if the wishcard comes out or Ill try pairing the lady herself and see if he comes out.....

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By *isexmistressWoman
over a year ago

Prestwich

This is quite moving so have hankies ready..

Oh frettled gruntbugley,thy micturations are to thee as a garbled gabled blotchit,on a turgid bee..

Gloop, I implore thee and dangle my turlingdromes in your face,

See if i dont ...

See,close to tears eh

right up there with `Dulce et decorum est,pro patria mori `

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

On yonder hill

ah saw a coo

it went awa'

its no there noo.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

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By *illwill69uMan
over a year ago

moston

A bit long I know but I have 2 poems, this:

A chieftain to the Highlands bound

Cries ‘Boatman, do not tarry!

And I’ll give thee a silver pound

To row us o’er the ferry!’

‘Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle

This dark and stormy water?’

‘O I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,

And this, Lord Ullin’s daughter.

‘And fast before her father’s men

Three days we’ve fled together,

For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

‘His horsemen hard behind us ride—

Should they our steps discover,

Then who will cheer my bonny bride

When they have slain her lover?

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

‘I’ll go, my chief, I’m ready:

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady:—

‘And by my word! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white

I’ll row you o’er the ferry.’

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind

And as the night grew drearer,

Adown the glen rode arméd men,

Their trampling sounded nearer.

‘O haste thee, haste!’ the lady cries,

Though tempests round us gather;

I’ll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.’

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,—

When, O! too strong for human hand

The tempest gather’d o’er her.

And still they row’d amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore,—

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay’d, through storm and shade

His child he did discover:—

One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,

And one was round her lover.

‘Come back! Come back!’ he cried in grief

‘Across this stormy water:

And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!—O my daughter!’

‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o’er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

The second may even be longer, but well worth the time it takes to read...

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,

He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall,

Among bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:

Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)

“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”

“I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;—

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide—

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

The bride kiss’d the goblet: the knight took it up,

He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—

“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “’twere better by far

To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

"This is quite moving so have hankies ready..

Oh frettled gruntbugley,thy micturations are to thee as a garbled gabled blotchit,on a turgid bee..

Gloop, I implore thee and dangle my turlingdromes in your face,

See if i dont ...

See,close to tears eh

right up there with `Dulce et decorum est,pro patria mori `

So moving...

But just as I started reading it, the Council knocked down my house to build a by-pass.....

...so there must be a counterpoint to the underlying metaphor in there somewhere....!

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By *dam_TinaCouple
over a year ago

Hampshire

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough

It isn't fit for humans now

I grew up there, and Betjemen was right

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

O there, beyond expression blest,

I'd feast on beauty a' the night;

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,

Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.

I've always liked that one.

Invictus is also good.

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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago

Once more into the fray...

Into the last good fight I'll ever know...

Live and die on this day...

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