Poetry & Marathon Month - I'm cutting you a deal...

Former Member

I really love pugs
They waddle around gardens
And have squashed faces

Former Member

Fiend_85 wrote: »

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

- Kipling

i love that one the best.

thanks for sharing it

Former Member

On top of the world, I feel so great,
I can do anything, in control of my fate.
Rushing around, getting jobs done,
I didn't know my life could be this fun!!

ticking off slowly, the jobs from my list,

i never thought

i'd do all this

errands to run,

and visit the store,

then come back home,

and get on with more.

there's stuff in the garden,

and stuff in the house

there's stuff in the letterbox,

loads to sort out.

preparations for christmas,

and inviting friends round,

celebrating with them,

the jolliest sound!

and stuff in the oven,

and under the stairs

and stuff in the fridge,

so much to prepare

there's laundry to wash,

and windows to clean

pets need attention,

don't want to be mean

kids to collect,

from the colledge and school,

and then for the evening,

we can act like a fool

hide and seek,

or play peekaboo

or go out on the swings,

there's so much we can do!

we could go on a picnic,

we could go to the beach

we could try for the funfair,

have a candy floss each

we could go to the circus,

or the arcade,

let's just have a good time,

what do you say?

there's so much to see,

and i'll show you it all

from ducks in a duck pond,

to kids playing ball

and aeroplanes that go as high as the sky,

birdies and insects,

are pretty when they fly

and cute little animals,

like puppies and cats,

we could go to a farm,

would you like that?

Then, with no warning, my world crashes down,
My smiles dissolve, and my face wears a frown.
Tears falling silent, deep in my heart,
Hiding my pain, I play a part.....

it's hard to talk,

it's hard to explain,

why i'm feeling like this,

all over again

i'd explain in great detail,

about what i can feel,

but you're too young for that talk,

so it wouldn't seem real

to tell you what,

i'm going through,

so let's just go home,

find something to do

cos i need peace and quiet,

and to rest a bit,

this really is nasty,

i just don't like it
trapped in an elevator,

full of my thoughts,

no button to quit,

though i want to abort

so sorry everyone,

for how i'm feeling today,

it happens in cycles,

that is the way.

Former Member

Im the girl you hate,
Im the girl you tease,
But there's more to me than what you see.

You dont see my pain,
You don't see my hurt,
You don't see me.

I am the unknown future,
I am the unheard cry,
I am the unseen tears,
I am the unfelt sadness,
I am the untasted poison,
I am who you don't want.

Im the cut down rain forest,
Im the dried up river.
But there's more to me than what you hear.

You don't see the tears i cry,
You don't see the scars,
You don't see me.

I am the unknown future,
I am the unheard cry,
I am the unseen tears,
I am the unfelt sadness,
I am the untasted poison,
I am who you don't want.

The happyness you feel,
the friends you make,
The things you think,
That's not me.

I am the unknown future,
I am the unheard cry,
I am the unseen tears,
I am the unfelt sadness,
I am the untasted poison,
I am who you don't want.

**helen**

yellowseahorse wrote: »

I really love pugs
They waddle around gardens
And have squashed faces

brilliant. Animal poems rule.

Aurora

Llama Llama, don't you frown,
I to, think Jo&Helen
should take me Llama trekking

Your big troddy toes,
Your oddly short but long neck,
Llama Trekking is the way to go?

From the Camelid family you raise,
White black with shades of grey,
beige, brown, red and roan between.
It may be solid, spotted,

But I think Jo&Helen should take me
Llama Trekking

Former Member

This thread has MADE my morning. I love you all 'If' actually got me through some really hard times when I was younger - i remember repeating these lines to myself over and over "If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew,To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you, Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'". Incredible the power of words.

Here is my contribution - this is one that my boy Alex wrote at uni.

Carrotopia

I once cultivated a carrot top
ina saucer, ona windowsill.
It soon looked every inch the desert island
with lilting trees at its centre hill.

One night (probably when I was watching,
tearyeyed in the moonlight),
a team of ants parachuted in
floating tiny like the starsbright.

They constructed a miniature shantytown
all about the saucer's rim,
and stole paper to fashion boats,
that they boldly sailed in.
(some did not make it).

Upon reaching the golden isle,
They chopped down the greenling trees for fire,
but before bed (and God) they made a solemn pact
never to eat this golden land they so desired.

Next morning as birds sang up the sun,
I woke to the sound of lungburn drinking,
and saw ten fat little bodies there drowning,
still eating as they were sinking.
...

**helen**

Hey guys, you've got until Thursday to contribute to this and then I'll be making my donation on Friday. :thumb:

Former Member

Saw this on Twitter today and really enjoyed it:

Lord Forgive Me by Kathryn Maris

Kyrie eleison! I said it in the pub.
I said it to my bitter then I said
it to my heart, with nothing not to dread:
my sins were great: I drank there with my love.

Kyrie iesu christe, God above
and me below, drinking at the Hog?s Head.
?So. Will you love me better when I?m dead??
He knew it was a joke, but didn?t laugh

just turned away to look at the TV.
(Arsenal was playing Everton.)
Another man was fixed upon the game

and held his hands together on his knee
and chanted and rebuked. But not my man,
who recognizes neither loss nor blame.

Former Member

I eat my peas with honey,
I've done it all my life.
It makes my peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on my knife.

**helen**

grace wrote: »

I eat my peas with honey,
I've done it all my life.
It makes my peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on my knife.

Aww, love this, My Dad used to say it to my sister and I all the time when we were ickle

Former Member

I found this poem when I was in year 12 and had to do some analysis. It came to mind after what happened yesterday - I really like the end bit which I've put in bold, and I think the imagery of unlike hands and equal hearts is incredibly powerful.

Scared - Ron Carnell

Scared, she tried to calm the tears
of her seven-year old daughter.

"It's going to be okay," she lied,
as the dark men,
armed with knives and cold eyes,
herded passengers to the rear
of the half-empty plane.
Furtively, afraid to draw attention,
she breathed into a small ear,
"Please don't cry."

Scared, he forced his eyes from
the window to the photo on his desk.

Across the way, the tower
that mirrored his own
was adrift in flames,
dark clouds of billowing smoke
all but obscuring the
approaching, well aimed, plane.
"It's coming," he whispered to
his wife's smiling picture.

Scared, she flipped the channel
to yet another chronicle of chaos.

Their apartment was so close
she imagined she could smell the smoke,
though perhaps it was just a reflection
of the stinging argument they had
while he was dressing for work.
His office phone went unanswered,
his cell number refused to connect,
and still she mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

Scared, he bounded up another flight of stairs,
the plaster walls trembling in unison with his heart.

"Keep going!" he breathlessly yelled
to civilians he passed in the closed stairwell.
Some were covered with silt, some with blood,
all with the clinging, cloying sense of fear.
Twenty-three floors, and still he climbed,
checking for locked doors,
directing frightened people,
and praying, "Please, give us more time."

Scared, she ran through the crowded street,
panic pounding more loudly than the thunder at her back.

The tower was collapsing under its own weight,
its steel palms crushing those unable to run,
its billowing fingers of darkness relentlessly chasing
those still trying to escape.
Hot winds tickled her bare neck,
a silent voice urging her to greater speeds.
Fetid darkness blinded her, choked her,
as speed alone proved not enough.

Scared, I lay awake in a darkened room
and asked the inevitable, "Why?"

Those who died weren't soldiers.
They didn't shape foreign policies
or decide global economies.
They were just people.
Mothers and fathers, daughters and sons,
each now a victim of hatreds
beyond their responsibility,
beyond anyone's real understanding.

Scared, the world watched in horror, in pain,
and in ever growing rage.

Shoulder to shoulder, they stood together,
speaking in many languages,
in a single assenting voice.
"This cannot be," they whispered in awe.
Ignoring differences, forgetting distinctions,
they joined unlike hands and equal hearts.
And the whispers rose in crescendo:
"This cannot be EVER AGAIN."

Join hands, my friends. In prayer, in protest, in peace and retribution, as a world united in our common intolerance of hatred and hate-inspired death.

Join hands. Join voices. Join hearts.

Former Member

I just stalked my old threads...and found this from when I decided to become a binman :P

oh EmEm's a BinMen
Se wears a binmen's hat
she wears cor blimey trousers
And she waiting for a council flat
She's looks a proper spanner
In her great big hob nailed boots
she's got such a job to pull em up
That she calls them daisy roots

Former Member

yellowseahorse wrote: »

I found this poem when I was in year 12 and had to do some analysis. It came to mind after what happened yesterday - I really like the end bit which I've put in bold, and I think the imagery of unlike hands and equal hearts is incredibly powerful.

That poem is really good. Powerful too.

Sent from my GT-S5830 using Tapatalk 2

Former Member

Taken from the poetry day thread

There was a young lady called hmmm7
Who would drink a cuppa or seven
When she got cold
A cuppa she would hold
Then she would feel like she's in heaven.

Former Member

This is probably my all time favourite poem. There are others than come and go, and I find are good for certain mindsets - but this is the staple and has been since I first read it when I was about 10.

The Roman Centurion's Song

Roman Occupation of Britain, A.D. 300

LEGATE, I had the news last night--my cohort ordered home
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below;
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!

I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall.
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.

Here where men say my name was made, here where my work was done;
Here where my dearest dead are laid--my wife--my wife and son;
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?

For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern skies,
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze--
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted days?

You'll follow widening Rodanus till vine and olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate: but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!

You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending pines
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but--will you e'er forget
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?

Let me work here for Britain's sake--at any task you will--
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.

Legate, I come to you in tears--My cohort ordered home!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind--the only life I know,
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!

Kipling.

**helen**

£84 for the runners :yippe:

Nice one poets & critics! :thumb:

I'm going to put £42 on the young runners page for Purpled_haze

and £42 on the YouthNet Dream Team page.

Incidentally, if anyone is around in London for the Marathon come down to Canada water and say hi to me where I'll be cheering. *Seany* won't be far away either.