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Post by limebirdwriters on Dec 28, 2011 20:15:32 GMT
Ah yes, limebird are following his blog! Thanks for pointing it out again!  |
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Post by limebirdsophie on Jan 3, 2012 13:59:58 GMT
Hey all, my favorite poem is a very short one by D.H.Lawrence, its something i hold very close to my heart to remind me no matter what that i have to pick myself up and keep going, here it is:
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
its entitled self-pity in case anyone wanted to know.
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Post by limebirdwriters on Jan 3, 2012 15:02:45 GMT
Hey all, my favorite poem is a very short one by D.H.Lawrence, its something i hold very close to my heart to remind me no matter what that i have to pick myself up and keep going, here it is: I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself. its entitled self-pity in case anyone wanted to know. Aww lovely! I like this one! |
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Post by limebirdsophie on Jan 3, 2012 18:03:37 GMT
It's especially poignant today as my poor hamster stan lee has passed away. He got a cold and died within hours it's a sad day for me but I know he had a happy tho brief life x
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Post by limebirdwriters on Jan 3, 2012 18:05:23 GMT
It's especially poignant today as my poor hamster stan lee has passed away. He got a cold and died within hours it's a sad day for me but I know he had a happy tho brief life x Oh no Soph! Poor Stan!  xx |
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Post by ottabelle on Jan 9, 2012 21:59:12 GMT
Ah yes, limebird are following his blog! Thanks for pointing it out again! x.x i did it twice didn't i? Sorry. I think I was dead tired and just read a new poem off the blog. I'm sorry about your hammy Sophie |
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Post by limebirdsophie on Jan 10, 2012 0:15:34 GMT
It's ok im pretty much cursed with pets they rarely last a year even tho I follow every rule to the letter. I think it's just best if I stick to goldfish x |
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Post by dennismlane on Jan 17, 2012 6:21:03 GMT
Not a happy poem at all! But one of my favourites is Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen.
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;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped 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 floundering 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.
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Post by limebirdmike on Feb 11, 2012 11:47:34 GMT
Invictus by William Ernest Henley:
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.
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Post by limebirdwriters on Feb 24, 2012 10:02:25 GMT
Invictus by William Ernest Henley: 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. Ohh I like this one Mike! Do you write much poetry yourself? |
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Post by hugsandbugs1 on May 18, 2012 15:13:59 GMT
The first poem i ever had read to me:
THE DOLLY ON THE DUSTCART
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
I can see you're not impressed,
I'm fixed above the driver's cab,
With wire across me chest,
The dustman see, he noticed me,
Going in the grinder,
And he fixed me on the lorry,
I dunno if that was kinder.
This used to be a lovely dress,
In pink and pretty shades,
But it's torn now, being on the cart,
And black as the ace of spades,
There's dirt all round me face,
And all across me rosy cheeks,
Well, I've had me head thrown back,
But we ain't had no rain for weeks.
I used to be a 'Mama' doll,
Tipped forward, I'd say, 'Mum'
But the rain got in me squeaker,
And now I been struck dumb,
I had two lovely blue eyes,
But out in the wind and weather,
One's sunk back in me head like,
And one's gone altogether.
I'm not a soft, flesh coloured dolly,
Modern children like so much,
I'm one of those hard old dollies,
What are very cold to touch,
Modern dolly's underwear,
Leaves me a bit nonplussed,
I haven't got a bra,
But then I haven't got a bust!
But I was happy in that doll's house,
I was happy as a Queen,
I never knew that Tiny Tears,
Was coming on the scene,
I heard of dolls with hair that grew,
And I was quite enthralled,
Until I realised my head
Was hard and pink... and bald.
So I travel with the rubbish,
Out of fashion, out of style,
Out of me environment,
For mile after mile,
No longer prized... dustbinised!
Unfeminine, Untidy,
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
And there's no collection Friday.
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Post by yrdeni on Oct 7, 2012 8:52:10 GMT
I love this thread. My favourite poem is If, by Rudyard Kipling:
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!
In my view it's as much about tolerance and respect for others as it is advice from a father to his son on how to best present himself to the world.
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Post by ottabelle on Oct 11, 2012 3:10:28 GMT
Wow Scree that was lovely. It really struck me. I may need to print it off and read it every day. I should get unlazy and find some more poems.
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xx
