Poetry corner

rwsmith

rwsmith

Member
Bronze Supporter
Joined
Dec 11, 2012
Messages
32,501
Reaction score
31,121
Location
(outside) Charleston, SC
The thread with the Walt Whitman poem got me thinking.

As Bullwinkle J. Moose used to say, "Today's pome is...."



Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


No Man Is An Island

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.

John Donne



“Folks, I'm telling you,
birthing is hard
and dying is mean-
so get yourself
a little loving
in between.”

Langston Hughes


Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Edwin Arlington Robinson



The Pasture

By Robert Frost

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
 
Register to hide this ad
Eddie Murphy as Tyrone Green, an inmate in the State Pen enrolled in a program sponsored by Norman Mailer called Prose and Cons..............

Kill My Landlord

Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking - Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason --
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L ...
My land - lord
 
Last edited:
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.
 
This limerick, so help me, was written by Woodrow Wilson:

I sat next to the Duchess at tea.
It was just as I feared it would be,
For her rumblings abdominal
Were truly phenomenal,
And everyone thought it was me.

I do enjoy real poetry too, but am too tired to think of any favorites tonight.
 
In the 7th grade, we had to recite a poem. The one I did was: "Damn the Torpedoes-and was about David Glasgow Farragut. It was a great one that started as:

"Damn the Torpedoes Bold Farragut Said, Damn the Torpedoes, Full Speed Ahead, And Lashed to the Rigging, Full Speed Ahead." Sorry I cant remember the resy but--I do remember: "The Grass is Green."

The Grass is Green, by: John Wayne.

The Sky is Blue, the Grass is Green, the hell with them, join the Marines.

Duke was on a Laugh-In episode dressed in a pink Bunny suit and said his poem in that episode.
 
Rastoff said:
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.
Click to expand...

I used to sing this (except I'm a tenor)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4NUJRpxQbY

Goose bump city.
 
The Cremation of Sam McGee...Robert Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold
The Artic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights but the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
 
Robert Service is my favorite too.
I can quote "The shooting of Dan Mcgrew" perfectly.:cool:

I am also a pretty good poet. Every card giving occasion Missus Fan gets a card from me with a poem I wrote. A few years ago I gave her a stand up dressing mirror. I had a brass plaque put on it, engraved with the following poem, which I wrote.

"Behold your beauty, charm and grace, the image never lies.
This Magic Mirror beckons you to see you through MY eyes".:cool:

I am a hopeless romantic.:D
Jim
 
I have a close friend in his 30s, with whom I have lunch once a month. I am in my mid 50s.

The other day we were exchanging emails to set up an appointment for this week, when he decided to wax poetic, speaking of drinking coffee, then being "ready to jump up and pee". My response:

"Those who readily 'jump up and pee'
Obviously have enlarged prostates, you see-
For that is a symptom of advancing age,
And you, my friend, haven't reached that stage.
But if you are wondering just what it's about,
Google "BPH" -for an awakening, no doubt."


Thanks to all who are posting poems -a great thread.

Andy
 
The Thumbnail
by Henry Gibson

Did you ever stop to figure
Why the thumbnail is so hard?

Well, it hasn't any choice
With all that skin to guard.

It may look fat and pudgy,
But its heart is good and true.

It's prettier than a toenail
And easier to chew.
 
Mike McLellan said:
Thank you! Poetry is my passion, aside from Smith & Wesson revolvers, hot babes, old trucks, hot babes, hay barns, hot babes, etc. Did I forget anything? Seriously. Thanks!
Click to expand...

while hot babes are a dream that I will never know again :(

I do like old trucks

and I dabble at some poetry from time to time

so here's one about an old truck

DADDY’S OLD TRUCK
By Larry Lile


There is a pickup truck, which sits parked, just out beyond the back barn doors.
Where an old hen is busy building, a nest on its old rusty floor board.

Its old black tires have now rotted, clean off of its rims.
And there’s a tree growing up thru, where that old Oak bed had been.

That old truck has been here, most all of my life,
In Fifty years, it’s never spent more than a day or two, out of my site.

Some people might see it and think , that it is just scrap iron and tin.
But there is a childhood of precious memories, still safely, stored within.

Sometimes when I look at that old truck, you might see a gleam here in my eye.
As it reveals again to me, a vision of a time, long ago gone by.

Like the way that old truck looked, back there on that first day.
When daddy drove it off the lot, and they headed off together down their first highway.

Oh! He was sitting behind the wheel that day, wearing a big wide grin,
The woman he loved, my sisters and I, on that old seat there, next to him.

Or the day that in a farm boys heart, which always delivered a thrill
The first time daddy let me go with him, down to the old feed mill.

Daddy loaded that old truck that morning, until it's rear bumper nearly drug the ground.
Wiped the sweat from his face, looked over at me, and said,” get in, if you want to go to town”

Me in the seat, there on my knees, so I could see out that old windshield,
Wondering it that old truck would rear up, as daddy tried to drive it up, and over the hill.
That led out of our lane, near the mailbox, where our lane, met the old gravel road,
But that old truck did not stutter or spin, as is climbed that hill with its load.

The sights, the sounds, and the smells, of that old feed mill, are still fresh in my memory today
Blocks of yellow, brown and white, molasses in the air, and the roar that hammer mill made,
The farmers sitting around discussing there crops, the heat, the rain, and the wind
My daddy welcomed there among them, with me setting there next to him

Setting on a coke crate, sharing a drink, and a bag of peanuts, from a big glass jar
Staring around at all the stuff on the walls, the shelves, and all those different candy bars.

Watching, as daddy drove the truck, when it became his turn to enter the shed,
As conveyors conveyed, its tail gate let down, and cables lifted its front much higher than my head.

The sounds that were made, as they fed in the hay, and the thump and roar as corn hit the mill,
The sound of the mixer , and how the sacks were tied, are things that I remember still.

Or the day, we were working together, in the tobacco, here on the back of the place
When I heard daddy yell “come running”, with a worried look there upon his face.
That was one trip, this old truck made, when its tires barely touched the ground.
And we pulled in, just in time to see, my uncles burning barn fall down.

There was days of cleanup that followed, and logs to be pulled to the old saw mill
And back with lumber and nails and the other things that were needed to rebuild.

Cows, calves, hogs, pigs, tobacco, hay, and corn from the crib
Rakes, shovels, axes and wire, strings, beans and old flat tires
Seed, feed, balls and bats, shotguns, dogs, and old wooden racks
These, are just a few of the things, which that old truck has hauled on it back.

It also carried it share, of a young boys, hopes and dreams,
Of lessons taught and learned, - forgotten, and taught again
Sometimes it was the scene, of sharp words, that were spoken in hast.
Words that were always tempered in love and never a word of hate,


A junk man stopped by here today, and offered to haul it away
He took out his pencil and figured, on just how much he thought it would weight
And for the place, where I learned how to be a man, he offered me a hundred bucks
I just looked over at him, grinned and said, “Not for my daddy’s old truck”


There is a pickup truck, which sits parked, just out beyond the back barn doors.
Where an old hen has built, a nest, safe within on its old rusty floor board
And like her mother before her, she will lead her chicks out of it, and into the light
Yes that old truck has earned the right to stay here, at least, for the rest of my life!
 
My Boy Jack by Rudyard Kipling

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!


Kipling wrote it after his son Jack was killed early in WW1 in 1915, perhaps with a lot of guilt since he put pressure on him to join the army. He recited it to the King who also had lost a son in the war. It was featured in the PBS movie "My Boy Jack". I admit to shedding a tear watching the movie when he recited the poem to the King.
 
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
by Walt Whitman

WHEN I heard the learn'd astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns
before me;
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add,
divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he
lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars

Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
 
one of my favorites, by Rudyard Kipling

The Young British Soldier

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier OF the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

And another of his:
Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
 
Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts
Bob Dylan

The festival was over, the boys were all plannin’ for a fall
The cabaret was quiet except for the drillin’ in the wall
The curfew had been lifted and the gamblin’ wheel shut down
Anyone with any sense had already left town
He was standin’ in the doorway lookin’ like the Jack of Hearts

He moved across the mirrored room, “Set it up for everyone,” he said
Then everyone commenced to do what they were doin’ before he turned their heads
Then he walked up to a stranger and he asked him with a grin
“Could you kindly tell me, friend, what time the show begins?”
Then he moved into the corner, face down like the Jack of Hearts

Backstage the girls were playin’ five-card stud by the stairs
Lily had two queens, she was hopin’ for a third to match her pair
Outside the streets were fillin’ up, the window was open wide
A gentle breeze was blowin’, you could feel it from inside
Lily called another bet and drew up the Jack of Hearts

Big Jim was no one’s fool, he owned the town’s only diamond mine
He made his usual entrance lookin’ so dandy and so fine
With his bodyguards and silver cane and every hair in place
He took whatever he wanted to and he laid it all to waste
But his bodyguards and silver cane were no match for the Jack of Hearts

Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town
She slipped in through the side door lookin’ like a queen without a crown
She fluttered her false eyelashes and whispered in his ear
“Sorry, darlin’, that I’m late,” but he didn’t seem to hear
He was starin’ into space over at the Jack of Hearts

“I know I’ve seen that face before,” Big Jim was thinkin’ to himself
“Maybe down in Mexico or a picture up on somebody’s shelf”
But then the crowd began to stamp their feet and the houselights did dim
And in the darkness of the room there was only Jim and him
Starin’ at the butterfly who just drew the Jack of Hearts

Lily was a princess, she was fair-skinned and precious as a child
She did whatever she had to do, she had that certain flash every time she smiled
She’d come away from a broken home, had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life which took her everywhere
But she’d never met anyone quite like the Jack of Hearts

The hangin’ judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined
The drillin’ in the wall kept up but no one seemed to pay it any mind
It was known all around that Lily had Jim’s ring
And nothing would ever come between Lily and the king
No, nothin’ ever would except maybe the Jack of Hearts

Rosemary started drinkin’ hard and seein’ her reflection in the knife
She was tired of the attention, tired of playin’ the role of Big Jim’s wife
She had done a lot of bad things, even once tried suicide
Was lookin’ to do just one good deed before she died
She was gazin’ to the future, riding on the Jack of Hearts

Lily washed her face, took her dress off and buried it away
“Has your luck run out?” she laughed at him, “Well, I guess you must
have known it would someday
Be careful not to touch the wall, there’s a brand-new coat of paint
I’m glad to see you’re still alive, you’re lookin’ like a saint”
Down the hallway footsteps were comin’ for the Jack of Hearts

The backstage manager was pacing all around by his chair
“There’s something funny going on,” he said, “I can just feel it in the air”
He went to get the hangin’ judge, but the hangin’ judge was drunk
As the leading actor hurried by in the costume of a monk
There was no actor anywhere better than the Jack of Hearts

Lily’s arms were locked around the man that she dearly loved to touch
She forgot all about the man she couldn’t stand who hounded her so much
“I’ve missed you so,” she said to him, and he felt she was sincere
But just beyond the door he felt jealousy and fear
Just another night in the life of the Jack of Hearts

No one knew the circumstance but they say that it happened pretty quick
The door to the dressing room burst open and a cold revolver clicked
And Big Jim was standin’ there, ya couldn’t say surprised
Rosemary right beside him, steady in her eyes
She was with Big Jim but she was leanin’ to the Jack of Hearts

Two doors down the boys finally made it through the wall
And cleaned out the bank safe, it’s said that they got off with quite a haul
In the darkness by the riverbed they waited on the ground
For one more member who had business back in town
But they couldn’t go no further without the Jack of Hearts

The next day was hangin’ day, the sky was overcast and black
Big Jim lay covered up, killed by a penknife in the back
And Rosemary on the gallows, she didn’t even blink
The hangin’ judge was sober, he hadn’t had a drink
The only person on the scene missin’ was the Jack of Hearts

The cabaret was empty now, a sign said, “Closed for repair”
Lily had already taken all of the dye out of her hair
She was thinkin’ ’bout her father, who she very rarely saw
Thinkin’ ’bout Rosemary and thinkin’ about the law
But most of all she was thinkin’ ’bout the Jack of Hearts
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

Rustyt1953
Dave "the Cobra" Parker passed today at 74.
Replies
12
Views
278
glenncal1
G
Golddollar
Let's Twist Again
Replies
11
Views
874
Imissedagain
Imissedagain
cmansguns
No 1 son and Model 29-2 story.....he made my day!
Replies
6
Views
341
2500
2
TXBryan
Braggin' on my son
Replies
18
Views
957
kmyers
kmyers
M
My friend vRichard
Replies
19
Views
1K
AJ
AJ

Latest posts

Back
Top