Just wanted to share this with you
Dad
there was a time so long ago
when she asked him for the moon
but there was nothing he could give
his face distorting as he spoke
and so she shut herself away
in a corner of her mind
only peeping now and then
from out the safety of her soul
he never told her how he felt
never spoke of love for her
she longed so much for one kind word
a moment of his precious time
and then one day she heard the news
that he had to go away
she had to re-align with life
before that oh so long farewell
so much pain he'd had to bear
such a lonely wasted life
of all the things she never knew
all the regrets that came too late
if every clock could be turned back
if he had shown his love for her
maybe would not have been the same
how could she ever ever know
some wasted time some wasted life
could have been a love so strong
could have been - what still could be
instead so many deep regrets
she tended to his every whim
washed his feet and bathed his brow
she couldn't take away the fear
that even he was feeling now
he could not speak he could not see
but she knew that he could hear
she wiped the tears from his sad eyes
and the blood from off his hand
so many things still left unsaid
so little time together
she knew that he was fading fast
and soon would have to take his leave
she held his hand and spoke to him
of love and life and spirit
she told him now he could let go
although her heart broke deep within
and then that moment came too soon
no more time now far too late
as tears coursed down her cheeks she saw
his face distorting as he died
and then the look of peace came o'er
his face so white and oh so still
and she knew that he had gone
to join their heavenly family
she took the cloth with tears and blood
and hid it for her keepsake
she had not had him in her life
a part of him she kept in death
she took his ashes went away
to a place known both to them
she scattered them with love and pride
the last thing she could do for him
at least she had had those few months
together making memories
she'd carry with her all her life
take out and polish now and then
yet even now the hurt is there
will it ever go away
and so she searches day and night
to make some sense of all the pain
she dances under stars at night
daily paints the world anew
tries different faces 'til they fit
and hides behind her fragile shield
Dad
there was a time so long ago
when she asked him for the moon
but there was nothing he could give
his face distorting as he spoke
and so she shut herself away
in a corner of her mind
only peeping now and then
from out the safety of her soul
he never told her how he felt
never spoke of love for her
she longed so much for one kind word
a moment of his precious time
and then one day she heard the news
that he had to go away
she had to re-align with life
before that oh so long farewell
so much pain he'd had to bear
such a lonely wasted life
of all the things she never knew
all the regrets that came too late
if every clock could be turned back
if he had shown his love for her
maybe would not have been the same
how could she ever ever know
some wasted time some wasted life
could have been a love so strong
could have been - what still could be
instead so many deep regrets
she tended to his every whim
washed his feet and bathed his brow
she couldn't take away the fear
that even he was feeling now
he could not speak he could not see
but she knew that he could hear
she wiped the tears from his sad eyes
and the blood from off his hand
so many things still left unsaid
so little time together
she knew that he was fading fast
and soon would have to take his leave
she held his hand and spoke to him
of love and life and spirit
she told him now he could let go
although her heart broke deep within
and then that moment came too soon
no more time now far too late
as tears coursed down her cheeks she saw
his face distorting as he died
and then the look of peace came o'er
his face so white and oh so still
and she knew that he had gone
to join their heavenly family
she took the cloth with tears and blood
and hid it for her keepsake
she had not had him in her life
a part of him she kept in death
she took his ashes went away
to a place known both to them
she scattered them with love and pride
the last thing she could do for him
at least she had had those few months
together making memories
she'd carry with her all her life
take out and polish now and then
yet even now the hurt is there
will it ever go away
and so she searches day and night
to make some sense of all the pain
she dances under stars at night
daily paints the world anew
tries different faces 'til they fit
and hides behind her fragile shield
quote:Originally posted by nosey rosie:quote:Originally posted by mary_bee:
Awwh hello you!! How're you?
Hi Mary Bee - good thanks - better for seeing you
I'm fab thanks, recovering from an evening out last night
And ooooh how could I resist? I shall be in after BGT
quote:Originally posted by electric6:
You know the lyric threads we always had? I like to read lyrics like poetry...Mr L always laughs at me for that, he just likes the choons...but I always have to read the lyrics and pore over them.
I'm the same...I can't really enjoy a song unless the lyrics 'speak' to me (well, there are a few exceptions...).
And my 'Poetry & Lyrics' folder is getting very full from this thread...
Oh a folder is a really good idea Sarum! I hadn't thought of doing that
quote:Originally posted by electric6:
Oh a folder is a really good idea Sarum! I hadn't thought of doing that
I think I will do that too, there are some great poems on here.
quote:Originally posted by electric6:
Oh a folder is a really good idea Sarum! I hadn't thought of doing that
I have lots of folders for different things...some of them quite bizarre.
It's just easier than trawling through hundreds of documents to find one that I saved two years ago, and I've forgotten the name of...
quote:Originally posted by Karma Waters:quote:Originally posted by electric6:
Oh a folder is a really good idea Sarum! I hadn't thought of doing that
I think I will do that too, there are some great poems on here.
It's sometimes nice to discover new things that aren't maybe to you usual tastes (or habits, in my case)
quote:Originally posted by Karma Waters:
Hi Sarum LTNS hope htings are good with you xxx
Hiya KW
Things are mostly good, thanks...
quote:Originally posted by Tam:
On yonder hill there stood a coo it must have moved its no there noo.
My Grandad used to say that one, his Mum was Scottish. He's having a hard time bless him. And the one about an old woman who swallowed a spider, he told that one over and over
Pause
by me, just now.
Language. Languid. Lounging about, lolling.
The evening speaks to me, rich darkness swelling.
Eases into the cracks in my skull and my head blooms, fills up this room.
A full stop.
A dead end.
Empty of feeling, for a moment-then
woosh! Exclamation marks
my view.
Reality resumes.
Sentences. Sense.
by me, just now.
Language. Languid. Lounging about, lolling.
The evening speaks to me, rich darkness swelling.
Eases into the cracks in my skull and my head blooms, fills up this room.
A full stop.
A dead end.
Empty of feeling, for a moment-then
woosh! Exclamation marks
my view.
Reality resumes.
Sentences. Sense.
Swine Flu by The Sec
It's doubtful that you've got it
You really are a 'tarder
Have a drink and go to bed
Quit making my life harder.
*bows*
It's doubtful that you've got it
You really are a 'tarder
Have a drink and go to bed
Quit making my life harder.
*bows*
Death by The Sec
When it comes I hope it's swift
But please don't do it on my shift.
When it comes I hope it's swift
But please don't do it on my shift.
My favourite, but then you might have guessed that already...
Not Waving but Drowning - stevie smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Not Waving but Drowning - stevie smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Having recently come out of hospital, and watching nurses struggling to help the elderly ladies. I was reminded of this poem. Just to add the nurses were doing a brilliant job under great strain.
What do you see, nursie, what do you see,
what are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try?"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a stocking or shoe.
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
as I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty my young sons have grown and are gone,
but my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more babies play round my knee,
again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.....
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
and I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel;
'tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
there is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
and now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
and I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years; all too few, gone too fast,
and accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nursie, open and see,
not a crabby old woman; look closer - see ME!!
What do you see, nursie, what do you see,
what are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try?"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a stocking or shoe.
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
as I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty my young sons have grown and are gone,
but my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more babies play round my knee,
again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.....
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
and I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel;
'tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
there is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
and now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
and I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years; all too few, gone too fast,
and accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nursie, open and see,
not a crabby old woman; look closer - see ME!!
That is such a relevant sentiment to me after spending time with my husband's Grandparents last weekend...thanks
If you sprinkle when you tinkle
Please be neat and wipe the seat
Please be neat and wipe the seat
Oh!!! I loved Alex!!quote:Originally posted by Cagney:
If you sprinkle when you tinkle
Please be neat and wipe the seat
He was robbed!
I love this by John Donne... It's FILTH!!!
Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear
That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there:
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown's going off such beauteous state reveals
As when from flowery meads th'hills shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow.
Off with those shoes: and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou Angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these Angels from an evil sprite:
They set out hairs, but these the flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Behind before, above, between, below.
Oh my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my Empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee.
To enter in these bonds is to be free,
Then where my hand is set my seal shall be.
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee.
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are as Atlanta's balls, cast in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem
His earthly soul may covet theirs not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally as to a midwife show
Thyself; cast all, yea this white linen hence.
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first: why then
What need'st thou have more covering than a man.
Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear
That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there:
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown's going off such beauteous state reveals
As when from flowery meads th'hills shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow.
Off with those shoes: and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou Angel bring'st with thee
A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these Angels from an evil sprite:
They set out hairs, but these the flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Behind before, above, between, below.
Oh my America, my new found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my Empery,
How blessed am I in this discovering thee.
To enter in these bonds is to be free,
Then where my hand is set my seal shall be.
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee.
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are as Atlanta's balls, cast in men's views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem
His earthly soul may covet theirs not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally as to a midwife show
Thyself; cast all, yea this white linen hence.
Here is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first: why then
What need'st thou have more covering than a man.
y John Fuller
The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I'd like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I'd like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I'd like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I'd like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fete.
I'd like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I'd like all your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).
I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement f your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.
I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work,
On hinges.
I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I'd like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I'd like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.
I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them.
Even in trousers I don't mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I'd always know, without recap,
Where to find them.
I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I'd like to cross two hemispheres
And have you chase me.
I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I'd like you to embrace me.
I'd like to see you ironing your skirt
And cancelling other dates.
I'd like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.
I'd like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I'd let you put insecticide
Into my wine.
I'd even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde.
I'd even like you as my Julian
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean mathematics.
You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I'd like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin.
And see you grin.
I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I'd like to make you reproduce.
I'd like you in my confidence.
I'd like to be your second look.
I'd like to let you try the French Defence
And mate you with my rook.
I'd like to be your preference
And hence
I'd like to be around when you unhook.
I'd like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book,
Your future tense.
Valentine by John Fuller.
Mr S tried to pass this off as his own work
Love it though.
The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I'd like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I'd like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I'd like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I'd like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fete.
I'd like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I'd like all your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).
I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement f your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.
I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work,
On hinges.
I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I'd like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I'd like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.
I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them.
Even in trousers I don't mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I'd always know, without recap,
Where to find them.
I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I'd like to cross two hemispheres
And have you chase me.
I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I'd like you to embrace me.
I'd like to see you ironing your skirt
And cancelling other dates.
I'd like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.
I'd like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I'd let you put insecticide
Into my wine.
I'd even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian's Jekyll and Hyde.
I'd even like you as my Julian
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean mathematics.
You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I'd like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin.
And see you grin.
I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I'd like to make you reproduce.
I'd like you in my confidence.
I'd like to be your second look.
I'd like to let you try the French Defence
And mate you with my rook.
I'd like to be your preference
And hence
I'd like to be around when you unhook.
I'd like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book,
Your future tense.
Valentine by John Fuller.
Mr S tried to pass this off as his own work
Love it though.
Razors pain you
Rivers are damp
Acids stain you
Drugs cause cramp
Guns aren't lawful
Nooses give
Gas smells awful
You might as well live
Dorothy Parker
Rivers are damp
Acids stain you
Drugs cause cramp
Guns aren't lawful
Nooses give
Gas smells awful
You might as well live
Dorothy Parker
quote:Originally posted by The Secretary:
Death by The Sec
When it comes I hope it's swift
But please don't do it on my shift.
vair good
quote:Originally posted by sciencewasrobbed:
I love this by John Donne... It's FILTH!!!
Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed
.
I
much prefer the poetry from this era.
Interesting
language
and value for money.
Most
of the modern stuff
has been
suitably parodied by E. J. Thribb
IMHYCO.
Ithaka
As you set out for Ithaka
hope your voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon — don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon — you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your voyage is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind —
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn, and go on learning, from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvellous journey.
Without her you would'nt have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
C.P. Cavafy.
Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard
As you set out for Ithaka
hope your voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon — don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon — you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your voyage is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind —
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn, and go on learning, from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvellous journey.
Without her you would'nt have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
C.P. Cavafy.
Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard