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at is your favourite poem ?
62 Answers
Mine is Leisure by W H Davies
What life is this if, full of care we have no time to stand and stare ?
no time to stand beneath the boughs, and stare as long as sheep and cows
no time to see, when woods we pass, where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,streams full of stars,like skies at night.
No time to turn at beauty's glance, and watch her feet,how they can dance.
No time to wait 'till her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.
What life is this if, full of care we have no time to stand and stare ?
no time to stand beneath the boughs, and stare as long as sheep and cows
no time to see, when woods we pass, where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,streams full of stars,like skies at night.
No time to turn at beauty's glance, and watch her feet,how they can dance.
No time to wait 'till her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.
Answers
This one!!!!
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
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...
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
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...
18:17 Thu 06th Dec 2012
mary frye
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 sun 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 circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
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 sun 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 circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
DT. One of my favourtes......but I love poetry and have many. Often I mess them about for fun so with apologies to Stevie Smith....
NOT TEACHING BUT DROWNING.
Nobody heard him, the dead teacher,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not teaching but drowning.
Poor chap,he'd always loved teaching
And now he's dead
It must have been the National Curriculum made his heart give way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it wasn't the curriculum
(Still the dead teacher lay moaning)
It was that bloody OFSTED that left me
Not teaching but drowning.
NOT TEACHING BUT DROWNING.
Nobody heard him, the dead teacher,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not teaching but drowning.
Poor chap,he'd always loved teaching
And now he's dead
It must have been the National Curriculum made his heart give way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it wasn't the curriculum
(Still the dead teacher lay moaning)
It was that bloody OFSTED that left me
Not teaching but drowning.
'Love Is' By Adrian Henri
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-is/
Especially the line 'Love is what's there when you are away from me'
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-is/
Especially the line 'Love is what's there when you are away from me'
Song Lyrics but beautifull
http
The Golden Wheat , traditional Welsh song , there are very many versions but this is the one I learned and love/
http
The Golden Wheat , traditional Welsh song , there are very many versions but this is the one I learned and love/
Depends on my mood I suppose and there are many I love.
Now for sheer romance - Byron must have loved someone with all his heart to write this:
http
In gratitude of nature:
http
To recall my childhood:
http
For brevity (when told as a schoolchild to learn a complete poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson) ;) :
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174589
Now for sheer romance - Byron must have loved someone with all his heart to write this:
http
In gratitude of nature:
http
To recall my childhood:
http
For brevity (when told as a schoolchild to learn a complete poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson) ;) :
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174589
Oohhh! So many lovely poems. I love Magsmay's Dylan Thomas and Mojo-Jo-Jo's Louis Macniece, two of my very favourites, but as they're already taken my favourite has to be Edward Thomas's 'Adlestrop':
Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
A snapshot of a moment in time.
Thanks for the OP, murraymints, I've spent a happy time reading through the replies. x
Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
A snapshot of a moment in time.
Thanks for the OP, murraymints, I've spent a happy time reading through the replies. x
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