POET'S LAIR

P

Padre

Milforum Chaplain
I don't think this thread has been posted before - I'll soon find out, but post here a favourite or well liked poem or verse, military or otherwise, for public enjoyment.

Here's one of mine:

"Sea-Fever"

I must 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 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 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.

John Masefield 1878-1967.
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)
 
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Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs 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.
 
Hey, what a great thread.

I will return. Meanwhile, are you familiar with Rudyard Kipling and Alfred Lord Tennyson. If not - I will be back with some inspiration, especially for this forum.

Padre's Sea fever was one of my junior school poems. Great.
First time I have seen Bulldogg's Robert Frost's poem , like it a lot. Is he American?
 
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From Rhymes of a Red Cross Man, 1916
Robert Service

Young Fellow My Lad

" Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You are'nt obliged to go."
" I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
and ever so strong, you know."

"So you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you're looking so fit and bright."
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You're all of my life, you know."
"Don't worry. I'll be back, dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."

"Why don't you write, Young fellow My Lad?
I watch for post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the frie in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here i sit
Into the quiet night."

"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sighed as he went away?
I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,
But a terrible price we've paid:
God grant, my boy, That you're safe and sound;
But Oh I'm afraid, afraid."

"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow my Lad:
You'll never come back again:
(Oh God! The dreams and the dreams I've had,
And the hopes I've nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.

"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow my Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star'
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of a child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to Lads like you."
 
Del Boy said:
First time I have seen Bulldogg's Robert Frost's poem , like it a lot. Is he American?
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Yes sir DB, Robert Frost is probably the best poet we ever produced. He was Kennedy's favourite poet. Some people go so far as to psychobabblise the President as having a morbid fascination with death owing to his choice in poets. Robert Frost was a depressed man and his poetry reflects it though absolutely brilliant at multiple levels.
[SIZE=-1]
www.ketzle.com/frost/[/SIZE]
 
I love that poem Padre. I always have a copy of it with me when sailing, and while at the helm at night, often repeat the first two lines. It is a wonderful poem.
 
Thanks Bulldogg, all new to me. Very interested. I also enjoyed the poem posted last. Again, i am unfamiliar with the poet.

I guess you all know this , but it is such an important poem, I used to hold it up to my sons.


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 all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath 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!
--Rudyard Kipling
 
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istealfreefood said:
I love that poem Padre. I always have a copy of it with me when sailing, and while at the helm at night, often repeat the first two lines. It is a wonderful poem.
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Aye, it certainly is ISFF. Good posts to everyone above - bit of class I see.

I like Frost BD, I think his wife's insanity and son's suicide and a host of other misfortunes (inspite of many good fortunes) tempered Frost's imagination with a touch of the macarbre in some of his work. Kipling's work is well known DB - what a wise man.

Great pick KJ from R. Service- I like that one and have not read it before.
 
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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, Mr. 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 how'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;​

But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!

Rudyard Kipling
​




Right Padre, got the message regarding Kipling. I did ask first, see my first post, and having no response on that score, went ahead. I was taking differring cultures into account.​


Any way, to make sure, here is just one more shot. Sorry if all are familiar with it. I will try to be more obscure in future.​
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[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif] We all create our lives so let yourself be free and you will know[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]Think outside, change yourself within, project out, and let your thoughts flow[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]In turn reap what you grow and earn what you sew[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]Create your life, just be free, and grow[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]Rather simplistic, how I create, maybe it's for a lack of better but who will really ever know

[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]~Donkey Original[/FONT]


​
 
Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot

Remember Remember the fifth of November

The gunpowder treason and plot

I see no reason why gunpowder treason

should ever be forgot

Guy Fawkes Guy, 'twas his intent

to blow up king and parliament

Three score barrels were laid below

to prove old England's overthrow

By God's mercy he was catched

with a dark lantern and lighted match

Holler boys Holler boys let the bells ring

Holler boys Holler boys God save the King

I LOVE this poem. Ever since V For Vendetta came out I've become fascinated with the legend.
 
I guess you know then that we still celebrate this every Nov 5th . But until very recent years it was always celebrated as a giant event, with huge bonfires all over the country, lots built in the streets, piled up as big as houses, and smaller fires in peoples' back gardens. On the very top went stuffed figures of Guy Fawkes. All done by the people as individuals, no public organising etc., all off the cuff , locals joining in together at the moment and the kids taking a big part. Once when my kids were small I had to drag Guy off, because they were upset - they recognised he was wearing my old clothes. Fireworks exploded all over town, on the streets, kids causing general mayhem with bangers and jumping jacks and having a great time for a couple of days. For some weeks before poor kids pushed prams or carts around with effigies of Guy, asking Penny for the Guy, so that they could collect fire-work money.

Historically of course, Guy went to the rack. So indeed we did always remember the fifth of November.

Here's another traditional street song and dance that always appeared on festive street occasions in London.

Sons of the Sea
All British born
Sailed every ocean
Laughing foes to scorn.

They can build their ships my lads
Think they know the game
But they can't beat the boys of the Bull-Dog breed
Who made old England's game.
 
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Del Boy said:
I guess you know then that we still celebrate this every Nov 5th . But until very recent years it was always celebrated as a giant event, with huge bonfires all over the country, lots built in the streets, piled up as big as houses, and smaller fires in peoples' back gardens. On the very top went stuffed figures of Guy Fawkes. All done by the people as individuals, no public organising etc., all off the cuff , locals joining in together at the moment and the kids taking a big part. Once when my kids were small I had to drag Guy off, because they were upset - they recognised he was wearing my old clothes. Fireworks exploded all over town, on the streets, kids causing general mayhem with bangers and jumping jacks and having a great time for a couple of days. For some weeks before poor kids pushed prams or carts around with effigies of Guy, asking Penny for the Guy, so that they could collect fire-work money.

Historically of course, Guy went to the rack. So indeed we did always remember the fifth of November.
Click to expand...
Hanged, then drawn and quartered. Then his Fawkes family jewls cut off and burned, then...Well...Here's the rest. "He was finally hung, drawn and quartered which was the traditional punishment for traitors on January 31, 1606. Guy Fawkes was hung until he was half dead and then his genitals were cut off and burned in front of him. Whilst still alive, his heart and bowels would be removed from his body, he would be decapitated and his limbs removed from his body. Finally, his body parts would be publicly displayed and left for the birds to eat them."
 
Right. Yeah, but he didn't get away with just that until after the stretching on the rack to let him know what a serious business this was! We did lots of that stuff in those days. William Wallace went the same way, in public of course. Nice.
 
O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum
ut animalia viderent Dominum
natum, jacentem in praesepio!
Beata Virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia.
____________________________

English Text: O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-
born Lord, lying in their manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear the
Lord Jesus Christ.
Alleluia.


This made my choir teacher cry when we performed it at the Spring Finale Concert.

http://music.download.com/el_toro_high_school/3600-8874_32-100217956.html

A link to the actual song. Click on O Magnum Mysterium.
 
Choir teachers are odd.

This poem was written by a friend...

Is The Dream Still With You?

Is the Dream still with you?
You that left
It all behind?
Said farewell
To your brothers,
Left high road for low;
Exchanging burdens for breeze.
Does your head still turn?
- do your ears still burn?
You who emptied your gun,
And took sacred bowl,
Curved from hand-me-down and gentle sip.
Silken dreams give pleasure
- no yardstick is there to measure.
And in your hands lay worlds,
Where Truth revealed
Your mind unfurls.
And does It live - and does It stay?
And is It with you - anyway?

Paul William Tait
http://www.poetry.com/Publications/display.asp?ID=P5286306&BN=999&PN=1

This one makes me cry but then its personal.
 
Choir teachers also devote more to their subject than any other teacher...Other than the theatrical arts. Do you know how many years of theory they have to go through? Not to mention learning piano so they can show their students how to perform the correct note...Off topic.

Mao Zedong's Mountains
Mountains!
I whip my swift horse, glued to my saddle.
I turn my head startled,
The sky is three foot above me!

Mountains!
Like great wave surging in a crashing sea,
Like a thousand stallions
In full gallop in the heat of battle.

Mountains!
Piercing the blue of heaven, your barbs unblunted!
The skies would fall
But for you strength supporting.
 
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