Poetry thread

[in_vino_vomitus]

I wonder how far this will go? Every forum needs a poetry thread and try as I might I couldn't find one on here.

Anyway, This is by a guy called Alan Ross, who served on Destroyers in WWII and was involved in the Battle of the Barents Sea. I found it in an old school textbook that was being used as decor in a theme pub in Preston. Since the function of books is to be read, rather than to decorate, I viewed lifting it as more of a rescue than theft......



The sky rinsed as a blue-jean collar,
And the train, on this April Monday, idling
with nothing better to do than to follow
The curves and windings of sidling
Rivers, and, sniffing marsh air, at snail's
Pace clank through the flapping
Washing, proud as Potemkin -

Swans glide in flotillas on lapping
Waters, and the estuaries hang up their sails
Indigo rust and cerulean,
And clouds like transfers, soak
On surfaces of inlets where beached boats
Vamp the sun on a morning that floats.

Hamble Halt, Bursledon, Bitterne -
We edge through rushes, inhaling the paint
From upturned houseboats, ketches, yawls
And hear soon the first faint
Siren notes from Pompey harbour - the train crawls
Past old Landing Craft, their flaking keels
No longer chipped after raking patrols,
But flopped on the mud like veteran seals,

And I am suddenly returned there,
To a crumbling shore and a barracks where
- Was it in the same lifetime? -
We dawdled between ships, without rhyme
or reason filling in each day
Awaiting the signal that would sever
The links, and whisk us from the bay
For an unknown time that might be forever

Once more I am prey
To this dockyard smell, so that I crick
My neck to lean from the train,
And feast my eyes on the derricks
That line the quays among bollards and cranes,
And catch a glimpse, as they ride at anchor,
Of two destroyers, a frigate and tanker,
My eyes lingering on them (as should they meet
Old lovers, not often remembered).
This morning of rusting dismembered
Vessels, languishing here from an ailing fleet,
Takes on fresh tenderness for me -
Longing for faces I shall not again see.

Alan Ross

[Fubar2Niner]

Strange bird the Cuckoo,
as he sits on the grass.
Head on his shoulder,
beak up his ass,
and from this position he can only sing twit.
How can he sing cuckoo,
with a beakfull of ...........

Monty Python

[Sailor Steve]

We've had a poetry thread before.
I'm not saying that it was a bore,
But in the end it sank like a stone,
and now it's all but dead and gone.

I don't remember if it was bad or good,
I don't know if it got the fate it should.
I only hope that this little letter,
Finds this new one doing better.

Me

[Fubar2Niner]

^





Marvellous !!! Well done Steve

Best regards.

Fubar2Niner

Not that I am deep into poetry, but this one I find fantastic:


The Raven
by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!


My favorite part:
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;


PS: Good thread!

[Platapus]

A curious bird is the Pelican
Its beak can hold more than its belly can
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week
But, I don't know how the hell he can.

Ogden Nash

[Armistead]

Originally Posted by Sailor Steve

We've had a poetry thread before.
I'm not saying that it was a bore,
But in the end it sank like a stone,
and now it's all but dead and gone.

I don't remember if it was bad or good,
I don't know if it got the fate it should.
I only hope that this little letter,
Finds this new one doing better.

Me

Yea, I started that thread. Seems it was good for a week,.....like most of my threads.

[in_vino_vomitus]

Originally Posted by Sailor Steve

We've had a poetry thread before.
I'm not saying that it was a bore,
But in the end it sank like a stone,
and now it's all but dead and gone.

I don't remember if it was bad or good,
I don't know if it got the fate it should.
I only hope that this little letter,
Finds this new one doing better.

Me

Excellent!!!

[Platapus]

Poems now in GT
A respite from politics
Sad it won't last long