Philw
Player Valuation: £50m
Best. Poem. Ever.
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Your Favourite Poem
- Thread starter summerisle
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Best. Poem. Ever.
Robert Tressell the author of 'The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists' was buried in a paupers grave in Walton 1911 (A mass grave with 12 other paupers)
The grave lay unmarked until Trade Unionists arranged for a stone in the 70s
This is the inscription on the stone
In Through Squalid Life They Laboured
In Sordid Grief They Died
Those Sons of a Mighty Mother,
Those Props of England's pride,
They Are Gone, There is None
Can Undo It, Nor Save Our Souls
From The Curse.
But Many a Million Cometh,
And Shall They Be Better Or Worse.
It Is We Must Answer And Hasten
And Open Wide The Door.
For The Rich Man's Hurrying Terror,
And The Slow Foot Hope Of The Poor.
Taken from 'The day is coming' by William Morris
The FULL poem can be seen here
http://www.bartleby.com/360/8/207.html
The grave lay unmarked until Trade Unionists arranged for a stone in the 70s
This is the inscription on the stone
In Through Squalid Life They Laboured
In Sordid Grief They Died
Those Sons of a Mighty Mother,
Those Props of England's pride,
They Are Gone, There is None
Can Undo It, Nor Save Our Souls
From The Curse.
But Many a Million Cometh,
And Shall They Be Better Or Worse.
It Is We Must Answer And Hasten
And Open Wide The Door.
For The Rich Man's Hurrying Terror,
And The Slow Foot Hope Of The Poor.
Taken from 'The day is coming' by William Morris
The FULL poem can be seen here
http://www.bartleby.com/360/8/207.html
Jacko93
Player Valuation: £35m
That's ace. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be a father.
Scroobius Pip is prettu cool. Remember another one of his Spoek Word/Poems about suicide I think. Was pretty poignant.
Loved this as a kid, couldn't help reading it 'aloud' in my head! Also If and Tiger Tiger were great when I was young. And the one from Four Weddings
Instead of fighting through together
and turning things around
You decided the grass was greener
On the other side of the ground.
One of his really really poignant ones is about people judgments of others.
Angles
AndyC
Player Valuation: £70m
I read this in my Father of the Bride speech at my youngest daughters wedding recently and it brought not only me to tears but just about everyone in the room... the origin I'm told is unknown.
When the one whose hand you're holding is the one who holds your heart,
When the one whose eyes you gaze into gives your hopes and dreams their start,
When the one you think of first and last is the one who holds you tight,
And the things you plan together make the whole world seem just right,
When the one whom you believe in puts their faith and trust in you,
You've found the one and only love to share your whole life through.
Tissues anyone ?
When the one whose hand you're holding is the one who holds your heart,
When the one whose eyes you gaze into gives your hopes and dreams their start,
When the one you think of first and last is the one who holds you tight,
And the things you plan together make the whole world seem just right,
When the one whom you believe in puts their faith and trust in you,
You've found the one and only love to share your whole life through.
Tissues anyone ?
John Cooper Clarke. Had never really heard of him before until I saw him on 'have I got news for you' got into him after that.
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q...&mid=806D56F744419901E0B5806D56F744419901E0B5
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q...&mid=806D56F744419901E0B5806D56F744419901E0B5
Last edited:
Stood on that buildin', watchin' the children
summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
John Betjemen - He really didn't like Slough
Slough
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.
And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:
And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.
But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.
It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead
And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
Slough
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.
And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:
And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.
But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.
It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead
And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron - some people may read this and think he's talking about a woman...I believe that he is talking about his beloved Greece. Who knows though - he was completely mad!
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
CELIA, CELIA by Adrian Mitchell:
When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on
He also wrote:
DEATH IS SMALLER THAN I THOUGHT
My Mother and Father died some years ago
I loved them very much.
When they died my love for them
Did not vanish or fade away.
It stayed just about the same,
Only a sadder colour.
And I can feel their love for me,
Same as it ever was.
Nowadays, in good times or bad,
I sometimes ask my Mother and Father
To walk beside me or to sit with me
So we can talk together
Or be silent.
They always come to me.
I talk to them and listen to them
And think I hear them talk to me.
It’s very simple –
Nothing to do with spiritualism
Or religion or mumbo jumbo.
It is imaginary.
It is real.
It is love.
When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on
He also wrote:
DEATH IS SMALLER THAN I THOUGHT
My Mother and Father died some years ago
I loved them very much.
When they died my love for them
Did not vanish or fade away.
It stayed just about the same,
Only a sadder colour.
And I can feel their love for me,
Same as it ever was.
Nowadays, in good times or bad,
I sometimes ask my Mother and Father
To walk beside me or to sit with me
So we can talk together
Or be silent.
They always come to me.
I talk to them and listen to them
And think I hear them talk to me.
It’s very simple –
Nothing to do with spiritualism
Or religion or mumbo jumbo.
It is imaginary.
It is real.
It is love.
The Esk
Player Valuation: £70m
Great thread...
@BlockHead my daughter is only 18, but I know the most emotional day of my life will be the day she gets married - lovely words, thank you.
@BlockHead my daughter is only 18, but I know the most emotional day of my life will be the day she gets married - lovely words, thank you.
summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
The Ruin, one of the earliest known Anglo-Saxon poems : estimated at around the latter part of the tenth century, but could be earlier. It is found in the so called Exeter book. It describes the impressions of an Anglo-Saxon visitor seeing a ruined and decaying Roman city, probably Bath. It is thought to be incomplete.
A more controversial hypothesis is that it is the first known description of Stonehenge.
A chance to practice your Anglo-Saxon.
THE RUIN
A more controversial hypothesis is that it is the first known description of Stonehenge.
A chance to practice your Anglo-Saxon.
THE RUIN
- Wrætlic is þes wealstan, wyrde gebræcon;
burgstede burston, brosnað enta geweorc.
Hrofas sind gehrorene, hreorge torras,
hrungeat berofen, hrim on lime,
scearde scurbeorge scorene, gedrorene,
ældo undereotone. Eorðgrap hafað
waldend wyrhtan forweorone, geleorene,
heardgripe hrusan, oþ hund cnea
werþeoda gewitan. Oft þæs wag gebad
ræghar ond readfah rice æfter oþrum,
ofstonden under stormum; steap geap gedreas.
And in modern English prose:
'Wondrous is the stone of this wall, shattered by fate; the precincts of the city have crumbled and the work of giants is rotting away.
There are tumbled roofs, towers in ruins, high towers rime-frosted, rime on the limy mortar, storm-shielding tiling scarred, scored and collapsed, undermined by age. The rampart, hewn by men, crumbles away.
'There were bright city buildings, many bathhouses, a wealth of lofty gables, much clamour of the multitude, many a mead-hall filled with human revelry – until mighty Fate changed that. Far and wide men fell dead: days of pestilence came and death destroyed the whole mass of those renowned swordsmen. Their fortress became waste places; the city rotted away: those who should repair it, the multitudes, were fallen to the ground. For that reason these courts are collapsing and the wide red roof of vaulted beams is shedding its tiles. The site is fallen into ruin, reduced to heaps, where once many a man blithe of mood and bright with gold, clothed in splendours, proud and flown with wine, gleamed in his war-trappings, and gazed upon treasure, on silver, on chased gems, on wealth, on property, on the precious stone and on this bright citadel of the broad kingdom.'
The Soldier - Ruoert Brooke ( 1914 )
If I should die, think only this of me ;
That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England,
There shall be in that rich earth a richer dust concealed ;
A dust whom England bore. Shaped, made aware, gave once,
Gave once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by sons of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind no less,
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,
Her sights and sounds ; dreams happy as her day ;
And laughter, learnt of friends ; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English Heaven.
**
Pink Floyd paid homage to this poem in the song - The Gunners Dream - taken from the Final Cut album :
" In the corner of some foreign field the gunner sleeps tonight "
" What's done is done "
" We cannot write off his final scene "
" Take heed of his dream "
" Take heed "
If I should die, think only this of me ;
That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England,
There shall be in that rich earth a richer dust concealed ;
A dust whom England bore. Shaped, made aware, gave once,
Gave once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by sons of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind no less,
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,
Her sights and sounds ; dreams happy as her day ;
And laughter, learnt of friends ; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English Heaven.
**
Pink Floyd paid homage to this poem in the song - The Gunners Dream - taken from the Final Cut album :
" In the corner of some foreign field the gunner sleeps tonight "
" What's done is done "
" We cannot write off his final scene "
" Take heed of his dream "
" Take heed "
A man stood at the pearly gates,
His face was worn and old
And meekly asked the man of fate,
Admission to the 'fold'.
"What deed can you account for
To gain admission here?"
"Why I used to post on GOT I said
Until my dying year."
The gate swung open sharp,
As St. Peter touched the bell,
"Come in," he said "and take a Harp,
You've had enough of 'Hell'.
His face was worn and old
And meekly asked the man of fate,
Admission to the 'fold'.
"What deed can you account for
To gain admission here?"
"Why I used to post on GOT I said
Until my dying year."
The gate swung open sharp,
As St. Peter touched the bell,
"Come in," he said "and take a Harp,
You've had enough of 'Hell'.
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