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Which Is The Best Poem You Have Ever Read?
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Lets share your best poem that you love most
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Can't remember the book this one appeared in (back in the 70s) but it's humour has stayed with me ever since;
Fly by, burst out
Run amok with Dobi's itch
Tickled pink, oh where's the ointment
Run pell-mell without a stitch
Happy purr the pussy's making
Taking pleasure, sprung the trap
Paid in full for all that shafting
Ha ha ha, he's got the clap.
Fly by, burst out
Run amok with Dobi's itch
Tickled pink, oh where's the ointment
Run pell-mell without a stitch
Happy purr the pussy's making
Taking pleasure, sprung the trap
Paid in full for all that shafting
Ha ha ha, he's got the clap.
Well this is the tale of Sonia Snell
To whom an accident befell
To many people it may seem
Embarrassing in the extreme...
It happened (as it does to many)
That Sonia went to "spend a penny"
And entered in, with modest grace
The properly appointed place
Provided at the Railway Station
Wherein she sat, in meditation.
Unfortunately, unaquainted
The toilet seat was newly painted-
Which made poor Sonia realise
Her inability to rise.
In vain she struggled, pulled and yelled
But found that she was firmly held
Her cries for help soon quickly brought
A crowd of every kind and sort
Who simply stood around and sniggered
And all they said was "I'll be jiggered!".
The stationmaster and his staff
Were most polite and didn't laugh
But took her by the hands and feet
And tried to wrest her from the seat.
In vain. A carpenter arrived at last
And finding Sonia still stuck fast
Said "I know just what I will do"
And gently sawed the seat right through.
Sonia arose- only to find
A wooden halo fixed behind!
An ambulance came down the street
And took her off (complete with seat)
They took her by the feet and head
And laid her, face down, on the bed.
The doctors all came on parade
To see if they could give "first aid"
And looked around, and cast their eyes
Upon the seat with some surprise.
Then one old surgeon scratched his head
And in bewilderment he said
"Have any of you, I implore
Seen anything like this before?"
"Yes" said one student, unashamed
"Frequently.............but never framed!"
To whom an accident befell
To many people it may seem
Embarrassing in the extreme...
It happened (as it does to many)
That Sonia went to "spend a penny"
And entered in, with modest grace
The properly appointed place
Provided at the Railway Station
Wherein she sat, in meditation.
Unfortunately, unaquainted
The toilet seat was newly painted-
Which made poor Sonia realise
Her inability to rise.
In vain she struggled, pulled and yelled
But found that she was firmly held
Her cries for help soon quickly brought
A crowd of every kind and sort
Who simply stood around and sniggered
And all they said was "I'll be jiggered!".
The stationmaster and his staff
Were most polite and didn't laugh
But took her by the hands and feet
And tried to wrest her from the seat.
In vain. A carpenter arrived at last
And finding Sonia still stuck fast
Said "I know just what I will do"
And gently sawed the seat right through.
Sonia arose- only to find
A wooden halo fixed behind!
An ambulance came down the street
And took her off (complete with seat)
They took her by the feet and head
And laid her, face down, on the bed.
The doctors all came on parade
To see if they could give "first aid"
And looked around, and cast their eyes
Upon the seat with some surprise.
Then one old surgeon scratched his head
And in bewilderment he said
"Have any of you, I implore
Seen anything like this before?"
"Yes" said one student, unashamed
"Frequently.............but never framed!"
It's a poem about death slightly in the vein of Awfully Big Adventure, and I really like it, it resonates with me.
Gone from my Sight
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side
spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and
starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of
beauty and strength. I stand watch her at length until
she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the
sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in
mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my
side and she is just as able to bear her load of living
freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just
at the moment when someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“Here she comes!”
And, that is dying.
Gone from my Sight
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side
spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and
starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of
beauty and strength. I stand watch her at length until
she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the
sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in
mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my
side and she is just as able to bear her load of living
freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just
at the moment when someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“Here she comes!”
And, that is dying.
Too many to choose an actual favourite but this is one of them.
Cloths of Heaven.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B. Yeats
Cloths of Heaven.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B. Yeats
Love that one as well Tilly2.
My favourite is A.E.Houseman
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
Always think of this when I drive in Shropshire and see the hills.
My favourite is A.E.Houseman
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
Always think of this when I drive in Shropshire and see the hills.
From Dover Beach:
"...
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
"...
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
I met my second wife in a pub. She was drinking a pint of lager and reading the Daily Mirror. It was an article by Kingsley Amis who had a regular column on famous English poems. Was it "Innisfree" that day ("And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, ...")? I'm afraid I don't remember.
Anyway, one of the first e-books I bought the Yeats collecteion.
This from the charming "Fiddler of Dooney":
"When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea."
Anyway, one of the first e-books I bought the Yeats collecteion.
This from the charming "Fiddler of Dooney":
"When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea."
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