Anyone into poetry?
Here's one of my favourites, please post yours!

This Be The Verse

by Philip Larkin

They ■■■■ you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

[ 06-22-2002, 03:26 AM: Message edited by: Mouse ]

i like poetry, poety on the other hand really pisses me off ! :D :D

Oh bugger I posted the topic,
I wasn't feeling well,
I mistyped all the title,
er.... and I can't think how to end this rhyme!

Should have read POETRY!

[ 06-21-2002, 08:02 PM: Message edited by: Epona ]

Well YOU try typing correctly after 2 bottles of wine and 4 pints of lager!!! [img]tongue.gif[/img] I think I do better than most could under these adverse conditions [img]tongue.gif[/img]

<font color="snow">Careful, our you will all be forced to buy Epona`s book of Poety!

[img]tongue.gif[/img] Epona [img]tongue.gif[/img] ;) </font>

Title sorted. Poem added :D



The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe

COME live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

This poem caught my imagination from the very first time I saw it. It was written by a 9th century Irish monk in Saint Gallen, Switzerland.

I have a copy hung on my office wall as a personal "inspiration". I wonder if anything I do will remembered 1000 years later ??

PANGUR BÁN

I and Pangur Bán my cat
‘Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
‘Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will
He too plies his simple skill

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur’s way;
Oftentimes my keen thoughts set
Takes a meaning in its net.

‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdoms try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the tasks I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Bán, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect at his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

----------------------

Pang [img]graemlins/cat3.gif[/img]

[ 06-22-2002, 08:59 AM: Message edited by: Pangur Ban ]

Andrew Marvell - To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world enough and time
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day,
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honor turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.





John Donne, from Holy Sonnets: Death Be Not Proud

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.


[ 06-22-2002, 08:00 AM: Message edited by: Melusine ]

Mouse, Thank You! [img]graemlins/kiss.gif[/img]
Lovely poem!

Melusine, thanks for posting those - I especially like Donne.
I think I'll try to find some more that I like, task for the day (gets me out of descaling the bath LOL!)

POETRY? POETRY?! ARGH! *runs screaming and hides underneth his pc desk. looks around nervously.* has it gone yet? no? *hits* back button as quickly as he can...* what taking you back to... NO! *hits go to general disscuion* lol. ok so maybe thats a bit over the top, but hey, I just dont like "POETRY", anyone got a prob with that? hehe, not that I have a prob with anyone reading/writing it... I just hate meodrama... ah well, the joys of being an addolent male... not many of them. ;)