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    Poem

    Do you have a favourite poem or one you can recite by heart? Something you learned at school perhaps that stayed with you.
    Mine is Cargoes by John Masefield. I can recite it by heart (I think). I really like the last verse which goes: Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Buttering through the Channel in the mad March days.
    Not a romantic poem or particularly cute but very descriptive.
    Any more?
    Be careful when blindly following the Masses.
    Sometimes the 'M' is silent.

    #2
    Abu Ben Adhem sticks with me, I can still remember the words. Abu Ben Adhem may his tribe increase, woke on night from a deep sleep of peace............ By Leigh Hunt
    What is life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare

    Comment


      #3
      That one falls into the deep and meaningful category Plant without a doubt.
      Be careful when blindly following the Masses.
      Sometimes the 'M' is silent.

      Comment


        #4


        I've liked this poem since my childhood - the last line "Watch the wall my darling while the gentlemen go by" always sent a shiver down my spine!
        xx

        Comment


          #5
          I have liked this since we did it at school
          The Listeners By Walter De La Mare

          ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
          Knocking on the moonlit door;
          And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
          Of the forest’s ferny floor:
          And a bird flew up out of the turret,
          Above the Traveller’s head:
          And he smote upon the door again a second time;
          ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
          But no one descended to the Traveller;
          No head from the leaf-fringed sill
          Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
          Where he stood perplexed and still.
          But only a host of phantom listeners
          That dwelt in the lone house then
          Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
          To that voice from the world of men:
          Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
          That goes down to the empty hall,
          Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
          By the lonely Traveller’s call.
          And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
          Their stillness answering his cry,
          While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
          ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
          For he suddenly smote on the door, even
          Louder, and lifted his head:—
          ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
          That I kept my word,’ he said.
          Never the least stir made the listeners,
          Though every word he spake
          Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
          From the one man left awake:
          Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
          And the sound of iron on stone,
          And how the silence surged softly backward,
          When the plunging hoofs were gone.





          “A grandchild fills a space in your heart that you never knew was empty.” – Unknown

          Comment


            #6
            I love this one too Shem. So atmospheric.I know what you mean about the shiver!

            Comment


              #7
              I can only remember 2 poems off by heart, neither of them very sophisticated!

              The Land of Counterpane by Robert Louis Stevenson:

              When I was sick and lay a-bed,
              I had two pillows at my head,
              And all my toys beside me lay
              To keep me happy all the day.

              And sometimes for an hour or so
              I watched my leaden soldiers go,
              With different uniforms and drills,
              Among the bed-clothes, through the hills

              And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
              All up and down among the sheets,
              Or brought my trees and houses out,
              And planted cities all about.

              I was the giant great and still
              That sits upon the pillow-hill,
              And sees before him, dale and plain,
              The pleasant land of counterpane.


              The Donkey by GK Chesterton:

              When fishes flew and forests walked
              And figs grew upon thorn,
              Some moment when the moon was blood
              Then surely I was born.

              With monstrous head and sickening cry
              And ears like errant wings,
              The devil’s walking parody
              On all four-footed things.

              The tattered outlaw of the earth,
              Of ancient crooked will;
              Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
              I keep my secret still.

              Fools! For I also had my hour;
              One far fierce hour and sweet:
              There was a shout about my ears,
              And palms before my feet.








              "Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognise how good things really are. "

              (Marianne Williamson)

              Comment


                #8
                We learned that first poem at primary school, Daisy
                Plus one about a train jouney which began 'Faster than hedges, faster than bridges ' - or something like that!
                “A grandchild fills a space in your heart that you never knew was empty.” – Unknown

                Comment


                  #9
                  Oh I love The Donkey Daisy. As you read and start to realise what he is saying and then the almost inevitable end is wonderful.
                  Be careful when blindly following the Masses.
                  Sometimes the 'M' is silent.

                  Comment


                    #10
                    OohI'd forgotten about The Donkey.I love it Children do't learn poems off by heart like we did.It shows what an impact they made on us to remember and love them like we do!

                    Comment


                      #11
                      I'm glad I'm not the only one who likes The Donkey.

                      I remember it was the subject of part of my Art O Level - I think I did a rather weird abstract.

                      I think I must have learned The Land of Counterpane at primary school as well, Gem, because I can remember trying to recreate it when I was in bed with some childhood ailment or other.
                      "Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognise how good things really are. "

                      (Marianne Williamson)

                      Comment


                        #12
                        For me it has to be Albert and the Lion.
                        I can't say I remember it all though.
                        Women are like tea bags; you never know how strong they are until they are put in hot water.
                        Eleanor Roosevelt.

                        Comment


                          #13
                          I once heard this read as the shortest poem!

                          Fleas

                          Adam 'ad em!

                          “A grandchild fills a space in your heart that you never knew was empty.” – Unknown

                          Comment


                            #14
                            Originally posted by Grauntie Mag View Post
                            For me it has to be Albert and the Lion.
                            I can't say I remember it all though.
                            Neither can I, GM, so I googled it:
                            THE LION AND ALBERT

                            There’s a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
                            That’s noted for fresh air and fun,
                            And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
                            Went there with young Albert, their son.

                            A grand little lad was young Albert,
                            All dressed in his best; quite a swell
                            With a stick with an ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle,
                            The finest that Woolworth’s could sell.

                            They didn’t think much to the Ocean:
                            The waves, they was fiddlin’ and small,
                            There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
                            Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

                            So, seeking for further amusement,
                            they paid and went into the Zoo,
                            Where they’d Lions and Tigers and Camels,
                            And old ale and sandwiches too.

                            There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
                            His nose were all covered with scars-
                            He lay in a somnolent posture,
                            With the side of his face on the bars.

                            Now Albert had heard about Lions,
                            How they was ferocious and wild-
                            To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
                            Well, it didn’t seem right to the child.

                            So straightway the brave little feller,
                            Not showing a morsel of fear,
                            Took his stick with it’s’orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
                            ...And pushed it in Wallace’s ear.

                            You could see that the Liion didn’t like it,
                            For giving a kind of a roll,
                            He pulled Albert inside the cage with ‘im,
                            And swallowed the little lad ‘ole.

                            Then Pa, who had seen the occurence,
                            And didn’t know what to do next,
                            Said “Mother! Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert”,
                            And Mother said, ‘Well I am vexed!”

                            Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom-
                            Quite rightly, when all’s said and done-
                            Complained to the Animal Keeper,
                            That the Lion had eaten their son.

                            The keeper was quite nice about it;
                            He said “What a nasty mishap.
                            Are you sure that it’s your boy he’s eaten?”
                            Pa said “Am I sure? There’s his cap!”

                            The manager had to be sent for.
                            He came and he said “What’s to do?”
                            Pa said “Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert,
                            And ‘im in his Sunday clothes, too.”

                            The Mother said, “Right’s right, young feller;
                            I think it’s a shame and a sin,
                            For a lion to go and eat Albert,
                            And after we’ve paid to come in.”

                            The manager wanted no trouble,
                            He took out his purse right away,
                            Saying “How much to settle the matter?”
                            And Pa said “What do you usually pay?”

                            But Mother had turned a bit awkward
                            When she thought where her Albert had gone.
                            She said “No! someone’s got to be summonsed”-
                            So that was decided upon.

                            Then off they went to the P’lice Station,
                            In front of the Magistrate chap;
                            They told ‘im what happened to Albert,
                            And proved it by showing his cap.

                            The Magistrate gave his opinion
                            That no one was really to blame
                            And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
                            Would have further sons to their name.

                            At that Mother got proper blazing,
                            “And thank you, sir, kindly,” said she.
                            “What waste all our lives raising children
                            To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!”

                            MARRIOTT EDGAR


                            "Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognise how good things really are. "

                            (Marianne Williamson)

                            Comment


                              #15
                              😆😆😆 Thanks Daisy.
                              Women are like tea bags; you never know how strong they are until they are put in hot water.
                              Eleanor Roosevelt.

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