The Attic forum: Welcome to the Poetry forum!
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|Here is the Poetry forum.|
|Here is a favorite of mine...I had it read at my Mom's funeral and want it at mine.
When I quit this earthly shore
And roam around this world no more,
Don't weep, don't sigh, don't sob...
I may have struck a better job.
Don't go and buy a huge bouquet
For which you'll find it hard to pay;
Don't mope around...go feelin' blue...
I may better off than you.
Don't tell the folks I was a saint
Or any old thing that I ain't.
If you have jam like that to spread,
Just pass it 'round before I'm dead.
If you have roses...bless your soul,
Just pin one in my buttonhole
While I'm alive and well,,,TODAY...
Don't wait until I've passed away.
...given to Woodrow W. Clark by a friend,
John Fletcher Smith
|Dear Sharon, one of my favourites!
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns 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.
Rupert Brooke 1914!
|How beautiful...soothing, even.
Thank you, Neil.
|Here's one that suggested itself to me as I passed a big oak with all its desiccated leaves still hanging on:
Rumors of succession fly
On the first spring breeze
Frantic whispers passed along
By last year's leaves.
|Oh, now that one's very visual.
Whispering secrets....before they fall.
Your word paintings are as great as is your art.
|My favorite poem these days is: (especially the last verse )
. Early Rising
"GOD bless the man who first invented sleep!"
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
And bless him, also, that he did n't keep
His great discovery to himself; nor try
To make it—as the lucky fellow might—
A close monopoly by patent-right!
Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can't avoid the iteration),
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off, Early Rising!
"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any beds at all!
The time for honest folks to be a-bed
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till it 's fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else—he drinks!
Thomson, who sung about the "Seasons," said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it—lying—in his bed,
At ten o'clock A.M.,—the very reason
He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is,
His preaching was n't sanctioned by his practice.
'T is, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,—
Awake to duty, and awake to truth,—
But when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile
For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angels' sight, 40
In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin!
So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, "Served him right!—it 's not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"
John Godfrey Saxe
|Ahhhh, yes, Zany......
Lack of it might certainly be my demise.
|I stood and watched the stars fade as light filled the eastern sky.
The very first to see as sunrise filled my eye.
I turned away to see long shadows, dancing in the morning breeze.
The very first to breathe the air this morning gave to me.
I stood and watched the sunset gold, giving way to pink, then grey.
Feeling I had lost forever, yet another day.
I turned away again, seeing long shadows slowly fading.
Giving way to darkness shades, I could see the milky way.
The stars were beautiful this night, they showed me how to see.
The wonder of our world, so fragile and dependant. on all that we can see.
|pajonica...so beautiful. When we sailed, I had the very early morning watch (if I woke up in time) and at times you could add dolphin dancing in that....
Leap. The net will appear.
|Dear Jon, lovely!
|It pleases me to think that anyone may get a little pleasure from my attempts at creating poetry. Thank you!
|Wonderful, Jon, thank you!|
|Bored on a rainy day!
It’s raining cats and dogs
Just listen to the sound, as each and every drop
Drills holes into the ground.
My hydrangea has been flattened
As if by gigantic hoof , I have the photograph
If your looking for the proof.
Spilling from the roof into every vacant spout
The waterfall cascades, and leaves me with no doubt
The rain will never stop It makes me want to shout!
But wait here comes the sun to chase the clouds away!
The rain has stopped to leave us this beautiful day
steam rises from the soil the air is filled with mist,
which rises to the sunlight forever to be lost.
|Great Jon, do you sing too??|
|Yes Sharon and compose, Today's poem was written in about five minutes, as it was raining today and prevented me from gardening! I like to write just to express my feeling and mood at a moment in time, if I take too long, the feeling has gone and the poem looses meaning for me. Sometimes I wish I were really able to write poetry but for now I will do the best I can. I profoundly appreciate and thank you for your kind comments.
|I am glad you are sharing your poetry here, Jon, and hope you'll continue to do that. I wish we could also hear your music.
A writer, a singer and a composer who gardens......what a great combination.
|Sharon you are just too kind Unfortunately I don't have the means to record sound files at this time.
I will leave you with some more of my poems.
If there were no winter there could be no spring
no summer to follow nor autumn to colour no
bird to sing, no tree to blossom or joy to bring.
No snow to enchant us or play in.
No grape from the vine to bring us good wine.
No blossoming meadow or fruit from the hedgerow.
No food on the table for us to dine.
O winter is forever divine.
So don’t complain of cold and rain, there’s a reason for winters chill an endless cycle never still.
An incredible world of life sustained
Maybe in a thousand years
Maybe in a thousand years or a thousand more,
we’ll learn that peace and harmony’s a better way than war.
Destroy and hate, they’re different, is all we understand,
people of different faiths or that hail from other lands.
Through ignorance and bigotry, we blindly follow our
fathers hate, that histories legacies create.
JH . 2007
I look about
I look about at all I see in wonder of nature’s diversity.
The tiny ant the graceful bird the majesty of trees. When seeing I’m reminded that we are part of these.
We view this world as ours, to plunder and pollute, exploiting it’s
resources with very little thought.
A Jewel in the cosmos, given a life gift from its star,
driving Mother Nature’s engine bathed in light from afar.
Our world created all life including humanity,
but know that if mistreated it may take life from thee.
Someday mankind may be replaced with another animal or race
Inheriting our legacy, an exhausted lifeless dirty place.
These poems are the authors original works and subject to copyright laws.
They may not be reproduced in any way without prior consent of the author.
|Deep, very deep, very beautiful.|
|I thank you Sharon. I will continue to write as many as I'm inspired to, and promise to post them here.
Please feel free to criticise or correct. help me to become a better poet. I often think in rhyme but perhaps lack the vocabulary to really create something profoundly beautiful.
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