From time to time a poem

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31 Jul 2016 13:44 - 31 Jul 2016 14:28 #250188 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
Grateful

Thank you, for the times you bore some of my weight upon yourself
and helped me walk through the darkness
I couldn’t know how heavy each of my problems were
and how much they may have slowed you down,
but I know I would be further behind, if not for you.

Thank you, for seeing that I have failed to mould myself
into the shape in which others have fit so well
and for daring to throw all the rules out of the window
when I made the hardest decision,
the future doesn’t seem quite so arid now.

And
Thank you, for being honest with me regardless of my state
especially when I was refusing to be honest with myself,
and for not hiding your suffering when I was busy with my own
so that in return I could support you,
I am grateful to call you my friend.

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Last edit: 31 Jul 2016 14:28 by Edan.
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07 Aug 2016 09:59 #251166 by Silas Mercury

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08 Aug 2016 20:24 #251330 by Brick
Replied by Brick on topic From time to time a poem
Holiday Memories (circa 1950) - Peter Dixon

Not for us the airport, charters to the sun
Marbella or Greek Islands
Benidorm and fun...
Not for us paella, octopus or squid
drinks as long as 'check-ins'
pizzas big as Spain.

No, we all went to Skinningrove
deep in Yorkshire land,
Yorkshire pud and gravy
Yorkshire wind and sand,
slag heaps grey as gasworks
beaches strewn with coal
fossils touched with mica
Brontosaurus old.

We played in ironstone culverts
we slalomed in the slag.
Caught fish in icy rockpools
anemone and crab -
we picnicked by lost railroads
viaduct and mine
built castles out of rockstone
red as autumn wine...
We hid in sheds of bramble
spun on rusted wheels
rims a rime of ochre
thistles, stings and squeals.

We caught the breath of mineshafts
their gape alive with fear
-attacked with hazel coppice
arrow, bow and spear.

So thank you for Minorca
where people go to play
but I remember Skinningrove
El Skinningrove
Olé!

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10 Aug 2016 09:58 - 10 Aug 2016 10:02 #251624 by Brick
Replied by Brick on topic From time to time a poem
There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When asked why this was,
He replied "It's because
I always try to fit as many syllables into the last line as ever I possibly can."

:laugh:

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Last edit: 10 Aug 2016 10:02 by Brick.
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20 Aug 2016 20:46 - 20 Aug 2016 21:07 #253153 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
Well... finally another non-poem...

~~~~

The sound of a gong woke me from my sleep. It was not loud, but it was loud enough to fill the endless space with a perfect sound.
When the ringing of one ended, the gong would be struck again. The usually silent chamber had become a space made beautiful only through sound.

I could not remember having been tired, nor could I remember there being a cushion here on which to sleep; the space however always found a way to cater to one’s needs.
I lay there briefly, trying to remember if I had ever seen a gong or bowl in the cathedral, but darkness filled most corners both of the sanctuary and of my memory.

Raising myself from the cushion, I sought the direction of the sound. It was difficult to tell just how far away the gong was sounding, and from which direction, and it took walking in a circle to ascertain the direction from whence it came, but I followed it thereafter into a smaller space.

Beneath my bare feet were tiles, refreshingly cool after the warmth of the main sanctum, I stood for a moment to enjoy them.

The walls here could be seen too and were painted gold, glittering a little in the low light of a plain chandelier; five candles flickering. They felt appropriate for the warm tone of the gong that was still enveloping the room.

Before me, in the centre of the room, was a square and shallow pool, raised slightly from the ground and tiled as the rest of the room. I sat on the edge and looked down into the water… it was perfectly clear, but I noticed that it seemed to ripple slightly despite nothing touching it.

I watched it for several minutes, before it became clear that the sound of the gong within the room, echoing as it was off the tiles, was causing the water to undulate and move. It was as though the sound of the gong was emanating closely above the surface of the water, as every time the gong was ‘struck’ there would be a circle of ripples extending out from the origin of the noise.

The lack of a physical gong did not disturb me… things did not work exactly as one would expect within the cathedral, but it did cause me to ponder why it would bring me here. I was alone today, but for the noise.

Watching the ripple rings, I thought about the pastime of skimming stones across the water… each time the stone touches the surface a ripple would start, spreading further and further out, each ring eventually touching the next. Here, there was no stone, only sound… but things are connected, and whether they touch or not, one thing can still influence another… separated even by space or time.

The sound, the echoes, the water, the rings, me. All things connected, even when they do not touch. And the lessons I have received from Him, and others, will continue to cause ripples on the water of my life, even when I am alone.

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Last edit: 20 Aug 2016 21:07 by Edan.
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24 Aug 2016 22:59 #253647 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
You do not need me

You do not need me
Though I know you cling on
And hope I might lead the way
For you; and even though I walk behind,
Over your shoulder you look to see
If I am still in your shadow.

You do not need me
Though I know you call me
Whenever it gets tougher
For you; and alone silently pray
That I might be the solution
To take all that suffering away.

You do not need me
And I know you give me credit
For all the times you made it
Yourself; I didn’t actually do
It for you, only helped you find
The strength to bear it.

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Thyself is Thy Master

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30 Aug 2016 19:36 #254735 by Wescli Wardest
The Charge of the Light Brigade
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Monastic Order of Knights
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08 Sep 2016 20:34 #256407 by Brick
Replied by Brick on topic From time to time a poem
Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Fe0ffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

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14 Sep 2016 07:07 #257092 by Vusuki
Replied by Vusuki on topic From time to time a poem
I wrote a... thing? It's not very intelligent, twas for fun and thought I'd share here; you can imagine it's a rap, :p


I ain’t a poet and I ain’t so sure I know it
Coz look at me in time trying to bust out a rhyme

Roses are red, and violets are blue, whoopsiedoo, joke’s too old when this is down to,
speaking with power, coz this is the hour, have a little fun, god son of a gun, I’m awful at this stuff, but is it enough,
to prove me, move me, mark me, an A, B C, D, E, minus?
I’m fumblin’, ramblin’, panickin’, mumblin’, fryin’,
fumblin’, ramblin’, panickin’, mumblin’, thinkin’… … …
thinkin’… thinkin’…
thinkin’, thinkin’, thinkin’,
quieter, quieter, quieter, quieter, quieter…
Shhhhh.

Yeah.

I ain’t a poet and I ain’t so sure I know it.

Vusuki 13 09 2016
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14 Sep 2016 16:59 #257149 by Hrafn
Replied by Hrafn on topic From time to time a poem
"The Next War"
Wilfred Owen, 1917

Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,-
Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,-
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,-
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe.
He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed
Shrapnel. We chorussed when he sang aloft,
We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe.

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed, -knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

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