Bubblewrap 3,815 Posted August 9, 2015 Report Share Posted August 9, 2015 I met Murder on the way -He had a mask like Castlereagh -Very smooth he looked, yet grim;Seven blood-hounds followed him: All were fat; and well they mightBe in admirable plight,For one by one, and two by two,He tossed the human hearts to chewWhich from his wide cloak he drew. Next came Fraud, and he had on,Like Eldon, an ermined gown;His big tears, for he wept well,Turned to mill-stones as they fell. and the little children, whoRound his feet played to and fro,Thinking every tear a gem,Had their brains knocked out by them. Part of a very long piece by Shelly on the Peterloo massacre http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2013/jul/08/anarchy-in-peterloo-shelleys-poem-unmasked Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted September 5, 2015 Report Share Posted September 5, 2015 The Encounter In a park one day, a little lad, on a bench did see old man, On close approach he saw a tear, down his face there ran. 'Hello' said lad, with turn of head, the man did smile allow, For he recalled himself that age, had stood where he did now. Had stood and looked beyond, o'er woods and patchwork fields, Not now their presence met the eye, their fate so long was sealed. Bricks and mortar, glass and steel, where once grazed sheep and cow, Toilers on the land did sow, and steer the horse-drawn plough. Recalling times when he was young, he told the lad his story, Of working hard and having naught, but what was necessary. Not for him a carefree life, nor one so filled with plenty, Had his share of life's pitfalls, and survived them evidently. He told the lad of years aback, when meagre was the wage, Where greed was but a mentioned word, upon a bible page. Betterment was but a dream, his place was cast from birth, He never thought that life would give, him anything of worth. The lad did hark, and joined the man in shedding salty tear, For he would never want, and not have cause to fear. He turned to face the old man, but his place on bench was bare, Where had he gone, indeed, he thought, had he ever so been there? As he made so to leave, a glint did strike him hard, Upon the bench backrest was fixed, words of friends' regard. 'To our beloved Bill, from his fraternity, May he sit, here and gaze, in earned eternity'. 4 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted October 8, 2015 Report Share Posted October 8, 2015 It's National Poetry Day today, so here goes: The Seasons Spring is here and life awakes, Up sprout the bud, unfreeze the lake. Flowers yawn from hibernation, Growing with determination. Soon the rains promote more life, Root and branch, expansion rife. Summer's warmth to all is welcome, Enjoy it now, next stop is autumn. Garden's glories to us proclaim, Nature's gifts, not all the same. Flowers abound with different hue, Expansive vistas, ours to view. The evening's cool, warns us of change, And autumn glows are now in range. Soon the turn of leaf to mellow, And colours that are red and yellow. Leaf and fruit descend to ground, And harvest crops so much abound. Then winter's coat to us will tender, Its crystal glory in all its splendour. The leafless trees, so stark they stand, Awaiting warmth that they demand. Life slows down, the cycle done, Darkened days await the sun. 4 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted October 26, 2015 Report Share Posted October 26, 2015 IF (with apologies to Rudyard Kipling) If you're from Robin Hood land, or corners far and wide, If you enjoy the local twang, then here with us abide. If you like a laff and rant, with us come and ride, Then, my dear Nottstalgian, don't you run and hide. If you long for Drury Hill, Black Boy and Vic Station, If you close your eyes they're, in your imagination. If recalling memories past, is your favourite inclination, Then Nottstalgian you're at home, with endless fascination. If your mind do wander back to, sounds of teenage days, If your memory's still as sharp, and not stuck in a haze. If you remember ha'pennies, and Elvis you did praise, Then Nottstalgian cheer up, and your glass do raise. If you drink Hobgoblin, and still find your way back home, If you devour cream cakes, and on your bike then roam. If you can mis-spell 'practise', you're not on your own, You'll be a true Nottstalgian, to whom no-one can moan. If you'd rather go to, City not Pride Park, If when Derby's mentioned, rather you'd not hark. If you think that Derby's team, are men having a lark, Then you, dear Nottstalgian, will have made your mark. If when air turns blue, where saucy jokes do live, If it never bothers you, not a toss you'll give. If your inner thoughts do, leak out like a sieve, Then not to worry Nottstalgian, you're not so sensitive. If you can stand a rollicking, as you did from dear old mam, If you're on foreign shore and, still think of Nottingham. If you can take a wind-up, and not then care a damn, Then you'll be a Nottstalgian, and proud to say 'I am'. 11 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
ValuerJim 277 Posted November 18, 2015 Report Share Posted November 18, 2015 Any golfing poets out there? Betjeman fans? Seaside Golf How straight it flew, how long it flew,It clear'd the rutty track And soaring, disappeared from view Beyond the bunker's back - A glorious, sailing, bounding drive That made me glad I was alive. And down the fairway, far along It glowed a lonely white; I played an iron sure and strong And clipp'd it out of sight, And spite of grassy banks between I knew I'd find it on the green. And so I did. It lay content Two paces from the pin; A steady putt and then it went Oh, most surely in. The very turf rejoiced to see That quite unprecedented three. Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves And thyme and mist in whiffs, In-coming tide, Atlantic waves Slapping the sunny cliffs, Lark song and sea sounds in the air And splendour, splendour everywhere. 2 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Posted November 18, 2015 Report Share Posted November 18, 2015 Searching for an old history project for my Daughter, I found a large old journal with lots of social comment(poetry?) written inside: one on gangs-recent thread...this one on washing lines..As you do!! A Wash Day Bluey. In a seaside town it's all blown down the domestic backbone of a nation humans bunting flapping in the breeze faded tour t.shirts and jeans with no knees It's the barmaids turn to wash the beer towels string underpants do little to net a pensioners bowels a string of soccer shirts sag the line with fatigue another Sunday shearer plays the amateur league six feet of rope in everyone's back tie another knot take in the slack crisp white linen and faded old shorts each an advert a swaying report a secretive washer your smalls are indoors draped on a radiator in the hall strangers become friends for a watcher of lines peoples lives pegged out it's all signs. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Bubblewrap 3,815 Posted November 18, 2015 Report Share Posted November 18, 2015 I met Murder on the way -He had a mask like Castlereagh -Very smooth he looked, yet grim;Seven blood-hounds followed him: All were fat; and well they mightBe in admirable plight,For one by one, and two by two,He tossed the human hearts to chewWhich from his wide cloak he drew. Only two verses from an epic by Shelly which goes to 38 verses inspired by the Peterloo massacre of 1819. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 Dark,this one,but I've had a few nights like this. Violence Ballroom. Slash my face for a nausea word another time can be heard the crap kickers play there latest song as the hate boys kick in a lung half cut knifer stalks the hall seven foot wide cats on speed balls It's dimly lit and icy full of runaways we've got to be losing our minds but we dress out and sureshow Shudder to the cues and do snow dodgies dressed as Regals bastards done as shits don't worry for the daughter crank down that hit everyone's forgettin because don't talk drink relax plan a salad but forget the outside four sweaty walls and a Marshall stack hate and hate rub back to back four a.m stubble versus stockinged rubble I don't dance alone look out the pouts are stepping on blue suede long since gone doorman's crashed in a pool of piss blood shit puke and fists I love this place baby. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Oztalgian 3,345 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 The last verse of Cargoes by John Masefield Dirty British coaster with a salt caked smokestack, Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road-rails, pig lead, Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays. Sadly not many cargoes for the British coasters these days. 2 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
carni 10,094 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 It's good to read your post Oztalgian. 1962/3 was the last time i heard those words. We learnt the poem at school, and all I could remember over the years were the lines, Quinquireme of Nineveh and Dirty British Coaster with a salt caked smoke stack. Then along came the Internet and I was able to find the whole poem again. Brought back memories of my school days. Anyone else from Gedling School remember that poem. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Bubblewrap 3,815 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 Don't remember it from "Gedling School" carni but my mother/father did read me "Cargos" on more than one occasion. Drakes drum was another of favourite of my parents. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 'twas on the good ship Venus, By Christ you should have seen us. The figure-head was a girl in bed, The mast was the captain's ... I can't remember the rest. 2 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Oztalgian 3,345 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 #130 Come on Chulla even you would not call bawdy rugby songs poetry, but they are much more fun than the poetry I learned at school. Whilst we are on the subject here are some others that I remember from my rugby playing past If I were the marrying kind The sexual life of the camel Swing low sweet chariot Eskimo Nell Ivan Scavinsky Scavar My god how the money rolls in Quote Link to post Share on other sites
MargieH 7,614 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 I remember the John Masefield poem from my Junior school days at Arno Vale. The way you read it aloud was supposed to sound like a chugging motorboat, I think Quote Link to post Share on other sites
ValuerJim 277 Posted November 19, 2015 Report Share Posted November 19, 2015 How about this one. Poems that make men cry? ROGER MCGOUGH - THE IDENTIFICATION So you think its Stephen?Then I'd best make sureBe on the safe side as it were. Ah, there's been a mistake. The hairyou see, its black, now Stephens fair ...Whats that? The explosion?Of course, burnt black. Silly of me.I should have known. Then lets get on.The face, is that the face mask?that mask of charred woodblistered scarred couldthat have been a child's face?The sweater, where intact, looksin fact all too familiar.But one must be sure.The scoutbelt. Yes thats his.I recognise the studs he hammered innot a week ago. At the agewhen boys get clothes-consciousnow you know. Its almostcertainly Stephen. But one mustbe sure. Remove all trace of doubt.Pull out every splinter of hope.Pockets. Empty the pockets.Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's.Dirty enough. Cigarettes?Oh this can't be Stephen.I dont allow him to smoke you see. He wouldn't disobey me. Not his father.But that's his penknife. That's his alright.And that's his key on the keyringGran gave him just the other night.Then this must be him.I think I know what happened... ... ... about the cigarettesNo doubt he was minding themfor one of the older boys.Yes thats it.Thats him.Thats our Stephen. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted December 5, 2015 Report Share Posted December 5, 2015 This to be read with the Ovaltini children's song running through your mind. Otherwise, don't bother. We are the old Nottstalgians, happy gels and boys, We tell our tales and funny stories, Of life's mistakes, and its glories, We, don't, talk so posh, we're not all blessed with poise, We moan and groan, but we don't care, Because we're not afraid to dare, We're full of bonhomie, so there, And unsurpressed in joys. 5 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
carni 10,094 Posted December 5, 2015 Report Share Posted December 5, 2015 Brilliant Chulla. We have just sung it as a duet. 1 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Chulla 4,946 Posted December 5, 2015 Report Share Posted December 5, 2015 Learn it, because we are all going to sing it at the next meeting. 2 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
carni 10,094 Posted December 11, 2015 Report Share Posted December 11, 2015 Hope you enjoy these poems by Jean Taylor. Lots of Nottingham memories. http://jeantaylorpoems.weebly.com/poetry-index.html 3 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Trevor S 2,003 Posted December 12, 2015 Report Share Posted December 12, 2015 Some good poems about life back then....Thanks carni... Quote Link to post Share on other sites
albert smith 803 Posted December 12, 2015 Report Share Posted December 12, 2015 From the wall of Fighter Command HQ a poem by "One of the Few" who met his God a few months later.RIP. 2 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
albert smith 803 Posted December 12, 2015 Report Share Posted December 12, 2015 on a lighter note oztalgian #127 missed out the saga of the 24 maidens from Inverness? I also remember a 'few' years ago helping a colleague finish his Xword by reciting the " sex life of the camel", the clue was "puzzle in the sand" , 6 letters, it finished ".....explains the hump on the back of the camel and the smile on the face of the Sphinx! Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Michael Booth 7,364 Posted December 12, 2015 Report Share Posted December 12, 2015 There's some really good poems on this thread and mine cannot compete with them but it's one that's stuck in my mind since I was a kid. Wouldn't it, wouldn't it Wouldn't it be funny If a cow had a wooden tit Wouldn't it be funny. 1 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
Trevor S 2,003 Posted December 13, 2015 Report Share Posted December 13, 2015 A milkmaid called Maisy was milking the cow, She'd filled seven buckets and then fed the sow, The farmer came out and he gave her the sack, So she turned the cow round and she poured the milk back. Quote Link to post Share on other sites
StephenFord 866 Posted December 13, 2015 Report Share Posted December 13, 2015 There was a man from Huddersfield Who had a cow that would not yield; The reason why she would not yield - She did not like her udders feeled. Or : I eat my peas with honey I've done it all my life It makes the peas taste funny But it keeps them on the knife. 1 Quote Link to post Share on other sites
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