Aces High Bulletin Board
General Forums => The O' Club => Topic started by: wpeters on September 08, 2014, 01:53:21 PM
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Guys I am coming kinda short on finding a good poem for our school and parent poem fest. It needs to be clean for audience. (PG). Any good suggestions whether funny or serious ?
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Here you go:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173536
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Roses are red
Violets are blue
Zack is a banana
and he smells like poo
Hope this helps.
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Here are my two favorite poems from John Lillison, England's most famous one-armed poet:
In Dillman's Grove
In Dillman's Grove my love did die,
and now in ground shall ever lie.
None could ever replace her visage,
until your face brought thoughts of kissage.
Pointy Birds
O pointy birds, o pointy pointy,
Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.
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A Coat
W.B. Yeats
I MADE my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eyes
As though they'd wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.
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I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
Queen Elizabeth I
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There once was a man named McBride
who fell in a two-holer and died.
The next day his brother
fell in the other
and now they're interred side by side.
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There was a young man from Nantucket,
« Last Edit: September 9, 2014, 09:10:01 AM by Skuzzy »
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Probably not what you're looking for, but you guys might enjoy this one:
Oh the bloody earth is littered
with the fighters and the quitters
Oh what could be be more bitter
than a nameless death below?
See the trenches long and winding,
see the battle slowly grinding,
don't you wonder how good men
can live so low?
Up above the sun is burning
up above the clouds are turning
you can hear those soldiers yearning
Oh if only I could fly.
In the burning sun I'll sight you
In the burning sun I'll fight you
Oh let us dance together in the sky
In the sky, in the sky,
Just you and I up there together
Who knows why?
One the hunter one the hunted
A live to live, a death confronted,
Oh, let us dance together in the sky.
and for you the bell is ringing
and for you my bullets stinging,
my lewis gun is singing
oh my friend it's you or I,
And I'll watch your last returning,
to the earth the fire's burning,
look up and you will see me wave goodbye
In the sky, in the sky,
Just you and I up there together,
who knows why?
One the hunter one the hunted,
A life to live, a death confronted,
Oh let us dance together in the sky.
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^That's from "Billy Bishop Goes To War"!
Great show, controversial.
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Many years ago a player named Wilbus of the luftweenie persuasion was caught flying a jug and "shamed" in this thread.
http://bbs.hitechcreations.com/smf/index.php/topic,46072.0.html
I thought it was funny and wrote a poem.
Wilbus's Reply
I did not fly the blue nosed jug
it maneuvers like a slug
a porcupine I'd rather hug
then fly the silver, blue nosed jug
I did not fly that allied ride
I did not could not change my side
those evil boys conspired and lied
I did not fly that allied ride
I would not fly that monstrous bird
never mind what you have heard
I could not to it e'er be lured
I would not fly that monstrous bird
I did not would not fly that craft
Its much too silly,just too daft
your brains they must have shifted aft
to think that I would fly that craft
The Thunderbolt is not my plane
do you think I am insane?
the whole issue is quite inane
the Thunderbolt is not my plane
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hard to beat Yeats
Ode to a Nightingale
By John Keats
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
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Night Mail
WH Auden
Night Mail
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
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Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
“With heart at rest I climbed the citadel's
Steep height, and saw the city as from a tower,
Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells,
Where evil comes up softly like a flower.
Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my pain,
Not for vain tears I went up at that hour;
But like an old sad faithful lecher, fain
To drink delight of that enormous trull
Whose hellish beauty makes me young again.
Whether thou sleep, with heavy vapors full,
Sodden with day, or, new appareled, stand
In gold-laced veils of evening beautiful,
I love thee, infamous city! Harlots and
Hunted have pleasures of their own to give,
The vulgar herd can never understand.”
― Charles Baudelaire
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I saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing.
Walt Whitman
I SAW in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the
branches;
Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous
leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think
of myself;
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves,
standing alone there, without its friend, its
lover near—for I knew I could not;
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of
leaves upon it, and twined around it a little
moss,
And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in
my room;
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear
friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of
them;)
Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me
think of manly love;
—For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there
in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a
lover, near,
I know very well I could not.
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or something more modern
Edna St Vincent Millay
The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going.
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Awesom poems guys. Just that I am looking for some thing longer. 2- 3 page poem
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Try some of these links:
http://www.usa-flag-site.org/song-lyrics/star-spangled-banner.shtml (http://www.usa-flag-site.org/song-lyrics/star-spangled-banner.shtml)
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mending-wall/ (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mending-wall/)
http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm (http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/john-mccrae-in-flanders-fields.htm)
and for very long poems:
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/long/farewell (http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/long/farewell)
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Both the Keats and Auden are long poems if you look them up.
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Poetry sucks, so I don't give a @#$%. Speak clearly and succinctly and I won't glare at you eerily!
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Awesom poems guys. Just that I am looking for some thing longer. 2- 3 page poem
Try Kipling.
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^That's from "Billy Bishop Goes To War"!
Great show, controversial.
Yes, it's actually from the play. I suppose I should have attached the appropriate citation. :)
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Roses are red
Violets are blue
Zack is a banana
and he smells like poo
Hope this helps.
:cry
:rofl
:) awesomesauce
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There was a little turtle who sawm in a puddle and climbed on a rock.
He snapped at a mosquito, he snapped at a flea,he snapped at a minnow and he snapped at me!
He caught the misquito,he caught the flea,he caught the minnow but he didnt catch me!
The first poem I ever learned...... can still remember that is the amazing part!
:salute
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Awesom poems guys. Just that I am looking for some thing longer. 2- 3 page poem
This should suffice:
http://www.bartleby.com/360/7/158.html
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Try Kipling.
I have never Kipled. Is that like poetry?
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THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER by Rudyard Kipling
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old squeak;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
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Wow that's incredible. What a complex poem. It would take me a day to figure out the scansion and how to read that.
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THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER by Rudyard Kipling
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old squeak;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
Love it
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The Gods of the Copybook Headings
By Rudyard Kipling
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
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Good ones guys Came upon one called the owl critic. I like the clean sarcastic humor. Still looking though
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One of my personal favorite authors...
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/allen-ginsberg
:salute
:airplane:~<Dahmer
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My favorite....which has more meaning than ever for me given personal events over the last year:
INVICTUS
BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
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"Red sand between my toes
from a vacation
in outer space....that's a Martian Haiku"
--Robin Williams
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There was a young man from Nantucket,
« Last Edit: September 9, 2014, 09:10:01 AM by Skuzzy »
:rofl
I know that one already.. :uhoh
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would You and I with Fate conspire
to grasp this sorry scheme of Things entire
would We not shatter it to bits
And remold it nearer to the Heart's desire
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam
by Fitzgerald
My favorite quatrain from the poem.
LtngRydr