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Poetry

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Anyone have any favourite poems they like? Feel free to share them with me.

I like "Invictus" I won't post it as it's a very well known and obvious choice.

Feel free to post yours word for word though.

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By *ittle_brat_evie!!Woman over a year ago

evesham

I'm a published poet

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

He wishes for the cloths of heaven by Yeats.

Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

"He wishes for the cloths of heaven by Yeats.

Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy"

Will post word for word when so finish this cup of tea

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Nikita Gill ....

We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

And the wheat fields explode into gold either side of the train

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By *isaB45Woman over a year ago

Fabville

I like Haiku, the Japanese poetry.

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light;

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

"Valentine" by Carol Ann Duffy

------------------------------------

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,

if you like.

Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.

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By *nabelle21Woman over a year ago

B38

I really don't know any poems. I sometimes I wish I was better 'read'.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Piazza Piece by John Crowe Ransom, it's an interesting take on the concept of Death and the Maiden.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"I'm a published poet

Are you indeed? Mega impressed. Are you going to show off for us a bit? Pweeeeeaaasssee?

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"I really don't know any poems. I sometimes I wish I was better 'read'. "

Always time to change x

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light;

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats"

Very nice choice.

Thanks for commenting everyone. I will read all during the day. Can't respond to everyone though. Some twat invented work!

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By *nabelle21Woman over a year ago

B38

"I really don't know any poems. I sometimes I wish I was better 'read'.

Always time to change x"

Thanks...Yes there is x

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By *ittle_brat_evie!!Woman over a year ago

evesham

"I'm a published poet

Are you indeed? Mega impressed. Are you going to show off for us a bit? Pweeeeeaaasssee?"

Haha later.... But don't get too excited as it was in a kellogs poetry book. I entered a competition at school and won.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Most of Robert Frost's work and this spring to mind

The Song of the Ungirt Runners

BY CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY

We swing ungirded hips,

And lightened are our eyes,

The rain is on our lips,

We do not run for prize.

We know not whom we trust

Nor whitherward we fare,

But we run because we must

Through the great wide air.

The waters of the seas

Are troubled as by storm.

The tempest strips the trees

And does not leave them warm.

Does the tearing tempest pause?

Do the tree-tops ask it why?

So we run without a cause

'Neath the big bare sky.

The rain is on our lips,

We do not run for prize.

But the storm the water whips

And the wave howls to the skies.

The winds arise and strike it

And scatter it like sand,

And we run because we like it

Through the broad bright land

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

The one i got on V day

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"I'm a published poet

Are you indeed? Mega impressed. Are you going to show off for us a bit? Pweeeeeaaasssee?

Haha later.... But don't get too excited as it was in a kellogs poetry book. I entered a competition at school and won. "

I'd still like to hear it. I won a creative writing competition. About the computer game Skyrim

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson

It's mesmerising, it lifts you up and drops you down.

John Waterhouse produced 3 paintings on the back of it and Paul Weller wrote "Wings of Speed" after seeing one of them.

One theme, three English legends.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

This one is dear to me and for anyone out there who has lost a mum.

Mothers Garden

(Author unknown)

My Mother kept a garden,

a garden of the heart,

She planted all the good things

that gave my life it's start.

She turned me to the sunshine

and encouraged me to dream,

Fostering and nurturing

the seeds of self-esteem...

And when the winds and rain came,

she protected me enough--

But not too much because she knew

I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example

always taught me right from wrong--

Markers for my pathway

that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.

I am her legacy-

And I hope today she feels the love

reflected back from me

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

The Genius of the Crowd by Charles Bukowski

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By *irginieWoman over a year ago

Near Marlborough

There are holes in the sky

Where the rain gets in

But they're ever so small

That's why the rain is thin

Spike Milligan

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By *irginieWoman over a year ago

Near Marlborough

And one my daughter wrote, unaided age 7

In autum when the leaves turn red

I like to lie down and rest my head

In autum when the days are short

It’s nearly Christmas I thought.

“Autum is spelled that way in her poem”.

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By *nabelle21Woman over a year ago

B38

"This one is dear to me and for anyone out there who has lost a mum.

Mothers Garden

(Author unknown)

My Mother kept a garden,

a garden of the heart,

She planted all the good things

that gave my life it's start.

She turned me to the sunshine

and encouraged me to dream,

Fostering and nurturing

the seeds of self-esteem...

And when the winds and rain came,

she protected me enough--

But not too much because she knew

I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example

always taught me right from wrong--

Markers for my pathway

that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.

I am her legacy-

And I hope today she feels the love

reflected back from me

I haven't lost my mom, I can only imagine how tough that is.

This really touched me, I'm going save this 1 x

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By *nabelle21Woman over a year ago

B38

"And one my daughter wrote, unaided age 7

In autum when the leaves turn red

I like to lie down and rest my head

In autum when the days are short

It’s nearly Christmas I thought.

“Autum is spelled that way in her poem”.

Vx"

That is impressive, a talented daughter you have.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

If - Rudyard Kipling.

Simply inspiring.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Poppies in July by Sylvia plath

Practically everything by ee cummings

Bagpipe music by Louis macneice

Down, wanton, down! By Robert graves

So many I could be here all day

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

"This one is dear to me and for anyone out there who has lost a mum.

Mothers Garden

(Author unknown)

My Mother kept a garden,

a garden of the heart,

She planted all the good things

that gave my life it's start.

She turned me to the sunshine

and encouraged me to dream,

Fostering and nurturing

the seeds of self-esteem...

And when the winds and rain came,

she protected me enough--

But not too much because she knew

I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example

always taught me right from wrong--

Markers for my pathway

that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.

I am her legacy-

And I hope today she feels the love

reflected back from me

This breaks my heart. Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran has the same effect.

Just got rose tattoo in memory of my mum

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

INVICTUS

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.

- William Ernest Henley

Couldn't resist posting it, even though it's very popular and I'm sure many of you know it.

Life can get tough, but you can always re-take control.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"This one is dear to me and for anyone out there who has lost a mum.

Mothers Garden

(Author unknown)

My Mother kept a garden,

a garden of the heart,

She planted all the good things

that gave my life it's start.

She turned me to the sunshine

and encouraged me to dream,

Fostering and nurturing

the seeds of self-esteem...

And when the winds and rain came,

she protected me enough--

But not too much because she knew

I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example

always taught me right from wrong--

Markers for my pathway

that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.

I am her legacy-

And I hope today she feels the love

reflected back from me

This breaks my heart. Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran has the same effect.

Just got rose tattoo in memory of my mum

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

John Donne. Death be not proud... and pretty much everything he writes.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light;

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats"

Beautiful

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By *entileschiWoman over a year ago

Norwich

Philip Larkin- Trees

Carol Anne Duffy - Mrs Midas

WH Auden - untitled but begins As I walked out one evening ...

Shakespeare's sonnet 116

Imtiaz Dharker - Living Space

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By *ensuallover1000Man over a year ago

Somewhere In The Ether…

My personal favourite is, ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’ by William Wordsworth (Sometimes merely referred to as ‘Daffodils’)

A fairly simple poem but so beautiful and it always makes me smile.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"I'm a published poet

Snap, probably the thing that shocks people most about me when they find out.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"I'm a published poet

Snap, probably the thing that shocks people most about me when they find out. "

Care to share?

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"I'm a published poet

Snap, probably the thing that shocks people most about me when they find out.

Care to share?"

Once I've sorted my girls out, I'll dig one out. Want to make sure i get the wording bang on, it's been nearly 15 years.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

The Tale of Custard the Dragon - Ogden Nash

Belinda lived in a little white house,

With a little black kitten and a little grey mouse,

And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,

And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink

And the little grey mouse, she called her Blink,

And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,

But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,

And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,

Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,

And realio, trulio daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrelful of bears,

And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,

Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,

Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,

They all sat laughing in the little red wagon

At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,

And Blink said Weeek!, which is giggling for a mouse,

Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,

When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,

And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.

Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,

For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,

And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright;

His beard was black, one leg was wood.

It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried Help! Help!

But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,

Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,

And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,

Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,

With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm

He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,

And gulped some grog from his pocked flagon,

He fired two bullets, but they didn't hit,

And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him;

No one mourned for his pirate victim.

Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate

Around the dragon that ate the pirate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,

With her little black kitten and her little grey mouse,

And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,

And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrelful of bears,

And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,

Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,

But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

The end

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

is that one of yours Witchdoctor?

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'til tomorrow

For babies grow up we've learned to our sorrow,

So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep

I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I like the simple ones.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"is that one of yours Witchdoctor?"

Nah. It was the first one I learned as a child. I loved it and knew it off by heart

I have written both serious poems and funny or rude ones. I have a thread somewhere on here that I responded to in in promptu poetry.

I tend to need inspiration and then it just spews out. Some are better than others, but mostly just stream of consciousness nonsense

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Roses are red doritos are savory

the US prison system is legalized slavery .

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"is that one of yours Witchdoctor?

Nah. It was the first one I learned as a child. I loved it and knew it off by heart

I have written both serious poems and funny or rude ones. I have a thread somewhere on here that I responded to in in promptu poetry.

I tend to need inspiration and then it just spews out. Some are better than others, but mostly just stream of consciousness nonsense

lol I'm the same. If I'm in the mood I can poem about most things, though it's not very clever. If I'm not, I'm drawing blanks.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'til tomorrow

For babies grow up we've learned to our sorrow,

So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep

I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I like the simple ones."

my boys are getting bigger

Stop it boys! Stay young forever.

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By *alandNitaCouple over a year ago

Scunthorpe

I'm a big poetry lover and don't think I can choose a favourite.

Though "Remember" by Christina Rossetti is one of my favourites.

Nita

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Oh love poetry, can't go wrong with keats

Help me, guide me, lead me

I know your there

Comfort, love and cherish me

When life seems so unfair

Touch me with a softness

Blind my eyes from hate

Help me to give comfort

Whatever people's plight

Remember I'm a person

Who sometimes feels despair

I gain comfort just from knowing

You love me and you care

No idea who it is but I know it's not keats!

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By *picknspanMan over a year ago

North West Leeds

If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

Any body with half an understanding of the English language and access to a dictionary can write a 'non rhyming poem' It takes real thought and skill to write in a rhyming scheme and use phrases that both make sense and form a story.

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By *alandNitaCouple over a year ago

Scunthorpe

"If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

I tend to agree.

I particularly like poetry intended to be read aloud. My poor child was indoctrinated by being read bedtime poetry as well as stories

Nita

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"Oh love poetry, can't go wrong with keats

Help me, guide me, lead me

I know your there

Comfort, love and cherish me

When life seems so unfair

Touch me with a softness

Blind my eyes from hate

Help me to give comfort

Whatever people's plight

Remember I'm a person

Who sometimes feels despair

I gain comfort just from knowing

You love me and you care

No idea who it is but I know it's not keats! "

I'll have to goggle who it is now

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Had a circular saw blade

Where I should have had a heart

I was trusted, I adored her

And I tore it all apart

Twin moons on a millpond

From a tumbledown barn

I can still taste the heat of the sun on her skin in my arms

I could fold to the cold of these

January streets

But your smile in the half-light is

Pure pillow print cheek

I will be far away for a while

But my heart’s staying put

Warming and guarding and guiding

The one that I love

Warming and guarding and guiding

The one that I love

The silence and the waiting and the rush of all aboard

Fifty souls to a carriage I’m trying hard to be ignored

Then my telephone shakes into life and I see your name

And the wheat fields explode into gold either side of the train

And the wheat fields explode into gold

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Just so you all know.. I'm reading every post, not ignoring any of you. Love EVERY poem that's been written down. Especially the ones with deep personal feelings attached to them.

I like poetry AND prose. I also like rap and rhyming. Any clever word play. Short and sweet. One of my favourite lines is just that.. a line. It comes from a sports clothing brand

"One life, no fear".

I'm fucking useless with numbers, but I adore words. I'm no exert in their use mind, just a keen amateur. So if anybody ever notices glaring errors.. like I'm using the wrong "bare/bear" Feel free to point it out.

A little education turns me on. A lot of nagging turns me right off. Even if I am wrong

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

What a lovely thread.x

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H.Auden

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

I'm really not a poet,

Because my words just come out wrong.

I'm no good as a lyricist,

Because I cannot write the song

That tells you how you make me feel,

Every morning when I awake.

And when I'm far away without your tender touch

How it makes my body ache.

To be lying naked next to you

To caress your lips with mine

Stroking your body with a teasing touch

It would simply be divine

And as you gasp to catch your breath

I'll hold you tightly in my grasp

And whisper how much I love you

Then fuck you up the arse

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that? "

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words."

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

Are you published? You should be, with that talent!

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

Are you published? You should be, with that talent!

Lord no! That would mean valuing what I write.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

Are you published? You should be, with that talent!

Lord no! That would mean valuing what I write.

There's nothing wrong with that hahaha. Work like that, needs to be shared and appreciated ... and not just with a bunch of swingers

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

Are you published? You should be, with that talent!

Lord no! That would mean valuing what I write.

There's nothing wrong with that hahaha. Work like that, needs to be shared and appreciated ... and not just with a bunch of swingers

I like that imy words will disappear

into the annals of Fab forum lore

For some wandering forum seeker to dig up when I’ve closed the door,

On filling Skyns and splashing tits

With Doc’s dodgy snake oil potion

That’s creamy and tastes of skittles

And my pelvic thrust has lost all motion.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

I used to write a bit of poetry when I was a dramatic teenager. Most of my favourites have already been mentioned, (Invictus, The Cloths of Heaven, Remember, Funeral Blues) but 'The Highway Man' but Alfred Noyes has got to be worth a mention. It's a great story with an exquisite rhythm, and it always gives me goose bumps. Love it!

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

"A crimson spring sunset sinks slowly

Casting shadows down the Appenine vales

My mind wanders to thoughts of you only

As I remember one of our tales

Of passion and love, now embers

Of what they used to be

Those moments my mind still remembers

Sweet couplings for you and me.

Our bodies entwined in sated exhaustion

From hours of sensual delight

Now distant tinges of frustration

Why couldn’t I make it right

Your beauty still frequently haunts me

Though our love like the day faded to night

The darkness of being so lonely

I long for one hour in your light

That is beautiful, so emotive, with an acute sense of loss. Who wrote that?

The fabber formerly known as Shaman. He thanks you for your kind words.

It sounds like a timeless classic. What a talent

I wrote just now while having a Billy No Mates dinner for one having watched the sunset over the Appenines this evening

Are you published? You should be, with that talent!

Lord no! That would mean valuing what I write.

There's nothing wrong with that hahaha. Work like that, needs to be shared and appreciated ... and not just with a bunch of swingers

I like that imy words will disappear

into the annals of Fab forum lore

For some wandering forum seeker to dig up when I’ve closed the door,

On filling Skyns and splashing tits

With Doc’s dodgy snake oil potion

That’s creamy and tastes of skittles

And my pelvic thrust has lost all motion."

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

"If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

Do you really believe this? Genuinely interested

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By *picknspanMan over a year ago

North West Leeds

"If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

Do you really believe this? Genuinely interested "

Absolutely.

I have studied English Literature at A level & degree level at Cambridge.

I have argued this point with fellows, lecturers and other readers of English Literature.

Whilst a form of prose or strategically placed punctuation has been long regarded as poetry it is, in my view, little more than some carefully constructed words in sentences that could easily be rewritten as a short story.

Why would you write several lines and punctuate them into tiny paragraphs to allude a poem?

I have been shouted down for my opinion, I have had numerous 'poets' quoted at me by so called 'experts' but I still can not accept that by writing a non rhyming piece of 'literature' it can be regarded as 'real poetry'.

I am not right according to the literary world but I stand by my view and any work that I have written whilst at University had to have a rhyming scheme of some sort.

One of the poets I most enjoy is Blake and he largely used rhyming couplets, Shakespeare usually did although his reputation, in my view, is tarnished as he was often regarded as a plagiarist.

I have had some work published albeit that it was only in compiled works of unknown or unfamiliar authors.

This view is not regarded generally with any great holding but it is how I view poetry.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Remember - Christina Rosetti

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By *inn2000Woman over a year ago

belfast

"If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

Do you really believe this? Genuinely interested

Absolutely.

I have studied English Literature at A level & degree level at Cambridge.

I have argued this point with fellows, lecturers and other readers of English Literature.

Why would you write several lines and punctuate them into tiny paragraphs to allude a poem?

I am not right according to the literary world but I stand by my view and any work that I have written whilst at University had to have a rhyming scheme of some sort.

One of the poets I most enjoy is Blake and he largely used rhyming couplets, Shakespeare usually did although his reputation, in my view, is tarnished as he was often regarded as a plagiarist.

I have had some work published albeit that it was only in compiled works of unknown or unfamiliar authors.

This view is not regarded generally with any great holding but it is how I view poetry."

Thank you for your considered response. I don't think I could disagree with you more but that's the joy of academic debate eh

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

If thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only. Do not say

'I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—

For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity

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By *picknspanMan over a year ago

North West Leeds

"If a poem fails to have stanzas that do not have a rhyming pattern then they are not poems.

They are simply a list of words in arranged sentences or prose.

Do you really believe this? Genuinely interested

Absolutely.

I have studied English Literature at A level & degree level at Cambridge.

I have argued this point with fellows, lecturers and other readers of English Literature.

Why would you write several lines and punctuate them into tiny paragraphs to allude a poem?

I am not right according to the literary world but I stand by my view and any work that I have written whilst at University had to have a rhyming scheme of some sort.

One of the poets I most enjoy is Blake and he largely used rhyming couplets, Shakespeare usually did although his reputation, in my view, is tarnished as he was often regarded as a plagiarist.

I have had some work published albeit that it was only in compiled works of unknown or unfamiliar authors.

This view is not regarded generally with any great holding but it is how I view poetry.

Thank you for your considered response. I don't think I could disagree with you more but that's the joy of academic debate eh "

I agree, academic debate is not about being considered to be right but about conflicting opinions inspiring the other to regard the opposite view, challenge it and discuss it. I can understand why people admire non rhyming work as it holds language, description, vocabulary, alliteration and carefully constructed adjectives, verbs etc but to me that is story writing.

I admire an author who can see a story and construct it in verse that uses rhyming couplets or similar variations. To me it demonstrates an art that wants to be adored for its compilation outside of writing lines that are formed by simply stating a list of actions or emotions. To me non rhyming is just a list that can be constructed by a relatively articulate author who cannot be bothered to form his/her in a truly poetical format.

We agree to disagree.

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By *urls and DressesWoman over a year ago

Somewhere near here

Holly McNish, I can relate to her so much. Her poems are very real to me, about parenthood, being a woman, expectations.

My favourite is Embarrassed. It’s about breastfeeding and society’s view on it. That boobs are only sexual objects and if used for the purpose of feeding then it should be shut away.

I first heard the poem a few days after being shouted at by a guy at Kings Cross Station for feeding my then toddler when heading home from a breastfeeding training course. I’m a huge advocate for breastfeeding and still felt in shock. The poem felt very real then.

I met her a few years later at a poetry night, she was amazing

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