Favourite Poems

The Little Black Boy
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east began to say.

Look on the rising sun: there God does live
And gives his light, and gives his heat away.
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning joy in the noonday.

And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love,
And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear
The cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice.
Saying: come out from the grove my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.

Thus did my mother say and kissed me,
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:

Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear,
To lean in joy upon our fathers knee.
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him and he will then love me.

 

Let me not see old age: let me not hear

The proffered help, the mumbled sympathy,

The well-meant tactful sophistries that mock

Pathetic husks who once were strong and free,



And in youth's fickle triumph laughed and sang,

Loved, and were foolish, and at the close have seen

The fruits of folly garnered, and that love,

Tamed and encaged, stale into grey routine.



Let me not see old age; I am content

With my few crowded years, laughter and strength

And song have lit the beacon of my life.

Let me not see it fade, but when the long

September shadows steal across the square,

Grant me this wish: they may not find me there.






Lt. D R Geraint Jones

 

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

Another Pagan piece: = (Witch I like)

 

William Shakespeare:

 

William Wordsworth:

 

And a bit more Modern: = John Cooper Clarke

 

Another of my favourites. X

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

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!

 

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
BY RANDALL JARRELL
From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

 

Georgie Porgie pudding pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When all the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie ran away.

 

Forever And Always
© Mercedes

Published: February 2013

You are the sun that shines brightly throughout my day.
You are the gravity that holds me down in every way.
You are the moon that shimmers throughout my night.
You are stars that glimmer oh so bright.

You are the oxygen that keeps me alive.
You are my heart that beats inside.
You are the blood that flows through me.
You are the only guy I can see.
You have the voice of when a mockingbird sings.
You are my everything.

You are my one and only.
You stop me from being so lonely.
We plan our future as if we have a clue.
I never want to lose you.
I want you to be my husband, and I want to be your wife.
I want to be with you for the rest of my life.

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Source: Forever And Always, Boyfriend Poem

 

Lovely Lion is a gentle soul
I pat his head, and over he would roll
He supports us all with funny plans
We really are all his greatest fans.

I was writing some stuff earlier

Lovely Mystic is our beautiful friend
We all love her and kisses we send
No more hurt will she endure
Life is rich and never poor
So stay with those that love her so
The more we chat, the more we know

Rainbow was always a special friend
Without him, I would go around the bend
He is often naughty, we all know that
He helped me get rid of the trolling rat

 

Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

Shannon Aug 2018
Friday’s at yours.
Friday's at yours are special to me
Whether we're going out to the theatre
Whether we stay in to watch movies
Friday's at yours are special to me
It always starts with tea and ends with a kiss
and theres always a cuddle or three
Friday's at yours are special to me
You are my stormboy
You are my light
Friday's at yours are special to me
You are all my favourite love songs
You are the epitome of safety and fearless
Friday's at yours are special to me
Curled up, no matter where we go
In your arms safe and calm and happy and
free.
Friday's at yours are special to me
We laugh and kiss and look and love
We discover new things about each other.
Friday's at yours are special to me
you play with my hair and I scratch your back
and we kiss like nobody else exists
Friday's at yours are special to me
you walk me out in just your socks,
kiss me tenderly,
wave goodbye.
Friday's at yours are special to me
Going home, leaving you alone in your room
kills me. all I wish is to fall asleep in your arms and
not have to wake up
alone
Friday's at yours are special to me
i get home and we're still talking
talk until we fall asleep
alone
but happy
Friday's at yours are special to me

 

Friday by Elizabeth Jennings
We nailed the hands long ago,
Wove the thorns, took up the scourge and shouted
For excitement's sake, we stood at the dusty edge
Of the pebbled path and watched the extreme of pain.

But one or two prayed, one or two
Were silent, shocked, stood back
And remembered remnants of words, a new vision,
The cross is up with its crying victim, the clouds
Cover the sun, we learn a new way to lose
What we did not know we had
Until this bleak and sacrificial day,
Until we turned from our bad
Past and knelt and cried out our dismay,
The dice still clicking, the voices dying away.

 

She was weeping when we met
Outside a party store
Where the lonely purchase their wine;
Her boyfriend had left her behind
All sad and lost after a fight,
Most likely, about inconsequential things.

I picked her up, half out of human kindness,
Half to be beside a female body
Despite how red and unhappy her face.
She was a beautiful girl in a simple way,
She wore a plain flowery dress
With some charming appeal I can’t explain.

She tried to express in broken sentences
Why she and her boyfriend were upset;
I mostly heard tears and my boyfriend this,
My boyfriend that,
I tried to act like it was as completely earth shattering
As she thought it was.

She gave me directions to where she lived,
I drove diligently toward that destination
Without any attempts to prolong the drive
While I planned out my own strategy of a pass.

When I finally arrived at her place,
Her face was still red but the tears had dried.
She said, “Thanks, mister, you’re a nice guy.”
She got a little closer to me and touched my hand.
I thought she might kiss me, I thought I might kiss her,
But she scooted on out and made for her house.
I wasn’t expecting any action that night,
I can’t claim disappointment.

But I wish I knew if I should pray
For her and her boyfriend to work things out.



A Stranded Girl On A Friday Night
Uriah Hamilton