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Which Is The Best Poem You Have Ever Read?
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Lets share your best poem that you love most
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I was always moved by this
For Johnny a poem by John Pudney
For Johnny by John Pudney
For Johnny
by John Pudney
Do not despair
For Johnny-head-in-air;
He sleeps as sound
As Johnny underground.
Fetch out no shroud
For Johnny-in-the-cloud;
And keep your tears
For him in after years.
Better by far
For Johnny-the-bright-star,
To keep your head,
And see his children fed.
For Johnny
by John Pudney
For Johnny a poem by John Pudney
For Johnny by John Pudney
For Johnny
by John Pudney
Do not despair
For Johnny-head-in-air;
He sleeps as sound
As Johnny underground.
Fetch out no shroud
For Johnny-in-the-cloud;
And keep your tears
For him in after years.
Better by far
For Johnny-the-bright-star,
To keep your head,
And see his children fed.
For Johnny
by John Pudney
Ohh sandyRoe gives us a line or two to ponder. As ever.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
“Alone”
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
Remember as a kid cycling through one of those lovely West Sussex villages and my mate saying "That used to be Hilaire Belloc's house".
There's a lovely rhythm to this piece of prophetic melancholy:
"Ha'nacker Hill is in Desolation:
Ruin a-top and a field unploughed.
And Spirits that call on a fallen nation,
Spirits that loved her calling aloud,
Spirits abroad in a windy cloud.
Spirits that call and no one answers --
Ha'nacker's down and England's done.
Wind and Thistle for pipe and dancers,
And never a ploughman under the Sun:
Never a ploughman. Never a one.
There's a lovely rhythm to this piece of prophetic melancholy:
"Ha'nacker Hill is in Desolation:
Ruin a-top and a field unploughed.
And Spirits that call on a fallen nation,
Spirits that loved her calling aloud,
Spirits abroad in a windy cloud.
Spirits that call and no one answers --
Ha'nacker's down and England's done.
Wind and Thistle for pipe and dancers,
And never a ploughman under the Sun:
Never a ploughman. Never a one.
I like Pam Ayres.
The Embarrassing Experience With A Parrot
By Pam Ayres
At the Cotswold Wild Life Park,
In the merry month of May,
I paid the man the money,
And went in to spend the day,
Straightway to the Pets Corner,
I turned my eager feet,
To go and see the rabbits,
And give them something to eat.
As I approached the hutches,
I was alarmed to see,
A crowd of little yobbos,
'Ollerin' with glee,
I crept up close behind them
And weighed the scene up quick,
And saw them poke the rabbits
Poke them! . . with a stick!
'Get off you little ***!"
I shouted in their ear,
'Don't you poke them rabbits,
That's not why they are here."
I must have really scared them,
In seconds they were gone,
And feelin' I had done some good,
I carried on along.
Till up beside the Parrots Cage,
I stood to view the scene,
They was lovely parrots,
Beautiful blue and green,
In and out the nestbox,
They was really having fun,
Squawking out and flying about,
All except for one.
One poor old puffed-up parrot,
Clung grimly to his perch,
And as the wind blew frontwards,
Backwards he would lurch,
One foot up in his feathers,
Abandoned by the rest,
He sat there, plainly dying,
His head upon his chest.
Well, I walked on down the pathway
And I stroked a nanny goat,
But the thought of parrots dyin'
Brought a lump into me throat,
I could no longer stand it,
And to the office I fled,
Politely I began: 'Scuse me,
Your parrot's nearly dead."
So me and a curator,
In urgent leaps and bounds,
With a bottle of Parrot Cure,
Dashed across the grounds,
The dust flew up around us,
As we reached the Parrots Pen,
And the curator he turned to me
Saying 'Which one is it then?"
You know what I am going to say,
He was not there at all,
At least, not where I left him,
No, he flit from wall to wall,
As brightly as a button,
Did he squawk and jump and leap,
The curator was very kind,
Saying, "I expect he was asleep."
But I was humiliated,
As I stood before the wire,
The curator went back,
To put his feet up by the fire,
So I let the parrot settle,
And after a short search,
I found the stick the yobbos had,
And poked him off his perch.
The Embarrassing Experience With A Parrot
By Pam Ayres
At the Cotswold Wild Life Park,
In the merry month of May,
I paid the man the money,
And went in to spend the day,
Straightway to the Pets Corner,
I turned my eager feet,
To go and see the rabbits,
And give them something to eat.
As I approached the hutches,
I was alarmed to see,
A crowd of little yobbos,
'Ollerin' with glee,
I crept up close behind them
And weighed the scene up quick,
And saw them poke the rabbits
Poke them! . . with a stick!
'Get off you little ***!"
I shouted in their ear,
'Don't you poke them rabbits,
That's not why they are here."
I must have really scared them,
In seconds they were gone,
And feelin' I had done some good,
I carried on along.
Till up beside the Parrots Cage,
I stood to view the scene,
They was lovely parrots,
Beautiful blue and green,
In and out the nestbox,
They was really having fun,
Squawking out and flying about,
All except for one.
One poor old puffed-up parrot,
Clung grimly to his perch,
And as the wind blew frontwards,
Backwards he would lurch,
One foot up in his feathers,
Abandoned by the rest,
He sat there, plainly dying,
His head upon his chest.
Well, I walked on down the pathway
And I stroked a nanny goat,
But the thought of parrots dyin'
Brought a lump into me throat,
I could no longer stand it,
And to the office I fled,
Politely I began: 'Scuse me,
Your parrot's nearly dead."
So me and a curator,
In urgent leaps and bounds,
With a bottle of Parrot Cure,
Dashed across the grounds,
The dust flew up around us,
As we reached the Parrots Pen,
And the curator he turned to me
Saying 'Which one is it then?"
You know what I am going to say,
He was not there at all,
At least, not where I left him,
No, he flit from wall to wall,
As brightly as a button,
Did he squawk and jump and leap,
The curator was very kind,
Saying, "I expect he was asleep."
But I was humiliated,
As I stood before the wire,
The curator went back,
To put his feet up by the fire,
So I let the parrot settle,
And after a short search,
I found the stick the yobbos had,
And poked him off his perch.
Far too many poems that I love but one of the best I've ever *read* & still enjoy is "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe - the style thrilled me as a child.
Ah - it's 6,522 characters with spaces, too long to post here, so a link will have to do it - https:/
Ah - it's 6,522 characters with spaces, too long to post here, so a link will have to do it - https:/
I think it was written for the film.
https:/
It is wonderful.
Love 'The Raven' too.
https:/
It is wonderful.
Love 'The Raven' too.
I'm in the group who say Simon, Cohen, Dylan, etc are poets of today, but we've had too many of theirs.
My all time favourite is John Betjeman, but again we've had some of his.
On a lighter note, I love 'Night Mail' by Auden, especially with a visual for atmosphere.
However I'm going to go for a poem I can really 'feel' when reading.
https:/
My all time favourite is John Betjeman, but again we've had some of his.
On a lighter note, I love 'Night Mail' by Auden, especially with a visual for atmosphere.
However I'm going to go for a poem I can really 'feel' when reading.
https:/
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