...sitting in front of a fire, reading Yeats

Expectorate your wit here.

Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Apr 12, 2008 7:36 am

dearest svizz,
this is a poem i've loved since girlhood. Blake is one of my favorites.

[quote]The Tiger
By William Blake
1757-1827
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Postby Stiv » Sat Apr 12, 2008 7:04 pm

sri, you are not a good guesser. :) ...and neither are you, stiv. :))


What did I guess on my dear?

I make statements based on cumulative information and witness statements :-)))

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Her eyes like sparks, my heart like gasoline
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Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Apr 12, 2008 8:02 pm

I make statements based on cumulative information

oh.
touche. :)
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Postby Stiv » Sat Apr 12, 2008 8:33 pm

michelle in alaska wrote:
I make statements based on cumulative information

oh.
touche. :)


You must know that I'm all too willing to trumpet your best qualities and virtues to all that would listen!

Never doubt that I always have your best interests at heart!

:-)

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Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Apr 12, 2008 9:26 pm

i know this, kindred spirit. :)
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Postby nowonmai » Sat Apr 12, 2008 10:13 pm

A bit of genuine Royal Navy salty sea-doggery.


When first I came to Chatham town,
There were likely lasses plenty,
And should I meet with a pretty gal,
I’ll court her for her beauty,
I’ll say "my dear what do you choose,
There’s ale and wine and brandy too,
And the prettiest pair of new stuffed shoes,
To go a-walking with a sailor. "

Oh, I am a sailor stout and bold,
I’ve rolled through sea and ocean,
To fight for my Queen and Country too
(And I fuck for Queen and Country too - )
For honour and pronotion,
And if you want to know my name,
Then tell her its - Young Johnson.
The captain of the whaler!

When first I came to Portsmouth town,
There were comely lasses plenty
I boldly stepped up to one of them,
To court her for her beauty.
I’ll whisper soft into her ear:
"My dearest dear, be of good cheer "
And so to bed she did prepare,
To go a- tumbling with a sailor.

When first I came to Plymouth town.,
There were handsome lasses plenty,
And I’ve a licence from the Queen,
To court them for their beauty
No matter if they’re old or young,
I’ll court them all and marry none,
For all I promise is some fun
With a-rollicking rolling sailor.
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Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Apr 12, 2008 10:27 pm

title and author, my good man?
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Postby Sri Lanky » Sat Apr 12, 2008 10:38 pm

Well done,nowonmai.

So,women don't really want to relate with their genitalia?

What do they do when they're in heat?

Yeah,after a good romp I prefer to give them a pat on the bum rather than say 'well done'.

But when I'm not involved....a 'well done' will have to do.
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Postby Fansy » Sun Apr 13, 2008 3:12 am

As always, the only poem worth repeating (in English):

A Nauseous Nocturne
From: The Essential Calvin and Hobbes

Another night deprived of slumber,
Hours passing without number,
My eyes trace 'round the room. I lay

Dripping sweat and now quite certain
That tonight the final curtain
Drops upon my short life's precious play.

From the darkness, by the closet
Comes a noise, much like a faucet
Makes: a mad'ning drip-drip-dripping sound.

It seems some ill-proportioned beast,
Anticipating me deceased,
Is drooling poison puddles on the ground.

A can of Mace, a forty-five,
Is all I'd need to stay alive,
But no weapon lies within my sight.

Oh my gosh! A shadow's creeping,
Ominous and black, it's seeping
Slowly 'cross a moonlit square of light!

Suddenly a floorboard creak
Announces the bloodsucking freak
Is here to steal my future years away!

A sulf'rous smell now fills the room
Heralding my imm'nent doom!
A fang gleams in the dark and murky gray!

Oh, blood-red eyes and tentacles!
Throbbing, pulsing ventricles!
Mucus-oozing pores and frightful claws!

Worse, in terms of outright scariness,
Are the suckers multifarious
That grab and force you in its mighty jaws!

This disgusting aberration
Of nature needs no motivation
To devour helpless children in their beds.

Relishing despairing moans,
It chews kids up and sucks their bones,
And dissolves inside its mouth their li'l heads!

I know this 'cause I read it not
Two hours ago, and then I got
The heebie-jeebies and these awful shakes.

My parents swore upon their honor
That I was safe, and not a goner.
I guess tomorrow they'll see their sad mistakes.

In the morning, they'll come in
And say, "what was that awful din
We heard last night? You kept us both from sleep!"

Only then will they surmise
The gruesomeness of my demise
And see that my remains are in a heap.

Dad will look at Mom and say,
"Too bad he had to go that way."
And Mom will look at Dad, and nod assent.

Mom will add, "Still, it's fitting,
That as he was this world quitting,
He should leave another mess before he went."

They may not mind at first, I know.
They will miss me later, though,
And perhaps admit that they were wrong.

As memories of me grow dim,
They'll say, "We were too strict with him.
We should have listened to him all along."

As speedily my end approaches,
I bid a final "buenas noches"
To my best friend here in all the world.

Gently snoring, whiskers seeming
To sniff at smells (he must be dreaming),
He lies snuggled in the blankets, curled.

HEY! WAKE UP, YOU STUPID CRETIN!
YOU GONNA SLEEP WHILE I GET EATEN?!
Suddenly the monster knows I'm not alone!

There's an animal in bed with me!
An awful beast he did not see!
The monster never would've come if he had known!

The monster, in his consternation,
Demonstrating defenestration,
And runs and runs and runs and runs away.

Rid of the pest, I now can rest,
Thanks to my best friend,
who saved the day.

The End.
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- Robert Young Pelton
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Postby michelle in alaska » Sun Apr 13, 2008 5:49 am

mr. n, i was a fisherman's wife for almost 20 years: From Dorothy Parker's "Death and Taxes". a title i like almost as much as her previous book: "Sunset Gun".

The Fisherwoman

The man she had was kind and clean
And well enough for everyday,
But, oh, dear friends, you should have seen
The one that got away!


another big fave by her:

Two-Volume Novel

The sun's gone dim, and
The moon's turned black;
For I loved him, and
He didn't love back.
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Postby nowonmai » Sun Apr 13, 2008 1:11 pm

Title - Unknown

Author - Jack Tar.
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Re: ...sitting in front of a fire, reading Yeats

Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Apr 07, 2012 8:18 am

Rudyard Kipling

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

No Apologies.
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Re: ...sitting in front of a fire, reading Yeats

Postby Mikethehack » Sat Apr 07, 2012 9:14 am

You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!


Patrick Kavanagh (1904 - 1967)
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stony-grey-soil/
I'm not really a proper reporter, due to the chronic lack of discipline, negligible attention span, and a certain juvenile difficulty taking serious things seriously.
Andrew Mueller.
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Re: ...sitting in front of a fire, reading Yeats

Postby michelle in alaska » Sat Mar 01, 2014 8:03 am

Redux.

michelle in alaska wrote:
Rudyard Kipling

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

No Apologies.
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Re: ...sitting in front of a fire, reading Yeats

Postby michelle in alaska » Thu Oct 27, 2016 9:51 am

redux.
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