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Post by theravenking on Nov 18, 2018 15:45:24 GMT
A Song
I wish, you were hear, dear, I wish, you were here. I wish, you sat on the sofa, and I set near. The handkerchief could be yours, the tear could be mine chin-bound. Though it could be of course The other way around.
I wish, you were hear, dear, I wish, you were here. I wish, we were in my car, and you’d shift the gear. We’d find ourselves elsewhere, On an unknown shore. Or else, we’d repair to where we’ve been before.
I wish, you were hear, dear, I wish, you were here. I wish, I knew no astronomy, when stars appear, when the moon skims the water, that sighs and shifts in its slumber. I wish, it were still a quarter to dial your number.
I wish, you were hear, dear, in this hemisphere, as I sit on the porch, sipping a beer. It’s evening, the sun is setting; boys shout and gulls are crying. What’s the point of forgetting, if it’s followed by dying?
by Joseph Brodsky
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Post by koskiewicz on Nov 18, 2018 20:18:56 GMT
The man who writes in Saxon Is the man to use an ax on. -Judibras
He swore that all other religions were gammon, And wore out his knees in the worship of Mammon. -Jared Oopf
As sovereigns are anointed by the priesthood, So pigs to lead the populace are greased good. -Judibras
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mmexis
Sophomore
@mmexis
Posts: 860
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Post by mmexis on Nov 19, 2018 4:37:18 GMT
Not only marble, but the plastic toys From cornflake packets will outlive this rhyme I can't immortalize you, love - our joys Will lie unnoticed in the vault of time. When Mrs. Thatcher has been cast in bronze And her administration is a page In some O-Level text-book, when the dons Have analysed the story of our age, When travel firms sell tours of outer space When aeroplanes take off without a sound And Tulse Hill has become a trendy place And upper Norwood's on the underground Your beauty and my name will be forgotten - My love is true, but all my verse is rotten
-- Wendy Cope
Obviously a parody of Shakespeare's sonnet 55
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needysboy
Sophomore
@needysboy
Posts: 347
Likes: 129
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Post by needysboy on Nov 19, 2018 20:55:49 GMT
The Fish by W. B. Yeats
ALTHOUGH you hide in the ebb and flow Of the pale tide when the moon has set, The people of coming days will know About the casting out of my net, And how you have leaped times out of mind Over the little silver cords, And think that you were hard and unkind, And blame you with many bitter words.
The Corkonian angel Sinead Lohan put this to music:
**
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Post by Nalkarj on Nov 27, 2018 15:59:02 GMT
“The World is Too Much With Us,” William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers– little we see in Nature that is ours; we have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, the winds that will be howling at all hours and are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers– for this, for everything, we are out of tune; it moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn so might I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn– have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
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mmexis
Sophomore
@mmexis
Posts: 860
Likes: 732
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Post by mmexis on Nov 28, 2018 2:38:37 GMT
I love thee Wilma, with hair like silk, Lips like cherries, skin like milk, Your shell-like ears, your dainty hands, And eyes so black, like frying pans
And when you in my arms are in, My love how can you doubt? I quiver just like geletin, And sometimes even break out.
You're a perfect peach, my love, Together we're a pear (pair), You're sweet, you're nice, you're paradise, And all kinna stuff like that there.
Fred Flintstone's "sonnet" to Wilma.
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Post by Carl LaFong on Nov 29, 2018 13:47:49 GMT
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Post by theravenking on Dec 5, 2018 22:46:37 GMT
“Little Tree” by e.e. cummings
little tree little silent Christmas tree you are so little you are more like a flower who found you in the green forest and were you very sorry to come away? see i will comfort you because you smell so sweetly i will kiss your cool bark and hug you safe and tight just as your mother would, only don't be afraid look the spangles that sleep all the year in a dark box dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine, the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads, put up your little arms and i'll give them all to you to hold every finger shall have its ring and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy…
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Post by llltdesq on Dec 13, 2018 21:30:55 GMT
Why Love Is Blind-Sir Thomas Wyatt
Of purpose Love chose first to be blind, For, he with sight of that, that I behold, Vanquish'd had been, against all godly kind: His bow your hand, and truss should have unfold; And he with me to serve had been assign'd: But, for blind and reckless, would him hold, And still by chance his deadly strokes bestow; With such as see, I serve, and suffer woe.
May this find you happy and healthy.
Robert Reynolds Tucson AZ
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Post by koskiewicz on Dec 14, 2018 1:49:54 GMT
de trop
The sultan said: "There's evidence abundant To prove this unbelieving dog redundant." To whom the Grand Vizier, with mien impressive, Replied: His head, at least, appears excessive." -Habeed Suleiman
Mr. Debs is a redundant citizen. -Theodore Roosevelt
Recordare, Jesu pie, Quod sum causa tuae viae. Ne me perdas illa die. -Annonymous
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Post by llltdesq on Dec 15, 2018 3:46:12 GMT
Fire and Ice-Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who say with fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To know that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
May this find you happy and healthy.
Robert Reynolds Tucson AZ
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mmexis
Sophomore
@mmexis
Posts: 860
Likes: 732
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Post by mmexis on Dec 15, 2018 4:55:55 GMT
The Flea BY JOHN DONNE
Mark but this flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is; It sucked me first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be; Thou know’st that this cannot be said A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do.
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, nay more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met, And cloistered in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that, self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now; ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be: Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me, Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.
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Post by llltdesq on Dec 25, 2018 1:37:57 GMT
A Visit from St. Nicholas
By Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the housetop the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too— And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Merry Christmas!
May this find you happy and healthy.
Robert Reynolds Tucson AZ
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Post by koskiewicz on Dec 25, 2018 1:52:35 GMT
The Clock
A busy man complained one day: "I get no time!" "What's that you say?" Cried out his friend, a lazy quiz; "You have, sir, all the time there is. There's plenty, too, and don't you doubt it - We're never for an hour without it." - Purzil Crofe
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Post by koskiewicz on Dec 25, 2018 16:29:01 GMT
Gallows
Whether on the gallows high Or where blood flows the reddest, The noblest place for man to die - Is where he died the deadest. -excerpt from an old play
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Post by koskiewicz on Dec 25, 2018 21:48:23 GMT
How lonely he who thinks to vex With badinage the solemn sex! Of levity, mere man, beware, None but the grave deserve the unfair. -Percy P. Orminder
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Post by koskiewicz on Dec 26, 2018 21:19:57 GMT
When zeal sought gratitude for his reward He went away exclaiming: "Oh my Lord!" "What do you want?" The Lord asked bending down. "An ointment for my cracked and bleeding crown." -Jum Coople
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Post by llltdesq on Jan 2, 2019 2:51:51 GMT
Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening-Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near. Between the woods and frozen lake The coldest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
Public Domain Day.
May this find you happy and healthy.
Robert Reynolds Tucson AZ
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Post by koskiewicz on Jan 2, 2019 16:15:13 GMT
Indifference
"You tiresome man!" cried Indolentio's wife, "You've grown indifferent to all in life." "Indifferent?" He drawled with a slow smile; "I would be, dear, but it is not worthwhile." -Apuleius M. Gokuk
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Post by Carl LaFong on Feb 14, 2019 11:42:15 GMT
I heard Albert Finney's character reciting this on a bus in a film on TV the other night:
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