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"His Apologies"
MASTER, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou has forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee ...
Art Thou content with Thy Servant? He is very comfy with Thee.
Master, behold a Sinner! He hath committed a wrong.
He hath defiled Thy Premises through being kept in too long.
Wherefore his nose has been rubbed in the dirt, and his self-respect has been bruised,
Master, pardon Thy Sinner, and see he is properly loosed.
Master - again Thy Sinner! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He has found and taken and carried aside, as fitting matter to chew.
Now there is neither blacking nor tongue, and the Housemaid has us in tow.
Master, remember Thy Servant is young, and tell her to let him go!
Master, extol Thy Servant, he has met a most Worthy Foe!
There has been fighting all over the Shop - and into the Shop also!
Till cruel umbrellas parted the strife (or I might have been choking him yet)
But Thy Servant has had the Time of his Life - and now shall we call on the vet?
Master, behold Thy Servant! Strange children came to play,
And because they fought to caress him, Thy Servant wentedst away.
But now that the Little Beasts have gone, he has returned to see
(Brushed - with his Sunday collar on) what they left over from tea.
Master, pity Thy Servant! He is deaf and three parts blind.
He cannot catch Thy Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.
Oh, leave him not to his loneliness; nor make him that kitten's scorn.
He hath had none other God than Thee since the year that he was born.
Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass.
There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.
His bones are full of an old disease - his torments run and increase.
Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release!
MASTER, this is Thy Servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou has forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee ...
Art Thou content with Thy Servant? He is very comfy with Thee.
Master, behold a Sinner! He hath committed a wrong.
He hath defiled Thy Premises through being kept in too long.
Wherefore his nose has been rubbed in the dirt, and his self-respect has been bruised,
Master, pardon Thy Sinner, and see he is properly loosed.
Master - again Thy Sinner! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He has found and taken and carried aside, as fitting matter to chew.
Now there is neither blacking nor tongue, and the Housemaid has us in tow.
Master, remember Thy Servant is young, and tell her to let him go!
Master, extol Thy Servant, he has met a most Worthy Foe!
There has been fighting all over the Shop - and into the Shop also!
Till cruel umbrellas parted the strife (or I might have been choking him yet)
But Thy Servant has had the Time of his Life - and now shall we call on the vet?
Master, behold Thy Servant! Strange children came to play,
And because they fought to caress him, Thy Servant wentedst away.
But now that the Little Beasts have gone, he has returned to see
(Brushed - with his Sunday collar on) what they left over from tea.
Master, pity Thy Servant! He is deaf and three parts blind.
He cannot catch Thy Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.
Oh, leave him not to his loneliness; nor make him that kitten's scorn.
He hath had none other God than Thee since the year that he was born.
Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass.
There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.
His bones are full of an old disease - his torments run and increase.
Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release!
Riley Blue said:
Robbo 27 said:
From a mother to her adopted child
Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone
But still totally my own.
Never forget
For one single minute
That you didnt grow under my heart
But in it.
As an adopted child - thank you.Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone
But still totally my own.
Never forget
For one single minute
That you didnt grow under my heart
But in it.
berlintaxi said:
This Be The Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They f
k you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
+1BY PHILIP LARKIN
They f
k you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were f
ked up in their turnBy fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
When I saw the title it was going to post this.
The Shake Of A Bucket By The Bargain Bin
By JB Barrington
The knock at the door
The rattle of a tin
The shake of a bucket
By the bargain bin
What pulls on the poor heartstrings
Also pulls on the poor people
From the cross at the top of the spire
To the wealth beneath the steeple
From local parishioners to PR practitioners
and the clipboard street sales pitch
To where the rich tell the poor to give their money to the poor
That were made poor by the rich
See the glossy ads and clever campaigns
For a celeb spawned heartfelt plea
See the vacant stares of millionaires
Here’s the ad you won’t see on TV………..
“We need to bomb another country
and we need your support
so dig down deep inside those pockets
and pledge what you can’t afford“
It’ll be a great day when our schools and hospitals
Have all the money they need
And Westminster holds its own fun run
To fund its war machine
A star of old sells a wardrobe of clothes
And milks the working man
‘Fans’ regressive tax in sheeps clothing
The man that said he can’t when he can
See the more we give
The more they don’t
And the more we will
The more they won’t
And the more they don’t
The more we do
when cullled and coralled
In a catch 22
It’s a chance to help for those in need
On a double edged sword or knife
They preach to the poor their recourse is a force
That offers a reward in the next life
“If I can help somebody as I pass along
then my living shall not be in vain”
While the hooray Henrys and Henriettas
Quaff the best champagne
Now if you put that pound back in your pocket
You’re a skin-flint a non-caring soul
But misplaced caring to the poor and in need
Is as useful as no care at all
The knock at the door
The rattle of a tin
The shake of a bucket
By the bargain bin
By JB Barrington
The knock at the door
The rattle of a tin
The shake of a bucket
By the bargain bin
What pulls on the poor heartstrings
Also pulls on the poor people
From the cross at the top of the spire
To the wealth beneath the steeple
From local parishioners to PR practitioners
and the clipboard street sales pitch
To where the rich tell the poor to give their money to the poor
That were made poor by the rich
See the glossy ads and clever campaigns
For a celeb spawned heartfelt plea
See the vacant stares of millionaires
Here’s the ad you won’t see on TV………..
“We need to bomb another country
and we need your support
so dig down deep inside those pockets
and pledge what you can’t afford“
It’ll be a great day when our schools and hospitals
Have all the money they need
And Westminster holds its own fun run
To fund its war machine
A star of old sells a wardrobe of clothes
And milks the working man
‘Fans’ regressive tax in sheeps clothing
The man that said he can’t when he can
See the more we give
The more they don’t
And the more we will
The more they won’t
And the more they don’t
The more we do
when cullled and coralled
In a catch 22
It’s a chance to help for those in need
On a double edged sword or knife
They preach to the poor their recourse is a force
That offers a reward in the next life
“If I can help somebody as I pass along
then my living shall not be in vain”
While the hooray Henrys and Henriettas
Quaff the best champagne
Now if you put that pound back in your pocket
You’re a skin-flint a non-caring soul
But misplaced caring to the poor and in need
Is as useful as no care at all
The knock at the door
The rattle of a tin
The shake of a bucket
By the bargain bin
The day we lost our Nation's Rose
Tears we cried like rivers flowed,
The earth stood still
As we laid her to rest,
A day you and I
Will never forget
The people's princess
Who came to see,
The love from a Country
We'd hope she'd lead,
England's beauty
Captured in one sweet soul,
Carried the torch
God rest her soul,
With the gift she had
She'd light up the way,
With a smile to show us a brighter day,
Hearts still full
of the love she gave,
20 years since she laid in her grave
There will never be another like you,
Now a shining star in the midnight sky
I will always remember you,
Princess Diana
As our sweet nation's Rose
Tears we cried like rivers flowed,
The earth stood still
As we laid her to rest,
A day you and I
Will never forget
The people's princess
Who came to see,
The love from a Country
We'd hope she'd lead,
England's beauty
Captured in one sweet soul,
Carried the torch
God rest her soul,
With the gift she had
She'd light up the way,
With a smile to show us a brighter day,
Hearts still full
of the love she gave,
20 years since she laid in her grave
There will never be another like you,
Now a shining star in the midnight sky
I will always remember you,
Princess Diana
As our sweet nation's Rose
The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk
I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, Friendship, and Love
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth;
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more:
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-wingèd arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, Friendship, and Love
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth;
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more:
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-wingèd arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
anonymous said:
[redacted]
On one of our trips to Cornwall last year, while walking the Coast Path we happened across a bench on the Rumps near Polzeath. Reading the stone tablet set onto the rocks, we realised that this poem was written there. We pulled it up on a phone and read it out loud, it was quite a spiritual and thought provoking experience, to sit there in the spot where it was written, reading it and thinking of those lost. "Late Lament" Graeme Edge
Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day's useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?
Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day's useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven - William Butler Yeats
He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' 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 upon my dreams.
The poem out of Equilibrium (movie) which Sean Bean partially recites. It's stuck with me since then.
He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' 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 upon my dreams.
The poem out of Equilibrium (movie) which Sean Bean partially recites. It's stuck with me since then.
Sir John Betjeman - A Russell Flint
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbOj-8623sU
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty
As you came down the Garrick stair,
Grey-green eyes like the turbulent Atlantic
And floppy schoolgirl hair.
I could see you in a Sussex teashop,
Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,
Turning over as firelight shone on brassware,
Last year's tea-stained Vogues.
I could see you as a large-eyed student,
Frowning as you tried to learn,
Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,
Thrillingly kind and stern.
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;
Yet when you spoke to me,
You were calm and gentle as a rock pool
Waiting, warm, for the sea.
Wave on wave,
I plunged in them to meet you -
In wave on wave I drown;
Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security
Hold me when the tide goes down.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbOj-8623sU
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty
As you came down the Garrick stair,
Grey-green eyes like the turbulent Atlantic
And floppy schoolgirl hair.
I could see you in a Sussex teashop,
Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,
Turning over as firelight shone on brassware,
Last year's tea-stained Vogues.
I could see you as a large-eyed student,
Frowning as you tried to learn,
Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,
Thrillingly kind and stern.
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;
Yet when you spoke to me,
You were calm and gentle as a rock pool
Waiting, warm, for the sea.
Wave on wave,
I plunged in them to meet you -
In wave on wave I drown;
Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security
Hold me when the tide goes down.
threespires said:
Sir John Betjeman - A Russell Flint
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbOj-8623sU
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty
As you came down the Garrick stair,
Grey-green eyes like the turbulent Atlantic
And floppy schoolgirl hair.
I could see you in a Sussex teashop,
Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,
Turning over as firelight shone on brassware,
Last year's tea-stained Vogues.
I could see you as a large-eyed student,
Frowning as you tried to learn,
Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,
Thrillingly kind and stern.
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;
Yet when you spoke to me,
You were calm and gentle as a rock pool
Waiting, warm, for the sea.
Wave on wave,
I plunged in them to meet you -
In wave on wave I drown;
Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security
Hold me when the tide goes down.
When asked not long before he died if he had any regrets, he replied: "Yes. I wish I'd had more sex!"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbOj-8623sU
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty
As you came down the Garrick stair,
Grey-green eyes like the turbulent Atlantic
And floppy schoolgirl hair.
I could see you in a Sussex teashop,
Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,
Turning over as firelight shone on brassware,
Last year's tea-stained Vogues.
I could see you as a large-eyed student,
Frowning as you tried to learn,
Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,
Thrillingly kind and stern.
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;
Yet when you spoke to me,
You were calm and gentle as a rock pool
Waiting, warm, for the sea.
Wave on wave,
I plunged in them to meet you -
In wave on wave I drown;
Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security
Hold me when the tide goes down.
A terrific, unpretentious poet with a wonderful vocal delivery. Evocative of my youth, certainly.
For me, another evocative and heart warming poem from Mike Harding:
Bring on the Rosy-Cheeked Girls
Bring on the rosy-cheeked girls
The smiling ones, the light-footed dancers,
Those that sing with their eyes,
Those with the warm breasts and soft hands,
Those that look deep in the eyes,
Not at the garbage of garb.
Bring on the dark, the fair, the brown as a berry,
Bring them all on with their wet laughing mouths,
The fat, the thin, the short, and the lanky,
But let them be filled of life as a pod with peas,
Let them feel as company comfortable as an old friendly jacket,
young or old,
And most of all . . . let them be merry.
And then take all the others,
All the tight-lipped, crab-faced, mewling, mithering,
Niggardly, sour-faced, crab-mouthed,
Cold-titted, tight-arced, moaning,
Sullen, frozen-legs-together,
Money-grubbing b
hes, andTake them and heap them together
On some blear and dreary moor
In the howling sleet
And moaning drizzle of November. . . and leave them there,
For it deserves them And they each other.
Then bring on the lads,
The smiling lads,
The open-handed, shoulder-to-the-wheel lads,
Lame dogs helped over stiles lads,
Take a pint, stand a corner lads,
Good laughing lads,
Lads with a quart of life in their hands
And eyes that look straight . . .
Bring on the tall, the short, the long,
The runners, the walkers,
Those that can hammer, those that can turn out a song
Bring on the fat, the thin, the bald and the hairy,
Young or old,
So long as they sup life by the gallon . . .
So long as they’re merry.
Then take all the others,
The sly-eyed, twisty-mouthed grabbers and fumblers,
The shifty-faced, two-tongued, leadswinging lizards,
The snotty-nosed, mardy-arsed bullies
And false friends . . .
And stick them up to their necks
In the foulest stink-pot of an old bog
You can find . . . head down . ..
And leave them there.
But for God’s sake not too near
That moor with all the old w
es . . .If they meet up and breed
We’re all buggered.
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don’t!
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
Wenlock Edge was umbered,
And bright was Abdon Burf,
And warm between them slumbered
The smooth green miles of turf;
A.E. Housman
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don’t!
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
Wenlock Edge was umbered,
And bright was Abdon Burf,
And warm between them slumbered
The smooth green miles of turf;
A.E. Housman
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