The Poetry Thread: Original poetry, and poetry by others

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

There's a thread like this on the Spiderweb Software forums, so I figured I'd see how it fares here.

Post poetry that you love here, and also post poetry that you've written here! Also, discuss said poetry!

To start off, I really enjoy these two poems, by Edward Lear. One is far more well-known and popular than the other, but both feature the word "bong". "Bong" really is a nice word, and Edward Lear's silly usage long predates the unfortunate definition it has now.

"The Owl and the Pussy Cat"

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

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"There Was An Old Person of Sestri"

There was an old person of Sestri,
Who sate himself down in a vestry,
When they said, 'You are wrong!'--
He merely said 'Bong!'
That repulsive old person of Sestri.

I haven't read very much of Edward Lear's work, but I find what I've read to be brilliant.

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Now, here's a few poems I wrote myself. I've written 27 poems so far, but here's a selection of four of them. Note that I am posting these here only for your own personal reading, and you may not use them for any other purposes besides for your own personal reading under any circumstances, unless and until I've given express written permission otherwise.

That goes for anyone else's poetry that they post here as well. Please respect copyright.

The first one is "Maddish Krulb's Radish Bulb". It's lengthy, and it rhymes. Rhyming is not something most of my poems feature, but this one rhymes. http://awos.ermarian.net/writing/mkrb.html

Next is "Florpishnoy, Dloo-Prum, Jidknarf". You may recognize the title from my Spidweb forums Location message from years ago. I've composed numerous acrostic poems centered around gibberish words, and I'm quite fond of writing them. http://awos.ermarian.net/writing/fdpj.html

Then there's "Poeshrub". It's got no rhyme or meter, like most of my poetry. http://awos.ermarian.net/writing/poeshrub.html

Last is my newest poem, written yesterday. It's called "The Hobbiswipe". http://awos.ermarian.net/writing/hobbiswipe.html

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So what are you waiting for? Poetry, please!

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

Whoops, forgot to edit out the bit about the Spidweb location message when I copy-pasted from my post there. You can ignore that.

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

Seriously, we have NO poetry fans on this forum?

[DavidH]

There was a young man of Cape Horn
Who wished he had never been born -
And he wouldn't have been,
If his father had seen
That the end of the rubber was torn.

A dirty young lady of Cheadle
Gave a dose of the clap to the Beadle;
When she asked, 'does it itch?'
He said, 'yes, you damn bitch,
And it burns like hell fire when I peedle.'

There was a young sailor from Brighton
Who remarked to his girl,
"You're a tight one."
She replied, " 'pon my soul,
You're in the wrong hole;
There's plenty of room in the right one."

There was an old Bishop of Birmingham
Who raped little girls while confirming 'em;
To thundrous applause,
He pulled down their drawers
And pumped the episcopal sperm in 'em.

There was a young lady from Crewe
Who filled her vagina with glue.
She said with a grin,
"If they pay to get in
They can pay to get out of it too!"

From deep in the crypt of St Giles
Came a scream that resounded for miles.
Said the vicar "Good gracious!
Did Brother Ignatius
Forget that the Bishop has piles?"

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

Ha ha! Did you write those? Funny!

I'm glad SOMEONE at least posted in this thread besides me. I was about to say, I'd be more offended by being ignored than by simply being told people aren't interested. Then at least I wouldn't be left hanging.

I'm updating my entire website. Soon the links in the first post of this thread will be broken, but I'll post the link to my entire collection of poetry which will be on my website, with links to a few highlights.

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

For those interested (clearly none of you ) I've uploaded every poem I've written to my Poetry pages on my website. I've highlighted the poems I'm particularly proud of there, although I like almost all of them. There's plenty to read there.

[Rev. Rowan Redbeard]

I haven't spent much time on this thread because I've been waiting until I could give it my full attention. It may be another month or so, but I fully intend to read every word.

[DavidH]

No, ADoS, I didn't write any of those, but I know of a lot more. If you want a serious poem, look at Lepanto by GK Chesterton. Rather a fine, if over-dramatic piece about a major sea battle. Not that I'm all that keen on catholic propaganda, but this one's worth a look.

[black bart]

The Snow

The Snow is white
It's clean and bright
The grimy town looks pretty

It puts to shame
The dirty lanes
And streets of our city

Take a picture
While you can
To remember this snow bright day
All too soon
The soft white snow
Will melt to dirty grey

[DavidH]

Hey, Bart, that's really good. But after 'pretty' you missed a chance for a naughtier rhyme.

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

Nice poem, Bart! I didn't think you had it in you.

[DavidH]

He obviously did, but it's out now.

Here's one of mine - the challenge was to write a limerick about a funeral.

"Let us pray for the dear departed,"
Said the vicar, "for he was good-hearted -
Though he'll still go to hell
For the horrible smell
That the old bugger made when he farted."

[Almighty Doer of Stuff]

[ET, the Extra Terrestrial]

I heard this one read at the coffee house a couple of weeks ago. I had to look it up to read it - the rhyme scheme was driving me mad listening to it, I couldn't figure it out.

The Dancing Seal

When we were building Skua Light--
The first men who had lived a night
Upon that deep-sea Isle--
As soon as chisel touched the stone,
The friendly seals would come ashore;
And sit and watch us all the while,
As though they'd not seen men before;
And so, poor beasts, had never known
Men had the heart to do them harm.
They'd little cause to feel alarm
With us, for we were glad to find
Some friendliness in that strange sea;
Only too pleaed to let them be
And sit as long as they'd a mind
To watch us: for their eyes were kind
Like women's eyes, it seemed to me.
So, hour on hour, they sat: I think
They liked to hear the chisels clink:
And when the boy sang loud and clear,
They scrambled closer in to hear;
And if he whistled sweet and shrill,
The queer beasts shuffled nearer still:
But every sleek and sheeny skin
Was mad to hear his violin.

When, work all over for the day,
He'd take his fiddle down and play
His merry tunes beside the sea,
Their eyes grew brighter and more bright,
And burned and twinkled merrily:
And as I watched them one still night,
And saw their eager sparkling eyes,
I felt those lively seals would rise
Some shiny night ere he could know,
And dance about him, heel and toe,
Unto the fiddle's headdy tune.

And at the rising of the moon,
Half-daft, I took my stand before
A young seal lying on the shore;
And called on her to dance with me.
And it seemed hardly strange when she
Stood up before me suddenly,
And shed her black and sheeny skin;
And smiled, all eager to begin . . .
And I was dancing, heel and toe,
With a young maiden, white as snow,
Unto a crazy violin.

We danced beneath the dancing moon
All night, beside the dancing sea,
With tripping toes and skipping heels:
And all about us friendly seals
Like Christian folk were dancing reels
Unto the fiddle's endless tune
That kept on spinning merrily
As though it never meant to stop.
And never once the snow-white maid
A moment stayed
To take a breath,
Though I was fit to drop:
And while those wild eyes challenged me,
I knew as well as well could be
I must keep step with that young girl,
Though we should dance to death.

Then with a skirl
The fiddle broke:
The moon went out:
The sea stopped dead:
And, in a twinkling, all the rout
Of dancing folk had fled . . .
And in the chill bleak dawn I woke
Upon the naked rock, alone.

They've brought me far from Skua Isle . . .
I laugh to think they do not know
That as, all day I chip the stone,
Among my fellows here inland,
I smell the sea-wrack on the shore . . .
And see her snowy-tossing hand,
And meet again her merry smile . . .
And dream I'm dancing all the while,
I'm dancing ever, heel and toe,
With a seal-maiden, white as snow,
On that moonshiny Island-strand,
For ever and for evermore.
Wilfred Wilson Gibson

[black bart]

Hey, Bart, that's really good. But after 'pretty' you missed a chance for a naughtier rhyme.

I was going to go for naughty...but something came over me and I went all Keats/Betjeman.

It wont happen again!

^Et...is that poem referring to Skua Island, South Georgia and the South Sandwich Isles?