Meet the Other Phone. A phone that grows with your child.

Meet the Other Phone.
A phone that grows with your child.

Buy now

Please or to access all these features

AIBU?

Share your dilemmas and get honest opinions from other Mumsnetters.

To ask for your favourite poem

194 replies

user365241987 · 22/02/2018 22:31

Just because. Do post the words as well if you can...

OP posts:
Thread gallery
23
Tidy2018 · 23/02/2018 19:59

Brian blessed reading lollington downs to patrick moore from infinite monkey cage space tourism june 2013 macefield

MidniteScribbler · 23/02/2018 20:04

Alone, Edgar Allen Poe

Another vote for this. I found it many years ago and learnt it by heart. It pretty much sums me up.

Andrewofgg · 23/02/2018 20:08

Macaulay: A Jacobite's Epitaph

To my true king I offer'd free from stain
Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
For him I languish'd in a foreign clime,
Gray-hair'd with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
Beheld each night my home in fever'd sleep,
Each morning started from the dream to weep;
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
The resting-place I ask'd, an early grave.

O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
From that proud country which was once mine own,
By those white cliffs I never more must see,
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

TheBrilliantMistake · 23/02/2018 20:18

Victor by W.H. Auden

Victor was a little baby,
Into this world he came;
His father took him on his knee and said:
'Don't dishonour the family name.'

Victor looked up at his father
Looked up with big round eyes:
His father said; 'Victor, my only son,
Don't you ever ever tell lies.'

Victor and his father went riding
Out in a little dog-cart;
His father took a Bible from his pocket and read;
'Blessed are the pure in heart.'

It was a frosty December
It wasn't the season for fruits;
His father fell dead of heart disease
While lacing up his boots.

It was a frosty December
When into his grave he sank;
His uncle found Victor a post as cashier
In the Midland Countries Bank.

It was a frosty December
Victor was only eighteen,
But his figures were neat and his margins were straight
And his cuffs were always clean.

He took a room at the Peveril,
A respectable boarding-house;
And Time watched Victor day after day
As a cat will watch a mouse.

The clerks slapped Victor on the shoulder;
'Have you ever had woman?' they said,
'Come down town with us on Saturday night.'
Victor smiled and shook his head.

The manager sat in his office,
Smoked a Corona cigar;
Said: 'Victor's a decent fellow but
He's too mousy to go far'.

Victor went up to his bedroom,
Set the alarum bell;
Climbed into bed, took his Bible and read
Of what happened to Jezebel.

It was the First of April,
Anna to the Peveril came;
Her eyes, her lips, her breasts, her hips
And her smile set men aflame.

She looked as pure as a schoolgirl
On her First Communion day,
Both her kisses were like the best champagne
When she gave herself away.

It was the Second of April,
She was wearing a coat of fur;
Victor met her upon the stairs
And he fell in love with her.

The first time he made his proposal,
She laughed, said 'I'll never wed';
The second time there was a pause,
Then she smiled and shook her head.

Anna looked into her mirror,
Pouted and gave a frown;
Said: 'Victor's as dull as a wet afternoon
But I've got to settle down.'

The third time he made his proposal,
As they walked by the Reservoir,
She gave him a kiss like a blow on the head,
Said: 'You are my heart's desire.'

They were married early in August,
She said: 'Kiss me, you funny boy';
Victor took her in his arms and said:
'O my Helen of Troy.'

It was the middle of September,
Victor came to the office one day;
He was wearing a flower in his buttonhole,
He was late but he was gay.

The clerks were talking of Anna,
The door was just ajar,
One said: 'Poor old Victor, but where ignorance
Is bliss, etcetera.'

Victor stood still as a statue,
The door was just ajar;
One said: 'God, what fun I had with her
In that Baby Austin car.'

Victor walked out into the High Street.
He walked to the edge of town;
He came to the allotments and the rubbish heaps
And his tears came tumbling down.

Victor looked up at the mountains,
The mountains all covered with snow;
Cried: 'Are you pleased with me, Father?'
And the answer came back, 'No.'

Victor came to the forest,
Cried: 'Father, will she ever be true?'
And the oaks and the beeches shook their heads
And they answered: 'Not to you.'

Victor came to the meadow
Where the wind went sweeping by;
Cried: 'O, Father, I love her so',
But the wind said: 'She must die.'

Victor came to the river
Running so deep and so still;
Crying: 'O Father, what shall I do?'
And the river answered: 'Kill.'

Anna was sitting at table,
Drawing cards from a pack;
Anna was sitting at table
Waiting for her husband to come back.

It wasn't the Jack of Diamonds
Not the joker she drew first;
It wasn't the King or Queen of Hearts
But the Ace of Spades reversed.

Victor stood in the doorway,
He didn't utter a word;
She said: 'What's the matter, darling?'
He behaved as if he hadn't heard.

There was a voice in his left ear,
There was a voice in his right,
There was a voice at the base of his skull
Saying: 'She must die tonight.'

Victor picked up a carving-knife,
His features were set and drawn,
Said: 'Anna, it would have been better for you
If you had not been born.'

Anna jumped up from the table,
Anna started to scream,
But Victor came slowly after her
Like a horror in a dream.

She dodged behind the sofa,
She tore down a curtain rod,
But Victor followed her up the stairs
And he caught her at the top.

He stood there above the body,
He stood there holding the knife;
And the blood ran down the stairs and sang:
'I'm the Resurrection and the Life.'

They tapped Victor on the shoulder,
They took him away in a van;
He sat as quite as a lump of moss
Saying: 'I am the Son of Man.'

Victor sat in a corner
Making a woman of clay,
Saying: 'I am Alpha and Omega, I shall come
To judge the earth some day.'

SophieJo · 23/02/2018 20:41

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

More Henry Scott-Holland

SweetestThing · 23/02/2018 20:44

Memorial

Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies.
No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain
but has her death in it.
The silence of her dying sounds through
the carousel of language, it's a web
on which laughter stitches itself. How can my hand
clasp another's when between them
is that thick death, that intolerable distance?

She grieves for my grief. Dying, she tells me
that bird dives from the sun, that fish
leaps into it. No crocus is carved more gently
than the way her dying
shapes my mind. – But I hear, too,
the other words,
black words that make the sound
of soundlessness, that name the nowhere
she is continuously going into.

Ever since she died
she can't stop dying. She makes me
her elegy. I am a walking masterpiece,
a true fiction
of the ugliness of death.
I am her sad music.

Norman MacCaig

Meandmy4 · 23/02/2018 20:48

Footprints x

To ask for your favourite poem
RoseWhiteTips · 23/02/2018 21:12

Shooting Stars
by Carol Ann Duffy

After I no longer speak they break our fingers
to salvage my wedding ring. Rebecca Rachel Ruth
Aaron Emmanuel David, stars on all our brows
Beneath the gaze of men with guns. Mourn for our daughters,

upright as statues, brave. You would not look at me.
You waited for the bullet. Fell. I say, Remember.
Remember those appalling days which make the world
forever bad. One saw I was alive. Loosened

his belt. My bowels opened in a ragged gape of fear.
Between the gap of corpses I could see a child.
The soldiers laughed. Only a matter of days separate
this from acts of torture now. They shot her in the eye.

How would you prepare to die, on a perfect April evening
with young men gossiping and smoking by the graves?
My bare feet felt the earth and urine trickled
down my legs. I heard the click. Not yet. A trick.

After immense suffering someone takes tea on the lawn.
After the terrible moans a boy washes his uniform.
After the history lesson children run to their toys the world
turns in its sleep the spades shovel soil Sara Ezra…

Sister, if seas part us, do you not consider me?
Tell them I sang the ancient psalms at dusk
inside the wire and strong men wept. Turn thee
unto me with mercy, for I am desolate and lost.

LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:07

Ahh NaturWilde, you took mine with Mary Oliver's Wild Geese! So will be back with some more of my faves...

LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:17

September Tessa Hooley

To ask for your favourite poem
LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:18

Supper by Garrison Keillor

To ask for your favourite poem
LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:19

Evening Concert Saint-Chappelle John Updike

To ask for your favourite poem
LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:22

BC:AD U.A Fanthorpe. Love this depiction of the moment of the birth of Jesus - even though I'm not a believer, I can still appreciate the beauty of this poem, especially the last few lines.

To ask for your favourite poem
LashingsOfHamAndGingerBeer · 23/02/2018 22:25

I Will Be Here by Steven Curtis Chapman. My cousin had it at his wedding.

To ask for your favourite poem
MascaraSnake · 23/02/2018 22:27

I froze your tears and made a dagger,
and stabbed it in my cock forever.
It stays there like Excalibur,
Are you my Arthur?
Say you are.

Take this cool dark steeled blade,
Steal it, sheath it, in your lake.
I’d drown with you to be together.
Must you breathe? Cos I need Heaven.

BarbarianMum · 23/02/2018 22:34

Come now my child,
If we were planning to harm you,
Would we be lurking here by the path in the very darkest part of the forest?
Kenneth Patchen

Wonderfully creepy.

frasier · 23/02/2018 22:39

MascaraSnake Grin

MascaraSnake · 23/02/2018 22:48

👍

goose1964 · 23/02/2018 22:49

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dylan Thomas

Hygge · 23/02/2018 22:53

I love this poem, but I don't think they were ever engaged really, and they definitely didn't marry.

A Subalterns Love Song by John Betjeman

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Hygge · 23/02/2018 23:03

And this one

I would put the words here but I think you have to hear her read it, she's just wonderful. It's best to hear it in her voice.

theuntameableshrew · 23/02/2018 23:05

I’ve always loved Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti which ends

"For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands."

MrsSchadenfreude · 23/02/2018 23:06

I know the truth--give up all other truths!
No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle.
Look--it is evening, look, it is nearly night:
what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals?
The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we
who never let each other sleep above it.

By Marina Tsvetayeva

SparrowandNightingale · 23/02/2018 23:07

tidy2018 good choice.

WhiteVixen · 23/02/2018 23:30

Ahhh I had Desiderata all copied ready to post but @ferociousindependentandsquishy beat me to it...

Swipe left for the next trending thread