Meet the Other Phone. Only the apps you allow.

Meet the Other Phone.
Only the apps you allow.

Buy now

Please or to access all these features

AIBU?

Share your dilemmas and get honest opinions from other Mumsnetters.

To ask what poem you return to to lift your spirits

143 replies

bobbleb · 19/03/2022 11:46

Just that really. Is there a poem that you love to read which inspires you, cheers you up or lifts your spirits. I will find a link to mine.

OP posts:
Thread gallery
8
risefromyourgrave · 20/03/2022 09:40

@lifeuphigh you are very welcome, I’m always glad to introduce someone new to that poem!

georgarina · 20/03/2022 09:44

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.
But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.

-Laura Gilpin

dexterslockedintheshedagain · 20/03/2022 09:45

@georgarina

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum. But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.

-Laura Gilpin

That is so beautiful. It made my eyes leak.
FastnetLundyRockall · 20/03/2022 10:16

@mamathebest love the Lemn Sissay poem, hadn't seen that before.
I like a nonsense poem myself:
The Jumblies
BYEDWARD LEAR
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned!’
They called aloud, ‘Our Sieve ain’t big,
But we don’t care a button! we don’t care a fig!
In a Sieve we’ll go to sea!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
‘O won’t they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it’s extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, ‘How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
‘O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, ‘How tall they’ve grown!’
For they’ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore;
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And everyone said, ‘If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,—
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!’
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

RestedDevelopment · 20/03/2022 10:57

Little Heartbreak by Wilhelmina Stitch

^A little heartbreak, wan and sore,
was sitting by herself.
A sunbeam slipped around the door and danced upon a shelf.
Though little Heartbreak knew
not why, she ceased, quite suddenly, to cry.
Still little Heartbreak sat alone.
"I never will be whole again," thus said she in her saddest tone, "I never will be healed of pain."
Then, unannounced, a little breeze that had been playing in the
trees, passed softly over Heartbreak's face, and, lo! of tears there was no trace.
Then when a bird began to sing, and
Heartbreak couldn't help but hear, there happened such a curious thing—a silvern echo did appear, enthroned itself in Heartbreak's breast and, like the bird, sang with sweet zest!
So little Heart-break tossed her head and laughed to find the world so fair. "It's true," she cried, "my heart has bled, and I have lived with black despair.
But I can't be quite broken, long—with sunbeams, zephyrs, and birds' song!"^

In my own despair the persistence of weeds making their way between bricks and concrete, bright green shoots, splashy orange faces, elegant little purple trumpets, gave me a deep sense of life and joy always finding a way through even in inhospitable or hostile environments.

Stitch’s poem reminds me of that time and urges me on, not to do great and wonderful things, but to never let any adversity blind me to the multitude of tiny joys that can ultimately help carry me through that adversity.

What a lovely thread this is - thank you @bobbleb

georgarina · 20/03/2022 11:02

@dexterslockedintheshedagain aw I'm so glad :) I love it too. It's called The Two-Headed Calf.

Clawdy · 20/03/2022 11:26

I love The Two-Headed Calf. First saw it on a thread on here years ago, and have never forgotten it, so beautiful.

noodlezoodle · 20/03/2022 18:11

What a wonderful thread. Lots of my favourites have already been shared - Wild Geese by Mary Oliver gives me goosebumps.

I love this one as well:

June 15th, 8pm
by Marge Piercy

The evening comes slowly over us,
over the cardinal and the wren still
feeding, over the swallows suddenly
swooping to snatch up mosquitoes

over the marsh where the green
sedge lately has a tawny tinge
over two yearlings bending long
necks to nibble hillock bushes

finally separate from their doe
mother. A late hawk is circling
against the sky streaked lavender.
The breeze has quieted, vanished

into leaves that still stir a bit
like a cat turning round before
sleep. Distantly a car passes
and is gone. Night gradually

unrolls from the east where
the ocean slides up and down
the sand leaving seaweed tassels:
a perfect world for moments.

HelloPudding · 21/03/2022 19:36

@Saucery - I hadn't seen that Auden poem before. Really like it. Thank you.

Saucery · 21/03/2022 20:15

You’re welcome @HelloPudding. An English teacher gave it to the class and told us to go away and find out what all the references meant. No mean feat in the mid 80s with no internet and a local library with limited opening hours Grin
He did the same with The Waste Land by T S Eliot.
Everyone should have an English teacher who says “Go and see where this piece of writing takes you”.

Bllueblazerblack · 22/03/2022 05:26

Imagine missing out on you
You’re the prompt for everything that I think

You’re the reason I choose to swim and not sink

Your not being here once brought me to the brink

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re the epicentre of my universe

Forever my golden blessing, never a curse

The ultimate reason for writing this verse

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re the person I’ve never met but who I adore

You think you’re average but there’s so much more

I virtually love you to my core

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re my confidante, my secret sharer

You are stronger than most and so much braver

You never judge, just help me do better

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re a beauty within and without

With million dollar cheekbones, a gorgeous pout

Gloriously feisty yet full of self-doubt

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re my guru who I don’t see often enough

Truly honest, what you say is never bluff

You’re a teddy bear, disguised as Gruff

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re a woman of huge style and grace

Ferociously passionate, no hint of game face

You spill your love all over the place

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re my friend of old, of my former life

But you love me still, no trouble or strife

To split us you’d need a damn sharp knife

Imagine missing out on you.

You’re the woman I now see in the mirror

No longer afraid, no fear, no terror

Lessons learned, and all for the better

Imagine missing out on you

K Clarke

Britinme · 12/12/2022 15:39

Old atheist that I am, I come back time and again to this one:

As Kingfishers Catch Fire

BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.

BeatlejuiceBeatlejuiceBeatlejuice · 12/12/2022 16:08

Desiderata
Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

saltinesandcoffeecups · 12/12/2022 16:22

Now here’s a zombie thread I can get behind.

my favorite make me smile poems is just about anything from Shel Silverstein.

I also really love this one:
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

saltinesandcoffeecups · 12/12/2022 16:26

And I just noticed that there is a recording of it being read on this site… poets.org/poem/lake-isle-innisfree That’s kind of cool!

Happyhappyeveryday · 12/12/2022 21:00

@BeatlejuiceBeatlejuiceBeatlejuice I also love this. Never fails to move, comfort and inspire me.

DeepSleepPillowSpray · 12/12/2022 22:04

Hadn’t noticed that this was a zombie thread, and have read through leaking slightly about the eyes.

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Ankleblisters · 12/12/2022 22:21

Invitation by Mary Oliver (or anything by her really)

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air

as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude –
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,

do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

New posts on this thread. Refresh page