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ASF Poetry Thread

Discussion in 'General Chat' started by RichKid, Oct 15, 2005.

  1. RichKid

    RichKid PlanYourTrade > TradeYourPlan

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    Jun 18, 2004
    Thought I'd share one of my favourite poems, being in a time of war, it may help remind us of how terrible it is indeed for the so many thousands that do battle around the globe. If it is so difficult for the combatants imagine how the civilians must be feeling. War is futile. Any comments or observations are welcome, let's keep this thread on poetry and ideas if at all possible.

  2. Julia

    Julia In Memoriam

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    May 10, 2005

    I read your war poem yesterday and the images it evokes have stayed with me all day.
    Thank you for posting it.

    Usually I think we regard the most enduring poetry as that which is as powerful as the one you've contributed. However, I think there's also a place for the wry observation, or whimsy.

    Below are a few of my old favourites from I think the 60's and 70's.

    "A nun in a supermarket
    standing in the queue
    Wondering what it's like
    To buy groceries for two"

    - Adrian Henri

    " At Lunchtime - A story of Love"

    When the bus stopped suddenly to avoid
    damaging a mother and child in the road,
    the young lady in the greenhat sitting opposite
    was thrown across me, and not being one to
    miss an opportunity i started to makelove
    with all my body.

    At first she resisted saying that it was too early in the morning and too soon
    after breakfast and that anyway she found
    me repulsive. But when i explained that
    this being a nuclearage, the world was going
    to end at lunchtime, she took off her greenhat,
    put her busticket in her pocket
    and joined in the exercise.

    The buspeople, and there were many of them,
    were shockedandsurprised and amused and annoyed, but when the
    word got around that the world was coming to an end at
    lunchtime, they put their pride in their pockets with their bustickets and
    madelove one with the other. And even the busconductor,
    being over, climbed into the cab and struck up some sort of
    relationship with the driver.

    Thatnight, on the bus coming home,
    wewere all alittle embarrassed, especially me and the younglady
    in the greenhat, and we all started to say in different ways howhasty
    and foolish we had been. Butthen, always having been a bitofalad, i stood up and said it was a pity that the world didn;t nearly end every lunchtime and
    that we could always pretend. And then it happened.......

    Quick asa crash we all changed partners
    and soon the bus was acquiver with white
    mothballbodies doing naughty things.

    And the next day
    And everyday
    In everybus
    In everystreet
    In everytown
    In everycountry

    people pretended that the world was coming
    to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't
    Although in a way it has.

    - Roger McGough
    (the punctuation and spacing are Roger's)


    "Sad Aunt Madge"

    As the cold winter evenings drew near
    Aunt Madge used to put extra blankets
    over the furniture, to keep it warm and cosy.
    Mussolini was her lover, and life
    was an oufoffocus rosy-tinted spectacle.

    but neurological experts
    with kind blueeyes
    and gentle voices
    small white hands
    and large Rolls Royces
    said that electric shock treatment should
    dothe trick
    it did...

    today after 15 years of therepeutic tears
    and an awful lot of ratepayers' shillings
    down the hospital meter
    sad Aunt Madge
    no longer tucks up the furniture
    before kssing it goodnight
    and admits
    that her affair with Mussolini
    clearly was not right
    particularly in the light
    of her recently announced engagement
    to the late pope."

    - Roger McGough

    "Party Piece"

    He said:
    Let's stay here
    Now this place has emptied
    & make gentle pornography with one another,
    While the partygoers go out
    & the dawn creeps in
    Like a stranger.

    Let us not hesitate
    Over what we know
    Or over how cold this place has become,
    But let's unclip our minds
    And let tumble free
    The mad, mangled crocodiles of love.

    So they did,
    Right there among the woodbines and guinness stains,
    And later he caught a bus and she a train
    And all there was between them then
    was rain."

    - Brian Patten


  3. wayneL

    wayneL Rotaredom

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    Jul 9, 2004
    Obvious suspects for any Aussie are poem from Banjo Patterson. A couple of my fav's are "Clancy of the Overflow" and "The Man From Snowy River"...both of which I can recite off by heart:

  4. It's Snake Pliskin

    It's Snake Pliskin

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    Apr 21, 2005

    I'm not much of a poetry man I must admit. However I do like The Man From Snowy River.

    I'll have a go at a poem for you all.

    I'm a poet and I don't know it
    I like red and bread
    Trees are green and so is grass,
    though when on fire, black
    Chinese food and Indian food really kicks arse,
    it's much better than the grass
    I didn't trade Babcock and Brown this year, oh no I didn't
    Vegemite is black, the same as burn't grass
    But if you don't eat it your mother will kick you in the arse
    I must go now to feed my cow, Oh yes yes yes,
    the stock market is all but a guess! :eek:
  5. Bronte

    Bronte Trading The SPI for 20+ years

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    Jul 30, 2005
    Excellent thread RichKid,
    My contribution:

    SEA FEVER by John Masefield

    I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
    And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
    And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

    I must go down to the seas again,for the call of the running tide
    Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
    And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
    And the flung spray and the blown spume,and the sea-gulls crying.

    I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
    To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
    And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
    And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

    Submitted to memory many years ago.....
  6. Julia

    Julia In Memoriam

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    May 10, 2005

    Thanks, Bronte. Rereading this brought back lots of memories and the pleasant realisation that most of it had actually been committed to my memory also.

  7. Bronte

    Bronte Trading The SPI for 20+ years

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    Jul 30, 2005
    You are welcome Julia
    It is a lovely poem.
  8. GreatPig

    GreatPig Pigs In Space

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    Jul 9, 2004
    I remember that! It was an awful long time ago though (and the world still hasn't ended :D).

    I'm quite a fan of Winnie-the-Pooh poems :p:

    Also by A. A. Milne: BAD SIR BRIAN BOTANY

    And the poem that's stuck with me the most? T.S. Eliot's McCavity The Mystery Cat, which we learnt in primary school and had to recite at our end-of-year function one time:

    And finally, who can forget The Owl and the Pussycat, by Edward Lear. For this one I'll just provide a link, since it includes a few drawings.

  9. Double Six

    Double Six

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    Oct 14, 2005
    Just a taster .....

    To see a world in a grain of sand
    And a heaven in a wild flower,
    Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
    And eternity in an hour.

  10. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    Here's a web link to a poem - plenty of them around these days.
    "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost - the concept fascinates me ;) plenty of relevance to trading there too lol.

    PS Adam Lindsay Gordon is a favourite of mine as well -
    THere's a poem "Wolf and Hound" at http://www.imagesaustralia.com/adamlindsaygordon.htm
    Its a true story of how he captures a bushranger "in his lair".
    I've posted excerpts from his poems about horseriding elsewhere around here. This is not necessarily one of his better poems - but shows the depth of his experience :) - a boxer as well - and he once arrested a man by pretending a stick pushed into his back was a piston ( he had forgotten his lol). Brave dude .
    "ALG: He arrived in Adelaide in 1853 he was 20 years old and within a few days he joined the South Australian Mounted Police. Two years later in 1855 he resigned and became a horse breaker and steeplechase rider. He soon gained a reputation as being the best and most daring non-professional steeplechase rider in the colony."[/QUOTE]

    PS Thanks Joe and Rich for setting me straight - pointing me to this thread - I just knew if I started a new thread I'd be doing the wrong thing lol. (Call it premonition - or call it 100% success rate in screwing up on those sort of things lol.
  11. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    I tried to mimic Robert Frost with this one - at least the concept of the road not taken - BTW, the concept wasnt original when Frost wrote his either.


    To walk the paths again my friend, to walk the paths again,
    To take the uphill path my friend, instead of through the glen,
    Or maybe find some truth my friend, on why the paths of men
    Gang aft’ a'glay, as oft' they do, it's all beyond our ken.
    And would we choose the self-same path again?
    If "here and now" was somehow "there and then"?

    Sometimes when I am half in trance I retrace steps of old,
    When I was young and liked to dance, and brasher praps and bold,
    When there were risky things I chanced which I let Fate unfold,
    And some delivered cactus plants, where they had promised gold.
    Ahh, paths can get so complex, even cold,
    And much is lost to moss, and much to mould.

    To walk some different pathways chaps, or follow different yearns,
    To set a different campfire praps, without so many burns,
    To make a better damper with the skills of one who learns,
    To sidestep indigestion traps and other like concerns.
    Ideally - using "hindsight maps" - return
    And make the right decision at each turn.

    Life's like a dodgem car careering, foot flat to the floor,
    And little time to "twig" the steering, taking hits galore,
    And doors have opened left and right, and options by the score,
    ……But …I have used THIS path my friends,
    THIS set of doors around THESE bends
    And there's NO way doors come again,
    - And I'm THIS path, - And I'm THESE doors.
    - And I'm THESE strengths and I'm THESE flaws
    - And I'm THESE footprints through the moors
    - And I'm effect; and I am cause.
  12. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    I guess many remember the poem "Beth Gelert" - or "Gelert" as per the following webpage:- i believe it means "faithful Gelert" in Welsh, but I might be wrong. This webpage even has a photo of Gelert ;) which is interesting because the poet died in 1834 ;) It also seems to have the option of hearing it read to you. (not that Ive cracked that bit of technology yet, lol)

    Wikipedia >> "William Robert Spencer (1769 - 1834), poet, educated at Harrow School and the University of Oxford. He belonged to the Whig set of Charles James Fox and Sheridan. He wrote graceful vers de société, made translations from Bürger, and is best remembered by his well-known ballad of Gelert. After a life of extravagance he died in poverty in Paris."

    yet I find elsewhere that "He published several books relating to missionary work in India; on his return to England in 1849 he was appointed assistant to the bishop of Bath and Wells, and in 1860 became chancellor of St Paul's Cathedral" - So what I want to know is "who says that was a life of extravagence" lol. -maybe he liked to finish off the altar wine singlehandedly.

    "He was an accomplished writer of "occasional" verse, which was warmly praised by Scott, by Christopher North and by Byron, who placed him in the same rank as Moore, Rogers and Campbell" I never knew Roger Moore wrote poetry!


    An excerpt :- ( but I wont tell you the ending :- bloody brilliant )
    But if you love dogs - this one is a must. (imho) , cheers

    Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal seat,
    His truant Gelert he espied Bounding his lord to greet. (probably wagging his tail ?)

    But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;
    The hound all o'er was smeared with gore; His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
  13. wayneL

    wayneL Rotaredom

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    Jul 9, 2004
    I am going to speak to Joe to see if we can name 2020 as "Official ASF Poet".

    Whadaya think 20?
  14. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    THe following is a true story - I met Patch and her owners at the vet's where I had taken my dog for something I thought was important - but unlike them I left with my dog beside me, and much sobered by the experience. I wrote this for them, not that I pretend it has merit - but some may be able to relate to it. When people are mourning they appreciate any simple thought irrespective of technical or artistic merit ( imho).

    (A true story - New Year’s Day 2004.)

    They live in the bush on ten acres unsawn, Where the lower Nepean tracks,
    And the house is a refuge surrounded by lawn, With a fence where the wilderness backs,
    And the summer was hot and the dogs were all sleeping - The noted exception was Patch,
    Who was barking excitedly “here boss !!” and leaping, Disturbing the televised match.

    The man of the house in a mood opaque, Came out to review the commotion,
    And there he discovered she’d bailed up a snake, Which approached the house with its potion,
    And SNAKE went for MAN!!! - so DOG went for SNAKE!!! And wife in a panic called “PATCCHHHHH !!!!
    Come here girl, My God!! Inside!! For your sake !! Please, dear – this heathen despatch.!!”

    He circled the thing like boxers in ring, And twice it coiled back and struck,
    He jumped for the spade which he knew he had lain In back of the old pick-up truck,
    With one short sharp blow he let the snake know Its number was definitely up,
    But now – to the dog – my God!, the dog! Who had loved them since she was a pup.

    They phoned and they watched for an hour or two, She followed and licked their hand,
    They prayed as she circled beside his shoe - They knelt in the hourglass sand.
    A small clue that things weren’t all right – and sad - A hint of thick fleam in a cough -
    And her eyes looked up, with a “help me Dad – For my breathing gets just a bit rough”.

    They drove and they dreamed “may the the dog be unstung”, But the dog grew progressively weak,
    She sat in one place and bled in one lung, And licked them both on each cheek.
    The vet had a sigh, and a kindly lance, And offered to soften the bill -
    But softly she left us, her last gentle glance, Protective and loving still.

    THAT’s why we call them “Man’s best friend” - THAT’s why they sleep on the hearth,
    And those warm echoed bonds so bountifully mend Through the years as they sleep in our heart.
    THAT’s why we treasure their every pricked ear As they “walk the watch” up the street
    Cos they teach us love’s rhythms, just they can hear - And they’re here to help give us that beat.

    So many shared smiles, yet diverse our styles, Let’s hope paths convergent meet.
  15. wayneL

    wayneL Rotaredom

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    Jul 9, 2004
    Lovely work 20/20....and I think I got sand in my eye....
  16. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    Lol spoken like a true dog lover Wayne ;)
    Now if you were a cat lover you'd be throwing tomatoes lol ( or is it tomatos ? - mmm have to ask Dan Qualye lol)

    PS - I can't tell you how much I'd like to read others ideas of poetry favourites btw. lol. ;)

    PS I really liked the Great Pig's post below
    "I am Sir Brian!" (sper-lash)
    "I am Sir Brian!" (sper-losh!)
    "I am Sir Brian, as bold as a lion -
    Is anyone else for a wash?"
    lol - funny as!
  17. new girl

    new girl

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    Jul 6, 2006


    He should also be allowed to bend the rules a bit like ramping because he does it with a 2020 style.

    You know life is not fair, smart, great sense of humor and a poet?

  18. Dukey


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    Aug 4, 2006
    Here's one of my all time favourites, from the back catalogues of the coolest of cats :cool: : Bob Dylan ...
    Of course songs are just rythmic poems....
    Dylan was and is greatly influence by Verlaine and Rambaud; and of course Woody Guthrie, Hank Williams and Many others. Robert Frost too i think.

    One Too Many Mornings (1964)

    Down the street the dogs are barkin'
    And the day is a-gettin' dark.
    As the night comes in a-fallin',
    The dogs 'll lose their bark.
    An' the silent night will shatter
    From the sounds inside my mind,
    For I'm one too many mornings
    And a thousand miles behind.

    From the crossroads of my doorstep,
    My eyes they start to fade,
    As I turn my head back to the room
    Where my love and I have laid.
    An' I gaze back to the street,
    The sidewalk and the signs,
    And I'm one too many mornings
    An' a thousand miles behind.

    It's a restless hungry feeling
    That don't mean no one no good,
    When ev'rything I'm a-sayin'
    You can say it just as good.
    You're right from your side,
    I'm right from mine.
    We're both just one too many mornings
    An' a thousand miles behind.

    Bob Dylan

    I'm sure we've all been there ... wherevever that is ??!! :eek:

    Thers plenty more where that came from ...http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/
  19. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    Lol - ty New Girl - you left out most of the adjectives I get around here - or at work for that matter lol - "useless, stupid, crazy" lol - but I take refuge in quotes like :-

    A man is infinetly more complex that his own thoughts.
    What be-eth a man if he hath not a little madness ( or a lot lol)
  20. 2020hindsight


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    May 28, 2006
    Gr8 m8 - brilliant - GOTTA be a Robert Frost influence youre right ..

    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.


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