Share a Poem! (for readers of secular lit.)

Platinum Member Joined: May 07 2008 Posts: 8963

Oh, shel silverstein, of COURSE! And Dr. Seuss.

The older I get the less I want to read deep, meaningful, expressive, evocative poetry and the more I want to read short, clever, witty, cheerful, satirical, verse.

what I do not want is to be forced to read the average frummy children's books that torture sentences to make the last words of each line rhyme. Ugh.

What does poetry have in common with flattery and lying?
If you can't do it well, don't do it at all.

JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
_________________
If you're gonna be blue, be bright blue!

Diamond Member Joined: May 26 2008 Posts: 2613

anyone know how to find the poem o the ending of the poem which begins "I shouted as loud as I could shout.,. . I googled once and did not find anything useful

Gold Member Joined: Nov 07 2005 Posts: 1106

Platinum Member Joined: Nov 04 2008 Posts: 7946

This one's mine.

Thank You Hashem for Your concession
To my weakness and bad habits;
Internet is my obsession –
Addicted humans are merely rabbits.

Thank You for writers and their books
To help us while the hours away,
Caught up in the narrative till it looks
The sun will set too soon that day.

Karlsson, Caleb Williams, Huck Finn
Come alive in my little room
And the real world around grows dim
As they weave their plots of adventure and doom.

Thank You Hashem for Your kindness unceasing,
For making us take a break.
During the week our worries increasing –
On Shabbat from the dream we awake.

For now we are limited in our ways
And every year is a fight.
Oh hasten the time when all of our days
Will be spent in Your joy and delight!
_________________
We must love one another or die.

I Have no idea who wrote this but I liked it so thought I would share

Why God Made Little Boys

God made the world out of His dreams

Of magic mountains, oceans and streams,

Prairies and plans and wooded land,

Then paused and thought “I need someone to stand

On top of mountains, to conquer the seas,

Explore the plains and climb the trees.

Someone to start out small and to grow,

Sturdy, strong as a tree…” And so,

He created boys, full of spirit and fun,

To explore and conquer, to romp and run.

With dirty faces and banged up chins,

With courageous hearts and boyish grins.

When He had completed the task He’d begun

He surely said “A job well done”.
_________________

Active Poster Joined: Jul 28 2008 Posts: 92

I'm enjoying this thread! Brought to mind this poem I loved as a kid...

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts...
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall...
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late...
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!

-Shel Silverstein

Posted: Fri, Jul 10 2009, 10:54 am Post subject:

I love poetry! I cant believe no amothers posted this one, my fav as a kid!

"I cannot go to school today"
By: Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.

And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There's a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is .............. Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Gold Member Joined: Apr 23 2009 Posts: 1309 Location: USA

I love this thread I LOVE POETRY.

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow,
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast desending
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below,
But nothing dear can move me,
I will not, cannot go.

Gold Member Joined: Apr 23 2009 Posts: 1309 Location: USA

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.

Or does it exploade?

by: langston hughes

Gold Member Joined: Apr 23 2009 Posts: 1309 Location: USA

Tears fall in my heart
as rain falls on the town,
what is this numb hurt
that enters my heart?

Ah, the soft sounds of rain
on the roofs, on the ground!
To a dulled heart there came,
ah, the song of the rain!

Tears without reason
in the disheartened heart.
What? no trace of treason?
This grief's without reason.

It's far the worst pain
to never know why
without love or disdaid
my heart has such pain!

by: paul verlaine

Gold Member Joined: Apr 23 2009 Posts: 1309 Location: USA

one more and I'll be done (for now)

this one I love

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes-
This depth we pay to human guile,
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriads subtleties.

Why should the world be otherwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nah, let them only see us, while
We wear our mask.

We smile but, O great g-d, our cries
to thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile,
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask

Cloony The Clown by Shel Silverstein

I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.

The Little Boy and the Old Man by Shel Silverstein (I love this one it is so true)

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

One Inch Tall by Shel Silverstein

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 07 2007 Posts: 10429

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 07 2007 Posts: 10429

Here's the weird thing: Amy Lowell was lesbian and didn't hide it! Who would have thought ? Here's another: even though the poem says expressly that the love interest died in Flanders, I always thought it was about the Civil War. I didn't think they still used swords in WWI.

Arthur Wellesley fought in Flanders in 1794, but wasn't named Duke of Wellington till 1814. Women did wear powdered hair in the late 1700s, and stiff, corseted brocade gowns, and stiffly patterned formal gardens were all the rage at the time. so that part makes sense--but who was the Duke? Ah...the Duke of York. Not the duke of Wellington. Thank you, Google! Now it all makes sense. Miss Lowell was imagining a scene out of history, not out of current events.

But, with a change of costume and scenery, the poem could have been written about
any war at all. As she calls it--"a pattern called a war".

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 07 2007 Posts: 10429

T. A. Daly.

Mia Carlotta

GIUSEPPE, da barber, ees greata for "mash,"
He gotta da bigga, da blacka mustache,
Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash.

W'enevra Giuseppe ees walk on da street,
Da peopla dey talka, "how nobby! how neat! 5
How softa da handa, how smalla da feet."

He raisa hees hat an' he shaka hees curls,
An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls;
O! many da heart of da seelly young girls
He gotta. 10
Yes, playnta he gotta�
But notta
Carlotta!

Giuseppe, da barber, he maka da eye,
An' lika da steam engine puffa an' sigh, 15
For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by.

Carlotta she walka weeth nose in da air,
An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away stare,
As eef she no see dere ees som'body dere.

Giuseppe, da barber, he gotta da cash, 20
He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga mustache,
He gotta da seely young girls for da "mash,"
But notta�
You bat my life, notta�
Carlotta. 25
I gotta!

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 07 2007 Posts: 10429

Edwin Arlington Robinson.

Richard Corey

WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed, 5
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich�yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace: 10
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, 15
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Platinum Member Joined: Nov 04 2008 Posts: 7946

Read it out loud!

Pied Beauty
Gerard Manley Hopkins

GLORY be to God for dappled things�
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches� wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced�fold, fallow, and plough;
And �ll tr�des, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.