Favourite poet /poem

[asanley 1,009]

Frost , Service , D Thomas ,The Bard , Kipling all do it for me , Desiderada by Max Ehrman is probably my favourite .

[scothunter 12,609]

and in poverty,

in health and in sickness.

He will sleep on the cold ground where

the wintery winds blow,

and the snow drives fiercely,

if only he may be near his master's

side. He will kiss the hand that has no

food to offer, he will lick the sores

and wounds that come in encounter with

the roughness of the world. He guards

the sleep of his Pauper master as if he

were a prince.

When all other friends desert,

he remains.

When riches take wings and reputation

falls to pieces, he is as constant in

his love as the sun in it's journey

through the heavens.

If misfortune drives the master forth

an outcast in the world, friendless

and homeless, the faithful dog asks

no higher privilege than that of

accompanying him to guard against

danger, to fight against his enemies.

And when the last scene of all comes,

and death takes the master in it's

embrace, and his body is laid away in

the cold ground, no matter if all other

friends pursue their way, there by the

graveside will the noble dog be found,

his head between his paws, his eyes sad,

but open in alert watchfulness,

faithful and true, even in death.'>The one absolutely unselfish friend that

a man can have in this selfish world,

the one that never deserts him,

the one that never proves ungrateful

or treacherous, is his dog.

A man's dog stands by him in prosperity

and in poverty,

in health and in sickness.

He will sleep on the cold ground where

the wintery winds blow,

and the snow drives fiercely,

if only he may be near his master's

side. He will kiss the hand that has no

food to offer, he will lick the sores

and wounds that come in encounter with

the roughness of the world. He guards

the sleep of his Pauper master as if he

were a prince.

When all other friends desert,

he remains.

When riches take wings and reputation

falls to pieces, he is as constant in

his love as the sun in it's journey

through the heavens.

If misfortune drives the master forth

an outcast in the world, friendless

and homeless, the faithful dog asks

no higher privilege than that of

accompanying him to guard against

danger, to fight against his enemies.

And when the last scene of all comes,

and death takes the master in it's

embrace, and his body is laid away in

the cold ground, no matter if all other

friends pursue their way, there by the

graveside will the noble dog be found,

his head between his paws, his eyes sad,

but open in alert watchfulness,

faithful and true, even in death.

 

always liked this one

[Mooch. 177]

That's a good one Scot, I like it. Who wrote it?

 

I've always liked "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.

http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html

Edited December 7, 2011 by Mooch.

[GrCh 856]

Eminem

[danw 1,748]

keepers Lie Sleeping

 

I had a long-legged lurcher dog,

I kept her in me keeping.

She'd flush out hare, on a moonlit night,

While the gamekeepers lie sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lie sleeping.

 

One day the policeman collared me,

To have me in his keeping.

Your brindle made a moonlit raid,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping.

 

I seen her come out of the wood,

Across the fields a-speeding.

A partridge she had in her mouth,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping.

 

But my dog's black and white you see,

So I'm not for your keeping.

He couldn't see, I'd brindled she,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping.

 

One day his wife fell mortal ill,

He had to give up p'licing.

But I dropped one bird on his door each night,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping.

 

Now she fared so well upon pheasant broth,

Her colour come back creeping.

So long as my bitch roamed abroad,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping,

While the gamekeepers lay sleeping.

 

Now the bitch she pupped and I given him one,

To have in his own keeping.

Now he's left the force, and he roams wi' me,

While the gamekeepers lie sleeping,

While gamekeepers lie sleeping.

Edited December 7, 2011 by danw

[lurchergrrl 1,441]

That's a good one Scot, I like it. Who wrote it?

 

I've always liked "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.

http://www.heise.de/...e/TheRaven.html

 

Was just about to say the exact same thing

[scothunter 12,609]

That's a good one Scot, I like it. Who wrote it?

 

I've always liked "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.

http://www.heise.de/...e/TheRaven.html

-From a speech given by

Former Senator George Graham Vest

of Missouri. Delivered in 1870 when he

was acting as a lawyer in a suit against

a man who had killed the dog of his

client. -- He won the case.

[kenny14 656]

and in poverty,

in health and in sickness.

He will sleep on the cold ground where

the wintery winds blow,

and the snow drives fiercely,

if only he may be near his master's

side. He will kiss the hand that has no

food to offer, he will lick the sores

and wounds that come in encounter with

the roughness of the world. He guards

the sleep of his Pauper master as if he

were a prince.

When all other friends desert,

he remains.

When riches take wings and reputation

falls to pieces, he is as constant in

his love as the sun in it's journey

through the heavens.

If misfortune drives the master forth

an outcast in the world, friendless

and homeless, the faithful dog asks

no higher privilege than that of

accompanying him to guard against

danger, to fight against his enemies.

And when the last scene of all comes,

and death takes the master in it's

embrace, and his body is laid away in

the cold ground, no matter if all other

friends pursue their way, there by the

graveside will the noble dog be found,

his head between his paws, his eyes sad,

but open in alert watchfulness,

faithful and true, even in death.'>The one absolutely unselfish friend that

a man can have in this selfish world,

the one that never deserts him,

the one that never proves ungrateful

or treacherous, is his dog.

A man's dog stands by him in prosperity

and in poverty,

in health and in sickness.

He will sleep on the cold ground where

the wintery winds blow,

and the snow drives fiercely,

if only he may be near his master's

side. He will kiss the hand that has no

food to offer, he will lick the sores

and wounds that come in encounter with

the roughness of the world. He guards

the sleep of his Pauper master as if he

were a prince.

When all other friends desert,

he remains.

When riches take wings and reputation

falls to pieces, he is as constant in

his love as the sun in it's journey

through the heavens.

If misfortune drives the master forth

an outcast in the world, friendless

and homeless, the faithful dog asks

no higher privilege than that of

accompanying him to guard against

danger, to fight against his enemies.

And when the last scene of all comes,

and death takes the master in it's

embrace, and his body is laid away in

the cold ground, no matter if all other

friends pursue their way, there by the

graveside will the noble dog be found,

his head between his paws, his eyes sad,

but open in alert watchfulness,

faithful and true, even in death.

 

always liked this one

 

Some very true words.

 

:cray:

Edited December 7, 2011 by kenny14

[mangy1983 51]

I think some of the best poems are ones that are close to your heart such as this one:

 

 

 

Four long years the storm did rage, we lost so many men

So few survived, so many more will never come home again

Versaille, the Somme and Jutland too, such sacrifice was paid

At last the end, exhausted peace for which the world had prayed

 

T'was time to send the boys back home, the few who had survived

Mothers and wives with aching hearts waiting for them to arrive

The island men were worn and sore and eager to get home

Years end at hand they caught a ship across the Minch's foam

 

If there's a god that cares for us please tell me who can say

Why this has come to pass this darkest new years day

 

That ship was called the Iolaire and she never should have sailed

The cruel hand of fate had won where the guns of war had failed

Within the sight of lights of home Iolaire struck a reef

And tears of joy so quickly turned to darkest hopeless grief

 

Two hundred more were plucked from us with home almost in reach

New Years dreams and christmas presents washed up on the beach

Now the winds will blow and the waves will break upon this lonely shore

Where the ghosts of those young men that died must roam forever more

[mangy1983 51]

This mystery literally occurred on my doorstep, one of the missing lighthouse keepers houses is 8 houses or so away:

 

 

 

THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle

To keep the lamp alight,

As we steer'd under the lee, we caught

No glimmer through the night!

 

A passing ship at dawn had brought

The news; and quickly we set sail,

To find out what strange thing might all

The keepers of the deep-sea light.

 

The winter day broke blue and bright,

With glancing sun and glancing spray,

As o'er the swell our boat made way,

As gallant as a gull in flight.

 

But, as we near'd the lonely Isle;

And look'd up at the naked height;

And saw the lighthouse towering white,

With blinded lantern, that all night

Had never shot a spark

Of comfort through the dark,

So ghastly in the cold sunlight

It seem'd, that we were struck the while

With wonder all too dread for words.

 

And, as into the tiny creek

We stole beneath the hanging crag,

We saw three queer, black, ugly birds--

Too big, by far, in my belief,

For guillemot or shag--

Like seamen sitting bold upright

Upon a half-tide reef:

But, as we near'd, they plunged from sight,

Without a sound, or spurt of white.

 

And still too mazed to speak,

We landed; and made fast the boat;

And climb'd the track in single file,

Each wishing he was safe afloat,

On any sea, however far,

So it be far from Flannan Isle:

And still we seem'd to climb, and climb,

As though we'd lost all count of time,

And so must climb for evermore.

Yet, all too soon, we reached the door--

The black, sun-blister'd lighthouse door,

That gaped for us ajar.

 

As, on the threshold, for a spell,

We paused, we seem'd to breathe the smell

Of limewash and of tar,

Familiar as our daily breath,

As though 'twere some strange scent of death:

And so, yet wondering, side by side,

We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:

And each with black foreboding eyed

The door, ere we should fling it wide,

To leave the sunlight for the gloom:

Till, plucking courage up, at last,

Hard on each other's heels we pass'd

Into the living-room.

 

Yet, as we crowded through the door,

We only saw a table, spread

For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;

But all untouch'd; and no one there:

As though, when they sat down to eat,

Ere they could even taste,

Alarm had come; and they in haste

Had risen and left the bread and meat:

For on the table-head a chair

Lay tumbled on the floor.

We listen'd; but we only heard

The feeble cheeping of a bird

That starved upon its perch:

And, listening still, without a word,

We set about our hopeless search.

 

We hunted high, we hunted low,

And soon ransack'd the empty house;

Then o'er the Island, to and fro,

We ranged, to listen and to look

In every cranny, cleft or nook

That might have hid a bird or mouse:

But, though we searched from shore to shore,

We found no sign in any place:

And soon again stood face to face

Before the gaping door:

And stole into the room once more

As frighten'd children steal.

 

Aye: though we hunted high and low,

And hunted everywhere,

Of the three men's fate we found no trace

Of any kind in any place,

But a door ajar, and an untouch'd meal,

And an overtoppled chair.

 

And, as we listen'd in the gloom

Of that forsaken living-room--

O chill clutch on our breath--

We thought how ill-chance came to all

Who kept the Flannan Light:

And how the rock had been the death

Of many a likely lad:

How six had come to a sudden end

And three had gone stark mad:

And one whom we'd all known as friend

Had leapt from the lantern one still night,

And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:

And long we thought

On the three we sought,

And of what might yet befall.

 

Like curs a glance has brought to heel,

We listen'd, flinching there:

And look'd, and look'd, on the untouch'd meal

And the overtoppled chair.

 

We seem'd to stand for an endless while,

Though still no word was said,

Three men alive on Flannan Isle,

Who thought on three men dead

Edited December 7, 2011 by mangy1983

[Born Hunter 17,959]

I'm sure you have all heard it before but I'll put it up anyway;

 

'Twas early spring in '48 and hounds were running strong,

The rugged hills o'er Kirkstone Pass

Re-echoed with their song.

Well Reynard knew the fate in store

In vain he doubled back,

No trick he knew could avail

'Gainst that famed Ullswater pack.

 

But fate that guards o'er man and beast

Came to succour him.

A cleft stood open in the rocks and Reynard dashed within

But once again did fortune frown.

Death followed in his wake,

For Butcher and Badger they were there

To put his life at stake.

 

What happened then is only guess.

No man will ever know

But the sun went down and darkness fell

With the terriers still below.

For fourteen days and fourteen nights.

The Dalesman fought the fell

With dynamite and crowbar and words unprintable.

 

Mid snow and ice with frost and gale,

They worked, they sweat, they swore.

They turned the inside from that fell

A thousand tons or more

And when it seemed all hope had gone

And fourteen days had passed

There seemed no life in that prison grim

And it seemed no life could last.

 

With crumbling rocks on either side

A final effort made

And Butcher crawled into the light

Alive and undismayed

But Badger paid the price in full,

A price all brave hearts scorn.

So here's a toast from Dalesmen all,

'Good hunting where he's gone'.

Edited December 7, 2011 by Born Hunter

[scothunter 12,609]

This mystery literally occurred on my doorstep, one of the missing lighthouse keepers houses is 8 houses or so away:

 

 

 

THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle

To keep the lamp alight,

As we steer'd under the lee, we caught

No glimmer through the night!

 

A passing ship at dawn had brought

The news; and quickly we set sail,

To find out what strange thing might all

The keepers of the deep-sea light.

 

The winter day broke blue and bright,

With glancing sun and glancing spray,

As o'er the swell our boat made way,

As gallant as a gull in flight.

 

But, as we near'd the lonely Isle;

And look'd up at the naked height;

And saw the lighthouse towering white,

With blinded lantern, that all night

Had never shot a spark

Of comfort through the dark,

So ghastly in the cold sunlight

It seem'd, that we were struck the while

With wonder all too dread for words.

 

And, as into the tiny creek

We stole beneath the hanging crag,

We saw three queer, black, ugly birds--

Too big, by far, in my belief,

For guillemot or shag--

Like seamen sitting bold upright

Upon a half-tide reef:

But, as we near'd, they plunged from sight,

Without a sound, or spurt of white.

 

And still too mazed to speak,

We landed; and made fast the boat;

And climb'd the track in single file,

Each wishing he was safe afloat,

On any sea, however far,

So it be far from Flannan Isle:

And still we seem'd to climb, and climb,

As though we'd lost all count of time,

And so must climb for evermore.

Yet, all too soon, we reached the door--

The black, sun-blister'd lighthouse door,

That gaped for us ajar.

 

As, on the threshold, for a spell,

We paused, we seem'd to breathe the smell

Of limewash and of tar,

Familiar as our daily breath,

As though 'twere some strange scent of death:

And so, yet wondering, side by side,

We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:

And each with black foreboding eyed

The door, ere we should fling it wide,

To leave the sunlight for the gloom:

Till, plucking courage up, at last,

Hard on each other's heels we pass'd

Into the living-room.

 

Yet, as we crowded through the door,

We only saw a table, spread

For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;

But all untouch'd; and no one there:

As though, when they sat down to eat,

Ere they could even taste,

Alarm had come; and they in haste

Had risen and left the bread and meat:

For on the table-head a chair

Lay tumbled on the floor.

We listen'd; but we only heard

The feeble cheeping of a bird

That starved upon its perch:

And, listening still, without a word,

We set about our hopeless search.

 

We hunted high, we hunted low,

And soon ransack'd the empty house;

Then o'er the Island, to and fro,

We ranged, to listen and to look

In every cranny, cleft or nook

That might have hid a bird or mouse:

But, though we searched from shore to shore,

We found no sign in any place:

And soon again stood face to face

Before the gaping door:

And stole into the room once more

As frighten'd children steal.

 

Aye: though we hunted high and low,

And hunted everywhere,

Of the three men's fate we found no trace

Of any kind in any place,

But a door ajar, and an untouch'd meal,

And an overtoppled chair.

 

And, as we listen'd in the gloom

Of that forsaken living-room--

O chill clutch on our breath--

We thought how ill-chance came to all

Who kept the Flannan Light:

And how the rock had been the death

Of many a likely lad:

How six had come to a sudden end

And three had gone stark mad:

And one whom we'd all known as friend

Had leapt from the lantern one still night,

And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:

And long we thought

On the three we sought,

And of what might yet befall.

 

Like curs a glance has brought to heel,

We listen'd, flinching there:

And look'd, and look'd, on the untouch'd meal

And the overtoppled chair.

 

We seem'd to stand for an endless while,

Though still no word was said,

Three men alive on Flannan Isle,

Who thought on three men dead

 

wonder what happened to them.

ill do a colombo and say one fell in the sea and the other two rushed out to save him,and they got into difficulty and all drowned.

[sandymere 8,263]

Sybil by Seamus Heaney.

[mangy1983 51]

This mystery literally occurred on my doorstep, one of the missing lighthouse keepers houses is 8 houses or so away:

 

 

 

THOUGH three men dwell on Flannan Isle

To keep the lamp alight,

As we steer'd under the lee, we caught

No glimmer through the night!

 

A passing ship at dawn had brought

The news; and quickly we set sail,

To find out what strange thing might all

The keepers of the deep-sea light.

 

The winter day broke blue and bright,

With glancing sun and glancing spray,

As o'er the swell our boat made way,

As gallant as a gull in flight.

 

But, as we near'd the lonely Isle;

And look'd up at the naked height;

And saw the lighthouse towering white,

With blinded lantern, that all night

Had never shot a spark

Of comfort through the dark,

So ghastly in the cold sunlight

It seem'd, that we were struck the while

With wonder all too dread for words.

 

And, as into the tiny creek

We stole beneath the hanging crag,

We saw three queer, black, ugly birds--

Too big, by far, in my belief,

For guillemot or shag--

Like seamen sitting bold upright

Upon a half-tide reef:

But, as we near'd, they plunged from sight,

Without a sound, or spurt of white.

 

And still too mazed to speak,

We landed; and made fast the boat;

And climb'd the track in single file,

Each wishing he was safe afloat,

On any sea, however far,

So it be far from Flannan Isle:

And still we seem'd to climb, and climb,

As though we'd lost all count of time,

And so must climb for evermore.

Yet, all too soon, we reached the door--

The black, sun-blister'd lighthouse door,

That gaped for us ajar.

 

As, on the threshold, for a spell,

We paused, we seem'd to breathe the smell

Of limewash and of tar,

Familiar as our daily breath,

As though 'twere some strange scent of death:

And so, yet wondering, side by side,

We stood a moment, still tongue-tied:

And each with black foreboding eyed

The door, ere we should fling it wide,

To leave the sunlight for the gloom:

Till, plucking courage up, at last,

Hard on each other's heels we pass'd

Into the living-room.

 

Yet, as we crowded through the door,

We only saw a table, spread

For dinner, meat and cheese and bread;

But all untouch'd; and no one there:

As though, when they sat down to eat,

Ere they could even taste,

Alarm had come; and they in haste

Had risen and left the bread and meat:

For on the table-head a chair

Lay tumbled on the floor.

We listen'd; but we only heard

The feeble cheeping of a bird

That starved upon its perch:

And, listening still, without a word,

We set about our hopeless search.

 

We hunted high, we hunted low,

And soon ransack'd the empty house;

Then o'er the Island, to and fro,

We ranged, to listen and to look

In every cranny, cleft or nook

That might have hid a bird or mouse:

But, though we searched from shore to shore,

We found no sign in any place:

And soon again stood face to face

Before the gaping door:

And stole into the room once more

As frighten'd children steal.

 

Aye: though we hunted high and low,

And hunted everywhere,

Of the three men's fate we found no trace

Of any kind in any place,

But a door ajar, and an untouch'd meal,

And an overtoppled chair.

 

And, as we listen'd in the gloom

Of that forsaken living-room--

O chill clutch on our breath--

We thought how ill-chance came to all

Who kept the Flannan Light:

And how the rock had been the death

Of many a likely lad:

How six had come to a sudden end

And three had gone stark mad:

And one whom we'd all known as friend

Had leapt from the lantern one still night,

And fallen dead by the lighthouse wall:

And long we thought

On the three we sought,

And of what might yet befall.

 

Like curs a glance has brought to heel,

We listen'd, flinching there:

And look'd, and look'd, on the untouch'd meal

And the overtoppled chair.

 

We seem'd to stand for an endless while,

Though still no word was said,

Three men alive on Flannan Isle,

Who thought on three men dead

 

wonder what happened to them.

ill do a colombo and say one fell in the sea and the other two rushed out to save him,and they got into difficulty and all drowned.

 

Thats not what l reckon happened at all mate, I only learnt from father this year that my own great great uncle was one of the labourers building the lighthouse. There are 2 stories in local folklore, one was that the body of one of the keepers bodies was seen floating off St Kilda but that the weather was too rough to launch a boat to retrieve it. The body in question was wearing the distinctive navy coloured oils skins that the Northern Lighthouse board used at the time and experts say that this would also have been the direction the current would have taken anything as well. The other story concerned that of a house wife on the Atlantic side of the island. She was hanging out washing on a coastal village when she saw a huge wall of water coming in from the sea on the day that the keepers were alleged to have disappeared.

She legged upto her house and when she came back out her washing line and contents had been swept away.

 

What l reckoned was that it was a freak wave after numerous Atlantic storms. Its a well known fact that only two of the keepers were allowed out to work at any one time and that one had to stay at the lighthouse. The one who stayed at the lighthouse was probably cooking dinner when he may have seen the wave coming in and rushed down to warn the others only to have been caught in it himself. These freak waves are only now coming to light with new scientific technology, one of the most famous being the disappearance of the German ship Ms Munchen and a freak wave was also recorded by an oil rig in the North sea in the last 10 years. A tool box that was 65 feet up from sea level was also washed away in the mystery!

[scothunter 12,609]

aye the sea is a mystery in itself.its claimed a few souls over the years.