king 12,030 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Hey gaz if you were lucky enough to be born welsh. I would of said you are a reincarnated Dylan Thomas. Quote Link to post
Gaz_1989 9,539 Posted July 1, 2016 Author Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Hey gaz if you were lucky enough to be born welsh. I would of said you are a reincarnated Dylan Thomas. I'm not Welsh mate although my name is Gareth and I've had a few close encounters with sheep. Lol 1 Quote Link to post
Daniel cain 48,667 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Poems should be in the arts and crafts section imho lol-enjoyed that gaz fairplay to you.atb dc Quote Link to post
Daniel cain 48,667 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Roses are red,violets are blue,my dog can't catch a cold,let alone a conney or two lol.that's as far as my skills go gaz lol.atb dc Quote Link to post
lurcherman 887 13,430 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 I think you all really need to get out more lol+2 some people do anything for a push on the like button lol Now now you orrible f****r 1 Quote Link to post
Gaz_1989 9,539 Posted July 1, 2016 Author Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 I think you all really need to get out more lol+2 some people do anything for a push on the like button lolNow now you orrible f****r There should be a bully button next to the like button ????? Quote Link to post
tb25 4,627 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Must admit it's a little corney to say the least.. Quote Link to post
lurcherman 887 13,430 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Squab is a bit of a bully hes a unit too Quote Link to post
squab 2,875 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Squab is a bit of a bully hes a unit too oh dear,im going in to low profile head down mode Quote Link to post
Maximus Ferret 2,065 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 (edited) Not a poem, a song, and not by me. Edited July 1, 2016 by Maximus Ferret Quote Link to post
squab 2,875 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 THE STAG at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan’s rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney’s hazel shade; But, when the sun his beacon red 5 Had kindled on Benvoirlich’s head, The deep-mouthed bloodhound’s heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way, And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 10 As Chief who hears his warder call, “To arms! the foemen storm the wall,” The antlered monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, 15 The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; Like crested leader proud and high Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 20 A moment listened to the cry, That thickened as the chase drew nigh; Then, as the headmost foes appeared, With one brave bound the copse he cleared, And, stretching forward free and far, 25 Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. Yelled on the view the opening pack; Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; To many a mingled sound at once The awakened mountain gave response. 30 A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, Clattered a hundred steeds along, Their peal the merry horns rung out, A hundred voices joined the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 35 No rest Benvoirlich’s echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe; Close in her covert cowered the doe; The falcon, from her cairn on high, Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 40 Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. Faint, and more faint, its failing din Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, And silence settled, wide and still, 45 On the lone wood and mighty hill. * * * * * ’T were long to tell what steeds gave o’er, As swept the hunt through Cambus-more; What reins were tightened in despair, When rose Benledi’s ridge in air; 50 Who flagged upon Bochastle’s heath, Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith,— For twice that day, from shore to shore, The gallant stag swam stoutly o’er. Few were the stragglers, following far, 55 That reached the lake of Vennachar; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone. Alone, but with unbated zeal, That horseman plied the scourge and steel; 60 For, jaded now, and spent with toil, Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, While every gasp with sobs he drew, The laboring stag strained full in view. Two dogs of black Saint Hubert’s breed, 65 Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, Fast on his flying traces came, And all but won that desperate game; For, scarce a spear’s length from his haunch, Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch; 70 Nor nearer might the dogs attain, Nor farther might the quarry strain. Thus up the margin of the lake, Between the precipice and brake, O’er stock and rock their race they take. 75 The hunter marked that mountain high, The lone lake’s western boundary, And deemed the stag must turn to bay, Where that huge rampart barred the way; Already glorying in the prize, Measured his antlers with his eyes; For the death-wound and death-halloo Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew; But thundering as he came prepared, With ready arm and weapon bared, 85 The wily quarry shunned the shock, And turned him from the opposing rock; Then, dashing down a darksome glen, Soon lost to hound and hunter’s ken, In the deep Trosachs’ wildest nook 90 His solitary refuge took. There while, close couched, the thicket shed Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head, He heard the baffled dogs in vain Rave through the hollow pass amain, 95 Chiding the rocks that yelled again. Close on the hounds the hunter came, To cheer them on the vanished game; But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. 100 The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labors o’er, Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more; Then, touched with pity and remorse, 105 He sorrowed o’er the expiring horse: “I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle e’er should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed! 110 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant gray!” Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 115 The sulky leaders of the chase; Close to their master’s side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest; But still the dingle’s hollow throat Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 120 The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seemed an answering blast; And on the hunter hied his way, 125 To join some comrades of the day; Yet often paused, so strange the road, So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 2 Quote Link to post
squab 2,875 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 and if you can be bothered to read all that lol Quote Link to post
lurcherman 887 13,430 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 and if you can be bothered to read all that lol Not a chance Quote Link to post
jeemes 5,170 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 Must admit it's a little corney to say the least.. He aint a poet but he does not yet knowit. Quote Link to post
ginger beard 4,653 Posted July 1, 2016 Report Share Posted July 1, 2016 that is a modern day classic.that will stand the test of time,definietly..how many month's did it take.? Quote Link to post
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