Exactly what I was thinking!
The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail - Books and Poetry > Poetry > Bar-Room Ballads - Archives
To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
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What Is Your Favorite "Manly" Poem?
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www.robertwservice.com
That is definitely a winner.Exactly what I was thinking!
The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail - Books and Poetry > Poetry > Bar-Room Ballads - Archives
To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
plato told
him:he couldn't
believe it(jesus
told him;he
wouldn't believe
it)lao
tsze
certainly told
him, and general
(yes
mam)
sherman;
and even
(believe it
or
not)you
told him:i told
him; we told him
(he didn't believe it, no
sir)it took
a nipponized bit of
the old sixth
avenue
el;in the top of his head :to tell
him
~ e.e. cummings
him:he couldn't
believe it(jesus
told him;he
wouldn't believe
it)lao
tsze
certainly told
him, and general
(yes
mam)
sherman;
and even
(believe it
or
not)you
told him:i told
him; we told him
(he didn't believe it, no
sir)it took
a nipponized bit of
the old sixth
avenue
el;in the top of his head :to tell
him
~ e.e. cummings
For ALL who served:
His legs were broke, his wounds did bleed,
The soldier called him ‘Noble Steed’,
And put a bullet through his brain.
Then the soldier kneeling down,
Bent his head and cried,
‘You were the noblest beast of all,
Did your duty - answered the call’,
And I am filled with grateful pride
Through all the charges you carried me,
And never did you falter.
Though bullets whistled past your side,
And many men and horses died,
Your pace would never alter.
And so my friend this is goodbye,
I’ve done my best for you,
I’ve sent you to a safer place,
Where horses graze in gentle grace,
And wish I could go too.
Then in the sky above all noise,
He heard a singing lark.
He felt it was an Angel’s song,
And knew his life would not be long,
As the sniper’s bullet hit its mark.
They found them lying side by side,
A soldier and his noble Steed,
What sacrifice by man and beast,
Too high a price to pay for peace,
More than God and Man agreed.
(Grantham) Horses of WW1
His legs were broke, his wounds did bleed,
The soldier called him ‘Noble Steed’,
And put a bullet through his brain.
Then the soldier kneeling down,
Bent his head and cried,
‘You were the noblest beast of all,
Did your duty - answered the call’,
And I am filled with grateful pride
Through all the charges you carried me,
And never did you falter.
Though bullets whistled past your side,
And many men and horses died,
Your pace would never alter.
And so my friend this is goodbye,
I’ve done my best for you,
I’ve sent you to a safer place,
Where horses graze in gentle grace,
And wish I could go too.
Then in the sky above all noise,
He heard a singing lark.
He felt it was an Angel’s song,
And knew his life would not be long,
As the sniper’s bullet hit its mark.
They found them lying side by side,
A soldier and his noble Steed,
What sacrifice by man and beast,
Too high a price to pay for peace,
More than God and Man agreed.
(Grantham) Horses of WW1
We just had to put down our 25 year old horse, so this one touches me
I was talking to my own father just today and he mentioned that he arrived home from Korea exactly 67 years ago today. Both of my parents served in the military and so on this day I think of them, their service, and the lives past and present and so many others who have served, and continue to serve. Freedom is not, after all, Free. In that spirit, I am reminded of the famous speech (really a poem) from Henry V, known as the St Crispian Day speech. It reads beautifully but, I suggest, it is better to watch and listen to Kenneth Branagh deliver it via you tube (I am, alas, not so adept to provide a link);
"We few, we happy few, we band of Brothers...."
"We few, we happy few, we band of Brothers...."
I’m sorry to hear this, Bengel, but I am glad that this poem has given you some solace. I had an unusually strong prompting to post this poem so I imagine that it was meant for you. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.
Morgenrot, leuchtest mir zum frühen Tod?
Morgenrot, Morgenrot,
leuchtest mir zum frühen Tod?
Bald wird die Trompete blasen:
dann muß ich mein Leben lassen,
ich und mancher Kamerad!
Kaum gedacht, kaum gedacht,
war der Lust ein End' gemacht.
Gestern noch auf stolzen Rossen,
heute durch die Brust geschossen,
morgen in das kühle Grab!
Ach, wie bald, ach, wie bald,
schwindet Schönheit und Gestalt!
Prahlst du gleich mit deinen Wangen,
die wie Milch und Purpur prangen:
Ach, die Rosen welken all'!
Darum still, darum still,
füg' ich mich, wie Gott es will.
Nun so will ich wacker streiten,
und sollt' ich den Tod erleiden,
stirbt ein braver Reitersmann.
Morgenrot, Morgenrot,
leuchtest mir zum frühen Tod?
Bald wird die Trompete blasen:
dann muß ich mein Leben lassen,
ich und mancher Kamerad!
Kaum gedacht, kaum gedacht,
war der Lust ein End' gemacht.
Gestern noch auf stolzen Rossen,
heute durch die Brust geschossen,
morgen in das kühle Grab!
Ach, wie bald, ach, wie bald,
schwindet Schönheit und Gestalt!
Prahlst du gleich mit deinen Wangen,
die wie Milch und Purpur prangen:
Ach, die Rosen welken all'!
Darum still, darum still,
füg' ich mich, wie Gott es will.
Nun so will ich wacker streiten,
und sollt' ich den Tod erleiden,
stirbt ein braver Reitersmann.
Ovid in Tears - Jack Gilbert
“Not the great fires
built on the edge of the world.” His voice grew
fainter as they carried him away. “Both the melody
and the symphony. The imperfect dancing
in the beautiful dance. The dance most of all.”
That's just an excerpt, Jack Gilbert had an incredible body of work.
“Not the great fires
built on the edge of the world.” His voice grew
fainter as they carried him away. “Both the melody
and the symphony. The imperfect dancing
in the beautiful dance. The dance most of all.”
That's just an excerpt, Jack Gilbert had an incredible body of work.
Vagabond's House by Don Blanding
Comments & analysis: When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . . / I'll suit my fancy in every way.
allpoetry.com
My own personal theme poem, don't give a damn if it's manly enough or not and that's manly enough as is.
Also, I like this one.
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Funny story about that one. I used to perform at an open mic night and one night I left my notebook on the bar while I was on stage. This gorgeous woman came up and wrote that poem in my notebook, but by the time I was done she had vanished, all that was left was the poem. Pretty sure I was supposed to marry that woman, but like the poem says "no book, son or lover to mourn". I still have the bit of paper.
Also, this one has always stuck with me. It's a snippet from a larger work by Antonio Machado and I recently had it immortalized in ink on my ribs as part of a larger tattoo. I'll write it out here to save the link clicking and trying to find the exact stanza.
~
Last night as I lay sleeping
I dreamt - marvelous error!
That I had a beehive
Here inside my heart
And all the Bees
Were making white combs
And sweet honey
From all my old failures.
~
A Cavalry Mans Morning Song
Morning sky so red,
do you herald my early death?
Soon the trumpet will sound,
For me to give my life,
I and many a comrade!
Barely felt, barely felt,
pleasure is at its end!
Yesterday we strutted on our mounts,
Today we will be shot to the ground,
Tomorrow lowered into our graves!
Oh how soon, oh how soon,
Beauty and life fade away!
Though you boast with cheeks
Like milk and roses,
Alas, all roses wilt away!
So calmly, so calmly,
I will resign to God's wishes.
Well, I will bravely hold my own,
And should death find me,
I will look him in the eye.
~Wilhelm Hauff
Very nice...
And this, I needed to hear. All mighty Providence works in such wonderful ways. Thank you for posting your thoughts.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas - 1914-1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas - 1914-1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Daffodils - William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Discussing manliness
Is a bunch of poo.
Violets are blue
Discussing manliness
Is a bunch of poo.
Jud-
Excellent!
May I presume this is an original, penned by your very own hand!?!
Excellent!
May I presume this is an original, penned by your very own hand!?!