- Messages
- 2,996
- Location
- Not too far from LHR
Reminds me of Eva Cassidy singing Tall Trees in Georgia.
Poetry
- Thread starter Ebberman
- Start Date
- Thread Starter
- #18
This one isn't in the books. I wrote it too late.
Stuck With You
I wanted to go left, but you steered right
And I sleep in the dark, but you want light
My life is an adventure, not so yours:
It's just routine and necessary chores
Frustration often shows in daily life
When we're on stage we act as man and wife
But when the audience has said Goodnight
Our silence helps avoid another fight.
You put a brake on everything I do
And in return I do the same for you
I wonder if you know or ever see
I'm only half of what I used to be
But in the end there is no point in blame
With someone else it would have been the same
Stuck With You
I wanted to go left, but you steered right
And I sleep in the dark, but you want light
My life is an adventure, not so yours:
It's just routine and necessary chores
Frustration often shows in daily life
When we're on stage we act as man and wife
But when the audience has said Goodnight
Our silence helps avoid another fight.
You put a brake on everything I do
And in return I do the same for you
I wonder if you know or ever see
I'm only half of what I used to be
But in the end there is no point in blame
With someone else it would have been the same
- Messages
- 2,996
- Location
- Not too far from LHR
Ouch, that resonates! Compromise and commitment. Living in the Venn intersection of 2 lives. You have to hope the intersection is big enough as a % I suppose. They say if you want to travel fast go alone, if you want to travel far go together. After nearly 2 decades all of a sudden I'm 'free' but so far all I've done is chores and am still kind of going round in circles blinking and trying to reorientate.
It's funny, but must be 30 years since I wrote any kind of poem to get stuff out of my head and it was probably nonsense anyway. Apart from the classics at school, my only real exposure to poetry was those little ones they put on the Tube, which never said anything to me. Yours are so well observed that I've found myself thinking about them for a while afterwards.
It's funny, but must be 30 years since I wrote any kind of poem to get stuff out of my head and it was probably nonsense anyway. Apart from the classics at school, my only real exposure to poetry was those little ones they put on the Tube, which never said anything to me. Yours are so well observed that I've found myself thinking about them for a while afterwards.
- Messages
- 17,593
- Location
- Sunny Cornwall
- Thread Starter
- #21
Not Dead Yet
You've had a dose of Covid,
You thought it was The End.
But now you've had some lentil soup
I think you're on the mend.
I'm glad you didn't snuff it
And let Death come between us,
I'm not too good at eulogies
And my dark suit's at the cleaners.
Kind-hearted folk on fora
Who don't know much about you,
Would post 'He will be sorely missed'
And carry on without you.
You've had a dose of Covid,
You thought it was The End.
But now you've had some lentil soup
I think you're on the mend.
I'm glad you didn't snuff it
And let Death come between us,
I'm not too good at eulogies
And my dark suit's at the cleaners.
Kind-hearted folk on fora
Who don't know much about you,
Would post 'He will be sorely missed'
And carry on without you.
- Messages
- 2,256
What Will Matter? (by Michael Josephson)
Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten
will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations
and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from
or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought
but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success
but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned
but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice
that enriched, empowered or encouraged others
to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence
but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered,
by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten
will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations
and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from
or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought
but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success
but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned
but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice
that enriched, empowered or encouraged others
to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence
but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered,
by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
- Thread Starter
- #23
This is exactly the sort of thing I dislike. There is no meter, rhythm or rhyme.
It is not poetry, it is philosophical prose.
- Messages
- 1,460
I agree.
I used to dabble in poetry. These are some examples I wrote 20 years ago, and dug out of my collection.
We Love But Few
Yes, I mean all the kind things that I say
To old friends and new;
Yet the truth grows clearer by the day:
We love but few.
The world is wide, and friends are dear,
And friendships run so true;
Yet these words read plainer by the year:
We love but few.
Tribute to Blink 182
I'm so proud of you
You finally made the big time
I heard you on the radio
I know you're in it for the dime
Your stomping rabbit
Followed the carrot
Right onstage
I think I begin to see
Just why MTV appealed to me
You've got thousands of fans
Wearing your T-shirts
I bought one at J.C. Penny's
Just like all the other flirts
I think I start to
understand
You were never an underground
Punk band
But you help to make punk
Popular
You paved the way of the future
Pussy pop punk posers
Don't know what it means
Never see Blink
On the street scene
Your first three CD's ruled
Now that you're cool
You never sold out
But you sure sold me
A prep kid told me he listened
To you
And he was punk just like me
Even though his hat said
Abercrombie
I'm so proud of you
I want to be just like Blink 182
And appeal to the masses
For a day or two
A day or two
A day or two
Blink 182
A Silence Full of Sound
There is a silence that is full of sound,
No one understands how profound.
What is it like to 'hear' someone's hand?
You would have to be deaf to understand.
Nevermore to hear the bird's sweet song,
Or hear the crickets all night long.
To speak with your hands and get no reply,
To sadly watch, and begin to cry, why, oh, why?
No love for music you cannot hear,
No love for poetry you hold most dear.
You sing with your hands, a graceful dance,
That spins a tale of daring and chance.
You would have to be deaf to understand.
..and now perhaps I'll write something new, and see if I still have a bit of an ear left for poetry.
Special Military Operation
Onward, ever onward, with foemen both ahead and behind.
Like dry leaves in a whirlwind, they fell to rise no more.
Three days, they said, and Kiev will fall,
They lied, just as they've lied before.
The fields with bright red flowers bloom,
And the dying know only pain.
Where once the sunflowers nodded at noon,
The only harvest here is of the slain.
The best two nations have to offer,
Sacrificed on the altar of war.
Lest we forgive, and we forget,
What we are fighting for.
Not for a flag or even life itself,
But for the child at the breast.
For food on the table, and a drink to hand,
This is why they sent their best.
The world watches, silent and still,
The missiles fall, and darkness grows,
Where life and light once did shine,
Now empty windows watch the snow.
Another day will dawn for all,
And the end of war will bring tomorrow,
When peace returns to home again,
An end to death, but not to sorrow.
Slava Ukraine!
...and yeah, I don't have it anymore, if I ever did. I think I'll stick to writing about shaving, and leave the poetry to others. Peace out!
- Thread Starter
- #25
My favourite poem form - the sonnet.
Tinnitus
The noise, the whistle, coming from my brain
Is something that I know I'll have to bear
And total silence never heard again
Unless pre-occupied and not aware
But, unlike deafness, I can hear too well
Occluding sounds that matter more to me
It's like the awesome din of waves that swell
And crash upon the shoreline endlessly
There’s no escape, it gnaws into my mind
Like toothache, ever-present and unkind,
A curse that will be with me all my days
A blight that fogs my mind with musty haze.
But finally one day that noise will cease
And death will grant me silence, rest and peace.
Tinnitus
The noise, the whistle, coming from my brain
Is something that I know I'll have to bear
And total silence never heard again
Unless pre-occupied and not aware
But, unlike deafness, I can hear too well
Occluding sounds that matter more to me
It's like the awesome din of waves that swell
And crash upon the shoreline endlessly
There’s no escape, it gnaws into my mind
Like toothache, ever-present and unkind,
A curse that will be with me all my days
A blight that fogs my mind with musty haze.
But finally one day that noise will cease
And death will grant me silence, rest and peace.
- Thread Starter
- #26
Bricks
The pile of bricks that sheltered me
Still lingers in my memory
Though I've lived in many places
I've forgotten people's faces
But I recall the room and, yes,
I remember the address.
Each place I lived is like a friend
A cosy dream that doesn't end
And has a personality -
One that's rich in fantasy
In my mind they're clean and polished
Though I suspect they're now demolished
The pile of bricks that sheltered me
Still lingers in my memory
Though I've lived in many places
I've forgotten people's faces
But I recall the room and, yes,
I remember the address.
Each place I lived is like a friend
A cosy dream that doesn't end
And has a personality -
One that's rich in fantasy
In my mind they're clean and polished
Though I suspect they're now demolished
- Thread Starter
- #27
Remembering
Remembering the loves I had before
Yet now they're gone, as all past loves will go,
Our lives move on and appetites mature
Those past experiences helped me grow.
Remembering the pleasure that we share
Today, and all the days that there will be
Reminds me to instil each day with care
The care I have for you, and you for me.
Remembering the loves I had before
Yet now they're gone, as all past loves will go,
Our lives move on and appetites mature
Those past experiences helped me grow.
Remembering the pleasure that we share
Today, and all the days that there will be
Reminds me to instil each day with care
The care I have for you, and you for me.
- Thread Starter
- #28
Days To Remember
Things could be better, things could be worse
Looking for pleasure can be a curse
I know everything seems to be bright
But I see the tunnel at the end of the light
These are the days, the days to remember
Thinking of June when it's December
Drinking it in while you still have the chance
Tomorrow may be the end of the dance
Choose your partner, take to the floor
You can't be certain what is in store
You trust in your partner and hope for the best
Going through moves that you couldn't have guessed
The dance is a lesson in give and take
And many decisions you’ll have to make
But for all the heartaches they’re bound to bring
There’s no chance to change a thing
These are the days, the days to remember
Thinking of June when it's December
Drinking it in while you still have the chance
Tomorrow may be the end of the dance
- Thread Starter
- #29
I should have said at the time. We Love But Few is good. It's short and has repetition, yet it's packed with meaning, Short is a compliment. It's an art to express yourself clearly and concisely. A Silence Full of Sound was interesting too. The Blink 182 wasn't my cup of tea, but then I've never heard them.
Don't down yourself. Write more. I went from rubbish to decent enough to not be embarrassed in one year by writing at least one poem each week, plus at least one song.
Before that, if someone asked me if I wrote poetry, I would have said No - afraid I'd be asked to deliver one.
The more you write, the more confident you become. Look at me - I never imagined I would dare post poems on a forum.
I post my poems to an internet friend, and he replies with: Excellent, Needs more work, or Throw it away. He posts his poems to me. That way we avoid publishing weak or unfinished poems. If you want to send poems to me for appraisal, that's fine.
