Poetry please - post yours

Hobbies & Pastimes Hobbies & Pastimes: Chat / Discussions
21

The Stone Troll

J R R Tolkein

[i]
Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll: ‘Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the shin o’ my nuncle Tim.
As should be a-lyin’ in the graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lyin’ in the graveyard.’

‘My lad,’ said Troll, ‘this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o’ lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Skinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don’t need his shinbone.’

Said Tom: ‘I don’t see why the likes o’ thee
Without axin’ leave should go makin’ free
With the shank or the shin o’ my father’s kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!’

‘For a couple o’ pins,’ says Troll, and grins,
‘I’ll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o’ fresh meat will go down sweet!
I’ll try my teeth on thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I’m tired o’ gnawing old bones and skins;
I’ve a mind to dine on thee now.’

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind
And gave him the boot to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A bump o’ the boot on the seat, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain’s root,
For the seat of a troll don’t feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom’s leg is game, since home he came,
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;
But Troll don’t care, and he’s still there
With the bone he boned from its owner.
Doner! Boner!
Troll’s old seat is still the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner
[/i]

22

Loved that one - thank you, Realist.

23

I Remember, I Remember
BY THOMAS HOOD

[I] I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi’lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heav’n
Than when I was a boy.

[/I]

24

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W. H. Auden

25

I have always enjoyed this particular line from The rime of the ancient mariner - Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’

26

This poem was in 4 Wedding & a Funeral. It is lovely.

27

True. I just posted it because, another person I know has taken the steps to heaven. I am always going to funerals these days.:slight_smile:

28

I like to indulge in poetry of various forms, of late I’ve been getting to the Haiku style of 3 lines of 5-7-5 syllables, here’s a couple of examples

The clear water flows
Breaking the morning silence
Hypnotic music

Her eyes shone like Stars
Illuminating the room
Captivating all

29

Here’s another one of mine:-

THERE’S AN ECHO IN HERE.

“There’s an echo in here”,
said the heart to the brain.
“Where there ought to be logic
there’s nothing. Explain”.

“There’s good reason for that”,
said the brain to the heart.
“We’re getting older, you see,
and we’re drifting apart.”

“Nonsense,” said the heart.
“We’re all part of one whole.
There’s you and there’s me
and what some call the soul!”

“Agreed,” said the brain,
“but as time moves along
the connections between us
are not quite so strong.

The soul wanders off
in search of new grails.
Your arteries harden.
My memory bank fails.

It is sad, my old friend,
but you can’t press ‘restart’.
We’re here, then we’re gone.”
said the brain to the heart.

“There’s an echo in here.”
said the heart to the brain.
“Was I looking for something?
Just remind me again.”

Copyright 2017

30

Here is one I wrote back in the day.

A MONOLOGUE.
FRIENDS

A friend is someone who

Comes into your house

Sits on your favourite chair

Drinks your beer

Grunts and leaves,

Adding when they leave

Without so much as a

If you please

“Don’t suppose you could do this for me”

“I’m in a bit of a

Fix you see”

Or is a friend is someone

Always there

And
After the passing

Of the years

Shares your joy

And your tears

Knows when your down

When you pretend

To be a clown

Remembers your birthday

Though it was last Tuesday

Takes you out to lunch

When he has a hunch

That all is not well

He’s the one you can tell

When Your day is

Pure hell

He keeps all your secrets

He thinks

you’re the greatest

And raves over your skills

(C) RJ.

What’s your idea of a friend?

31

Interesting LD, I was struck by this verse …

“I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,”

Dunno what it means?
PS

I wrote this next piece after an unsettling encounter

From nowhere strode the tattooed harbinger
Long black trailing coat flying at will
Straight through the crowd
Caught in his dark path
Slow raised long arm and bony finger
Pointing way ahead intently
Grim faced and pursuing his latest task
Is it me he’s looking for?
Or you?

32

I enjoyed reading your poems, Robert.
Here’s one I wrote similar to you last one. In the style loosely of Edgar Allen Poe, for a competition.

Dark the ancient woodland pathway,
leading to I knew not where,
Something drew me ever onward,
strange power had me in it’s spell
Terrified I fought against it,
tried my will against it’s might.
“Who are you”? Demanded loudly,
"Bent on sending me to Hell.
“Why won’t you say why I’m here”?
“This pain I’m going through is Hell”
But no answer, none would tell.

33

It’s lovely to read your poems again Robert, I hope they continue … well done! :slight_smile:

34

'Twas early in November,
or it may have been December.
I was walking down the street in drunken pride.
When my knees began to stutter
so I lay down in the gutter.
And a pig came up and lay down at my side.

As I lay there, in the gutter, with my head all of a flutter
I chanced to hear a passing Lady say
“you can tell a man who boozes
By the Company He Choses”

And the pig got up

and slowly walked away.

35

That had me chuckling, Ted.

36

A BIRMINGHAM CHILDHOOD REMEMBERED

Oh deeply missed, you Bull Ring, miscellany of stalls,
A youth remembered, clutching coat hem, wide-eyed.
Wigs, salami, gaudy rings, old shoes, the raucous Brummie calls,
Bouncing off the walls.

“’ ’andy carrier!” Thickly yelled, and “Apples a pound pears!”
A language understood by all, a Midlands code in grey old Brum
Co-existent with the church
Cups of orange tea, chips, prayers.

The big red buses veering madly through the melee, blocking roads
The smell of diesel, dripping raincoat, Hippodrome –
“One Night Only – Frankie Laine!”
Peered at through the rain.

Lewis’s with its rubber road and magical roof top gardens
Where Uncle Holly Christmas time dispensed largesse
Along with tiny Brummie elves
Playing themselves.

Further back again, the smog, a grey-green poison, part of play;
Where we would hide and breathe in death
And smell its fumes in muffled day.
And creep and grope our homeward way.

37

CAT

Dogs are slaves
At your command.
They squirm and roll,
They lick your hand.

Dogs die of love
If you should leave –
Refuse to eat
And whine and grieve.

Dogs only ask
To be thrown sticks,
Ingratiating
With their tricks.

Man’s fragile self
Loves sycophants,
And how well dogs
This self enhance.

But take a cat –
A slave to none,
A haughty
Enigmatic one.

You give, it takes,
Secure in grace –
And in my heart
A special place.

38

Great poems everyone :smiley:

39

Actually was a genuine recorded Track.

See the full version here:-

http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/p/piggotup.shtml

:surprised:;-):frowning:

40

I thought you wrote that, Ted.:lol: