petitepedal ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #1 Posted September 28, 2017 I made the cookies for the folks who will be reading poetry at work tonight Here is a poem to start the day Trees By Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
petitepedal ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Author Share #2 Posted September 28, 2017 Eldorado By Edgar Allan Poe Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old— This knight so bold— And o’er his heart a shadow— Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow— ‘Shadow,’ said he, ‘Where can it be— This land of Eldorado?’ ‘Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,’ The shade replied,— ‘If you seek for Eldorado!’ 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
petitepedal ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Author Share #3 Posted September 28, 2017 Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
parodybot Posted September 28, 2017 Share #4 Posted September 28, 2017 Roses are red violets are blue it's just a parody not making fun of you. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
parodybot Posted September 28, 2017 Share #5 Posted September 28, 2017 Robot Robot-like, I move through life, I feel no pain, endure no strife. Each day's the same, each smile is fake, broken, I no longer break. I live my lifetime in a daze, blindly fumble through a haze, I've never known a day of fun, I can't remember even one. All I do is work and sleep, and pray the Lord my soul to keep. ©Danielle White 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
VladyP Posted September 28, 2017 Share #6 Posted September 28, 2017 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jsharr ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #7 Posted September 28, 2017 I will attempt to recite this from memory. Twas brilling and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome wraths outgrabe Beware the jabberwock my son the jaws that bite the claws that catch beware the juj jbu bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch He took his vorpal sword in hand Long time the manxsome foe he sought the rested he neath a tum tum tree and stood a while in thought And as in uffish thought he stood the jabberwock with eyes of flames came chuffling throught the tulgy woods and borpled as it came One Two One Two and through and through The vorpal blade went snicker snack And with its head he bravely fled and went gallumphing back And hast thou slain the jabberwock come to my arms my beamish boy Callou Callay o frabjous day he chortled in his joy Twas brilling and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Zealot Posted September 28, 2017 Share #8 Posted September 28, 2017 The Lady of Shalott (1842) BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON Part I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." Part II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott. Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. Part IV In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance— With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right— The leaves upon her falling light— Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Road Runner Posted September 28, 2017 Share #9 Posted September 28, 2017 2 minutes ago, jsharr said: shun the frumious bandersnatch Always good advice. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jsharr ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #10 Posted September 28, 2017 2 minutes ago, Road Runner said: Always good advice. I love Jabberwocky. That is one of my favorite lines. I messed it up this AM, left some stuff out, got some lines wrong. I suck. How do I join your sucking club? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Road Runner Posted September 28, 2017 Share #11 Posted September 28, 2017 1 minute ago, jsharr said: I suck. How do I join your sucking club? You are already in. Last week, we voted you president. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jsharr ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #12 Posted September 28, 2017 We need more poetry. Some Frost, Whitman, McTeagle and Lillison. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
petitepedal ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Author Share #13 Posted September 28, 2017 For @Digital_photog Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The Smith, a mighty man is he... Someone google this and post it in its entirety...please Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Digital_photog ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #14 Posted September 28, 2017 The Village Blacksmith HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. Sorry but the tree outside the shop was maple not chestnut. Chestnut are nearly extinct. 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Digital_photog ★ Posted September 28, 2017 Share #15 Posted September 28, 2017 My addition. The trouble with a kitten is that eventually it becomes a cat. Ogden Nash Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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