Author Topic: Time For Rhyme  (Read 3480 times)

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Offline Janaru

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Time For Rhyme
« on: April 02, 2011, 10:37:55 PM »
Somehow we lost this thread in the spring clean, which is too bad, because there were some great contributions.

Do you have a favorite poem? Post it! It would be great to get this one built back up.
(I\'d start it....but I\'m terrible with poetry @\'.2\'@  )
Note to self:  Use your powers for good, not for evil.....

Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #1 on: April 02, 2011, 11:43:36 PM »
Ok then - kicking off with my favourite:

The Listeners
by Walter De La Mare

\'Is there anybody there?\' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest\'s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller\'s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
\'Is there anybody there?\' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller\'s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
\'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
\'Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,\' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone

Another one I like, \"The Highwayman\" by Alfred Noyes is far too long for posting here.
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!

Offline Truthyness

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #2 on: April 03, 2011, 01:23:01 AM »
Okay Teepee, now there you strike a massive chord. Two of my most beloved. And Poetry Please read the Highwayman a couple of years back and the interpreter had a lazy husky vibrant voice that stopped me dead in my tracks, unforgettable. Not too long for these boards Sir! Certainly not.

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Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #3 on: April 03, 2011, 07:56:46 PM »
Truthyness Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
.... Poetry Please read the Highwayman a couple of years back.....

I didn\'t know that Tru....must see if I can find a recording of it.
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!

Offline IvorThirst

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #4 on: April 07, 2011, 09:08:41 PM »
This is the first of my favourites. I\'ll save the others, in hopes that no-one usurps me.

From a Railway Carriage   by Robert Louis Stevenson


Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging alone like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill and there is a river;
Each a glimpse and gone for ever.
.       Ivor



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Accept no imitations.

Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #5 on: April 07, 2011, 10:23:52 PM »
The New Rose

The new rose
trembles with early beauty
The babe sees the beckoning carmine
the tiny hand
clutches the cruel stem
The babe screams
The rose is silent
Life is already telling lies.

By Spike Milligan

From \"Small Dreams of a Scorpion\"
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!

Offline IvorThirst

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #6 on: April 07, 2011, 10:35:18 PM »
I\'m going to get in quick, with my second, before it is usurped. I have a feeling that it my be a favourite of Pen\'s.

Cargoes?? by John Masefield

QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amethysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke-stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
.       Ivor



The original and real cat with the swishy tail.
Accept no imitations.

Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #7 on: April 08, 2011, 11:44:44 AM »
I like the RLS one Ivor - I have never come across it before.

Its one of those that is best read aloud isn\'t it? That way you get the full effect of the Clackety-clack kind of rhythm.
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!

Offline IvorThirst

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #8 on: April 08, 2011, 03:44:35 PM »
That\'s exactly it, tepee. We were taught that way. I used to have a small notebook (paper not pc) with it written out with my fountain pen - in the days when my writing was legible.

With the Masefield one, we were taught to deliver the following lines in a more staccato style, so that the phrases were more distinct:

Dirty British coaster with a pause salt-caked pause smoke-stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad pause March pause days

Which gives me the chance to give my third choice - don\'t worry, it is my last:

Kubla Khan   By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! That deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e\'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher\'s flail :
And \'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And \'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw.
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight \'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
.       Ivor



The original and real cat with the swishy tail.
Accept no imitations.

Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #9 on: April 08, 2011, 08:00:32 PM »
Tru - you said it wasn\'t to long......so I will blame you if there\'s any complaints

I looked on youtube for recordings. There are several but there is one that seems to match your description. A voice perfectly matched to the subject. Pity is the reader is not credited.

     The Highwayman

     by  Alfred Noyes                                                          

    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding -  
    Riding - riding,
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
                                             
    He\'d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
    His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
    And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord\'s black-eyed daughter,
    Bess, the landlord\'s daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
                                                 
    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he loved the landlord\'s daughter,
    The landlord\'s red-lipped daughter,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say;

    \"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I\'m after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
    Watch for me by moonlight,
    I\'ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.\"

    He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
    But she loosened her hair i\' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
    - Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight! -
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

    He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
    And out o\' the tawny sunset, before the rise o\' the moon,
    When the road was a gypsy\'s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching -
    Marching - marching,
    King George\'s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

    They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
    But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side
    There was death at every window;
    And hell at one dark window;
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
    \"Now, keep good watch!\" and they kissed her.
     She heard the dead man say
    \"Look for me by moonlight;
    Watch for me by moonlight;
    I\'ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!\"
                                             
    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
    Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

    The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
    Blank and bare in the moonlight;
    And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love\'s refrain .

    Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
    Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
    The highwayman came riding -
    Riding - riding,
    The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
                                           
    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
    Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
    Her musket shattered the moonlight,
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death.

    He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
    Bowed, with her head o\'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood
    Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
    How Bess, the landlord\'s daughter,
    The landlord\'s black-eyed daughter,
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
                                               
    Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high
    Blood-red were his spurs i\' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
    When they shot him down on the highway,
    Down like a dog on the highway,
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

    And still of a winter\'s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    A highwayman comes riding -  
    Riding - riding,
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
                                             

    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord\'s black-eyed daughter,
    Bess, the landlord\'s daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair


That opening verse.....just wonderful metaphor. And like Ivor\'s RLS choice, this one has a rhythm; this time hoofbeats of a cantering horse.
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!

Offline Lady Penelope

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #10 on: April 08, 2011, 09:14:29 PM »
Yes,Ivor,  Cargoes is one of my favourites.     I love the bathos, the descent from the sublime to the ridiculous in the last verse.  Thanks for posting it.
Kubla Khan is another.   Obviously you have hidden depths.  Please dont give up after three postings!

I still have the book in which I kept my favourite poems - illustrated by photographs or sketches.  I still add to it occasionally, although like Ivor  my handwriting isnt what it was, so they tend to be typed these days!   Unfortunately  all my poems are in book form or on CD and I have very  few on computer* so I am still crying over my loves labours lost when the previous Time For Rhyme was wiped  - the thought  of reinstating all those I painfuly typed (in some cases transcribed from disk)  out is  just too daunting!:(

Of course a lot of poetry is better read aloud.        The CD I mentioned in another post of Betjeman.\'s verse (from R4\'s Poetry Please Maggie Smith and Derek Jacobi were particularly brilliant) really made me appreciate him properly for the first time.

Btw for newcomers, this thread was not intended to be exclusively serious poetry - doggerel , limericks(we had a few of them as well)  and nonesense verse is also welcomed.

*  I tried to cut and paste one I had got in my documents, but for some reason it didnt work.  #-o Oh well, will try again tomorrow if I have time.
\'

Offline IvorThirst

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #11 on: April 08, 2011, 09:33:13 PM »
See! I do remember these things.

That\'s a change; I\'m usually accused of having hidden shallows.

I\'m struggling, now. They were my three pomes (sic
.       Ivor



The original and real cat with the swishy tail.
Accept no imitations.

Offline Janaru

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #12 on: April 09, 2011, 05:44:27 AM »
That\'s my husbands favorite, Ive. He can still recite it. :)
Note to self:  Use your powers for good, not for evil.....

Offline Lady Penelope

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #13 on: April 09, 2011, 10:11:45 AM »
Blimey, Ivor, you not only have hidden depths, you are telepathic.(:D

After I closed down last night , I was actually thinking about that one, and wondering if I had it anywhere!

Many thanks:)-D

Offline tepeethetroll

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Re: Time For Rhyme
« Reply #14 on: April 09, 2011, 01:47:46 PM »
Another childhood favourite:

The Jumblies
by Edward Lear

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter\'s morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, `You\'ll all be drowned!\'
They called aloud, `Our Sieve ain\'t big,
But we don\'t care a button! we don\'t care a fig!
In a Sieve we\'ll go to sea!\'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
`O won\'t they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it\'s extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!\'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, `How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!\'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
`O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!\'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, `How tall they\'ve grown!
For they\'ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!\'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, `If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!\'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
I\'m NOT paranoid......thats just what THEY want you to think!!!