Poetry, Got favorites?

[pharmseller]

Neil Peart also ranks right up there

 

[Ura-Ki]

Read my tag below!

 

[Hawaiian]

.

 

[chukar]

Walt Whitman and as noted before D.H Lawernce.

 

[RicInOR]

 

[clearconscience]

I told God I was angry.
I thought He'd be surprised.
I thought I'd kept hostility
quite cleverly disguised.

I told the Lord I hate Him
I told Him that I hurt.
I told Him that He isn't fair,
He's treated me like dirt.

I told God I was angry
but I'm the one surprised.
"What I've known all along," He said,
"you've finally realized."

"At last you have admitted
what's really in your heart.
Dishonesty, not anger,
was keeping us apart.

Even when you hate Me
I don't stop loving you.
Before you can receive that love
you must confess what's true.

In telling me the anger
you genuinely feel,
it loses power over you,
permitting you to heal."

I told God I was sorry
and He's forgiven me.
The truth that I was angry
has finally set me free.

 

[clearconscience]

The policeman stood and faced his God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining.
Just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, Policeman.
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To my Church have you been true?"

The policeman squared his shoulders and said,
"No, Lord I guess I ain't,
Because those of us who carry badges
Can't always be a Saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,
And at times my work was rough,
and sometimes I've been violent,
Because the streets are awfully tough.

But I never took a penny,
That wasn't mine to keep,
I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills just got too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place
among the people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fear.

If you've a place for me here, Lord
It needn't be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand."

There was silence all around the Throne
Where the Saints had often trod.
As the policeman waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.

"Step forward now, policeman,
You've borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell!"

 

[clearconscience]

Somebody killed a policeman today,
And part of America died.
A piece of our country he swore to protect,
Will be buried with him at his side.

The suspect that shot him will stand up in court,
With counsel demanding his rights.
While a young widowed mother must work for her kids,
And spend many long lonely nights.

The beat he walked was a battle field too
just as if he had gone off to war.
Though the flag of our nation won't fly at half mast,
To his name they will add a gold star.

Yes, somebody killed a policeman today,
In your town or mine,
While we slept in comfort behind locked doors,
A cop put his life on the line.

Now his ghost walks a beat on a dark city street,
And stands at each new rookies' side.
He answered the call,of himself and gave his all,
And a part of America died

 

[Trapdoor45-70]

A number of works by Emily Dickinson.

But a long standing fav is (if my Covid 19-addles brain recalls correctly)

"There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away,
Nor any corsair like a page of prancing poetry.

This traverse may may the poorest take without oppress of toll
How frugal is the chariot that bears the human soul"

 

[RicInOR]

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter;

 

[Trapdoor45-70]

Was re-reading selections of my favorites and this one stood out as very relevant today. Just my opinion.

So many images of current events, people and groups flowed through my thoughts as I re-read this.

Last Rally

Be root fast. Never yield
What rightly is your own:
Your alter, home and field,
Your fruit or blood and bone.

Ever the vandal crew
Waits, ready to despoil
Your founded dream, your due,
The treasure of your toil.

Nor have the Caesars died.
Their brutal lector-rods
Menace on every side
Your equity – and God's.

So freedom's final claim
Can only be appealed
To you who guard her flame
And die, but never yield.

Clifford J. Laube

 

[No_Regerts]

 

[OldTengu]

Aubade

BY PHILIP LARKIN
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

I wish I could remember the name, especially given it's Veteran's Day, but the poem was about a soldier, maybe even during Christmas, who wanted to let us know we could all sleep in peace because "he had our back." I'd recognize it if I read it again, but don't have more than that.

 

[Ura-Ki]

I wish I could remember the name, especially given it's Veteran's Day, but the poem was about a soldier, maybe even during Christmas, who wanted to let us know we could all sleep in peace because "he had our back." I'd recognize it if I read it again, but don't have more than that.

Mayhaps this?

Marine Christmas Poem, by a Marine for Marines.

Wonderful Christmas Poem and the story of the writing of the poem by a Marine in 1986.

gospelweb.net

 

[Jasonanddeonna]

Mayhaps this?

Marine Christmas Poem, by a Marine for Marines.

Wonderful Christmas Poem and the story of the writing of the poem by a Marine in 1986.

gospelweb.net

By golly, @Ura-Ki I think you found it! I have seen other versions, but are not as poignant as this. Thank you and MERRY CHRISTMAS!

 

[Certaindeaf]

 

[Mike_M57]

In Days Of Old
When Knights Were Bold
And Toilets Weren't Invented
They'd Lay Their Load
Beside The Road
And Walk Away
Contented

 

[Mikej]

In Days Of Old
When Knights Were Bold
And Toilets Weren't Invented
They'd Lay Their Load
Beside The Road
And Walk Away
Contented

Okay, the version of "In days of old when knights were bold....." I heard, 50 years ago went somewhat different.

 

[Mikej]

People who write on bubblegumhouse walls
roll their bubblegum in little balls.
But people who read these words of wit
eat those little balls of bubblegum.

From bar room bathroom wall.
Somewhere in Western Wyoming.
Circa mid 1970s
Author unknown