The Maker, at Creation's birth,

With living things had stocked the earth.

From elephants to bats and snails,

They all were good, for all were males.

But when the Devil came and saw

He said: "By Thine eternal law

Of growth, maturity, decay,

These all must quickly pass away

And leave untenanted the earth

Unless Thou dost establish birth" --

Then tucked his head beneath his wing

To laugh -- he had no sleeve -- the thing

With deviltry did so accord,

That he'd suggested to the Lord.

The Master pondered this advice,

Then shook and threw the fateful dice

Wherewith all matters here below

Are ordered, and observed the throw;

Then bent His head in awful state,

Confirming the decree of Fate.

From every part of earth anew

The conscious dust consenting flew,

While rivers from their courses rolled

To make it plastic for the mould.

Enough collected (but no more,

For niggard Nature hoards her store)

He kneaded it to flexible clay,

While Nick unseen threw some away.

And then the various forms He cast,

Gross organs first and finer last;

No one at once evolved, but all

By even touches grew and small

Degrees advanced, till, shade by shade,

To match all living things He'd made

Females, complete in all their parts

Except (His clay gave out) the hearts.

"No matter," Satan cried; "with speed

I'll fetch the very hearts they need" --

So flew away and soon brought back

The number needed, in a sack.

That night earth range with sounds of strife --

Ten million males each had a wife;

That night sweet Peace her pinions spread

O'er Hell -- ten million devils dead!

Could you paraphrase?

I've always loved this one:



Fatty and Skinny
 went to bed.
Fatty rolled over,
 and Skinny was dead.

The best poem of all time hands down:

[url]www.geocities.com/~spanoudi/poems/horatius.html[/url]

To keep this thread on a serious note:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm schizophrenic
And so am I

I've always liked  Kipling. My favorite is "the young British Soldier
The last stanza is fiting of the current times methinks

The Young British Soldier
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
  Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
     Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
     Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
     Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
        So-oldier OF the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
  A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
     Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
  An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
     Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
[cont}

[cont}

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
  An' it crumples the young British soldier.
     Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
  An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
     Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
  That it's beer for the young British soldier.
     Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
  Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
     'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er:  that's Hell for them both,
  An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
     Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
  And march to your front like a soldier.
     Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
  An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
     Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
  For noise never startles the soldier.
     Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
  And wait for supports like a soldier.
     Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
  An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
     Go, go, go like a soldier,
     Go, go, go like a soldier,
     Go, go, go like a soldier,
        So-oldier of the Queen!

There was a young girl of Samoa
Who determined that no man should know her.
One young fellow tried
But she wriggled aside,
And spilled all the spermatozoa.

There once was a man from Nantucket...

Sorry Katana...but you HAD to have known this would happen. [:O)]

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell


From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.


[USA]

Yeah Hank...it's about MY wife. Where'dja get the horns, man? Izzit calcium deposits??

No, I didn't know.

I thought he just drank too much milk when he was a kid.

Wow. I'll bet dooor-to-door salestypes don't bug Hank too much.

From Wilfred Owen:

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Was forced to learn this one in eight grade.  Still with me even now:


Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

One of my more recent favorites, author is only 16.

The Planes Of September


The people walked about the land
They mused their dreams, they made their plans
Souls moral and false, natures careless and kind
Jarred rudely awake at the quarter of nine
Innocents evolved into terrorists and timber,
Black was the smoke from the planes of September

So the people, they stopped, they shuddered and cried
They screamed at the scandal of safety defied
They listened to lectures and rumors of war
Felt the confusion, watched the doom-numbers soar
They saw reason scorch in evil's hot embers
Bright were the flames from the planes of September

So symbols were bashed and humanity burned
History sighed and another page turned
The people had fallen, face down in the dust
Would they arise to be strong as they must?
Be assured that they shall, as they mourn and remember
The rage, death and hope from the planes of September

~ Jessica Purser, 16 years old

"[url=eserver.org/poetry/light-brigade.html]The Charge of the Light Brigade[/url]," by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"[url=www.artofeurope.com/yeats/yea10.htm]Easter, 1916[/url]," by William Butler Yeats

In the Beginning

First Man: I think, I think I am, therefore I am, I think.

Establishment: Of course you are my bright little star,
               I've miles
                And miles
                 Of files
             Pretty files of your forefather's fruit
                                    and now to suit our
                                      great computer,
            You're magnetic ink.

   First Man: I'm more than that, I know I am, at least, I think I must be.

   Inner Man: There you go man, keep as cool as you can.
               Face piles
                And piles
                Of trials
              With smiles.
                   It riles them to believe
                          that you perceive
                         the web they weave
                  And keep on thinking free.

The Staff Officer plans,
The Logitician provides,
and the General says when to begin...

But the killing is done,
and the battle decided,
by the work of much younger men.

IF you are a father of sons then by all means at an early age you should be reading the poem IF to them.
Break it out every once in awhile and live by it.

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot (1925)
I


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar


Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;


Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


II


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.


Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --


Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


III


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.


Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


IV


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms


In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river


Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


V


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.


Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow


For Thine is the Kingdom


Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow


Life is very long


Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Both too long to quote here:

Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock

Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner

-legrue

From Shel Silverstein:

Chester go to school one day and said
"Durn, I growed another head!"

The teacher said, "It's about time you knowed,
the word is 'grew' instead of growed."

I won't post any of my Psychotic poetry here (promice to self).

Eric/Tyler