Oh wow I just found it! I knew I had it on my PC, it wasn't a file that was immediately recognised - and my mistake, its Linda Hurley who wrote it. Hope you like it now!

***********


THE PLAYGROUND

I stand alone in the playground
No one talks to me
I see the looks, and hear their whispers:
She's the mother of the 'little beast'.

The boy who cant sit still in the classroom
The one that fools around
The child who torments the others
And throws himself to the ground.

She must be a useless parent
No control or restraint
We'll go and see the Headmistress
And make a formal complaint.

We want the 'looney' expelled
You know the one we mean
The boy who runs aorund the playground
As if driven by a machine.

Who sends the other children flying
Cuts and bruises everywhere
Get rid of the little menace
How you do it, we don't care.

The 'brat' whose been banned at lunchtime
The child who has no friends
The boy who's never invited to parties
And Christmas cards - not one was sent.

The child who cries because he is lonely
As no friend invites him to tea
The boy who believes he is useless
And not fit to be loved by me.

The lad who is a 'loner'
Through no choice of his own
Who struggles in the classroom
And is made to sit alone.

The boy who lags behind
As hard as he may try
Who at the age of seven
Can barely read and write.

And so I continue to stand alone
No one talks to me
The mother of a little boy
Whose been diagnosed with ADHD

Radiant Aunt & Rose: thanks but I already spent ages googling for it and couldn't find it. I didn't get it off the net to start with though.

Its goes something like... I stand alone in the playground
Noone talks to me
I'm the mother of the monster
the little boy with ADHD...

Its quite a long poem, very sad.

Rose: I'm not sure if its one and the same, I don't think so. The poem is about ADHD and the poet has a son with the disorder and wrote this poem. I don't think it is the actress.

Does anyone remember a poem called "The Playground" by Liz Hurley? I'm sure I posted it somewhere on BK but its not on this board. If anyone happens to know the poem could they send me a copy please?

WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING
Written by a former child

A message every adult should read, because children
are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my
first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately
wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a
stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind
to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my
favorite cake for me and I learned that the little
things can be the special things in life.

When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a
prayer, and I knew there is a God I could always talk
to and I learned to trust in God.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make a
meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I
learned that we all have to help take ! care of each other.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of
your time and money to help people who had nothing
and I learned that those who have something should
give to those who don't.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you take
care of our house and everyone in it and I learned
we have to take care of what we are given.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw how you
handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't
feel good and I learned that I would have to be
responsible when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come
from your eyes and I learned that sometimes things
hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you
cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I learned most of
life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and
productive person when I grow up.

When you ! thought I wasn't looking, I looked at you and
wanted to say, "Thanks for all the things I saw when
you thought I wasn't looking."



Each of us (parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, teacher
or friend) influence the life of a child.

How will you touch the life of someone today?
Just by sending this to someone else, you will
probably make them at least think about their
influence on others.


Author Unknown

رضا: No problem at all to send it to anyone who wants by email.
Thats a great explanation, is it your own interpretation of it or a standard text?

A CHRISTMAS VISIT TO EBAY

'Twas the Night Before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, but me and my mouse

I eagerly sat at my PC with care
Booted it up and my Windows were there

I typed in my screen name, then password and click
I was on EBAY, just me and St. Nick

I checked out the status of all my high bids
I upped the reserve on a gift for the kids

That being done, I was ready to play
So, I keyed in a search for New Listings Today

When what to my wondering eyes should behold?
Just four thousand, eighty-nine items in bold

The Gallery Preview, I scrolled and I browsed
My cravings were heightened, but just not aroused

An old clockwork nodder, a scarce sisal bough
But I needed something to purchase right now!

Who better to buy for and lavish upon?
One stroke on my keypad to Go, Going, Gone!

"Transferring Document" What takes so long?
Five percent, ten percent, what could be wrong?

There was no scheduled maintenance; EBAY's just slow!
Then two items appeared in a Yuletide glow

A pot metal Reindeer which left me bereft
And a Belsnickle Santa with two minutes left

Three pictures loaded, in focus and clean
A Solemn old Santa, the best that I've seen!

He seemed a bit pricey, but who could resist?
I hope there's no snipers, 'cause they get me pissed!

One minute more, there's no time to bid twice
I'll just have to offer my best highest price

Submitting it now. The reserve has been met.
You're the high bidder, wow! Just how good can it get?

Ten seconds, five now, refreshed and reposed
The bidding has ended, this auction is closed!

Good God, what a moment! Comparison's fail
Then all of a sudden a voice, "You've Got Mail"

I opened it quickly, the seller did query
"Do you have intentions to buy that now, dearie?"

My reply would be brief, just a quick cut and paste
"Dear, Snowman@Earthlink" my fast fingers raced

A Postal M.O. No, I know you'll be moved
I'll pay it with Billpoint, it's EBAY approved!

Just one more peek at my rosy cheeked Elf
He's just the right size for my prize mantle shelf

It was late and my eyes were all glassy and pink
When I noticed my Belsnickle gave me a wink!

Then a voice from my speakers, which gave me a fright
"MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and to ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"

PROGRAMMER'S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before implementation and all through the house,
not a program was working not even a browse.
The programmers hung by their tubes in despair,
with hopes that a miracle would soon be there.

The users were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of inquiries danced in their heads.
When out in the machine room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a super programmer (with a six-pack of beer).
His resume glowed with experience so rare,
he turned out great code with a bit-pusher's flair.

More rapid than eagles, his programs they came,
On update! on add! on inquiry! on delete!
on batch jobs! on closing! on functions complete!
His eyes were glazed-over, fingers nimble and lean,
from weekends and nights in front of a screen.

A wink of his eye, and a twitch of his head,
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
turning specs into code; then turned with a jerk;

And laying his finger upon the "ENTER" key,
the systems came up and worked perfectly.
The updates updated; the deletes, they deleted;
the inquiries inquired, and closings completed.

He tested each whistle, and tested each bell,
with nary an abend, and all had gone well.
The system was finished, the tests were concluded.
The users' last changes were even included.

And the user exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt,
"It's just what I asked for, but not what I want!"

Anonymous

Stardust has requested this board go back to poetry. Please honour that request. If you have any concerns about moderator actions, please message Stardust and I'm sure she'd be happy to listen, but this isn't the place.

Andre, I'm in two minds about your 'poem', so I'm going to place it (you) on hide until a mod comes online and they can make the decision if it should stay or not. Personally I see it as flaming of a moderator, but I'll let the mods decide that :o)

Wow, all credit to you! I couldn't teach, I wouldn't have the patience!

Tuesday, are you really a teacher?

I'm impressed!

Who is Raymond French? I like his work :o)

Jeez Linda thats awful. In the UK we hear about kids taking guns to school in America and its so difficult to imagine it. A lot of kids here have never seen a real gun, and most schools have some form of religious education, even if its only an hour a week. My kids regularly to go church with their school. .

Awww I think its sweet :o) Well done, Kanga :oD

LOL Slam, thats not very poetic!!

Hmm, did you ever get to 'use' that IT diploma, Aragon?!!

Happy birthday granny!!!!

Gosh Lamby (wipes a tear) thanks :o)
And thanks A M too :o)

I posted this on the fellowship board, and while I don't normally double up my posts I have been asked to post it here too... for various reasons. So here goes. Apologies to Poetry Challenge! members who have already read this.

Childhood... by harley

DARKNES. TERROR. ANGER. PAIN.
The fear of being hurt again.
Dare not move, or make a sound.
For on my tiny form, fists will pound.

Older now, five or six.
Taking the punches, taking the kicks.
A full day at school, then smacks round the head
"clean all the house cow, then piss off to bed"

Lying in the dark, aching like mad,
It kicks off downstairs, its gonna be bad.
He's been drinking all week, no work for him
Screaming and smashing, has he broken her limb?

Silence..... oh God no, is she dead?
Has he done it at last, anger finally fed?
I daren't go and see, oh please make a sound
Need to know, need to see, but not allowed down.

I stay silent in bed and just pray
Simple wishes, like can everything be ok?
I'll be good now I promise, I swear
just as long as my mum is still there.

Morning now, unbelievable I slept
the calm is chilling, I didn't forget
not a word, don't ask, don't look
Don't see the bandage, or bruises she took.

Go to school, all is fine.
This secret has to stay mine
If I tell I'll be taken away
And worse will happen to me every day.

Hometime. What to expect? What will be there?
A sleeping ogre, to tiptoe around, if you dare?
Or a drunken rage, jet black eyes that just stare...
waiting, like a lion, to pounce if it cares.

Creep in, hold your breath, stale beer
Shh! Listen, is that a snore I hear?
Move slowly, so slowly, oh no!
Kicked a shoe, will that wake him? I don't know.

Stirrings.. murmers, the creak of the chair
My stomach churns, feel sick, fear is there.
Lurching form across the room, he knows that I'm here
I woke him up, big mistake, but don't shed a tear

To show weakness brings more pain
he can't stand it. He'll hit again and again.
"It will be worse for you... the louder you cry"
Yeah thanks mum, I'll give that one a try.

White hot pain, flashing lights in my eyes
A good head shot, he says I told some lies?
"No dad, I didn't"... "Don't answer me BACK"
Oh Jesus this hurts, please stop this attack.

Pounding and thumping reletless and hard
I'm in agony but numb, am I in bed or in the yard?
Can't see or hear now, the ringing is loud
faintly "you're a disgrace, you'll never make me proud"

Years drift by, doesn't get any better, can't get any worse.
Is this my life? No, this is more like some kind of curse.
I grit my teeth and live it, one day I'll be free
I'm 30 now and over it. Do you agree?

A Divine Image


Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.

The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

William Blake

LOL Radiant, very approriate here in England too today!

Nice one Lilac, I love those, especially 'Leisure'!

Wow! Awesome, Medic!

LOL, thanks! I did that in about 10 mins, I've been working on a different one, very different, much darker, but I think I'll post that at the poetry fellowship.

My first attempt... go easy on me!!

Ahem... BrainKing


Usurper started the whole 'poem' thing,
But its grown like a rolling stone.
Aragon built on Usurpers base
with the fellowship, and oh, how its grown!

The foundation, of course, was set by Fencer,
good old Brain King itself.
Without it all this talent
may have stayed on the shelf!

Current River and Stardust
are also famous here,
And Granny and Dano
regularly appear.

There are legends elsewhere too..
post a quiz.. and what do we find?
Big Bad Wolf, or Aragon,
always close at hand!

Chatty and Lilac
are good for a giggle,
feeling blue? feeling sad?
They'll make you laugh 'till you jiggle!

Then theres Bumble and Panda,
parents of two sets of twins!
A wonder they have time for games,
let alone making them wins!

And last but not least
my two special mates.
Medic and Lamby,
you're both real great :o)

Theres so many top people
on this wonderful site,
I couldn't even begin
to bring them all to light.

If your name is here or not,
I thank you all the same.
For making this one big happy family
Who love playing the games!

Awwww, thats lovely, Stardust, and so sad :o(

The Owl


When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

This was my Nanas attitude to death too! She died in her 70's... peacefully in her sleep.

Let Me Die a Youngman's Death


Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death

Roger McGough

Thats beautiful :o)

LMAO, much obliged!! :o) We do like to throw letters in when its not really necessary!

*blush* well thanks, and I'd be honoured to be the vote counter!

LOL, I'd be happy to add the points up if everyone is happy with that.
Personally I like the idea of being able to award points to each poem.
Also this way people will be more honest with their points because its anonymous - only results would be made public... unless there was a querie on any votes. Maybe 2 people gathering the points would be a better idea? Then people could choose who to send their votes (points) to?

Obviously there would have to be some rules... one vote per person etc. And all entries should make it clear that they ARE entries, and must be in by a certain date to be considered for votes... nobody should vote until all entries are in etc etc.
Or, you could have a points system, each person can award points for each poem, and one person adds up all the points per poem. Then people can judge each poem!

How about if everyone judges? I think it was cubs who came up with a good judging idea a while ago... everyone sends their vote to a selected person who adds the votes up and posts the results.

First Day at School


A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

Roger McGough

Well I think its hilarious!! LOL, and SOOOO true!!! Ha ha!!

Its always worth a try, if people won't like it they won't enter! :o)
Of course I'll help too, in any way possible :o)

OMG that is SO true and how perfectly expressed! I'm going to print this out if I may, I think its excellent!!

Mirror, Mirror


A young spring-tender girl
combed her joyous hair
'You are very ugly' said the mirror.
But,
on her lips hung
a smile of dove-secret loveliness,
for only that morning had not
the blind boy said,
'You are beautiful'?

Spike Milligan

Television


The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Roald Dahl

Do you mean this one, Chief? I've not heard of one called The Vampire....

The Conqueror Worm

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Withen the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedlight
In veils, drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.


Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly;
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things,
Flapping out their condor wings
Invisible Woe!


That motley drama! - oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot;
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horrow, the soul of the plot!


But see, amid the mimis rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.


Out - out are all the lights - out all!
And over each quievering form,
The curtain a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm -
And the angels, all pallid and wan
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, 'Man,'
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Edgar Allen Poe

THE RAVEN.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the door; ----
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" --
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never -- nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplght gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore!

Edgar Allen Poe (taken from eapoe.org)

I'm looking at the boxes my books are in.... do you have any idea how many BOXES there are, never mind books!!! *sigh* I guess they need doing though... here goes...!!!!

Really? I never knew that! You learn somethig new every day! I might post a few of his, I love his poems. I need to get my books unpacked, I have loads of poetry books I could dip into and post here, well known and lesser known poets.

Usurper, Edgar Allen Poe comes to mind.... excellent! And Aragons response... well you've managed to shock me, hun!! Nice one!

Double wow!! Thats great, Fencer, who wrote that?

;o) And one of my others!!

The ABC by Spike Milligan

'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"

Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"

"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."

C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."

"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."

"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."

X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."

This is one of my all time favourite poems.

Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Thanks, Usurper, for this board
I'm sure it will be great
For everyone to post their hoard
Morning, noon to late!!

(see, you're not the only one who can do shoddy poetry in a rush!! lol)

One to be going on with!!

****

Blessings on this fine machine,
May its data all be clean.
Let the files stay where they're put,
Away from disk drives keep all soot.
From its screen shall come no whines,
Let in no spikes on power lines.
As oaks were sacred to the Druids,
Let not the keyboard suffer fluids.
Disk Full shall be nor more than rarity,
The memory shall not miss its parity.
From the modem shall come wonders,
Without line noise making blunders.
May it never catch a virus,
And all its software stay desirous.
Oh let the printer never jam,
And turn my output into spam.
I ask of Eris, noble queen,
Keep Murphy far from this machine.