My favorite set of lyrics would have to be CAKE's Comfort Eagle

We are building a religion
We are building it bigger
We are widening the corridors
And adding more lanes

We are building a religion
A limited edition
We are now accepting callers
For these pendant key chains

To resist it is useless
It is useless to resist it
His cigarette is burning
But he never seems to ash

He is grooming his poodle
He is living comfort eagle
You can meet at his location
But you'd better come with cash

Now his hat is on backwards
He can show you his tatoos
He is in the music business
He is calling you "DUDE!"....

an on from there.

However my favorite small bit of lyrics is from Lady Sovereign's Love me or Hate me

Go on then, come on support me
I'm English, try and deport me!

Love me or hate me, it?s still an obsession
Love me or hate me, that is the question
If you love me then, thank you!
If you hate me then, **** you!

"Hallelujah" written and performed by Leonard Cohen. If lyrics should be poetry, this qualifies.

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I agree Don, My favourite version of the song was Rufus Waignright's.(sp?) I love the understatement. Burke's was a sad joke.

The smiths- PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES


Upon the sand, upon the bay
"There is a quick and easy way" you say
Before you illustrate
I'd rather state :
"I'm not the man you think I am
I'm not the man you think I am"

And Sorrow's native son
He will not smile for anyone

And Pretty Girls Make Graves
Oh ...

End of the pier, end of the bay
You tug my arm, and say : "Give in to lust,
Give up to lust, oh heaven knows we'll
Soon be dust ... "

Oh, I'm not the man you think I am
I'm not the man you think I am

And Sorrow's native son
He will not rise for anyone

And Pretty Girls Make Graves
Oh really ?
Oh ...

I could have been wild and I could have
Been free
But Nature played this trick on me

She wants it Now
And she will not wait
But she's too rough
And I'm too delicate

Then, on the sand
Another man, he takes her hand
A smile lights up her stupid face
(and well, it would)

I lost my faith in Womanhood
I lost my faith in Womanhood
I lost my faith ...
Oh ...






It's a great portrayal of a sensitive guy, beautiful lyrics without going over the top, I recommend you all have a listen on youtube!

"give in to lust, - give up to lust! Heaven knows we'll soon be dust" Wondrously simple.

Originally Posted by Citizen Smith

I agree Don, My favourite version of the song was Rufus Waignright's.(sp?) I love the understatement. Burke's was a sad joke.

I just came across Wainright's (sp?) version today and it is a great.

Originally Posted by Citizen Smith

The smiths- PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES

"give in to lust, - give up to lust! Heaven knows we'll soon be dust" Wondrously simple.

Even if I hadn't just listened to it, that lyric would grab me.

After this, I'll never say a communist lacks soul

Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Leonard Cohen - Closing Time

Ah we're drinking and we're dancing
and the band is really happening
and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high
And my very sweet companion
she's the Angel of Compassion
she's rubbing half the world against her thigh
And every drinker every dancer
lifts a happy face to thank her
the fiddler fiddles something so sublime
all the women tear their blouses off
and the men they dance on the polka-dots
and it's partner found, it's partner lost
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:
it's CLOSING TIME
Yeah the women tear their blouses off
and the men they dance on the polka-dots
and it's partner found, it's partner lost
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:
it's CLOSING TIME

Ah we're lonely, we're romantic
and the cider's laced with acid
and the Holy Spirit's crying, "Where's the beef?"
And the moon is swimming naked
and the summer night is fragrant
with a mighty expectation of relief
So we struggle and we stagger
down the snakes and up the ladder
to the tower where the blessed hours chime
and I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
the Gates of Love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
but CLOSING TIME

I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
the Gates of Love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
CLOSING TIME

I loved you for your beauty
but that doesn't make a fool of me:
you were in it for your beauty too
and I loved you for your body
there's a voice that sounds like God to me
declaring, declaring, declaring that your body's really you
And I loved you when our love was blessed
and I love you now there's nothing left
but sorrow and a sense of overtime
and I missed you since the place got wrecked
And I just don't care what happens next
looks like freedom but it feels like death
it's something in between, I guess
it's CLOSING TIME

Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked
By the winds of change and the weeds of sex
looks like freedom but it feels like death
it's something in between, I guess
it's CLOSING TIME

Yeah we're drinking and we're dancing
but there's nothing really happening
and the place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night
And my very close companion
gets me fumbling gets me laughing
she's a hundred but she's wearing
something tight
and I lift my glass to the Awful Truth
which you can't reveal to the Ears of Youth
except to say it isn't worth a dime
And the whole damn place goes crazy twice
and it's once for the devil and once for Christ
but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights
we're busted in the blinding lights,
busted in the blinding lights
of CLOSING TIME

Each man’s kit was kept to hand:
a towering war helmet, webbed mail-shirt
and great-shafted spear. It was their habit
always and everywhere to be ready for action,
at home or in the camp, in whatever case
and at whatever time the need arose
to rally round their lord. They were a right people.

--from Beowulf (translation by Seamus Heaney)

OZYMANDIAS
By Percy Bysshe Shelley.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Elusive Butterfly - Bob Lind

You might wake up some mornin'
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if you're quick enough to rise
You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow
Out on the new horizon
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings
And if the sleep has left your ears
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow

Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love

You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in
You might have seen me runnin'
Through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathin'

Don't be concerned, it will not harm you
It's only me pursuing somethin' I'm not sure of
Across my dreams with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love

"Hello me, it's me again
You can subdue but never tame me
It gives me a migraine headache
Sinking down to your level
Yeah, just keep on thinking it's my fault
And stay an inch or two out of kicking distance
Mankind has got to know
His limitations." MEGADETH, Countdown to Extinction studio album/CD track 5-'Sweating Bullets'.

loose leaves...
The Sun looks cold as it sits up there,
our gardens now dull, bleak and bare,
its not the same when summers gone,
dismal and gray the lights always on.
Damp dead leaves forever there,
always unsightly, its just not fair.
they dry and blow down the street,
cracking and crunching under the feet!
Oh hurry the summers Sun drenched morn,
bright fresh blooms, fresh lush lawn,
picking blossoms, trim a hedge,
to water roses and the veg,
everything up looking right,
leaves and all, what a good sight!

Tom Waits---San Diego Serenade

I never saw the morning 'til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody, until I needed a song.

I never saw the white line, 'til I was leaving you behind
I never knew I needed you 'til I was caught up in a bind
I never spoke 'I love you' 'til I cursed you in vain,
I never felt my heartstrings until I nearly went insane.

I never saw the east coast 'til I move to the west
I never saw the moonlight until it shone off your breast
I never saw your heart 'til someone tried to steal,
Tried to steal it away
I never saw your tears until they rolled down your face.

As its nearly 11/11 I thought I'd post one of my own.

Behind the Soldier

She opened her eyes to the misty dawn
And watched as he laced up his boots
The Bergen a realisation
He was leaving his home and his roots
At the sound of her tears gently falling
He scooped her into his arms
Said he’d be home just soon as he could
To tease her once more with his charms

“Take care of our home and our babies,
I need you to stay strong and true,
Your letters will keep me from sinking
While I’m fighting for freedom...for you.
You’re my world and I love you my darling
I’ll be home just as soon as I can
But I promised to fight for this country
It’s the path that I chose as a man.
Reveille has sung out her calling
My boys are lined up on the square
They are waiting for roll to be called now
They’ll be lost if I am not there”

She surrendered a kiss to her soldier
“I’ll write bluey’s to you every day
Send photo’s and tales of our babies
So you can imagine their play
I’m so proud to call you my husband
Don’t forget our pact that we made
My heart is with you to help you
If you ever feel lost or afraid
I’ll keep lighting candles to guide you
Til the day that your job’s finally done
And you can come back home to England
To me and the kids and have fun”


She wrote as she had promised
Despite the few replies
She knew that he was busy
Protecting peoples’ lives
She wasn’t really ready
For the knock upon the door
To tell her that ”with deep regret
Her soldier was no more...”
She held on to his dog tags
As the words hung in the air
He’d died being a hero
He died because he cared

He knew that we are privileged
And sometimes there’s a price
To live a life of freedom
A life that we call ‘nice’
That every time we ‘air our views’
Or choose to ‘make a stand’
We can because our brave young men
Fight for this fair land

She closed the door behind the boy
Whose tears were proud and true
Her man had died for everyone
For her, his kids, for you
Its just a simple poppy
It only costs a pound
To tell them that you thank them
To show that you are proud
Wear it with your shoulders back
And thank the moon and skies
That you can say you’re British
And Freedom is your prize.

With Hugnkiss's poem topically mentioning war and poppies, here's a totally different take on those from one of the famous "Liverpool Poets" of the 1960s...

It was our first great war.
And after the first successful sortie.
Into the nomansgland between her thighs.
We waited anxiously every month.
For the poppy-seller to appear in her streets.

-- Adrian Henri, 1932-2000

Favourite poem
John Clare - First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more




Favourite lyric
Crass - Reality Asylum
(especially the last line)

I am no feeble Christ, not me
He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
Above my body, lowly me
Christ forgive, forgive?
Holy He, He holy, He holy?
**** He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
Christy Christus
Puke upon your papal throne
Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud
Of hellish genocide
Petulant child
I have suffered for you
Where you have never known me
I too must die
Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
Your valley truth
What light pass those pious heights?
What passing bells for these in their trucks?
For you lord.
You are the flag-bearer of these nations
One against the other that die in the mud
No piety. No deity
Is that your forgiveness?
Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
Forgive? **** he forgives
He hangs upon his cross
In self-righteous judgment
Hangs in crucified delight
Nailed to the extend of His vision
His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
He would nail my body upon his cross
As if I might have waited for him in the garden
As if I might have perfumed His body
Washed those bloody feet
This woman that he seeks
Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
Gravedigger. Earthmover. Life****er. Jesu.
You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt
The sorrow of your tradition
Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata. Eraser.
The cross is the mast of our oppression.
You fly there, vain flag.
You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
Enola is your gaiety.
Suffer little children (to come unto me)
Suffer in that horror. Hirohorror. Hirrohiro. Hiroshimmer. Shimmerhiro.
Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
The bodies are your delight
The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
They come to you Jesu. To you
The nails are the only trinity
Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
The image that I have had to suffer
These nails at my temple
The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
That you defile
In your guilt you turn your back
Nailed to that body
Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
There are no words for my contempt
Every woman is a cross in filthy theology
He turns His back on me in His fear
His vain delight is that pain I bear
Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
Alone. Alone. His voice. His voice
He shares nothing, this Christ
Sterile. Impotent. ****love prophet of death
He's the ultimate pornography
He. He. Hear us Jesus
You sigh alone in your cockfear
You lie alone in your ****fear.
You cry alone in your womanfear.
You die alone in your manfear.
Alone Jesu, alone
In your cockfear. ****fear. Womanfear. Manfear.
Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear.
Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.

The Beginnings

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate
Rudyard Kiplin

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
when God on high did speak aloud.
He said, "Beware, the grinning Tony,
because he speaketh much baloney."

Alas, alas, I did not listen,
and soon the gun barrels did glisten,
with soldiers sent into Iraq,
with lies to justify attack.

The missiles and the planes went flying,
and soon the children started dying.
The grieving parents screamed and cried,
whilst here at home our Tony lied.

And now Iraq is devastated,
with Tony Blair maligned and hated.
But he`s forgotten the flames and ash,
and only cares about his cash.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.


And as for lyrics..(I have many, but chose this)



"In My Secret Life"

I saw you this morning.
You were moving so fast.
Can’t seem to loosen my grip
On the past.
And I miss you so much.
There’s no one in sight.
And we’re still making love
In My Secret Life.

I smile when I’m angry.
I cheat and I lie.
I do what I have to do
To get by.
But I know what is wrong,
And I know what is right.
And I’d die for the truth
In My Secret Life.

Hold on, hold on, my brother.
My sister, hold on tight.
I finally got my orders.
I’ll be marching through the morning,
Marching through the night,
Moving cross the borders
Of My Secret Life.

Looked through the paper.
Makes you want to cry.
Nobody cares if the people
Live or die.
And the dealer wants you thinking
That it’s either black or white.
Thank G-d it’s not that simple
In My Secret Life.

I bite my lip.
I buy what I’m told:
From the latest hit,
To the wisdom of old.
But I’m always alone.
And my heart is like ice.
And it’s crowded and cold
In My Secret Life.

I can't give solutions to all of life's problems, doubts, or fears.
But I can listen to you, and together we will search for answers.

I can't change your past with all its heartache and pain,
or the future with its untold stories.
But I can be there now when you need me to care.

I can't keep your feet from stumbling.
I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not fall.

Your decisions in life are not mine to make, nor to judge.
I can only support you, encourage you, and help you when you ask. .

I can't give you boundaries, which I have determined for you.
But I can give you the room to change, room to grow, room to be yourself.

I can't keep your heart from breaking or hurting.
But I can cry with you and help you pick up the pieces
and put them back in place.

I can't tell you who you are.
I can only love you and be your friend.
--- Author Unknown ---

Originally Posted by Jack Napier

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

That's a beautiful poem. I sent it to a friend when she sadly lost her father.

When the time comes, I'd like that to be read at my funeral......morbid I know, but I would

BYT

Forever alone...
Searching, looking about the sea,
one of these days they'll come for me.
Up on the hill my becon stands high,
waiting there ready, to catch an eye.
Every day I scan the sea,
endlessly longing to be home and free.
Stranded, the crew have all gone,
down with the ship, all but one.
I remember it all too well,
as that screaming hulk desended to hell!
Between the rocks pounded by sea,
flapping sails as lines broke free.
Only the masts above the waves,
mark my shipmates watery graves....sheff...........

River of Dreams.....
The lad wades into the river of dreams,
replenished daily by countless streams.
Into the unknown coldness he go's,
what lies there? No-one knows.
Crossing quickly no time to wait,
on the other side awaits his fate!
Here the roads run many ways,
the rest of his life in unnumbered days.
He alone must choose his tak,
no more chances there's no going back!
None can tell which roads the best,
its down to him at lifes first test.
On he must go ignoring all screams,
crossing lifes waters, the river of dreams!........sheff.

Originally Posted by Bright Young Thing

That's a beautiful poem. I sent it to a friend when she sadly lost her father.

I am glad you liked it.

Here is another.

Peace and grace once ruled this place

An angel held open the door

Now peace is dead

The angel has fled

And grace is a hustling whore

I am sorry to have taken up your time

I am a poem that just would not rhyme

It's easy to forget me, just turn a page

I'll waste away

I'll waste away


x

HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

WB Yeates He wishes for the clothes of heaven.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST by 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 our 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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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, Obscene as cancer, 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.

Dulce et decorum est: - Wilfed Owen

Sigh no more ladies sigh no more,
we men were decievers ever,
one foot in the sea and one on the shore,
to one thing constant never,
so sigh not so but let us go,
and be blythe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe,
to hey nonny nonny!!

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived!!!

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself

Behind the Soldier

She opened her eyes to the misty dawn
And watched as he laced up his boots
The Bergen a realisation
He was leaving his home and his roots
At the sound of her tears gently falling
He scooped her into his arms
Said he’d be home just soon as he could
To tease her once more with his charms

“Take care of our home and our babies,
I need you to stay strong and true,
Your letters will keep me from sinking
While I’m fighting for freedom...for you.
You’re my world and I love you my darling
I’ll be home just as soon as I can
But I promised to fight for this country
It’s the path that I chose as a man.
Reveille has sung out her calling
My boys are lined up on the square
They are waiting for roll to be called now
They’ll be lost if I am not there”

She surrendered a kiss to her soldier
“I’ll write bluey’s to you every day
Send photo’s and tales of our babies
So you can imagine their play
I’m so proud to call you my husband
Don’t forget our pact that we made
My heart is with you to help you
If you ever feel lost or afraid
I’ll keep lighting candles to guide you
Til the day that your job’s finally done
And you can come back home to England
To me and the kids and have fun”


She wrote as she had promised
Despite the few replies
She knew that he was busy
Protecting peoples’ lives
She wasn’t really ready
For the knock upon the door
To tell her that ”with deep regret
Her soldier was no more...”
She held on to his dog tags
As the words hung in the air
He’d died being a hero
He died because he cared

He knew that we are privileged
And sometimes there’s a price
To live a life of freedom
A life that we call ‘nice’
That every time we ‘air our views’
Or choose to ‘make a stand’
We can because our brave young men
Fight for this fair land

She closed the door behind the boy
Whose tears were proud and true
Her man had died for everyone
For her, his kids, for you
Its just a simple poppy
It only costs a pound
To tell them that you thank them
To show that you are proud
Wear it with your shoulders back
And thank the moon and skies
That you can say you’re British
And Freedom is your prize.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began? A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

Love

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a ****ing big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of ****ing fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the **** you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing ****ing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, ****ed up brats you spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.

MY MOTHER’S EYES
It only seems like yesterday, I was a little lad.
My childhood was a violent one, it hurt me very bad.
My memories of those awful days won’t ever leave my mind.
They left their scars, in many ways they will not stay behind.
I’ve sat and tried to justify. I’ve tried to see the plan.
To look at things in many ways from boyhood to a man.
I knew when I would be a man with small tots of my own,
I’ll never lay a hand on them. I’d watch them all full grown.
My mother’s moods were hundred fold.
Her lovely eyes forever cold.
My life began its downward slide
As her moods would change like the turning tide.
All my fault’s she’d always see
She’d never hold me on her knee.
Never has she shown me love. Of this she would resist
Her mood became more violent, the punishments persist.
All alone, the thrashing done, left lying on the floor,
To my grandma I’d escape, the beatings were no more.
Even in school the bullies rule
I was thrown around like a well worn tool
To stand and fight, to hold my ground
I learned to fight like a hunter’s hound.
Fighting back as best I could
As though my fists were made of wood
It wasn’t long for me to win, as none was my disgrace,
For every bully I would fight had on my mother’s face. sheffield39 (WDB)