Poetry Please

Immanuel

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What does the tortoise and a catholic priest have in common?

They both like to get there before the hare.....BADA BUM TISH!

Well what do you want from a gutter mind like me?....a fn poem?....i dont fink so.....
 

publicrealm

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On Passing The New Menin Gate (Siegfried Sassoon)

Who will remember, passing through this Gate,
the unheroic dead who fed the guns?
Who shall absolve the foulness of their fate,-
Those doomed, conscripted, unvictorious ones?


Crudely renewed, the Salient holds its own.
Paid are its dim defenders by this pomp;
Paid, with a pile of peace-complacent stone,
The armies who endured that sullen swamp.


Here was the world's worst wound. And here with pride
'Their name liveth for ever', the Gateway claims.
Was ever an immolation so belied
as these intolerably nameless names?
Well might the Dead who struggled in the slime
Rise and deride this sepulchre of crime.
 

johnhan279

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THE WRATH OF THE AWAKENED SAXON
by Rudyard Kipling


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

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

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

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddently bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate.
 

publicrealm

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To the Warmongers - Sassoon, April 1917.

I'm back again from hell
With loathsome thoughts to sell;
Secrets of death to tell;
And horrors from the abyss.
Young faces bleared with blood,
Sucked down into the mud,
You shall hear things like this,
Till the tormented slain
Crawl round and once again,
With limbs that twist awry
Moan out their brutish pain,
As the fighters pass them by.
For you our battles shine
With triumph half-divine;
And the glory of the dead
Kindles in each proud eye.
But a curse is on my head,
That shall not be unsaid,
And the wounds in my heart are red,
For I have watched them die.
 

Storybud2

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Printed words sold as Truth
Taints the Minds of our Youth
No Freedom to Witness all around
Only Closed Minds will be found

Rigged elections and social contests
And vitriol spewed, at any Protests,
Radical left is their mission
From Roses,Presidents and Eurovisions,

Billions spent and no end in sight
The Elite are onto, a losing fight
The jig is up, the end of the ruse
Is well in sight, for Fake News,
 
D

Deleted member 2544

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Printed words sold as Truth
Taints the Minds of our Youth
No Freedom to Witness all around
Only Closed Minds will be found

Rigged elections and social contests
And vitriol spewed, at any Protests,
Radical left is their mission
From Roses,Presidents and Eurovisions,

Billions spent and no end in sight
The Elite are onto, a losing fight
The jig is up, the end of the ruse
Is well in sight, for Fake News,
Is that your own work Stroybud?
 

Storybud2

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Is that your own work Stroybud?

it is pure sh1te, 3 or 4 minutes of rambling ,,

The dumbing down and non reporting of facts in Irish society is almost at critical levels, RTE fascists and the media are
hiding so much about traveler crime, immigrant social welfare / housing costs and social welfare fraud it is scary,

Daily attacks on Trump while ignoring how fooked up Obama's / Clintons foreign forays were for Europe and still are ?? while
today Mary dumb as sh1t Mitchel O Connor has 100% discriminated against 50% of the population that are male ?
with her criminal and dumb banning of men from jobs ? how the fook longer can this sh1t be tolerated in a society
based on democracy and informed opinion ? affirmative action has NEVER worked out , EVER , for the betterment of society.

We are being railroaded into a fascist non thinking ideology that a handful of retards and corrupt scam artists control.

I think, therefore I am ! is not to be tolerated in this new Ireland of fascist dictators, I fooking despise them with every breath,
I am a lover of free speech, thought and responsible activity for the betterment of all, they are morons pushing us backwards
and using all of our resources to herd us like cattle while they live it up like 21st century aristocrats controlling the money.
 

page61

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The Cry of the Dreamer John Boyle O'Reilly
I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
 

George Dillon

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CARGOES

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-rail, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

John Masefield
 

Sham Fox

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The Cry of the Dreamer John Boyle O'Reilly
I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men;
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
I heard Sean Tyrrell sing those words for years every sunday afternoon in Galway town in the early 90's for a few years. Lucky me. It might be on youtube. I'll look.
 

page61

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I heard Sean Tyrrell sing those words for years every sunday afternoon in Galway town in the early 90's for a few years. Lucky me. It might be on youtube. I'll look.
I never knew it was sung as well, Its been on my wall for years .
I have the door knob off the back door to his house in Dowth at home.
 
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