poemssz

Felicia Lamport

2012-01-14T18:27:00.000-08:00

Humpty Dumpty

2011-04-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty
Had a great fall.

All the King's horses,
And all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty
Together again.

The More Loving One, WH Auden

2011-03-24T15:28:00.000-07:00

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Comment on Willie Nelson's arrest for mariquana

2010-11-29T10:23:00.000-08:00

So what if marijuana is dope?
A number of us need it to cope
Ole Willie should have wait
Till he was in a legal state
Texas has not gone down that slippery slope

"To My Valentine" by Ogden Nash

2010-11-27T18:06:00.000-08:00

"The Sunset Years of Samuel Shy" by Ogden Nash

2010-11-27T17:56:00.000-08:00

Alice Masci Ode to my Food (to the tune of Bette Midler's song)

2010-09-13T10:20:00.000-07:00

Did you ever know you were my dinner?
And everything I would like to eat
I can eat you and still get thinner
"Cuz you are the sauce beneath my wings

Black English by Type A

2010-09-05T08:11:00.001-07:00

"Ain't nobody can say where he at."
"Dem Ice Creams be smoov, man; dey phat."
"Dis bling bling be onyx."
I'm hooked on Ebonics:
Black English be cool. Dat be dat.
African American Vernacular English (AAVE), also known colloquially as Ebonics or Black English, is a dialect spoken primarily in the 'hood and is used extensively in rap music.

Translation of lines 1–3:
Nobody knows where he is.
Those athletic shoes are smooth (really good); they're cool.
This jewelry is made of onyx.

FAULTY DESIGNER by Gerald Bosacker

2010-08-30T05:45:00.000-07:00

Perfection looms in God’s design,

yet I question the porcupine.
...
Fierce mosquitoes we sure don’t need,

and hungry fleas are mean to feed.

I don’t expect He’d plan for junk,

but then I wonder why the skunk.

Why did God build so many fools,

or did he lose construction rules.

Maybe God makes some boo boos too,

so he’s patient with me and you.

George Bernard Shaw "I dread being drunk"

2010-07-24T08:30:00.000-07:00

W. E. Henley" Invictus "

2010-05-30T10:40:00.000-07:00

Jacket by Miles Liss

2010-05-20T05:15:00.000-07:00

I have a jacket
That my mother gave me
After my grandfather died
I don't know how she got her hands on it
They must have gone
Through his stuff
The aunts and uncles
And I came out
With the jacket
Or maybe my grandmother said,
"Here, take this. Give it
To your son."
I don't know

I do know
I've had it
Since he's been dead
Thirteen years now
And though I've
Gained a pound
For every year
Despite going to the gym
It still fits me.
"Your grandfather was heavy, too,"
My mother says.
"When he went on a diet,
He ate nothing but carrots
All day.
Try them. You might like them."

I remember breaking
The zipper
And my stepfather making
A new one
From a strip of leather
And some string
He's gone now, too
But that stip of leather
Still holds

It's a winter jacket
So I put it in the
Closet every spring
And forget about it
Until the winter
When it comes out again
And I am, again,
Reminded of my
Grandfather

I can see him now
Sitting in his
La-Z-Boy
Watching TV with
Us
Or driving me
Around St. Louis
He loved to drive
Felt at home behind
The wheel

Once, when we were
In the car together,
He said, "I want to
Live long enough
To dance at my grandson's
Wedding."
I didn't know what
He was talking about
I was too young to
Comprehend mortality,
But Grandpa, you
Live through this jacket
Each and every day
I wear it
And I promise
To bring it to
My wedding, if
I ever should get
Married, and
Dance

Palmer Cox The Brownies in the Toy Shop

2010-05-19T13:43:00.000-07:00

This is one of the finest poems I ever read! I hope you enjoy it too!

As shades of evening settled down,
The Brownies rambled through the town,
To pry at this, to pause at that,
By something else to hold a chat,
And in their free and easy vein
Express themselves in language plain

At length before a store, their eyes
Were fixed with wonder and surprise
On toys of wood, and wax, and tin,
And toys of rubber piled within.
Said one, "In all our wandering 'round,
A sight like this we never found.
When such a passing glimpse we gain,
What wonders must the shelves contain!"

Another said, "It must be here
Old Santa Claus comes every year
To gather up his large supply,
When Christmas Eve is drawing nigh,
That children through the land may find
They still are treasured in his mind."

A third remarked, "Ere long he may
Again his yearly visit pay;
Before he comes to strip the place,
We'll rummage shelf, and box, and case,
Until the building we explore
From attic roof to basement floor,
And prove what pleasure may be found
In all the wonders stowed around."

Not long were they content to view
Through dusty panes those wonders new;
And, in a manner quite their own,
They made their way through wood and stone.

And then surprises met the band,
In odd conceits from every land.
Well might the Brownies stand and stare
At all the objects crowded there!
Here, things of gentle nature lay
In safety, midst the beasts of prey;
The goose and fox,a friendly pair,
Reposed beside the lamb and bear.

There horses stood for boys to ride;
Here boats were waiting for the tide,
While ships of war, with every sail
Unfurled,were anchored to a nail;
There soldiers stood in warlike bands;
And naked dolls held out their hands,
As though to urge the passers-by
To take them from the public eye.
This way and that, the Brownies ran;
To try the toys they soon began.

The Jack-in-box,so quick and strong,
with staring eyes and whiskers long,
Now o'er and o'er was set and sprung
Until the scalp was from it flung;
And then they crammed him in his case,
With wig and night-cap in their place,
To give some customer a start
When next the jumper flew apart.
The trumpets, drums, and weapons bright
Soon filled them all with great delight.

Like troops preparing for their foes,
In single ranks and double rows,
They learned the arts of war as told
By printed books and veterans old;
With swords of tin and guns of wood,
They wheeled about, and marched or stood
And went through skirmish drill and all,
From room to room by bugle-call;
The music-box poured forth an air
That charmed the dullest spirits there,
Till, yielding to the pleasing sound,
They danced with dolls a lively round.

There fish was working tail and fin
In seas confined by wood and tin;
The canvas shark and rubber whale
Seemed ill content in dish or pail,
And leaping all obstructions o'er
Performed their antics on the floor.

More gave the singing tops no rest--
But kept them spinning at their best
Until some wonder strange and new
To other points attention drew.

Some found at marbles greatest fun,
And still they played, and still they won,
Until they claimed as winners, all
The shop could furnish, large and small.

The rocking-horse that wildly rose,
Now on its heels, now on its nose,
Was forced to bear so great a load,
It seemed to founder on the road,
Then tumble feebly to the floor,
Never to lift a rocker more.

'Twas hardly missed in such a store,
With wonders fairly running o'er;
To something else about the place
The happy Brownie turned his face,
And only feared the sun would call
Before he had his sport with all.

Thus through the shop in greatest glee,
They rattled 'round, the sights to see,
Till stars began to dwindle down,
And morning crept into the town.
And then with all the speed they knew,
Away to forest shades they flew.

Gerald Bosacker MY CHOCOLATE CHOICE

2010-05-15T08:11:00.000-07:00

I shall never die of cancer.

Sweet Chocolate will finish me,

This self-destruction answer,

won’t leave me deep in poverty.

I’ll gladly let my waistline bulge,

and not restock my self drug shelf.

With Hershey poisons I’ll indulge

and with kisses, embalm myself.

Gerald Bosacker EXTINCTION CALLS

2010-05-15T08:02:00.000-07:00

WHO WILL BE GONE FIRST?
I knew we're genetically linked
and told this Ape, and he just blinked.
Maybe he’s wise and slyly winked,
knowing we're soon, to be extinct.

William Shakespeare "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow"

2010-04-28T06:52:00.001-07:00

Guy Boas" The Vet "

2010-04-18T08:30:00.001-07:00

Robert Louis Stevenson" The vagabond"

2010-04-18T08:27:00.001-07:00

William Cullen Bryant "Thanatopsis"

2010-03-28T08:04:00.000-07:00

Thanatopsis.......................

O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Dylan Thomas "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night"

2010-03-28T08:02:00.000-07:00

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night...........

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave 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.

Incoherence

2010-02-14T09:22:00.000-08:00

--By Horatio Algeranon

Contradiction
Is an affliction
Born of fiction
And addiction.

Incoherence
Has adherents
And the appearance
Of interference.

Abject denial
So much in style
Thrives on guile
And lots of bile.

Conspiracy,
It's plain to see,
Is certainly
Considered key.

William Shatner, "The Raven" by Poe

2010-02-13T07:13:00.000-08:00

Rudyard Kipling " A Smuggler's Song"

2010-01-08T18:00:00.000-08:00

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December 1865 18 January 1936) was an English author and poet. Born in Bombay, British India (now Mumbai), he is best known for his works The Jungle Book (1894) and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (1902), his novel, Kim (1901); his poems, including Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), If— (1910); and his many short stories, including The Man Who Would Be King (1888). He is regarded as a major "innovator in the art of the short story";[2] his children's books are enduring classics of children's literature; and his best works speak to a versatile and luminous narrative gift.[3][4]

Kipling was one of the most popular writers in English, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are rsserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2010

A Smugglers Song......

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,
Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark -
Brandy for the Parson,
'Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again - and they'll be gone next day!
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining's wet and warm - don't you ask no more!
If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the chin,
Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house - whistles after dark -
You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie -
They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance,
You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood -
A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark -
Brandy for the Parson,
'Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie -
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by.

Lewis Carroll: You Are Old, Father William

2009-12-10T10:35:00.001-08:00

Walt Whitman "Has any one supposed it lucky to be born ?

2009-11-28T18:25:00.000-08:00

This edited segment of Section of "Leaves of Grass""Song of myself" is read by Orson Welles in a recording he originaly made for BBC Radio in 1953.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892 was born in Long Island, New York, the son of a Quaker carpenter. Whitman's mother was descended from Dutch farmers. In Whitman's childhood there were slaves employed on the farm. Whitman was early on filled with a love of nature. He read classics in his youth and was inspired by writers such as Goethe, Hegel, Carlyle and Emerson he is best remembered for his long rambling collections of verse "Leaves of grass
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-washed babe, and am not contained between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and everyone good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of the earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweetheart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

William Blake "The Tiger"

2009-11-07T05:52:00.000-08:00

The Tiger........

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Edward Lear "The Owl and the Pussycat"

2009-06-13T15:28:00.000-07:00

"The Owl and the Pussycat" is a famous nonsense poem by Edward Lear, first published in 1871. Its most notable historical feature is the coinage of the term runcible spoon. It features four anthropomorphised animals (the owl, the pussycat, the 'piggy-wig' and a turkey) and revolves around the love between the title characters, who are married by the turkey in the third and final stanza. The title characters famously go to sea in "a beautiful pea-green boat". The phrase "pea-green" occurs several times in Lear's writings including his surviving diaries.

Edward Lear, British poet and painter known for his absurd wit, was born in 1812 and began his career as an artist at age 15. His father, a stockbroker of Danish origins, was sent to debtor's prison when Lear was thirteen and the young Lear was forced to earn a living. Lear quickly gained recognition for his work and in 1832 was hired by the London Zoological Society to execute illustrations of birds. In the same year, the Earl of Denby invited Lear to reside at his estate; Lear ended up staying on until 1836. His first book of poems, A Book of Nonsense (1846) was composed for the grandchildren of the Denby household. Around 1836 Lear decided to devote himself exclusively to landscape painting (although he continued to compose light verse). Between 1837 and 1847 Lear traveled extensively throughout Europe and Asia. After his return to England, Lear's travel journals were published in several volumes as The Illustrated Travels of a Landscape Painter. Popular and respected in his day, Lear's travel books have largely been ignored in the twentieth century. Rather, Lear is best remembered for his humorous poems, such as "The Owl and the Pussycat," and as the creator of the form and meter of the modern limerick. Like his younger peer Lewis Carroll, Lear wrote many deeply fantastical poems about imaginary creatures, such as "The Dong with the Luminous Nose." His books of humorous verse also include Nonsense Songs (1871) and Laughable Lyrics (1877). Lear an epileptic from the age of 7 died in 1888 at the age of 76.He kept his epilepsy, so secret that hardly anyone knew about it until after his death. He once said " It is wonderful that these fits have never been discovered".

Although the subject and form of his works varies greatly, all of Lear's poems can be characterized by his irreverent view of the world; Lear poked fun at everything, including himself in "By Way of a Preface." Many critics view Lear's devotion to the ridiculous as a method for dealing with or undermining the all-pervasive orderliness and industriousness of Victorian society. Regardless of impetus, the humor of Lear's poems has proved irrefutably timeless. Lear is mostly remembered not for his considerable talent as an artist but for his Nonsense Rhymes. He is credited with inventing the Limerick, which he wrote to amuse the children of his wealthy clients. As well as the Limericks he wrote other nonsense rhymes such as " The Owl and The Pussycat" and " The Jumblies" .

Lewis Carroll "Father William"

2009-06-13T15:24:00.000-07:00

Alice's Adventures In Wonderland First published in 1865. Father William" which is a parody of Robert Southey's poem, "The Old Mans Comforts and How He Gained Them".

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (27 January 1832 14 January 1898), better known by the pen name Lewis Carroll was an English author, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and photographer.

His most famous writings are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through the Looking-Glass as well as the poems "The Hunting of the Snark" and "Jabberwocky", all considered to be within the genre of literary nonsense.

Lewis Carroll was born in 1832, in Daresbury, Cheshire, he spent his early life in the north of England (at Daresbury, Cheshire and in Croft, Yorkshire). He spent his adult life in Oxford and died at Guildford in 1898. Besides the Alice books, he wrote many others including poems, pamphlets and articles. He was a skilled mathematician, logician and pioneering photographer and he invented a wealth of games and puzzles which are of great interest today. Through his range of talents he has acquired great respect and has a large following.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2009

You are old, Father William, the young man said,
And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

In my youth, Father William replied to his son,
I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.

You are old, said the youth, as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door
Pray, what is the reason of that?

In my youth, said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment one shilling the box
Allow me to sell you a couple?

You are old, said the youth, and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak
Pray how did you manage to do it?

In my youth, said his father, I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.

You are old, said the youth, one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose
What made you so awfully clever?

I have answered three questions, and that is enough,
Said his father; don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!

Edgar Allan Poe "The Raven"

2009-06-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

"The Raven" is a narrative poem by the American writer Edgar Allan Poe, first published in January 1845. It is noted for its musicality, stylized language, and supernatural atmosphere. It tells of a talking raven's mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the latter's slow descent into madness. The lover, often identified as being a student,[1][2] is lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore. The raven, sitting on a bust of Pallas, seems to further instigate his distress with its constant repetition of the word, "Nevermore." Throughout the poem, Poe makes allusions to folklore and various classical works.

Poe claimed to have written the poem very logically and methodically. His intention was to create a poem that would appeal to both critical and popular tastes, as he explains in the follow-up essay: "The Philosophy of Composition". The poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the novel Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty by Charles Dickens.[3] Poe borrows the complex rhythm and meter of Elizabeth Barrett's poem "Lady Geraldine's Courtship".

The first publication of "The Raven" on January 29, 1845, in the New York Evening Mirror made Poe widely popular in his lifetime. The poem was soon reprinted, parodied, and illustrated. Though some critics disagree about the value of the poem, it remains one of the most famous poems ever written"

Rudyard Kipling "Danny Deever "

2009-06-12T08:15:00.000-07:00

"Danny Deever" is an 1890 poem by Rudyard Kipling, one of the first of the Barrack-Room Ballads. It received wide critical and popular acclaim, and is often regarded as one of the most significant pieces of Kipling's early verse. The poem, a ballad, describes the execution of a British soldier in India for murder. His execution is viewed by his regiment, paraded to watch it, and the poem is composed of the comments they exchange as they see him hanged. It is immediately noticeable that the poem is written in a vernacular English. Though the Barrack-Room Ballads have made this appear a common feature of Kipling's work, at the time it was quite unusual; this was the first of his published works to be written in the voice of the common soldier. The speech is not a direct representation of any single dialect, but it serves to give a very clear effect of a working class English voice of the period

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December 1865 18 January 1936) was an English author and poet. Born in Bombay, British India (now Mumbai), he is best known for his works The Jungle Book (1894) and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (1902), his novel, Kim (1901); his poems, including Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), If— (1910); and his many short stories, including The Man Who Would Be King (1888). He is regarded as a major "innovator in the art of the short story";[2] his children's books are enduring classics of children's literature; and his best works speak to a versatile and luminous narrative gift.[3][4] Kipling was one of the most popular writers in English, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are rsserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008

Danny Deever.................................

What are the bugles blowin for?' said Files-on-Parade.
To turn you out, to turn you out, the Colour-Sergeant said.
What makes you look so white, so white? said Files-on-Parade.
Im dreadin what Ive got to watch, the Colour-Sergeant said. For theyre hangin Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The Regiments in ollow square—theyre hangin him to-day; Theyve taken of his buttons off an cut his stripes away, An they're hangin Danny Deever in the mornin.

What makes the rear-rank breathe so ard? said Files-on-Parade.
Its bitter cold, it's bitter cold, the Colour-Sergeant said.
What makes that front-rank man fall down? said Files-on-Parade.
A touch o sun, a touch o sun, the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin Danny Deever, they are marchin of im round, They ave alted Danny Deever by is coffin on the ground; An ell swing in arf a minute for a sneakin shootin hound— O theyre hangin Danny Deever in the mornin!

Is cot was right-and cot to mine, said Files-on-Parade.
Es sleepin out an far to-night, the Colour-Sergeant said.
Ive drunk is beer a score o times, said Files-on-Parade.
Es drinkin bitter beer alone, the Colour-Sergeant said. They are hangin Danny Deever, you must mark im to is place, For e shot a comrade sleepin—you must look im in the face; Nine undred of is county an the Regiments disgrace, While theyre hangin Danny Deever in the mornin.

Whats that so black agin the sun? said Files-on-Parade.
Its Danny fightin ard for life, the Colour-Sergeant said.
Whats that that whimpers overead? said Files-on-Parade.
Its Dannys soul thats passin now, the Colour-Sergeant said. For theyre done with Danny Deever, you can ear the quickstep play, The Regiments in column, an theyre marchin us away; Ho! the young recruits are shakin, an theyll want their beer to-day, After hangin Danny Deever in the mornin!

John Donne "Elegy XVI On His Mistress"

2009-05-17T07:06:00.000-07:00

John Donne was born in 1572 in London, England. He is known as the founder of the Metaphysical Poets, a term created by Samuel Johnson, an eighteenth-century English essayist, poet, and philosopher. The loosely associated group also includes George Herbert, Richard Crashaw, Andrew Marvell, and John Cleveland. The Metaphysical Poets are known for their ability to startle the reader and coax new perspective through paradoxical images, subtle argument, inventive syntax, and imagery from art, philosophy, and religion using an extended metaphor known as a conceit. Donne reached beyond the rational and hierarchical structures of the seventeenth century with his exacting and ingenious conceits, advancing the exploratory spirit of his time.

Donne entered the world during a period of theological and political unrest for both England and France; a Protestant massacre occurred on Saint Bartholomew's day in France; while in England, the Catholics were the persecuted minority. Born into a Roman Catholic family, Donne's personal relationship with religion was tumultuous and passionate, and at the center of much of his poetry. He studied at both Oxford and Cambridge Universities in his early teen years. He did not take a degree at either school, because to do so would have meant subscribing to the Thirty-nine Articles, the doctrine that defined Anglicanism. At age twenty he studied law at Lincoln's Inn. Two years later he succumbed to religious pressure and joined the Anglican Church after his younger brother, convicted for his Catholic loyalties, died in prison. Donne wrote most of his love lyrics, erotic verse, and some sacred poems in the 1590's, creating two major volumes of work: Satires, and Songs and Sonnets.

In 1598, after returning from a two-year naval expedition against Spain, Donne was appointed private secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton. While sitting in Queen Elizabeth's last Parliament in 1601, Donne secretly married Anne More, the sixteen-year-old niece of Lady Egerton. Donne's father-in-law disapproved of the marriage. As punishment, he did not provide a dowry for the couple and had Donne briefly imprisoned. This left the couple isolated and dependent on friends, relatives, and patrons. Donne suffered social and financial instability in the years following his marriage, exacerbated by the birth of many children. He continued to write and published the Divine Poems in 1607. In Pseudo-Martyr, published in 1610, Donne displayed his extensive knowledge of the laws of the Church and state, arguing that Roman Catholics could support James I without compromising their faith. In 1615, James I pressured him to enter the Anglican Ministry by declaring that Donne could not be employed outside of the Church. He was appointed Royal Chaplain later that year. His wife, aged thirty-three, died in 1617, shortly after giving birth to their twelfth child, a stillborn. The Holy Sonnets are also attributed to this phase of his life.

In 1621 he became dean of Saint Paul's Cathedral. In his later years, Donne's writing reflected his fear of his inevitable death. He wrote his private prayers, Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, during a period of severe illness and published them in 1624. His learned, charismatic, and inventive preaching made him a highly influential presence in London. Best known for his vivacious, compelling style and thorough examination of mortal paradox, John Donne died in London in 1631.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2009

Elegy XVI On His Mistress" "When I am gone, dream me some happiness".................

When I am gone, dream me some happiness,
Nor let thy looks our long-hid love confess,
Nor praise, nor dispraise me, nor bless nor curse
Openly loves force, nor in bed fright thy Nurse
With midnights startings, crying out—oh, oh
Nurse, O my love is slain, I saw him go
Oer the white Alps alone; I saw him, I,
Assailed, fight, taken, stabbed, bleed, fall, and die.

Jonathan Swift "Market Women's Cries"

2009-05-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

Robert Service "The Shooting of Dan McGrew"

2009-05-03T06:36:00.000-07:00

john keats "Ode to a Nightingale"

2009-04-25T10:23:00.000-07:00

"Ode to the Nightingale" was written in May 1819 and first published in the Annals of the Fine Arts in July 1819. Interestingly, in both the original draft and in its first publication, it is titled 'Ode to the Nightingale'. The title was altered by Keats's publishers. Twenty years after the poet's death

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?

Dorothy Parker "Afternoon"

2009-04-10T07:29:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Parker "Resume"

2009-04-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Parkers suicide attempts were no laughing matter, unless you asked her. The New York writer and poet lived a brilliant but tempestuous life, marked by a caustic sense of humor she turned even on her own difficulties. Resume is a great example of her dark wit hitting close to home.Dorothy Parker's first suicide attempt, cutting her wrists, took place in January 1923. Later she made others, overdosing on the sedative Veronal, consuming a bottle of shoe polish, and taking sleeping powder, the last in 1932

Dorothy Parker (August 22, 1893June 7, 1967) was an American writer and poet, best known for her caustic wit, wisecracks, and sharp eye for 20th century urban foibles.

From a conflicted and unhappy childhood, Parker rose to acclaim, both for her literary output in such venues as The New Yorker and as a founding member of the Algonquin Round Table, a group she later disdained. Following the breakup of that circle, Parker traveled to Hollywood to pursue screenwriting. Her successes there, including two Academy Award nominations, were curtailed as her involvement in left-wing politics led to a place on the infamous Hollywood blacklist.

Parker survived three marriages (two to the same man) and several suicide attempts, but grew increasingly dependent on alcohol. Dismissive of her own talents, she deplored her reputation as a "wisecracker". Nevertheless, her literary output and her sparkling wit have endured.

Walt Whitman "O Captain! My Captain!"

2009-04-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) wrote this dirge for the death of Abraham Lincoln in 1865. Published to immediate acclaim in the New York City Saturday Press, "O Captain! My Captain!" was widely anthologized during his lifetime. In the 1880s, when Whitman gave public lectures and readings, he was asked to recite the poem so often that he said: "I'm almost sorry I ever wrote [it]," though it had "certain emotional immediate reasons for being."

While Whitman is renowned as the most innovative of American poets, this poem is a rare example of his use of rhymed, rhythmically regular verse, which serves to create a somber yet exalted effect. Whitman had envisioned Lincoln as an archangel captain, and reportedly dreamed the night before the assassination about a ship entering harbor under full sail.

Restlessly creative, Whitman was still revising "O Captain! My Captain!" decades after its creation. Pictured here is a proof sheet of the poem, with his corrections, which was readied for publication in 1888. The editors apparently had erred by picking up earlier versions of punctuation and whole lines that had appeared in the poem prior to Whitman's 1871 revision. On the back is written:

Dear Sirs
Thank you for the little books, No. 32 "Riverside Literature Series" --Somehow you have got a couple of bad perversions in "O Captain," & I send you a corrected sheet--
Walt Whitman

Kind Regards

Jim Clark

All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2009

"O Captain! My Captain!"............

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Anne Bronte "O God! if this indeed be all "

2009-04-04T08:28:00.001-07:00

Oliver Wendell Holmes "Old Ironsides" Poem Animation

2009-03-27T19:53:00.000-07:00

Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1809; he graduated from Harvard in 1829. Holmes was a central figure in the New England Renaissance; he studied both medicine and law; for most of his life he served as professor of anatomy and physiology at Harvard Medical School. In addition to his active professional life, Holmes maintained an active avocation as writer of both poetry and prose. He and members of the Saturday Club founded The Atlantic Monthly in 1857, and his famous Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table appeared in that publication serially from its inception. In 1858 his Autocrat was published as a volume. In 1860 appeared The Professor at the Breakfast-Table and in 1872 The Poet at the Breakfast-Table, and in 1891 Over the Teacups. This series of works represents the best conversation mode written in the United States. The fame of Holmes' poetry mostly rested on his comic verse, except for "Old Ironsides," which exemplifies the old adage, "The pen is mightier than the sword." This poem influenced action.

On September 16, 1830, Oliver Wendell Holmes' poem, "Old Ironsides," appeared in response to a report in the Boston Daily Advertiser that the Navy was going to scrap the USS Constitution. The report was inaccurate; apparently, there were no plans to demolish the ship, but a public outcry arose as a result of that report, and Holmes fired off his poem immediately. The poem is credited with saving the ship, which has a fascinating history.

Kind Regards

Jim Clark
All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2009

Old Ironsides.................

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
Oh, better that her shattered bulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

Rudyard Kipling "Gunga Din" Poem Animation

2009-03-07T20:40:00.000-08:00

Dylan Thomas "Do Not Go Gentle" Poem Animation

2009-02-12T18:41:00.000-08:00

Do not go gentle into that good night, a villanelle composed in 1952, is considered to be among the finest works of Dylan Thomas. Thomas watched his father, formerly in the Army, grow weak and frail with old age. Thus, the speaker in his poem tries to convince his father to fight against imminent death. The speaker addresses his father using wise men, good men, wild men, or grave men as examples to illustrate the same message: that no matter how they have lived their lives or what they feel at the end they should die fighting. It is one of Thomas' most popular, most easily accessible poems, and implies that one should not die without fighting for one's life, or after life.

Dylan Marlais Thomas (27 October 1914 9 November 1953) was a Welsh poet[1][2] who wrote exclusively in English. In addition to poetry, he wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, which he often performed himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his sonorous voice with a subtle Welsh lilt became almost as famous as his works.

Dylan Thomas was born in the front upstairs bedroom at 5 Cwmdonkin Drive, situated in the Uplands area of Swansea, Wales, on 27 October 1914. Uplands was, and still is, one of the more affluent areas of the city, which kept him away from the more industrial side of the city. His father, David John Thomas, was an English master who taught English literature at the local grammar school. His mother, Florence Hannah Thomas ( née Williams), was a seamstress born in Swansea. Dylan had a sister, Nancy, eight years older than him. Their father brought up both children to speak English only, even though both parents also knew Welsh.

Dylan Thomas died in New York on November 9 1953. The first rumours were of a brain hemorrhage, followed by reports that he had been mugged. Soon came the stories about alcohol, that he had drunk himself to death. Later, there were speculations about drugs and diabetes.

Robert Burns "Green Grow The Rashes" Poem Animation

2009-02-12T18:38:00.000-08:00

Robert Burns "Auld Lang Syne" Poem Animation

2009-01-01T11:18:00.000-08:00

Abraham Lincoln "The Gettysburg Address" Animation Movie

2008-12-11T16:02:00.000-08:00

Walt Whitman "I hear America singing" Poem Animation

2008-12-11T15:59:00.000-08:00

Longfellow "Paul Revere's Ride" Poem Animation Movie

2008-12-11T15:56:00.000-08:00

Walt Whitman "O Captain! My Captain!" Poem Animation Movie

2008-12-11T10:36:00.001-08:00

Lewis Carroll " Jabberwocky" Poem Movie Animation

2008-12-11T10:27:00.000-08:00

Matthew Arnold "Dover Beach" Victorian Poem Animation

2008-12-11T10:25:00.001-08:00

Alan Seeger " Rendezvous" WW1 Poem Animation movie

2008-12-11T10:22:00.001-08:00

Rudyard Kipling if" Poem Animation

2008-12-11T10:19:00.000-08:00

The Raven

2008-08-01T21:01:00.000-07:00

Edgar Allen Poe animated by Jim Clark.

Spell Check Poem

2008-06-10T06:04:00.000-07:00

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea,
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight for it two say,
Weather eye and wring oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long,
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.

To rite with care is quite a feet
Of witch won should bee proud,
And wee mussed dew the best wee can,
Sew flaw's are knot aloud.

Eye have run this poem threw it
Your sure reel glad two no,
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

--Sauce unknown

Math Poem

2008-05-31T11:11:00.001-07:00

This poem was written by John Saxon (an author of math textbooks).
((12 + 144 + 20 + (3 * 4^(1/2))) / 7) + (5 * 11) = 9^2 + 0

Or for those who have trouble with the poem:

A Dozen, a Gross and a Score,
plus three times the square root of four,
divided by seven,
plus five times eleven,
equals nine squared and not a bit more.

2008-05-31T11:11:00.000-07:00

I went to the animal fair

2008-05-23T22:01:00.000-07:00

I went to the animal fair,
The birds and the beasts were there,
The big baboon by the light of the moon
Was combing his auburn hair,
The monkey bumped the skunk,
And sat on the elephant’s trunk;
The elephant sneezed and fell to his knees,
And that was the end of the monk,
The monk, the monk, the monk,
The monk, the monk, the monk.

Kubla Khan (1797) Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

2008-03-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

This is a good example of a poem having as many dimensions as you might like to afford it. On the one hand, there is no certainty as to exactly what Coleridge is talking about. However, it is also deemed by many critics to be profoundly symbolic (art v nature etc.). The poem does appear to most to have obvious sexual imagery, though Coleridge himself did not elaborate on any hidden depths or symbolic undertones. Kubla Khan was, upon its publication, widely denigrated by contemporary critics. Today, it is viewed as a work of genius.

Interesting fact: Coleridge (possessor of an egregious opium addiction) stated that he woke one morning having had a dream/vision of the entire text of Kubla Khan. The poem remained unfinished because, as he was in the midst of writing it down, he was interrupted by a knock at the door - it was a local village tradesman. After some small talk the villager departed, but Coleridge had now lost his train of thought and could not remember the rest of the poem! Bummer!

This Be The Verse (1971) Philip Larkin (1922-1985)

2008-03-26T08:02:00.000-07:00

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

Who said modern poetry is dead! Undoubtedly Larkin’s best known poem, according to wikipedia “It appears in its entirety on more than a thousand web pages. It is frequently parodied. Television viewers in the United Kingdom voted it one of the Nation’s Top 100 Poems”. Cynical..yes, but also memorable.

"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe

2008-02-13T06:24:00.000-08:00

recited by Christopher Walken
classic poem of madness and loneliness.

Imagine there's no Apple,

2008-01-20T21:17:00.000-08:00

Grab your piano and sing along!

Imagine (sung to the tune of John Lennon's "Imagine")

Imagine there's no Apple,
No products that begin with "i,"
No monthly iPod models,
No Apple stores to get you high.
Imagine all the people
Finding other things to do!

Imagine there's no bloggers...
It isn't hard to do!
No viruses or spyware,
No weekly Windows patches, too
Imagine all the people
Learning to get a life...

(You-hoo-hoo!)

You may say it'd be a nightmare
Without Google, Mac or Dell
We might have real conversations--
But the world would be dull as hell!

Imagine no new cellphones;
Kiss console games goodbye.
No David Pogue or Mossberg
To tell us what to buy.
Imagine all the people
Getting some exercise!

(You-hoo-hoo!)

You may say that I'm a loony
But rest assured I'm almost done.
I'm pretty sure it'll never happen
So we nerds can live as one!

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/17/technology/personaltech/17pogue-email.html?8cir&emc=cir

2007-12-01T13:28:00.000-08:00