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Thread: Poetry

  1. #1
    MacLean's Avatar
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    Post Poetry

    Everyone who has one, post one of your favorite poems!
    I'm your huckleberry...

    Quemadmoeum gladis nemeinum occidit, occidentus telum est!

    You can be the weapon, and the gun in your hand is a tool - or the gun is a weapon and you are the tool.

    I was looking for a saint who was a devil of a lover,
    but every girl I found was either one way or the other...

  2. #2
    Illiy is offline Corporal
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    Roses are red...
    Violets are blue...
    This thread is lame..
    But I don't blame you...

    hahaha sorry JK! I had a RSA Moment...back to topic..

    This is one that reminds me of my grandparents...My grandfather died 12 years ago today. Still feels like yesterday.

    When days are sad and lonely,
    And everything goes wrong
    I seem to hear you whisper
    "Cheer up and carry on"
    Every time I see your picture,
    You smile and seem to say,
    "Don't cry I'm only sleeping
    We'll meet again someday."
    You gave me no last farewell
    Nor ever said good-bye.
    You were gone before I knew it,
    And only God knows why.
    A million times I will miss you,
    A million times I will cry.
    If love alone could have saved you,
    You would have never died.
    In life I loved you dearly.
    In death I still do.
    In my heart you hold a place
    No one else can fill.
    It broke my heart to lose you,
    But you didn't go alone.
    For a part of me went with you
    The day God took you home.
    Last edited by Illiy; 12-12-07 at 11:04 PM. Reason: more more more...

  3. #3
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    There once was a man from Nantuckett
    He had a oooohhhh nevermind.

    Meanwhile, fishing in Russia:

    "When plunder becomes a way of life for a group of men living together in society, they create for themselves in the course of time a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that justifies it." -- Frederic Bastiat

    "Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter." Ernest Hemingway

    The opinions given in my signatures & threads DO NOT reflect the opinions, views, policies, and/or procedures of my employing agency. They are my personal opinions only, thereby releasing my agency of any liability, or involvement in anything posted under the username "Five-0" on Officerresource.com

  4. #4
    gozling's Avatar
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    We're All Mad Here

    a life behind
    broiled and charred spikes
    smoldering in the wind
    a wasteland
    with pockets
    from far off sparks
    carried and caught within

    i cannot fear the darkest pits
    like gossip ‘cross gopher holes
    i sit up cautiously
    raise my head like the rabbit
    ~now gone but not forgotten~
    i feel the eyes
    still looking

    rest I will, for a bit

    ~while they move closer~

    under anvil clouds
    the color of gunmetal
    seamed with a sticky yellow
    seethed and merged
    with lights flickered
    from the joined belly
    like tongues of delirious serpents

    back and forth
    my eyes scour the slope
    find broken shade
    tufted with sage

    there is where I see them
    laughing in some
    crazy mix of defiance

    relieved that I am still alive

    by: me

    We dallied under
    Vine maples and sapling alders
    Searched for lady slippers
    But instead
    Found blackberry riots and
    Desiccated branches

    An old skid road
    Brought ghost ferns and
    Hollows filled with
    Skunk cabbage
    While waves wrapped
    Intricate lacings of weeds
    'Round mule spinners

    His cyanotic eyes
    Were hard enough to make
    The sun turn tail and
    Tender enough to attract me
    To his world of illusion

  5. #5
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    Count (by Paul Celan) he is a great writer

    Count the almonds,
    count what was bitter and kept you awake,
    count me in:

    I looked for your eye when you opened it, no one was looking at
    I spun that secret thread
    on which the dew you were thinking
    slid down to the jugs
    guarded by words that to no one's heart found their way.

    Only there did you wholly enter the name that is yours,
    sure-footed stepped into yourself,
    freely the hammers swung in the bell frame of your silence,
    the listened for reached you,
    what is dead put its arm round you also
    and the three of you walked through the evening.

    Make me bitter.
    Count me among the almonds.

    We dallied under
    Vine maples and sapling alders
    Searched for lady slippers
    But instead
    Found blackberry riots and
    Desiccated branches

    An old skid road
    Brought ghost ferns and
    Hollows filled with
    Skunk cabbage
    While waves wrapped
    Intricate lacings of weeds
    'Round mule spinners

    His cyanotic eyes
    Were hard enough to make
    The sun turn tail and
    Tender enough to attract me
    To his world of illusion

  6. #6
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    There are many that I like, these are just a few favorites:

    Pastoral (William Carlos Williams)

    The little sparrows
    hop ingenuously
    about the pavement
    with sharp voices
    over those things
    that interest them.
    But we who are wiser
    shut ourselves in
    on either hand
    and no one knows
    whether we think good
    or evil.
    the old man who goes about
    gathering dog-lime
    walks in the gutter
    without looking up
    and his tread
    is more majestic than
    that of the Episcopal minister
    approaching the pulpit
    of a Sunday.
    These things
    astonish me beyond words.

    i like my body when it is with your (ee cummings)

    i like my body when it is with your
    body. It is so quite a new thing.
    Muscles better and nerves more.
    i like your body. i like what it does,
    i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
    of your body and its bones, and the trembling
    -firm-smooth ness and which i will
    again and again and again
    kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
    i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
    of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
    over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

    and possibly i like the thrill

    of under me you quite so new

    somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond (ee cummings)

    somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

    any experience,your eyes have their silence:

    in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

    or which i cannot touch because they are too near

    your slightest look will easily unclose me

    though i have closed myself as fingers,

    you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

    (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

    or if your wish be to close me, i and

    my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,

    as when the heart of this flower imagines

    the snow carefully everywhere descending;

    nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

    the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

    compels me with the color of its countries,

    rendering death and forever with each breathing

    (i do not know what it is about you that closes

    and opens;only something in me understands

    the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

    nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

  7. #7
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    The Law of the Shield (Spartan oath cir. 480 BC)

    This is my shield,
    I bear it before me in battle,
    But it is not mine alone.
    It protects my brother on my left.
    It protects my city.
    I will never let my brother out of its shadow,
    Nor my city out of its shelter.
    I will die
    With my shield before me,
    Facing the enemy.

    "Stupid should hurt."

  8. #8
    Car 4's Avatar
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    The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

    But it is way too long for this thread. I also like just about anything from Kipling.

    Car 4
    I would like my country back. I used to believe that one man could never destroy this country. Not so sure anymore!

  9. #9
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    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost
    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village, though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it's queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The darkest evening of the year.
    He gives his harness bells a shake
    To ask if there's some mistake.
    The only other sound's the sweep
    Of easy wind and downy flake.
    The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.
    I'm your huckleberry...

    Quemadmoeum gladis nemeinum occidit, occidentus telum est!

    You can be the weapon, and the gun in your hand is a tool - or the gun is a weapon and you are the tool.

    I was looking for a saint who was a devil of a lover,
    but every girl I found was either one way or the other...

  10. #10
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    Gozling, very nice! I didn't know you were a poet.
    It's better to be judged by 12 than carried by 6.

  11. #11
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    Dover Beach--Matthew Arnold

    The sea is calm to-night.
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in.
    Sophocles long ago
    Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
    Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
    Of human misery; we
    Find also in the sound a thought,
    Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
    The Sea of Faith
    Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
    Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
    But now I only hear
    Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
    Retreating, to the breath
    Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
    And naked shingles of the world.

    Ah, love, let us be true
    To one another! for the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain
    Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
    Where ignorant armies clash by night.

  12. #12
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    Here's one my dad brought home from the Aleutian Campaign of WW-II. Author unknown, content unedited.

    There are sights, sounds and colors, one can never quite forget
    Interspersed with situations, years may pass, they linger yet
    But there’s one that jams the button, takes the rag right off the squaw
    Just try going to the Johnny in an Adak williwaw
    First you struggle through the tundra, to the leeward of a dune
    Where the grasses whistle sharply with an eerie puissant tune
    And the buffets slap you smartly, in defiance of all law
    You reach the writhing Johnny dancing in a windy draw
    Struggle thru it’s flapping doorway, where the “only” sign lies prone
    And untie your rain repellants while the tent posts creak and groan
    Lower one more set of trousers, perch yourself upon the seat
    While the anguished wall tent shimmers to a wet tarpaulin’s beat
    Now it crouches like a lion, now it rears like any colt
    Quivers like a frightened stallion, or a mare about to bolt
    Then it lunges at it’s tent pegs, while the end poles chuck and dance
    And the whipping door-flap spatters muddy water on your pants
    Here’s no place for contemplation, here’s no haven for a pipe
    Every single indication hollers : “hurry up and wipe”
    This bare tent has got air minded, taking off most anytime
    Something stings your royal bottom - a blast of windblown lime!
    Hastily you do your business in a cataclysmic moil
    Shot with barborygmous belching, and yammering of travailed toil
    Goonish whoops and hammered groaning, slaps and cries of fear
    Till you reach for the wiping tissue (careful or you’ll wipe your ear)
    For the seat has joined the lurching, the hole boards start to grind
    You’ll be sausage in a minute, then a lull, the fiends are kind
    A moment for buttons - crouching beneath that wind sagged ridge
    While the five holes whine an anthem, but be careful of your bridge
    For a windy constipation grabs that can in heaving grunt
    Till a diarrhoetic shudder makes the whole damn structure shunt
    Or one peristaltic impulse never dreamed of by of Chick-Sales
    Or a race of quartermasters reared in ignorance of gales
    Out you go and leave it quaking, leave it gathered for the last
    mighty belch that sends it skyward in a final fecal blast
    In the mornings of the future, when you squat to natures law
    You’ll remember that wild Johnny dancing in an Adak williwaw
    Author unknown
    Adak, Aleutian Islands, Alaska
    1942 WW-II
    Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.-- Anonymous

    Old People, like me, may not be around to witness the destruction of our Nation. The rest of you may not survive the collapse. We all have the sworn duty to prevent it.

    The light of hope burns brighter than the fires of doom.

  13. #13
    Morris is offline Chief Wheaties Pisser
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    Every cop should recite that daily.

  14. #14
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    Dirge Without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay
    I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
    So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
    Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
    With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
    Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
    A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
    A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.
    The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
    They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
    Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
    More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
    Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
    Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
    Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
    I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

    When I Was One and Twenty by A. E. Housman
    WHEN I was one-and-twenty
    I heard a wise man say,
    ‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas
    But not your heart away;
    Give pearls away and rubies 5
    But keep your fancy free.’
    But I was one-and-twenty,
    No use to talk to me.
    When I was one-and-twenty
    I heard him say again, 10
    ‘The heart out of the bosom
    Was never given in vain;
    ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
    And sold for endless rue.’
    And I am two-and-twenty, 15
    And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

    Desiderata by Max Ehrman

    Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
    and remember what peace there may be in silence.
    As far as possible without surrender
    be on good terms with all persons.
    Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
    and listen to others,
    even the dull and the ignorant;
    they too have their story.
    Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
    they are vexations to the spirit.
    If you compare yourself with others,
    you may become vain and bitter;
    for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
    Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

    Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    Exercise caution in your business affairs;
    for the world is full of trickery.
    But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
    many persons strive for high ideals;
    and everywhere life is full of heroism.

    Be yourself.
    Especially, do not feign affection.
    Neither be cynical about love;
    for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
    it is as perennial as the grass.

    Take kindly the counsel of the years,
    gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
    Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
    But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
    Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
    Beyond a wholesome discipline,
    be gentle with yourself.

    You are a child of the universe,
    no less than the trees and the stars;
    you have a right to be here.
    And whether or not it is clear to you,
    no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

    Therefore be at peace with God,
    whatever you conceive Him to be,
    and whatever your labors and aspirations,
    in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

    With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
    it is still a beautiful world.
    Be cheerful.
    Strive to be happy.

    And one that yours truly wrote:

    Life's Claxon
    Obnoxious claxon ring!
    Ring out the sadness of the day.
    Thy dirge is sung,
    thy silent tongue,
    gave deep the grey of night.

    Obnoxious claxon ring!
    Ring out the retribution of the day.
    Cry all sustained,
    mourn all ordained,
    for the life is no longer with us.

  15. #15
    BEK's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Terminator View Post
    My favorite poem would be the one I wrote to Jen, which she has a copy of in her room! Sorry, but I'm not posting it here.
    AWWWWWWWWWWww what happened to the brad we all use to know and love.

    Well heres my poem

    Guns are noisy.
    So get some earmuffs.
    My dog eats lemons.

  16. #16
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    The St Crispin's Day speech from Henry V. It's not exactly poetry but it's close enough and it's one of my favorite bit of literature.

    It's too long to post but I really like this part:

    He that shall see this day and live t'old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian": Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day." Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now abed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (IV, iii)
    "It wouldn't take much for me to up and run...
    to another life somewhere in the sun."
    "There's something inherently wrong with having to put on a bullet-proof vest and a gun to go to work."-(An old friend)

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  17. #17
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    Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling. (too long to post here) and lots by Spike Milligan e.g.

    I must go down to the sea again.
    To the lonely sea and sky.
    I left my shoes and socks there,
    I wonder if they're dry?

    To be born an Englishman, is to be a winner in the Lottery of Life.

    I've Talked the Talk and I've Walked the Walk, now I Sit the Sit!

    It's not until you look at an Ant through a magnifying glass on a sunny day, that you realise just how often they burst into flames for no reason!

  18. #18
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    "The Badge"
    He starts his shift each day
    To respond to calls unknown.
    He drives a marked patrol car.
    A police officer he is known.
    He's paid by the citizens' taxes
    To make it safe on the streets.
    But he usually has a second job
    'Cause a waitress has his salary beat.
    Now he doesn't know a holiday
    'Cause he works all year round.
    And when Thanksgiving and Christmas finally arrive
    At his home he cannot be found.
    He's cursed and assaulted often,
    The one whose blood runs blue.
    He seldom ever gets a thanks,
    To some he's just a fool.
    His friends are always other cops
    'Cause people just don't understand
    That underneath his badge and gun,
    He's just another man.
    He knows there might not be a tomorrow
    In this world of drugs and crime.
    And he gets so mad at the court system
    'Cause the crooks don't get any time.
    And each day when he leaves for work,
    He prays to God above.
    Please bring me home after my shift
    So I can see the ones I love.
    But tonight he stops a speeding car,
    He's alone down this ole' highway.
    It's just a little traffic infraction.
    He does it everyday.
    Well, he walks up to the driver's window,
    And his badge is shining bright.
    He asked the guy for a driver's license,
    When a shot rang through the night.
    Yes, the bullet hit its mark,
    Striking the officer in the chest.
    But the Department's budget didn't buy
    Each officer a bullet-proof vest.
    So he lay on the ground bleeding.
    His blood wasn't blue-His blood was red.
    And briefly he thought of his loved ones
    'Cause in a moment the officer was dead.
    In the news they told the story
    Of how this officer had died.
    And some who listened cared less,
    But those who loved him cried.
    Well, they buried him in uniform
    With his badge pinned on his chest.
    He even had his revolver,
    He died doing his best.

    Written By:
    David L. Bell

    Used with Special Permission of the Author
    Copyright © 1999 - All Rights Reserved

    and may not be duplicated without
    He who has the money, signs the cheques.
    He who signs the cheques, makes the rules.
    He who makes the rules, has the power.
    He who has the power, has the money.

  19. #19
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    For the Love

    As I lay my head to sleep at night,
    the memories of old return.
    I ponder of our recent plight.
    My eyes grow tired, with every passing hour,
    I think about what could have been,
    If our love had not grown sour.
    For the love, my heart would fly,
    For the love, I'd give everything.
    I love you dearly, that will never die


    No words can do honest justice to our love
    it gets me through everything from bad to good
    our love is the truest strongest love I have ever felt
    I can feel it through my heart straight to my soul
    its my reason for getting out of bed in the morning
    nothing can even come close to comparing
    to the love I feel for you
    together with our love we can conquer the world
    no one can hurt us while we have each other
    I feel safest while I am in your arms
    when we are apart I long for the time
    I will be back in your arms back in the safest place
    no one can come between us try as they might
    they will never break us
    my love will never falter it will be here always
    even still with all that’s said however no words can describe
    the love I feel for you.

    I lie awake in bed at night.
    as the candle gently flickers
    I wish and hope with all my might.
    Nothing will ever be the same again
    Everything has changed from before
    a mark that will not go away, a stain
    Has been left in the old way's place
    I think, i wonder, how can this be?
    it feels like life has hurtled to space.
    I fall quietly into a sleep so deep
    that nothing can wake me.
    I fell down that slope so steep
    There is nowhere to go but up from here
    Someday things will be better.
    Things I loved I will again hold dear.
    Dreaming is good, sleep is sweet
    The ends will soon again meet.
    Never fall that far again down that slope.
    I have learned to never lose hope.

    I wrote these at different times in my life. I couldn't find my book that has them all in it, but I wanted to share a couple of them anyways. Maybe if I find my book I can share some other ones at another time. I'm sorry if they make no sense, but there is a lot of feeling in each one.
    Last edited by kay88; 12-14-07 at 12:08 PM. Reason: Too small font
    Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.
    ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

  20. #20
    MacLean's Avatar
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    A soldier - also by Robert Frost

    He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
    That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
    But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
    If we who sight along it round the world,
    See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
    It is because like men we look too near,
    Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
    Our missiles always make too short an arc.
    They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
    The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
    They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
    But this we know, the obstacle that checked
    And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
    Further than target ever showed or shone.
    I'm your huckleberry...

    Quemadmoeum gladis nemeinum occidit, occidentus telum est!

    You can be the weapon, and the gun in your hand is a tool - or the gun is a weapon and you are the tool.

    I was looking for a saint who was a devil of a lover,
    but every girl I found was either one way or the other...


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