Favourite Poems
My Poem - Kenn Nesbitt
Please don't read this poem.
It's only meant for me.
That's it. Just move along now.
There's nothing here to see.
Besides, I'm sure you'd rather
just go outside and play.
So put the poem down now
and slowly back away.
Hey, why are you still reading?
That isn't very nice.
I've asked you once politely.
Don't make me ask you twice.
I'm telling you, it's private.
Do not read one more line.
Hey! That's one more. Now stop it.
This isn't yours; it's mine.
You're not allowed to read this.
You really have to stop.
If you don't quit this instant,
I swear I'll call a cop.
He'll drag you off in handcuffs.
He'll lock you up in jail,
and leave you there forever
until you're old and frail.
Your friends will all forget you.
You won't be even missed.
Your family, too, will likely
forget that you exist.
And all because you read this
instead of having fun.
It's too late now, amigo;
the poem's nearly done.
There's only one solution.
Here's what you'll have to do:
Tell all your friends and family
they shouldn't read it too.
When you wake tomorrow - Brian Patten
I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.
It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
In your smile I found it.
Will you recognise it?
You will find it under your pillow.
When you open the cupboard it will be there.
You will blink in astonishment,
Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’
We will have it for breakfast;
On a table lit by loving,
At a place reserved for wonder.
We will give the world a kissing open
When we wake tomorrow.
We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
To the dreamers at the window.
To the hand waving for no particular reason
We will offer it.
An amazing and most remarkable thing,
We will offer it to the whole human race
Which walks in us
When we wake tomorrow.
One Inch Tall - Shel Silverstein
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.
If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.
You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).
At 3 am - Wendy Cope
The room contains no sound
except the ticking of the clock
which has begun to panic
like an insect, trapped
in an enormous box.
Books lie open on the carpet.
Somewhere else
you're sleeping
and beside you there's a woman
who is crying quietly
so you won't wake.
Giving Her the Eye - Anon
A beauty stood on a balcony high,
Sneezed and lost her blue glass eye.
A young man walking down The Strand
Caught the flashing eye-ball one hand.
Invited up to receive her thanks
He drooled on her features, figure, flanks.
While dining on champagne and chicken
These strangers felt their heart beats quicken,
Gazed into each others eyes, imperfections indiscernible,
Including the eye-ball that proved to be returnable.
Over croissants and coffee in the morning
The young man felt suspicion dawning,
Said, "Would you do this for just any passer-by?"
"Oh no!" she said, "He'd have to catch my eye".
Your Race - Neva Flores
Surely someone saw it pass
As it all went by
And it wasn't all for nothing
I quietly heard him sigh
Thinking silently to himself
He wondered if they did
And if anyone would care at all
When adieu he bid
All his life he'd put aside himself
To be there for his friends
And all this time he'd given
He could not get back again
He wondered if his life would be the same
If selfish he had been
And only cared about himself
Each time they called on him
Then gently whispered in his heart, he heard
You've done well my son
I'm so proud to call you mine
Come home, your race is done
Mona Lisa
Leonarda he teasa
The young Mona Lisa
"Why you smila like so?
"This is odd way of smiling
"And is very beguiling,
"You gotta dark secret, I know."
Mona she place a
Hand to her face
And she make a shy reply:
"Papa, I thmila like thith
"Becauth I gotta no tith."
Then she break a down and cry.
Now Papa de Vinci
Say: "Shush shush my Chichi,
"I tell you for what I do,
"I painta your picture,
"A beauuuutiful picture,
"And we hang it in the Louvre."
In a Photograph - Anon
Hide behind your laughter;
Live behind a mask.
Set up a façade-
Make sure it will last.
Burn your history books;
They can never know your past.
A flash of light!
Stars swirl!
Darkness returns,
Secrets are no more.
Your being has been captured
In a photograph.
The Journey - Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew,
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life that you could save.
Some time at eve,when the tide is low,
I shall slip my moorings and sail away,
With no response to a friendly hail,
In the silent hush of the twilight pale,
When the night stoops down to embrace the day
And the voices call in the water’s flow.
Some time at eve when the tide Is low,
I shall slip my moorings and sail away
Through the purple shadows that darkly trail
O’er the ebbing tide of the unknown sea,
And a ripple of waters to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager, sailing away
To mystic isles, where at anchor lay
The craft of those who have sailed before
O’er the unknown sea to the unknown shore.
A few who have watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay;
Some friendly barques that were anchored near,
Some loving souls that my heart held dear,
In silent sorrow will drop a tear;
But I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In mooring sheltered from storm and gale
And greeting the friends who have sailed before
O’er the unknown sea to the unknown shore.,
The Lady - William Carolan
She walked past without a backward glance,
she passed as though she was in a trance.
I know I had seen her somewhere in the past,
but could not recall as she went by so fast.
I tried in vain to find some clue
who was this lady passing through?
I returned next day to that very same place,
maybe she would pass and I would see her face.
But my returning there was all in vain
that lady never passed that way again.
Chorus:
What's the life of a man any more than a leaf
Man has his seasons so why should he grieve
Though all through this life we appear fine and gay
Like a leaf we must wither and soon fade away
As I was a-walking one morning at ease
A-viewing the leaves as they fell from the trees
All in full motion appearing to be
The leaves that are withered they fall from the tree
If you had seen those leaves just a few days ago
How fine and how green they all did seem to grow
A frost came upon them and withered them all
A storm came upon them and down they did fall
If you look in that graveyard there you will find
Those that have withered and fallen to the ground
When age and afflictions upon us do call
Like a leaf we must wither and down we will fall
Being Boring - Wendy Cope
If you ask me 'What’s new?' I have nothing to say.
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it’s better today.
I’m content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is,
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.
There was drama enough in my turbulent past:
Tears and passion—I’ve used up a tankful.
No news is good news, and long may it last,
If nothing much happens, I’m thankful.
A happier cabbage you never did see,
My vegetable spirits are soaring.
If you’re after excitement, steer well clear of me.
I want to go on being boring.
I don’t go to parties. Well, what are they for,
If you don’t need to find a new lover?
You drink and you listen and drink a bit more
And you take the next day to recover.
Someone to stay home with was all my desire
And, now that I’ve found a safe mooring,
I’ve just one ambition in life: I aspire
To go on and on being boring.
Alone - Maya Angelou
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
