March 09 ATC related POEMs

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 18:45

These are the Poems associated with our MARCH ATCs.
Mine is
The Pedlar’s Caravan
. . . . . . . by
William Brighty Rands

. . . . .1823–1882

I wish I lived in a caravan,
With a horse to drive, like the pedlar man!
Where he comes from nobody knows,
Or where he goes to, but on he goes!


His caravan has windows, two,
And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;
He has a wife, with a baby brown,
And they go riding from town to town!

"Chairs to mend and delf to sell!"
He clashes the basins like a bell;
Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order,
Plates with the alphabet round the border!

The roads are brown and the sea is green,
But his house is just like a bathing machine;
The world is round and he can ride,
Rumble and splash to the other side!

With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And write a book when I came home;
All the people would read my book,
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!


Last edited by Teabag on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:23; edited 2 times in total

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 19:46

This is Joy's poem

Gold Leaves
. . by Gilbert Keith Chesterton[/size]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1874 - 1936


Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.
In youth I sought the prince of men,
Captain in cosmic wars,
Our Titan, even the weeds would show
Defiant, to the stars.
But now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.
In youth I sought the golden flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold.


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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 19:57

This is Steph's choice.

A Poison Tree.
.
ByWilliam Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:13


This is Celfy's poem.

Jabberwocky - by Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree.
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came wiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:20

This is Amullreee's chosen poem
The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost
(1874–1963).

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:31

This is Misty's

Sea Fever

By John Masefield(1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over
.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:42

This is Rachael's, (very sad)

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 20:59

This was chosen by Cynthia and Angela

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
by William Wordsworth. (1770 to 1850)

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: -
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -and gazed -but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 21:22

This is Di's Chosen poem

To Autumn
by John Keats
1795 - 1821

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.


Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 21:23

Some really interesting choices there.

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Post by Guest on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 21:54

The last poem was chosen by Goaty and Barbara18. (looks as though he was an interesting character)

(Wm. Henry Davies (1871-1940) is to be considered as the poet of the tramps. Born at Newport, Wales in the UK, Davies went to America from Great Britain and lived the life of a vagabond. One day, as the result of jumping a train, he lost one of legs. Davies returned to England where he continued to live the life of a tramp and a pedlar.
He wrote poetry (presumably he did right along) and, eventually, he determined to print his own book and did so with the little money he earned panhandling.)


. . . . . LEISURE . . . . .
by William Henry Davies. . .1871 - 1940

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can
dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


( I think this last verse sums up what stressfull lives we live, if, we have no tome to stand ans stare)

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Post by thriftycrafter on Fri 3 Apr 2009 - 22:15

Cor they're terrific, missed out on a good un here I did.

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Post by Guest on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 9:22

Mine isn't a particularly nice poem, but have to be honest, I
went for the title as I had an idea how to depict it rather than
choosing it for the poetry content.

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Post by Guest on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 9:26

hey teabag.you didn't tell me that someone had done same poem... Sad

i love seasons of mist..i used to know the first verse off by heart.

they are all good choices..i have only seen mine and teabags..she didn't show me the rest. Rolling Eyes

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Post by Guest on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 15:40

look here If you want a translation of Jabberwocky , or an explaination of some of the silly words at least

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Post by kimb on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 22:37

i remember doing jabberwocky when i was in junior school , it was nonsense to me then and still is !!!!!! lol!
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Post by Maria on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 23:14

Oh I have enjoyed these... I have always loved the jabberwocky and it was lovley to read it again.

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Post by Guest on Sat 4 Apr 2009 - 23:49

Steph wrote:Mine isn't a particularly nice poem, but have to be honest, I
went for the title as I had an idea how to depict it rather than
choosing it for the poetry content.

I chose mine for the same reason The Pedlars Caravan. I was going to do The Lion And Albert which is my fav' but couldn't find my book with it in. I have put it safe somewhere, very safe Crying Laughin I really wanted to depict where he was shoving that stick!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You wait untill the lucky folk get a Jabberwocky, he is different. A big surprise.

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