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What's your favorite rhyming poem?
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Elfrida




 
 
    
 

Post Thu, Apr 30 2020, 11:46 pm
Right now I think my favourite is 'Our Fathers of Old', by Kipling. It can vary though.
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eschaya




 
 
    
 

Post Fri, May 01 2020, 1:01 am
Another vote for The Bells, or The Raven
All of Poe's poetry has such a musical quality to it.
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essie14




 
 
    
 

Post Fri, May 01 2020, 3:09 am
Love edgar Allen Poe, Robert frost and shel Silverstein.
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amother
Ecru


 

Post Sun, May 03 2020, 9:27 am
Ogden Nash. (do limericks count?)
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thegiver




 
 
    
 

Post Tue, May 12 2020, 11:44 pm
The babies don't keep poem by Ruth something
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penguin




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 12:23 am
Babies don't keep for sure

Also You are Old Father William by Lewis Carroll



Babies Don’t Keep
Submitted By: Poockus

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
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penguin




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 12:24 am


"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 would 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!"

"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar.
"Not quite right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly;
"some of the words have got altered."
"It is wrong from beginning to end,"
said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.
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imasinger




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 7:05 am
I'm sad for people here, who have missed out on so much beauty and truth.

Shakespeare sonnets. Keats, Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth. Kipling (Xanadu, If--). Whitman, Dickinson. Some of Yeats.

I challenge anyone here -- access a poetry anthology, and try reading one new poem per week (read the same one at least 3 times during the week to aid understanding, appreciation, and retention.
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amother
Jade


 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 7:42 am
O Captain! My Captain!

If I should die (Emily Dickinson)

The Road Not Taken

There Will Come Soft Rains

Introduction to Poetry (okay...it doesn't rhyme...)

I'm hiding, I'm hiding, and no one knows where

In general, I can't stand Shakespeare or Poe. The first is too sick, the second too gory.
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nelliebly




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 8:14 am
Ode 
BY ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

(This is only the start)
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Iymnok




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 8:18 am
If
Or anything else Kipling.
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Chayalle




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 10:30 am
penguin wrote:


"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 would 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!"

"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar.
"Not quite right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly;
"some of the words have got altered."
"It is wrong from beginning to end,"
said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.


this is a parody on the real thing, of course.


I have a book on poems for children that I used to read to my girls at bedtime. The toys coming to life, the Walrus and the Carpenter, etc...but I think their all time favorite is The Prettiest Doll in the World (they are girls, after all....)

I happen to like The Going to Bed book by Sandra Boynton.
They rock and rock and rock to sleep.....
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Chayalle




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 10:35 am
You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
⁠The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,
⁠Now tell me the reason I pray.


In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
⁠I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abused not my health and my vigour at first
⁠That I never might need them at last.


You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
⁠And pleasures with youth pass away,
And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
⁠Now tell me the reason I pray.


In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
⁠I remember'd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future whatever I did,
⁠That I never might grieve for the past.


You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
⁠And life must be hastening away;
You are chearful, and love to converse upon death!
⁠Now tell me the reason I pray.


I am chearful, young man, Father William replied,
⁠Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!
⁠And He hath not forgotten my age.
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bigsis144




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 10:43 am
Glad to see other people mention Jabberwocky!
It’s a fun poem to wrap your mouth around, and I used it in some acting/diction classes to practice my e-nun-ci-a-tion.

I memorized it at a young age, much to the delight of my father and grandfather, who had also memorized it at the same age. Ah, mesorah!

Now to see if any of my kids will carry on the tradition...
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bigsis144




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 10:49 am
On a more somber note, “Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Quote:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.


Last edited by bigsis144 on Tue, Jun 09 2020, 2:03 pm; edited 1 time in total
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mommyfish




 
 
    
 

Post Wed, May 13 2020, 10:51 am
I love the bells. Poetry is my thing, I write a lot of it. I remember right after reading the bells for the first time I wrote a poem for English class and my teacher commented that the rhythm was similar to the bells. Biggest compliment she could give me Smile
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