Any know an uplifting poem

  Kev.Ifty 23:10 24 Sep 2008

or such. One of my favourites 'I'd pick more Daisies' click here

We need a bit of up cheering methinks.

  sconedd 23:48 24 Sep 2008

The Tea Dance
It's the Sunday tea dance and they all be here today,
Aches and pains forgotten, dance the afternoon away,
Foxtrot's, waltzes, some are slow but some quite nifty,
With memories of how it was back in 1950.
Norman's in the toilet and he's struggling to pee,
He's got trouble with his prostate and he'll likely miss his tea,
Eddy's got a new love that he met in Thornton Heath,
She does a lovely tango but she hasn't any teeth.
His latest fancy footwork nearly broke his partner's neck,
She mistook his outside swivel for a travelling contra check.
Ida's had her hair done and she's ready for the saunter,
But she had a vindaloo last night and it's coming back to haunt her.
Florry's mini-skirts revealing when she's spinning in a jive,
She really shouldn't wear a thong approaching eighty-five.
They've had their tea and cakes and chat and had a little laugh,
And gamely rise with creaking knees to face the second half.
Norman's made it back in time for rumba number one,
His cucaracha's very neat but he's left his flies undone.
Vera's fallen over in a massive crimplene heap,
Bert's got indigestion and Mabel's fast asleep.
It's last waltz time and up they get for Humperdinck's old tune, And then "goodbye, good luck, take care. God willing see you soon."

I hope this makes someone smile. Sconedd

  DANZIG 23:58 24 Sep 2008

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

  WhiteTruckMan 00:02 25 Sep 2008

A poem more beautifull than beer.

That lovely stuff they have on tap,
With golden base, and frothy cap...

(excuse me, must dash)


  Stuartli 00:29 25 Sep 2008

DANZIG beat me to Rudyard Kipling...:-(

  DieSse 02:19 25 Sep 2008

"To Lucasta, On Going to the Wars" - Richard Lovelace

click here

Know it by heart - always will.

  carver 07:08 25 Sep 2008

Don't know if this fits into your theme. but it gives you something to contemplate on.

click here

  Seth Haniel 08:44 25 Sep 2008



or any of mine on my website :)though probably more suited to the Meaning of life thread :)

  Quickbeam 08:58 25 Sep 2008

I found most things at school interesting, but I couldn't for the life of me get the flowery language of poets...

"He holds him with his skinny hand,
`There was a ship,' quoth he.
`Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon !'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he."

It's all lost on me... unless there is a rock n' roll soundtrack to it!

  birdface 10:29 25 Sep 2008

Not a poem but it works for me. Smile and give your face a holiday.

  gardener 12:29 25 Sep 2008


If you think Coleridge is bad ( I don't, he's one of my favourite poets) what about this:

'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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