My Country by Dorothea McKellar (Australia) The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins. Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies- I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise. I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me! The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon, The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon, Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil, And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil. Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky, When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die - But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again The drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain. Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold, For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold. Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days, The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze. An opal-hearted country, a willful, lavish land - All you who have not loved her, you will not understand - Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die, I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly The best bit is the second verse :)

The end of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". It goes: We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By seagirls wreathed in sea weed red and brown Till human voices wake us and we drown

Verse 13 from Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem 'The Lady of Shallot' She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what the shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Does a song count? I love this one: Well relationships change, Oh I think it's kinda strange, How money makes a man grow. Some people they claim, If you get enough fame, You live over the rainbow. Over the rainbow.. But the people on the street, Out on buses or on feet, We all got the same blood flow. Oh, in society, Every dollar got a deed, We all need a place so we can go, And feel over the rainbow. But sometimes, We forget what we got, Who we are. Oh who are are not. I think we gotta chance, To make it right. Keep it loose, Keep it tight.

The Poet by George Mackay Brown Therefore he no more troubled the pool of silence. But put on mask and cloak, Strung a guitar And moved among the folk. Dancing they cried, 'Ah, how our sober islands Are gay again, since the blind lyrical tramp Invaded the Fair!' Under the last dead lamp When all the dancers and masks had gone inside His cold stare Returned to its true task, interrogation of silence.

A Healthy Meal The gourmet tastes the secret dreams of cows tossed lightly in garlic. Behind the green door, swish of oxtails languish on an earthen dish. Here are wishbones and pinkies; fingerbowls will absolve guilt. Capped teeth chatter to a kidney or at the breast of something which once flew. These hearts knew no love and on their beds of saffron rice they lie beyond reproach. What is the claret like? Blood. On table six, the language of tongues is braised in armagnac. The woman chewing suckling pig must sleep with her husband later. Leg, saddle and breast bleat against pure white cloth. Alter calf to veal in four attempts. This is the power of words; knife, tripe, lights, charcuterie. A fat man orders his rare and a fine sweat bastes his face. There are napkins to wipe the evidence and sauces to gag the groans of abattoirs. The menu lists the recent dead in French, from which they order offal, poultry, fish. Meat flops in the jowls. Belch. Death moves in the bowels. You are what you eat. (Carol Ann Duffy)

More Tennyson, this time from 'Ulysses' I am part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breath were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this grey spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. I think that is the most beautiful, thoughtful bit of poetry I have ever read.

the second time I met him witty, knowledgeable and golden the young policeman the sickness the world has failed us both we ain't got no money scared and looking for trouble; sometimes simply kissing in automobiles we are all, finally, the same walking the streets for hours I'm not saying it's good

If lyrics count I would like to add this one. The words of this song got me through many a dark night of the soul. Because you loved me For all those times you stood by me For all the truth that you made me see For all the joy you brought to my life For all the wrong that you made right For every dream you made come true For all the love I found in you I'll be forever thankful baby You're the one who held me up Never let me fall You're the one who saw me through, through it all You were my strength when I was weak You were my voice when I couldn't speak You were my eyes when I couldn't see You saw the best there was in me Lifted me up when I couldn't reach You gave me faith 'coz you believed I'm everything I am Because you loved me You gave me wings and made me fly You touched my hand I could touch the sky I lost my faith, you gave it back to me You said no star was out of reach You stood by me and I stood tall I had your love I had it all I'm grateful for each day you gave me Maybe I don't know that much But I know this much is true I was blessed because I was loved by you You were my strength when I was weak You were my voice when I couldn't speak You were my eyes when I couldn't see You saw the best there was in me Lifted me up when I couldn't reach You gave me strength 'coz you believed I'm everything I am Because you loved me You were always there for me The tender wind that carried me A light in the dark shining your love into my life You've been my inspiration Through the lies you were the truth My world is a better place because of you You were my strength when I was weak You were my voice when I couldn't speak You were my eyes when I couldn't see You saw the best there was in me Lifted me up when I couldn't reach You gave me faith'coz you believed I'm everything I am Because you loved me You were my strength when I was weak You were my voice when I couldn't speak You were my eyes when I couldn't see You saw the best there was in me Lifted me up when I couldn't reach You gave me faith'coz you believed I'm everything I am Because you loved me I'm everything I am Because you loved me

Kubla Khan/Xanadu by Coleridge In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me That with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed And drunk the milk of Paradise. (the sad this is that he never finished it because he was interrupted by someone from the nearby village of Porlock, which led to the australian Poet AD HOpe, composing the scathing...) PERSONS FROM PORLOCK It was unfortunate: Poor S.T.C! Once in his life, only only among men, Once in the procees of Eternity, It happened, and it will not happen again: His dream unbidden took shape as poetry, And waking, he recalled it, and his pen Set down the magic lines-then came the dread Summons from Porlock and the vision fled. Fortunate Coleridge! He at least bgan. Porlock was tardy, almost missed its cue; Something at least was saved of Kubla Khan, And Porlock's agent, give the man his due, Paid him that single visit in the span Of a long life of three score years and two. The Ancient Mariner, it is fair to mention, Escaped the Person's sinister attention. The Swan of Porlock is a kind of duck; It quacks and has a large, absurd behind- Yes, on the whole, the poet was in luck. Think of his fate had Porlock been less kind; The paps of Porlock might have given him suck; Teachers from Porlock organised his mind, And Porlock's Muse inspired the vapid strain Of "Porlock, Loveliest Village of the Plain!" And had his baffled genius stood the test With that one vision which is death to hide Burning for utterance in the poet's breast, Porlock might still be trusted to provide Neighbours from Porlock, culled from Porlock's best, The sweetest girl from Porlock for his bride, In due course to surround him with some young Persons from Porlock, always giving tongue. Eight hours a day of honest Porlock toil And Porlock parties-useless to refuse- The ritual gardening of Porlock soil, Would leave him time still for a spare-time Muse- And when with conscience murdered, wits aboil, He shook the dust of Porlock from his shoes, Some would be apt to blame him, some to scoff, But others kindly come to see him off. Porlock was gone: the marvellous dream was there. "In Xanadu..."-He knew the words by rote, Had but to set them down. To his despair He found a man from Porlock wore his coat, And thought his thoughts; and, stolid in his chair, A person fresh from Porlock sat and wrote: "Amid this tumult Kubla heard from far Voices of Porlock babbling round the bar."

From a spoken-word piece simply entitled "God" by Heathcote Williams: "...God's not his real name, God is only his stage name..." and "God shags hypocrites to death with bits of broken mirror..." It's a bit ironic that I like that poem, considering I'm an atheist, but what can I say? Those lines just really speak to me.

And learn by going, where I have to go. From The Waking by Theodore Roethke

from the inside of a card: It's your 40th birthday, You're getting old, If you were cheese, You'd be covered in mould! (Yes, it is not exactly Shakespeare but however low-brow it maybe, it is amusing).

from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

"I would kill you if you were alive" John Cooper Clarke from TW@T.

Still I rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

I carry your heart with me I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) E.E. Cummings

Violets are blue. It's a classic, but I've never even seen a blue violet.

Though it is not my favorite poem (one of the top ten, probably), these are my favorite lines: 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty--that is all Ye know on earth, and all you need to know.' from Ode on a Grecian Urn, by John Keats

We drew a circle that took him in!!!

She Was A Child, And I Was A Child In This Kingdom By The Sea But We Loved With A Love That Was More Then Love I, And My Annabel Lee.