A Poem a day keeps the melancholy away

Advent by Patrick Kavanagh

We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.

And the newness that was in every stale thing
When we looked at it as children: the spirit-shocking
Wonder in a black slanting Ulster hill
Or the prophetic astonishment in the tedious talking
Of an old fool will awake for us and bring
You and me to the yard gate to watch the whins
And the bog-holes, cart-tracks, old stables where Time begins.

O after Christmas we'll have no need to go searching
For the difference that sets an old phrase burning-
We'll hear it in the whispered argument of a churning
Or in the streets where the village boys are lurching.
And we'll hear it among decent men too
Who barrow dung in gardens under trees,
Wherever life pours ordinary plenty.
Won't we be rich, my love and I, and
God we shall not ask for reason's payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God's breath in common statement.
We have thrown into the dust-bin the clay-minted wages
Of pleasure, knowledge and the conscious hour-
And Christ comes with a January flower.

A Childhood Christmas

One side of the potato‑pits was white with frost—
How wonderful that was, how wonderful!
And when we put our ears to the paling‑post
The music that came out was magical.
The light between the ricks of hay and straw
Was a hole in Heaven’s gable. An apple tree
With its December‑glinting fruit we saw —
O you, Eve, were the world that tempted me

To eat the knowledge that grew in clay
And death the germ within it! Now and then
I can remember something of the gay
Garden that was childhood’s. Again

The tracks of cattle to a drinking‑place,
A green stone lying sideways in a ditch
Or any common sight the transfigured face
Of a beauty that the world did not touch.

My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east
And they danced to his music.

Across the wild bogs his melodeon called
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.

Outside the cow‑house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable‑lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.

A water‑hen screeched in the bog,
Mass‑going feet
Crunched the wafer‑ice on the pot‑holes,
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.

My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.

Cassiopeia was over
Cassidy’s hanging hill,
I looked and three whin bushes rode across
The horizon — The Three Wise Kings.

An old man passing said:
“Can’t he make it talk” —
The melodeon. I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box‑pleated coat.

I nicked six nicks on the door’post
With my penknife’s big blade—
There was a little one for cutting tobacco,
And I was six Christmases of age.

My father played the melodeon,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary’s blouse.


Note : 'whin' = ‘gorse’ or ‘furze’.


Patrick Kavanagh
(1904 – 1967)

I probably have posted this before ,but it is so beautiful it always bears repeating


Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

C.P Cavafy

A Visit From St Nicholas

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.


The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.


When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.


The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.


With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.


"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"


As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.


And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.


He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.


His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.


The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.


He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.


He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.


He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight


“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Happy Christmas Everyone,
kerry4sam

I LOVED A PAPISH GIRL
I was born and bred in Sandy Row a loyal orange Prod.
A follower of King William that noble man of God,
My motto no surrender my fleg the Union Jack
And every year I'd proudly walk to Finaghy and back.
A loyal son of Ulster a true blue that was me
Prepared to fight prepared to die for faith and liberty.
As well as that a Linfield man far back as I can mind
I had no time for Catholics or people of that kinds.
But then one night in Bangor I met wee Rosie Brown,
From the moment I set eyes on her my heart went up and down
And when I thought she fancied me my heart was all a buzz
I clean forgot to ask her what her religion was.
I never slept a wink that night I just laid there in bed,
I thought about wee Rosie and all the things we'd said
I know I should have asked before I made a date
Before I fell in love with her but by then it was too late
When next we met I told her "I'm a Prod and staunch and true"
She said "I'm a Catholic and I'm just as staunch as you."
The words were harsh and bitter then suddenly like this
The centuries of hatred were forgotten in one kiss.
That night I dreamt about her a strange confusing dream
I dreamt we both were singing " The Wearin of the Green"
And as we walked to Finaghy full of harmony and hope
Who was there to greet us but his Holiness the Pope.
When I awoke I new that dream was even more than true
The future we were heading for would be confusing too.
Indeed when I thought about it, it was all to clear
That was to be the understatement of the year.
I knew our love could bring us little but trouble and distress
But nothing in this world could make me love my Rosie less.
I saved a bit of money as quickly as I could
I asked her if she'd marry me and by God she said she would.
Then the trouble really started her folks were flaming mad
And when mine heard about it sure they were twice as bad,
Her father said that from that day he'd hang his head in shame
And by a strange coincidence my oul lad said the same.
My mother cried her eyes out and said I'd rue the day
I'd let a Papish hussy steal my royal heart away.
And Rose's mother said when she'd recovered from the blow
She'd rather see the Divil than a man from Sandy Row.
In deference to Rosie we were married in her church
But my clergyman was there as well; he didn't leave me in the lurch.
The Priest was awfully nice to me he made me feel at home
I think he pitied both of us for our families wouldn't come.
The house we went to live in had nothing but four walls,
It was far away from Sandy Row and farther from the Falls.
And that's the way we wanted it for both of us new well
That back among the ones we knew our lives would just be hell.
But life out there for Rosie was lonely I knew well
And of course we had our wee religious differences too,
When Friday came along and Rosie gave me fish
I looked at it and then at her and said "That's not my dish."
I mind well what she answered though she never said it twice
"To ate no meat on Friday is a poor wee sacrifice
To make for Christ who died one Friday long ago."
But anyway I ate the fish and it wasn't bad you know.
Then Sunday came and I lay on and she got up for Mass.
Then Rosie turned to me and said " Will you shift your lazy ass
You've got a Church to go to and that's where you should be
So up you get this minute you'll go part of the road with me."
We left the house together but we parted down the line,
She went off to her Church and I went off to mine
But all through out the service although we were apart
I felt I was worshiping with Rosie in my heart.
The weeks and months went quickly by and then there comes the day
That Rosie up and tells me that a child is on the way.
Then from that day my life becomes a wondrous thing
Like a lovely flower unfolding its petals in the spring.
We wrote and told our families for they never came to call
And we thought this news would heal the breach and so it did an all.
My Mother and then Rosies come to visit us in turn
And I marveled at the power of a wee child yet unborn.
Och but I was awful disillusioned when I found out why they came
It wasn't just to heal the breach or make it up again,
Rosie's Mother had come to say the child would be RC
And mine had come to say it would be a Protestant like me.
The rows before the wedding were surely meek and mild
Compared to all the rumpus that was ris about the child,
From both sides of the family insults and threats were hurled
O what a desperate way to welcome a wee angel to this world.
The child must be a Catholic no the child must be a Prod,
But the last and powerful voice I heard was the mighty voice of God
When to is awful wisdom I had to hang my head
When Rosies time had come at last the child was born but dead.
That night I sat by Rosies bed and just before the dawn
I kissed her as she left me to join our angel son.
This orange heart was broken within these four bare walls
Where the hells the Shankill and where the hells the Falls.
In all the years that's past since then years of grief and pain
I'd give my life and even more just to see her face again.
But the loneliness is near over now I'll see her soon I know
For the Doctor told me yesterday that I haven't long to go.
And when I go up yonder they'll let me in I hope
And when the ask me who I'm for King Billy or the Pope,
I'm going to take no chances I'll answer loud and clear
I'm just a loyal Protestant who loved, a Papish girl.
But one way or another I think they'll let me through
And Rosie will be waiting there, and our wee angel too
Then a little child will lead them the Papisher and the Prod
Up the golden steps of Heaven into the house of God.

Swiper the fox wrote: »

I rarely read the poems on here if they're too long but I read that one there and it is absolutely incredible. never seen or heard that before. Not sure if I should thank you or not because I won't forget it for a long time.
To everybody like me who can't be bothered with the long ones, read the last poem, it's worth it.


Just watched Conal Gallen perform it on youtube, very good
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7PzNnJWaEs

THANKS FOR THE CONAL GALLEN VIDEO WAS VERY GOOD TO HERE THAT RECITED

Niall Keane wrote: »

Kung Fu International - John Cooper Clarke

Outside the take-away, Saturday night
a bald adolescent, asks me out for a fight
He was no bigger than a two-penny fart
he was a deft exponent of the martial art
He gave me three warnings:
Trod on me toes, stuck his fingers in my eyes
and kicked me in the nose
A rabbit punch made me eyes explode
My head went dead, I fell in the road

I pleaded for mercy
I wriggled on the ground
he kicked me in the balls
and said something profound
Gave my face the millimetre tread
Stole me chop suey and left me for dead

Through rivers of blood and splintered bones
I crawled half a mile to the public telephone
pulled the corpse out the call box, held back the bile
and with a broken index finger, I proceeded to dial

I couldn’t get an ambulance
the phone was screwed
The receiver fell in half
it had been kung fu’d

A black belt karate cop opened up the door
demanding information about the stiff on the floor
he looked like an extra from Yang Shang Po
he said “What’s all this then
ah so, ah so, ah so.”
he wore a bamboo mask
he was gen’ned on zen
He finished his devotions and he beat me up again

Thanks to that embryonic Bruce Lee
I’m a shadow of the person that I used to be
I can’t go back to Salford
the cops have got me marked
Enter the Dragon
Exit Johnny Clarke

I like it.

Kindness (by Naomi Shihab Nye)

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.