"rudyard" poems
All good people agree,
And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
And every one else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
As only a sort of They !
Rudyard Kipling
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
If you can speak your mind
Without a tone of thought towards the things you say,
If you can beat people with words
And blame them for the wrongs you display,
If you can understand what the hurt see
And turn a blind eye,
If you can imagine the wars that have been fought because of you
No would be left to illustrate the catastrophe,
If you can make people love you
Then cast out the people who state their opinion,
If you can openly criticize people
Then threaten the people, who try to fix the wrong done towards you,
If you can proclaim your life’s path as the way to follow
And then judge for any form of rebellion,
If you can finally wave the white flag
Will you finally accept the war reparations that are overdue,
The people’s heart is yours and that’s in it
Because you’ll be the face for the abusers,
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
i loath that educational poetry that's intended to address you with scold or searching for a higher tier of morality, there are poems like that out there (rudyard kipling e.g.), with educational / instructional overtones in the way they're written, i always wonder though: did the poet remember the idea of solipsism and writing the poem as if to himself, a note to self, rather than for others to peer into the poem and learn something?
that's the thing though,
i'm a child of immigrants...
actually an immigrant
myself... no, wait, let's do
what the higher tiers of society
call it: i'm an expatriate,
a child of expatriates -
and they still talk with an accent,
me? self-taught english
from the age of 8, retained my
mother tongue nonetheless,
speak none of the two tongues with
an accent, unless i want to,
a friend of mine introduced me
to a greek cypriot, lovingly ridiculed
me as posh... and let me tell you,
sounding posh in essex is hard to do,
i admit it would be harder in
scotland or east london, but essex
is still a hefty mountain to climb -
it's like that crass joke i heard in
the edinburgh comedy club i used to
haunt once a week...
a guy stands up and with a mighty grin
announced himself with over-stressed
elocution: 'you might recognise my accent
(i.e. denoting where he came from,
a great conversation starter on these
islands)... it's educated',
and that really crushed the hazelnut
in his **** -
well if it was a woman telling the same
joke, it would be a crushed hazelnut
between the legs - missionaries
in positions of ardent prayer
and christmas wrapping paper -
because a woman's strength in the leg department
is like the lips of oysters, or any over shellfish
for that matter - insects of the deep blue
(exoskeleton).
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe 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!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Tommy
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, **makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;**
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
**You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!**
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
Slouched atop the bookshelf resting his fluffy head
against much loved Rudyard Kipling's finest.
He watched the day to day stories of King Anthony
'The child ruler of the world' and his beloved younger sister Anya.
Avoiding arguments downstairs in the dying segments of daylight,
the boy's reassurance to Anya showcased rare moments of humanity
not seen by Little Weissel's beaded eyes since occupied Holland.
Amongst his stuffing was still memories of his first best friend,
in which many a day was spent quietly hiding away,
listening to the sound of boots roaming around the house.
King Anthony reached his hand out in full view of the aged bear's face
and plucked him from his perch.
As warm as the bear felt to him, he felt to this plush relic, whose eyes
would dilate in the melt of such moment if only they could.
From his arms passing down to her trembling ones;
she was looking for solace in the wake of mother and father's quaking
voices in the kitchen.
For Little Weissel it seemed like 'what was old is new again'
and now after spells after neglect he was experiencing a second
lease of life.
As the war downstairs fizzled out into quiet evening, King Anthony and Anya were locked together, both tenants of sleep with
Little Weissel just as lovingly clung to as the first moment he'd been clutched.
Maybe in the new harsh terrain, the scabby mass of the little bear
could once again feel the need to be needed as any good plaything deserves to be.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
To To the eight girls in my care
and thanks to Rudyard Kipling]
IF I can keep my cool,
When all about me are losing theirs and
IF I can retaliate "I hate you",
With "I see you are angry",
And still give you all an equal share.
IF the infectious diseases,
Sleepless nights, and bad language,
Don't destroy me and
IF I can hang in there,
I'm getting there,
So I'll hang in there.
IF I can be and allow you to be,
And still be,
I take my hat off to me.
IF I can temper
The tantrums with a laugh,
And laugh at the temper,
The temperature's right.
IF I can be a listener,
A friend, a seamstress,
A driver a giver a taker ,
A mother, a teacher and a father
I'm your parent my friends,
And you had better listen to me
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
f 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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe 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.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;[email protected])
It is moral duty of poetry to throw away ***** power
Often formed by political snobs out of selfish extension,
Poetry without arms and ammunition have been there
Ever creating social and political power un-violently,
Planting moralized empires that cannot away be washed
By the snobbish currents of constituent powers that be,
Show me all the social powers formed by poetry
That ever oppressed the poor or the weak,
You would have given me glorious pedestals
On which I will firmly stand and stretch my arm
To show to the world a blind philosopher,
Even Rudyard Kipling in his prime of colonial poetry
Had the Indian kidimadiggar, sorriest of all coolies
As the constituent pith in his racist hearty
Where blended colonial urge and poetical altruism
Into humane conscience for destituent social power.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
There's a lot of jungle books five different kinds
The movie's 1 and 2
The real life movie and the books of the books
The author is Rudyard Kipling
First published in 1894 The Jungle Book is very famous
Out of them all my favourite is the one in the actual book its self
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 5:51 AM UTC
If
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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe 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!
Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/if-by-rudyard-kipling#ixzz3ogpfN1hg
#FamilyFriendPoems
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
The Thousandth Man.
By Rudyard Kipling.
My favourite poem.
~~~~
One man in a thousand , Solomon says ,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it’s worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other .
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you.
But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.
‘Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for ‘ee
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em go
By your looks ,or your acts ,or your glory .
But if he finds you and you find him.
The rest of the world don’t matter ;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.
You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings.
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man he’s worth ‘em all
Because you can show him your feelings.
His wrong’s your wrong and his right’s your right .
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men’s sight-
With that for your only reason !
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can’t bide
The shame or the mocking or laughter.
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side.
To the gallows -foot and after !
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Rudyard Kipling.
Posted by Philip.
December 5th 2018.
In my opinion the best poem ever written
And one that I have tried to live by for the last twenty five years.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
vaguen
(Samuel Beckett, notation on MS of Happy Days)
I
Fire comes bouncing in from the
desert a threat to houses Here’s
what we do says the King to
Rudyard Kipling who is visiting
Stuff wet rags in the eaves throw
the silverware in the swimming
pool And my letters Rudyard
Kipling is thinking will you be
pressing my letters to your
breast as we skid towards
the car Truly diverse people
the King and Kipling one or
the other was always getting
his feelings hurt Above them
a strip of once blue sky now
dark adust
II
Nowadays there are technicians
of despair you can work at it
Going to the Buddhist study
group I pass a thin crumpled
man at a wall his face on the
bricks Behind him another big
black city legs wide apart roaring
Say you aren’t stupid then why
aren’t you happy
III
New guy at the Buddhist study
group Eyes cut to bits I want
he keeps saying So I don’t get
so he keeps saying A bunch
of sage grass has blown onto
his head and grown down into
his mind He shakes hands with
everyone over and over again
at the door
IV
I had previously been to
the Old South Thirty minutes
into the faculty dinner a man
to my left drops his eyes and
his voice says he murdered his
brother with a shotgun when
he was twelve The other diners
appear to have heard this
before On the plane home I
sit across from a vet with a
falcon on his lap It observes
the other passengers severely
Drinks apple juice from a
cup with very small silver
lips
V
At twenty-eight thousand feet
above the uncarved block of
NY state a cricket jumps onto
my coat Vaguen it says
Anne Carson currently teaches at NYU and will publish a handmade book called NOX in 2010. She is the author of Autobiography of Red, Plainwater, and other books of poetry, non-fiction, and mixed genre.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
There but for the grace of God go I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There but for the grace of God go I.
Having reached the age of six n seventy
Eagles of the sea have taught me to fly
Rich rewards await if you reach a land o plenty
Expectations under wraps but you have to try
By loving and giving the passport to nobility
Unless you keep a faith you’ll never know why
There but for the grace of God go I
Fortune favours t’ brave my Daddy w’ so wise.
On those winter nights he reads to my delight
Rubicon of literary giants was my prize.
The works o’ Rudyard Kipling kept a boy alive
Hidden hero’s mentoring a child with a desire
Every Sunday church attend all were s’advised
Granted there but for the grace of God go I
Running clear of all the gangs Im traumatised
Atheists n sinners ridiculed looking in my eyes
Call yourself a Christian ?Well we are amazed
Even with such provocative faith held for years
On life threatening occasions it never wavered
Faith holds the key as friends fail to survive
Gladly ,there but for the grace of God go I
Oh grant me that grace to be of your PA
Diligence and devotion t’ serve you all my days
God channeled me my words for love of man
Only wish to perpetuate the joy of poetry.
In an age.When fake news is everywhere .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 10th 2018.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
I wish i could write a lovely poem
Like Wordsworth or robert frost
But all i can do is think and think
And muddle up totally lost
I try to write beautiful words
Emulating rudyard kipling
But becomes hard when your rhymes dont come
And you find yourself slipping
I wish i could write a huge tome
Of strange beings and stranger lands
Alas! I am not Tolkein
And i dont have Dickens hands
So i guess it will be silly rhymes and frivolous poetry
Cause thats what comes to me
I try n try and i try so hard
A poet am not meant to be!
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
Here is a book
What's the book?
The Jungle Book
Who's it by?
Rudyard Kipling
Oh Mr Shere Khan you better watch out
Here is a Book
What's the book?
Anne Of Green Gables
Who's it by?
L.M. Montgomery
Look at all the Green at the front
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
There but for the grace of God go I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There but for the grace of God go I.
Having reached the age of six n seventy
Eagles of the sea have taught me to fly
Rich rewards await if you reach a land o plenty
Expectations under wraps but you have to try
By loving and giving the passport to nobility
Unless you keep a faith you’ll never know why
There but for the grace of God go I
Fortune favours t’ brave my Daddy w’ so wise.
On those winter nights he reads to my delight
Rubicon of literary giants was my prize.
The works o’ Rudyard Kipling kept a boy alive
Hidden hero’s mentoring a child with a desire
Every Sunday church attend all were s’advised
Granted there but for the grace of God go I
Running clear of all the gangs Im traumatised
Atheists n sinners ridiculed looking in my eyes
Call yourself a Christian ?Well we are amazed
Even with such provocative faith held for years
On life threatening occasions it never wavered
Faith holds the key as friends fail to survive
Gladly ,there but for the grace of God go I
Oh grant me that grace to be of your PA
Diligence and devotion t’ serve you all my days
God channeled me my words for love of man
Only wish to perpetuate the joy of poetry.
In an age.When fake news is everywhere .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 10th 2018.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
May I share with you ?
This simple Haiku
30/10/18.
May I share with you?
This uplifting poetry
With me all my life.
From Memory my favourite poem by Rudyard Kipling. “IF”.
If you can keep your head when all about you Are loosing there’s and blaming 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 imposters 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 them 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 loose ,and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe 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 loose 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 !
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now my father and mother gave me a copy of this poem when I was about 10.
I have tried to tick all these boxes ever since.
It may seem a little old fashioned now as it was written about 110 years ago.
It’s always helped me.
I needed each and every virtue today.
,
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 5:25 AM UTC
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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe 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
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC