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Rudyard Kipling. Jim Metcalf, poetry, poets,World War I poetry t - poems, Shakespeare, poetry submissions
To leave behind some vestige of the
thoughts we had
the things we felt
Some tangible evidence that proclaims
us to be more than things
that walked and breathed
and for a time occupied some tiny space
in this universe.
This is the dream eternal of those who
would create.
Those who would leave something of
themselves
Something not here
before their coming.
A creation like no other
as no person is like another.
And if it be beautiful to behold,
Many will be happier for it
and if it is otherwise,
So be it.
If in honesty it reflects
a thought
a mood
or transient fantasy
of its creator,
arts purpose has been served.
The artist has had his say
I have lived.
I have felt.
And this I leave
as part of both.
(Jim Metcalf - New Orleans poet. Died 1977)
You can read more poetry by Jim Metcalf by clicking the following:
www.thepastwhispers.com/In_Some_Quiet_Place.html
MY BOY JACK is a poem written in 1915 by Rudyard Kipling.
The poem is about his only son, John (called Jack) who went missing in France during World War I.
"Have you news of my boy Jack?"
Not this tide.
"When d'you think that he'll come back?"
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind-
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!
