If by Rudyard Kipling

As a little background, "If" was written in 1895 - two years before the birth of the Kipling's son, John, in 1897. It appears not so much to be a code designed for a son as much as a tribute to Leander Starr Jameson - who at least according to Wikipedia had a rigid code of honour and was much loved by his contemporaries. Anyway, if by radical and reformist, people mean Jameson was seriously anti-slavery then I will forgive Rudyard his all to apparent sexism (he is,after all, a product of his time), and also celebrate the good doctor/politician.

If, by Rudyard Kipling

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! 

Tuesday Poem: No Tomorrow

You all knew where you were
when you heard the news-
shambling
down the motorway
to the apocalypse

So forget yesterday
and tomorrow
the worst of plans
is letting the sun
shine
on the path
when there's no
best foot
to put forward -
not between the lot of us -

since the rot set in and
gangrene
on broken bone
became the height of summer fashion




Cant remember when
we weren't all holding on -
broken fingernails
sliding
on tarmac

wont wait 'til tomorrow
when the sun'll come out

and we'll fry
on the tarmac
raising a stink
like green eggs
and ham-

today


A.J.


So that's the poem this week, it's a bit of a tricky one, so won't be surprised if it changes a little. Suggestions, as always, very welcome. Have even toyed with making it a couple of poems - after all - there can never be enough zombie apocalypse poems in the world - not when metaphorical disaster is more fun than the real thing.

If poems are your thing, why not check out the Tuesday Poem hub, full of poemy goodness.

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And tell me what poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024 I'd love to have the time to write more, and get this poetry blog running again.

 

 

 

"Silvery Grey Ribbons" An Oil Triptych from Space

(I knew I wanted to write a poem on the spill, but I couldn't get my perspective right until I saw these pictures of the oil spill from space. Nasa link )



silver-grey
smothers
the wild blue
until
it lies
flat
and
glinting
in the
treacherous
sunlight

#

Midas
Your Gold
has infected
the sea
and turned
its waters
bright with
the blood of
generations
past

#

still-
black gold
proves
not rare
enough
nor precious
enough
to save-
like
the invisible lives
washed up on
on a calm
silvery
tide
of death

A..J. Ponder