Tyger, Tyger burning bright
In the forest of the night
But something here just isn't right
Tygers hunt by day, not by night
Tyger, Tyger burning bright
In the forest of the night
But something here just isn't right
Tygers hunt by day, not by night
Some of us laugh
Some of us cry
Some of us smoke
Some of us lie
But it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives...
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
someone set my cat alight.
Who could do so foul a thing
as soak a cat in gas and fling
a lighted match upon its back -
compassion they must surely lack.
Tyger, tyger
Seeking food
One glance
Your way
And you are screwed
You know
A tyger
Burning bright
Will set
The grilling
Fire alight
If you are
Woman, child or dude
It's all the same
When Bar-B-Qued
"Remember, we are all in this alone." - Lilly Tomlin
Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright,
Through the African dark night.
Aardvark, jackal, lion, elephant:
All cavort and growl and pant.
With buffalo, hippo, antelope,
They push and shove, they paw and grope.
From veld to Karoo and savanna,
Each hungering for its own manna,
They’re drawn by the raging light.
Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright!
What a feast we’ll have tonight!
hack and Prince, both classic entries I feel Gee the competition's tough round here!
My Prince:
How did the Tyger to Africa come
and why leave behind the far Asian shore?
How did it get there and why did it leave
when India’s jungles would seem to be
a much better place for this tyger you see
The walk must have made his paws ever so sore,
or did he go swimming and lose his course?
But if he went swimming his coat would be wet
and much harder then to ignite I bet!
Eyes ablaze with ember's light
gazing through the cigar smoke.
Black fedora, red hat band,
cocked. The fag glowed in her hand.
Mouth moved slowly as she spoke
of the forest of the night.
Chelsea Dagger was her name
Smiled like a jungle cat.
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright!
Low, beyond the street lamp's light.
Guiled by her wit and hat,
mouse within a tiger's game.
A tiger, who had never been to Africa,
was discovered in a poem
by a dude who’d never been to Spain.
The problem is, to whom
should we complain?
Wildebeast are running loose
in Montreal, Polar bears
have been sighted in Miami...
To whom should we complain?
Metaphors are rampant,
synecdoches are to be found
in every civil neighbourhood.
To whom should we complain?
From Woking (sic) to Maine,
To whom should we complain?
At El Ferrol I landed in 1982
from there to Santiago
this road I travelled too
but while upon this journey
no tigers did I see.
No wildebeests or jackals
inclined to bother me.
Now in the self-same decade
Sir John Moore’s tomb I saw,
not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
and not a tiger’s roar.
There at La Corunna
no metaphors, were found
just the grave of a British hero
still lying in the ground.
At Santiago de Compostella,
a cathedral quite profound,
no synecdoches either
were seen to hang around.
Such beasts, at which I wonder,
I’ve only seen in zoos,
they’re certainly not in Woking
and yes, I’ve been there too.
So in answer to your query
before it is renewed
Ask not to whom I should complain
for I complain to you.
Noble Prince, I will allow that you are half right
I regret to be the one to follow Prince and hawkman but here I am
Divine Right
Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright
Hidden and clear; night or day
To shame the Sun and its ray
Tiger must prowl or plight.
Tiger! Tiger! Standing still
Deep in space it never leaves
Carried, mist a clever breeze
Tiger ready for its kill.
Tiger! Tiger! Why it eats?
Why desire the Blood it chills?
Why follow those it will still?
Why end life when instead sleep?
Tiger! Tiger! It disturbs
The games that make worlds turn.
A tragic situation exists precisely when virtue does not triumph but when it is still felt that man is nobler than the forces which destroy him.
- Orwell
Read of my Shepherd
Prince and hawkman:
You two are aware that there is only one poem per poet per contest?
Some of us laugh
Some of us cry
Some of us smoke
Some of us lie
But it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives...