Dancing By The Light of The Moon: Over 250 poems to read, relish and recite

by Gyles Brandreth

Take a Poem

Trees by (Alfred) Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918) I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.

loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself

Two Dead Boys by Anon.

One fine day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight, Back to back they faced each other, Drew their swords and shot each other. One was blind and the other couldn’t see So they chose a dummy for a referee. A blind man went to see fair play, A dumb man went to shout ‘hooray!’ A paralysed donkey passing by, Kicked the blind man in the eye, Knocked him through a nine inch wall, Into a dry ditch and drowned them all. A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came to arrest the two dead boys, If you don’t believe this story’s true, Ask the blind man he saw it too!

Hot and Cold by Roald Dahl (1916–90) A woman who my mother knows Came in and took off all her clothes. Said I, not being very old, ‘By golly gosh, you must be cold!’ ‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘Indeed I’m not! I’m feeling devilishly hot!’

A Poem Just For Me by Roger McGough (born 1937)

Where am I now when I need me Suddenly where have I gone I’m so alone here without me Tell me please, what have I done? Once I did most things together I went for walks hand in hand I shared myself so completely I met my every demand. Tell me I’ll come back tomorrow I’ll keep my arms open wide Tell me that I’ll never leave me My place is here at my side. Maybe I’ve simply mislaid me Like an umbrella or key So until the day that I come my way Here is a poem just for me.

Happy the man by John Dryden

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call today his own; He who, secure within, can say: ‘Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heav’n itself upon the past has pow’r; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.’

The Good News by Thich Nhat Hanh (born 1926) They don’t publish the good news. The good news is published by us.

We have a special edition every moment, and we need you to read it. The good news is that you are alive, and the linden tree is still there, standing firm in the harsh Winter. The good news is that you have wonderful eyes to touch the blue sky. The good news is that your child is there before you, and your arms are available: hugging is possible. They only print what is wrong. Look at each of our special editions. We always offer the things that are not wrong. We want you to benefit from them

and help protect them. The dandelion is there by the sidewalk, smiling its wondrous smile, singing the song of eternity. Listen! You have ears that can hear it. Bow your head. Listen to it. Leave behind the world of sorrow and preoccup...