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Best Famous Chock Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Chock poems. This is a select list of the best famous Chock poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Chock poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of chock poems.

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Written by John Clare | Create an image from this poem

Remembrances

 Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away
Dear heart and can it be that such raptures meet decay
I thought them all eternal when by Langley Bush I lay
I thought them joys eternal when I used to shout and play
On its bank at 'clink and bandy' 'chock' and 'taw' and
 ducking stone
Where silence sitteth now on the wild heath as her own
Like a ruin of the past all alone


When I used to lie and sing by old eastwells boiling spring
When I used to tie the willow boughs together for a 'swing'
And fish with crooked pins and thread and never catch a
 thing
With heart just like a feather- now as heavy as a stone
When beneath old lea close oak I the bottom branches broke
To make our harvest cart like so many working folk
And then to cut a straw at the brook to have a soak
O I never dreamed of parting or that trouble had a sting
Or that pleasures like a flock of birds would ever take to
 wing
Leaving nothing but a little naked spring


When jumping time away on old cross berry way
And eating awes like sugar plumbs ere they had lost the may
And skipping like a leveret before the peep of day
On the rolly polly up and downs of pleasant swordy well
When in round oaks narrow lane as the south got black again
We sought the hollow ash that was shelter from the rain
With our pockets full of peas we had stolen from the grain
How delicious was the dinner time on such a showry day
O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away
The ancient pulpit trees and the play


When for school oer 'little field' with its brook and wooden
 brig
Where I swaggered like a man though I was not half so big
While I held my little plough though twas but a willow twig
And drove my team along made of nothing but a name
'Gee hep' and 'hoit' and 'woi'- O I never call to mind
These pleasant names of places but I leave a sigh behind
While I see the little mouldywharps hang sweeing to the wind
On the only aged willow that in all the field remains
And nature hides her face where theyre sweeing in their
 chains
And in a silent murmuring complains


Here was commons for the hills where they seek for
 freedom still
Though every commons gone and though traps are set to kill
The little homeless miners- O it turns my bosom chill
When I think of old 'sneap green' puddocks nook and hilly
 snow
Where bramble bushes grew and the daisy gemmed in dew
And the hills of silken grass like to cushions to the view
When we threw the pissmire crumbs when we's nothing
 else to do
All leveled like a desert by the never weary plough
All vanished like the sun where that cloud is passing now
All settled here for ever on its brow


I never thought that joys would run away from boys
Or that boys would change their minds and forsake such
 summer joys
But alack I never dreamed that the world had other toys
To petrify first feelings like the fable into stone
Till I found the pleasure past and a winter come at last
Then the fields were sudden bare and the sky got overcast
And boyhoods pleasing haunts like a blossom in the blast
Was shrivelled to a withered weed and trampled down and
 done
Till vanished was the morning spring and set that summer
 sun
And winter fought her battle strife and won


By Langley bush I roam but the bush hath left its hill
On cowper green I stray tis a desert strange and chill
And spreading lea close oak ere decay had penned its will
To the axe of the spoiler and self interest fell a prey
And cross berry way and old round oaks narrow lane
With its hollow trees like pulpits I shall never see again
Inclosure like a Buonaparte let not a thing remain
It levelled every bush and tree and levelled every hill
And hung the moles for traitors - though the brook is
 running still
It runs a naked brook cold and chill


O had I known as then joy had left the paths of men
I had watched her night and day besure and never slept agen
And when she turned to go O I'd caught her mantle then
And wooed her like a lover by my lonely side to stay
Aye knelt and worshipped on as love in beautys bower
And clung upon her smiles as a bee upon her flower
And gave her heart my poesys all cropt in a sunny hour
As keepsakes and pledges to fade away
But love never heeded to treasure up the may
So it went the comon road with decay


Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Sams Christmas Pudding

 It was Christmas Day in the trenches
In Spain in Penninsular War,
And Sam Small were cleaning his musket
A thing as he'd ne're done before.
They'd had 'em inspected that morning And Sam had got into disgrace, For when sergeant had looked down the barrel A sparrow flew out in his face.
The sergeant reported the matter To Lieutenant Bird then and there.
Said Lieutenant 'How very disgusting' The Duke must be told of this 'ere.
' The Duke were upset when he heard He said, 'I'm astonished, I am.
I must make a most drastic example There'll be no Christmas pudding for Sam.
' When Sam were informed of his sentence Surprise, rooted him to the spot.
'Twas much worse than he had expected, He though as he'd only be shot.
And so he sat cleaning his musket And polishing barrel and butt.
While the pudding his mother had sent him, Lay there in the mud at his foot.
Now the centre that Sam's lot were holding Ran around a place called Badajoz.
Where the Spaniards had put up a bastion And ooh.
.
.
! what a bastion it was.
They pounded away all the morning With canister, grape shot and ball.
But the face of the bastion defied them, They made no impression at all.
They started again after dinner Bombarding as hard as they could.
And the Duke brought his own private cannon But that weren't a ha'pence o' good.
The Duke said, 'Sam, put down thy musket And help me lay this gun true.
' Sam answered, 'You'd best ask your favours From them as you give pudding to.
' The Duke looked at Sam so reproachful 'And don't take it that way,' said he.
'Us Generals have got to be ruthless It hurts me more than it did thee.
' Sam sniffed at these words kind of sceptic, Then looked down the Duke's private gun.
And said 'We'd best put in two charges, We'll never bust bastion with one.
' He tipped cannon ball out of muzzle He took out the wadding and all.
He filled barrel chock full of powder, Then picked up and replaced the ball.
He took a good aim at the bastion Then said 'Right-o, Duke, let her fly.
' The cannon nigh jumped off her trunnions, And up went the bastion, sky high.
The Duke, he weren't 'alf elated He danced around trench full of glee.
And said, 'Sam, for this gallant action.
You can hot up your pudding for tea.
' Sam looked 'round to pick up his pudding But it wasn't there, nowhere about.
In the place where he thought he had left it, Lay the cannon ball he'd just tipped out.
Sam saw in a flash what 'ad happened: By an unprecedented mishap.
The pudding his mother had sent him, Had blown Badajoz off map.
That's why fuisilliers wear to this moment A badge which they think's a grenade.
But they're wrong.
.
.
it's a brass reproduction, Of the pudding Sam's mother once made.

Book: Shattered Sighs