Sk8oetry

Sk8oetry

By RonnyBArtsPerforming Arts
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Sk8oetry episodes

  • "Lines Written in Early Spring" - William Wordsworth (St James' Park) - Sk8oetry
    And "A Spring Morning" by William Wordsworth
    sk8oetry@gmail @sk8_bard
    Lines Written in Early Spring - William Wordsworth
    I heard a thousand blended notes,
    While in a grove I sate reclined,
    In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
    Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
    To her fair works did Nature link
    The human soul that through me ran;
    And much it grieved my heart to think
    What man has made of man.
    Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
    The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
    And ’tis my faith that every flower
    Enjoys the air it breathes.
    The birds around me hopped and played,
    Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
    But the least motion which they made
    It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
    The budding twigs spread out their fan,
    To catch the breezy air;
    And I must think, do all I can,
    That there was pleasure there.
    If this belief from heaven be sent,
    If such be Nature’s holy plan,
    Have I not reason to lament
    What man has made of man?
    "A Spring Morning" - William Wordsworth
    There was a roaring in the wind all night;
    The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
    But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
    The birds are singing in the distant woods;
    Over his own sweet voice the stock dove broods;
    The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters;
    And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
    All things that love the sun are out of doors;
    The sky rejoices in the morning’s birth;
    The grass is bright with rain drops – on the moor.
    The hare is running races in her mirth;
    And with her feet she from the plashy earth;
    Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
    Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
    6 min
  • "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Battersea Power Station) - Sk8oetry
    Kubla Khan - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.
    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round;
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
    And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!
    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
    That with music loud and long,
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread
    For he on honey-dew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.
    6 min
  • "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred Lord Tennyson (Hammersmith Bridge at night) - Sk8oetry
    The Charge of the Light Brigade - Alfred Lord Tennyson
    Half a league, half a league,
    Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    “Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!” he said.
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    “Forward, the Light Brigade!”
    Was there a man dismayed?
    Not though the soldier knew
    Someone had blundered.
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do and die.
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of hell
    Rode the six hundred.
    Flashed all their sabres bare,
    Flashed as they turned in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
    All the world wondered.
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right through the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Reeled from the sabre stroke
    Shattered and sundered.
    Then they rode back, but not
    Not the six hundred.
    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell.
    They that had fought so well
    Came through the jaws of Death,
    Back from the mouth of hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.
    When can their glory fade?
    O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wondered.
    Honour the charge they made!
    Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred!
    5 min
  • "Travel Light" by Diane Cluck and Jeffrey Lewis (Notting Hill) - Sk8oetry
    Travel Light" by Diane Cluck and Jeffrey Lewis
    Listen to the song here - https://open.spotify.com/track/28d4HLqmll5lSrnMnTDGLm?si=X3t4HA-sTIiDegxjbL2zrg
    Travel Light - Diane Cluck and Jeffrey Lewis
    When I was an astronaut, I didn't take my boots
    When I was a coal-miner, I didn't know the news
    When I ran a record store, Ididn't have the blues
    I travel light and thats the life for me.
    He doesn't care where else he goes
    He's not gonna take any extra clothes
    Or extra shoes to hide his feet
    The ground is dirt, the dirt is sweet.
    When I go to London town I'll stand under a rock
    Until I know all the time it takes to pack a clock
    Then I'll flip it over, close the key, swallow the lock
    I travel light and that's the life for me.
    He doesn't take his spoon or fork
    He's seen to many eating in New York
    He'll use his hands to pick and eat
    The fruit he finds, he'll find it sweet
    When I was a waitress, I gave away my tips
    When I was a call-girl, I gave away my hips
    When I ran the kissing-booth, I gave away my lips
    I travel light and that's the life for me.
    She lives a life like abandoned wind
    Elemental wife, fortune is her friend
    A smile on a river made of light
    She's just a pebble on waterfall tonight
    When I go to Boston, I'll stand around in jeans
    And save the cash to leave by selling black-market baked beans
    Denim's what I like to wear, it has durable seams
    I travel light and that's the life for me.
    She's just a genius without a thinking cap
    'Never pays the rent, she's funny like that
    I don't know what she's on, she's here and gone
    Rides a welcome mat on a jungle cat.
    Furs and sofa chairs and shiny things are just a fuss
    We'll eat all the peanuts that we steal from the circus
    We'll count all the stars and go to sleep under the bus
    We'll travel light and that's the life for us
    We'll travel light and that's the life for us
    We'll travel light and that's the life for us
    We'll travel light and that's the life for us
    4 min
  • "If" by Rudyard Kipling (Craven Cottage, Fulham) - Sk8oetry
    If — 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!
    6 min
  • "London" by William Blake (River Thames) - Sk8oetry
    London - William Blake
    I wander thro' each charter'd street,
    Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
    And mark in every face I meet
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
    In every cry of every Man,
    In every Infants cry of fear,
    In every voice: in every ban,
    The mind-forg'd manacles I hear
    How the Chimney-sweepers cry
    Every blackning Church appalls,
    And the hapless Soldiers sigh
    Runs in blood down Palace walls
    But most thro' midnight streets I hear
    How the youthful Harlots curse
    Blasts the new-born Infants tear
    And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
    I wander thro' each charter'd street,
    Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
    And mark in every face I meet
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
    5 min

About Sk8oetry

From the publisher's feed

A wonderful collection of poems by the greats. Each poem is recorded in a different part of London with the visual backdrop of me electric skateboarding!