poemranker ::Upon the Battlefield by cleverdevice

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Free verse № 88581

Upon the Battlefield

by cleverdevice

Member since 2002 · Posted 13 Feb 2004 · Edited 2 Mar 2004 · 9 comments

A young Apollo, golden haired, Stands dreaming on the verge of strife. Magnificently unprepared For the long littleness of life. He has no cause to want life his own, His is but a short part to play. Yet when called, he shall dethrone And leave for fields far away. His naive duty shows no bounds, His will is there for else to course And when he faces warring hounds His thoughts and cries shall there be forced To think of life as it was lived, To dream of love, as he was loved. To cherish, hold, recieve and give His mortal, everlasting blood (the first stanza of this poem was written by Frances Cornford, not me.)

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mean 4.00 weighted 4.88 rank 10284 views 250 View voting details →

3 votes so far. Yours would make 4.3 votes so far

9 comments

[10] jasondingus 13-Feb-04/3:17 AM Reply
Great Poem!
[n/a] cleverdevice 23-Feb-04/2:27 AM Reply
I must tell a truth, the first stanza is not mine, it was written by a friend of Rupert Brooke, describing him on the eve of WW1, so I cannot take credit for it. The rest is mine though, I thought I'd develop the original.
[5] zodiac › cleverdevice 23-Feb-04/7:40 AM Reply
Um, plagiarism. And a strife/life rhyme to boot.
[n/a] cleverdevice › zodiac 23-Feb-04/8:32 AM Reply
erm, no, cos I don't take the credit, and its not an entire poem passed off as my own. Cock. And the strife/life isn't mine, blame Frances Cornford.
[5] zodiac › cleverdevice 23-Feb-04/8:37 AM Reply
Still plagiarism. a) you take credit by not using quotes or otherwise explicitly giving credit to its author within the text of the poem. b) if I reposted this entire poem with only the single line added at the end "in a sweatshirt with a drawstring hood", I could not reasonably call it my own. Cock. I blame you.
[n/a] cleverdevice › zodiac 24-Feb-04/4:05 AM Reply
I never intended to pass all this poem off as my own, hence the admission (I wasn't exactly ridden with guilt, shaking and sweating fearing God's wrath). Just because I didn't chose to use quotation marks doesn't mean its plagiarism all of a sudden. To plagiarise:'' to use another person's idea or a part of their work and pretend that it is your own'', freeserve online dictionary, ''to take and use as one's own, the thoughts, writings or inventions of another'' - Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, ''to take ideas writings, etc. from another and pass them off as one's own'' - Collins Concise English Dictionary. Now how does that relate to this phrase quoted from above? '' the first stanza is not mine...I cannot take credit for it''. I have not, do not and will not take credit for the first stanza, so how can I be plagiarising when the definition is to pass off other's works as my own? Regardless of what punctuation devices are used in the body of the poem. Cock.
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. › cleverdevice 24-Feb-04/5:10 AM Reply
On 13th Feb jasondingus credited 'your' poeme with an -10-. From 13th Feb to 23rd Feb you balmilised yourself in that -10-, basking in its splendour and revelling in the credit you took from it. Unless you can prove that you gain'd no pleasure from that vote before your admission of the 'borrowed' 1st verse on 23rd Feb, I'm afraid your jodhpurs will remain at half-mast. A belated admission of guilt simply will not do, since it is like stealing some money but only apologising after you have squander'd it on a vast collection of antique digital watches and Thundercats quilts. -10-
[n/a] cleverdevice › -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 25-Feb-04/4:20 AM Reply
Like I tried to say before, my dear man, I am not guilty, just belatedly telling everyone that the first stanza is not mine. And revelling in one single -10-? Please, tell me, Sir, where did I give you that expression. My jodphurs are staying firmly up with a Thomas Pink, Germyn Street, belt. (Except for some devient scullery maid, the minx!)
[7] Shuushin 5-Oct-06/4:22 AM Reply
killed by a strife/life rhyme. Nobody uses the word strife and expects not to be eaten by bed-monsters, not even Frances Cornford.