What are your favourite poems?

[gwendolyn]

Today is Guy Fawkes Day (a happy Bonfire Night to you all!) and it always reminds me of the opening to T.S. Eliot''s ''The Hollow Men,'' one of my favourite poems. This got me wondering what poems you find powerful, evocative, beautiful, elegant, fun--anything! Please share titles, links, or maybe even your own work?

 

[strmrdr]

to fart or not to fart
that''s art

 

[gwendolyn]

Date: 11/5/2008 2:43:11 PM
Author: strmrdr
to fart or not to fart

that''s art

Encore, encore!

 

[dragonfly411]

I don''t know that I Have a favorite poem per say. I love classic poetry. I also love Jewel, she has very good poetry.

 

[OUpearlgirl]

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms,
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.
Thanks to your love a certain fragrance,
risen darkly from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride,
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where "I" does not exist, nor "you,"
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close and I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda

 

[dragonfly411]

I love that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

[strmrdr]

copyright 1996 by Karl all rights reserved.

I know not
but you would beat me every time
no matter the contest
for i would bow before your grace and beauty
forever beaten by a look in your eyes
that would tell me all
i need to know for now and forever
seared by the fire in that gaze
doomed to love you forever but held away
by the reality of life
doomed to search for love forever

 

[strmrdr]

copyright 1996 all rights reserved.
CHILD by Karl

You look
in on
them when
they are
at rest
so peaceful
and sweet
you wonder
how something
so special
can be
yours to
care for
to protect
to mold
to love
to hold
you think
i love
this child
and you
know you
have truly
been blessed

 

[cdt1101]

e.e. cummings


i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it''s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that''s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

[Lorelei]

" The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred LordTennyson is one of my favourites.


Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to towered Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

 

[gwendolyn]

love is more thicker than forget



love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky


e.e. cummings

 

[Miscka]

OU I LOOOVE Pable Neruda! I love the one you posted, and also this one:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, ''The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.''

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that''s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another''s. She will be another''s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that''s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

-Pablo Neruda


I also love the E.E. Cummings that CDT posted...love it!

 

[gwendolyn]

Great contributions! Lorelei, The Lady of Shalott is one of my favourites as well. Have you heard Loreena McKennitt''s musical version of it? It''s lovely.



My Ships




If all the ships I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Ah well! the harbor could not hold
So many sails as there would be
If all my ships came in from sea.

If half my ships came home from sea,
And brought their precious freight to me,
Ah, well! I should have wealth as great
As any king who sits in state,
So rich the treasures that would be
In half my ships now at sea.

If just one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown,
For if the others all went down
Still rich and proud and glad I’d be,
If that one ship came back to me.

If that one ship were down at sea,
And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,
With glory, honor, riches, gold,
The poorest soul on earth I’d be
If that one ship came not to me.

O skies be calm! O winds blow free--
Blow all my ships safe home to me.
But if thou sendest some awrack
To never more come sailing back,
Send any--all that skim the sea--
But bring my love-ship home to me.



Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

[Lorelei]

I haven''t Gwennie, I will have to though!

Here is another " Wild Peaches" by Elinor Morton Wylie.



1
When the world turns completely upside down
You say we''ll emigrate to the Eastern Shore
Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore;
We''ll live among wild peach trees, miles from town,
You''ll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown
Homespun, dyed butternut''s dark gold colour.
Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,
We''ll swim in milk and honey till we drown.
The winter will be short, the summer long,
The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,
Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;
All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.
The squirrels in their silver fur will fall
Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot.

2

The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass
Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold.
The misted early mornings will be cold;
The little puddles will be roofed with glass.
The sun, which burns from copper into brass,
Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold
Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold
Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass.
Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover;
A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year;
The spring begins before the winter''s over.
By February you may find the skins
Of garter snakes and water moccasins
Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear.

3

When April pours the colours of a shell
Upon the hills, when every little creek
Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake
In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell,
When strawberries go begging, and the sleek
Blue plums lie open to the blackbird''s beak,
We shall live well -- we shall live very well.
The months between the cherries and the peaches
Are brimming cornucopias which spill
Fruits red and purple, sombre-bloomed and black;
Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches
We''ll trample bright persimmons, while you kill
Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvasback.

4

Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones
There''s something in this richness that I hate.
I love the look, austere, immaculate,
Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones.
There''s something in my very blood that owns
Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate,
A thread of water, churned to milky spate
Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.
I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray,
Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meagre sheaves;
That spring, briefer than apple-blossom''s breath,
Summer, so much too beautiful to stay,
Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves,
And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.

 

[gwendolyn]

Date: 11/5/2008 3:45:34 PM
Author: Lorelei
I haven''t Gwennie, I will have to though!

Here''s a sample--sound isn''t the greatest quality since it''s on YouTube but should give you a good idea. She doesn''t sing all the verses, though--that''s the only thing wrong with it, in my opinion. Would love to know what you think!

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=IyaRAu0s0Eg

 

[somethingshiny]

Okay, my favorite poems are The Raven, and The Legend of Sam McGee. (both obviously too long to type out)

And, here''s an original. (my uncle''s quite the poet) (and, sorry to dumb down the conversation

)

The sky was dark
The night was still
Around the corner the sh!t wagon flew
A bump was hit
A cry was heard
A man was killed by a flying turd.

 

[KimberlyH]

Alone
by Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Ca make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Ca make it out here alone.


*******


No Loser, No Weeper
by Maya Angelou

" I hate to lose something,"
then she bent her head,
"even a dime, I wish I was dead.
I can't explain it. No more to be said.
'Cept I hate to lose something.

"I lost a doll once and cried for a week.
She could open her eyes, and do all but speak.
I believe she was took, by some doll-snatching sneak.
I tell you, I hate to lose something.

"A watch of mine once, got up and walked away.
It had twelve numbers on it and for the time of day.
I'll never foget it and all I can say
Is I really hate to lose something.

"Now if I felt that way 'bout a watch and a toy,
What you think I feel 'bout my lover-boy?
I ain't threatening you, madam, but he is my evening's joy.
And I mean I really hate to lose something."



*******



Funeral Blues
by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.






**********



We Real Cool
by Gwendolyn Brooks

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

 

[Haven]

I love Neruda.
Maya Angelou spoke at my college graduation, after which I threw myself into her writing for a while.
That e.e. cummings poem (I carry your heart) gets me every time. I was so excited when I saw it in In Her Shoes.

Gwennie--I love this thread! I always think that I''m not a big poetry fan, but then I read some great pieces and swoon.

 

[princesss]

Neruda and cummings are my all time favourites.

One of the poems that always makes me smile:

"This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

---------------------

Another favourite (by e.e. cummings)

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hoe and then)they
said their nevers and they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt for forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

-----------------------

And a lovely poem by Neruda:

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky''s hot rim,
The day''s last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

 

[canuk-gal]

HI:

Dorothy Parker "A Certain Lady"
EBB "How Do I Love Thee"
George Herbert "The Collar"
John Donne "The Flea"

I know there are dozens....

cheers--Sharon

 

[Kaleigh]

I worte this in loving memory of my brother, it was for the Program book for The Red Ribbon Ball for Aids Alive.

He was a magician and an actor. The picture in the program book is of him smiling doing his magic act holding a dove...


Like the wings of your doves,
I like knowing you're shining down on us from above.
You'll always be a part of me
It's your magic I'll always see

And as I reminisce,
You're the one I truly miss
As your spirit burns bright
Please know you're still my guiding light

 

[Haven]

Kaleigh--Your poem is beautiful.

My uncle was also a magician, and he also died before his time (of a massive brain tumor).
Can I send your piece to my father? I think he would love it.

 

[Kaleigh]

Date: 11/5/2008 9:45:00 PM
Author: Haven
Kaleigh--Your poem is beautiful.

My uncle was also a magician, and he also died before his time (of a massive brain tumor).
Can I send your piece to my father? I think he would love it.

Sure you can. I am sorry about your Uncle. I hope it brings a smile to your Dad.

 

[Skippy123]

Date: 11/5/2008 9:38:24 PM
Author: Kaleigh
I worte this in loving memory of my brother, it was for the Program book for The Red Ribbon Ball for Aids Alive.

He was a magician and an actor. The picture in the program book is of him smiling doing his magic act holding a dove...


Like the wings of your doves,
I like knowing you''re shining down on us from above.
You''ll always be a part of me
It''s your magic I''ll always see

And as I reminisce,
You''re the one I truly miss
As your spirit burns bright
Please know you''re still my guiding light

Ah Kaleigh, that is so beautiful

 

[Kaleigh]

Date: 11/5/2008 9:58:53 PM
Author: Skippy123

Date: 11/5/2008 9:38:24 PM
Author: Kaleigh
I worte this in loving memory of my brother, it was for the Program book for The Red Ribbon Ball for Aids Alive.

He was a magician and an actor. The picture in the program book is of him smiling doing his magic act holding a dove...


Like the wings of your doves,
I like knowing you''re shining down on us from above.
You''ll always be a part of me
It''s your magic I''ll always see

And as I reminisce,
You''re the one I truly miss
As your spirit burns bright
Please know you''re still my guiding light

Ah Kaleigh, that is so beautiful

Thanks Skippy.

 

[gwendolyn]

Oh, Kaleigh, your poem about your brother was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.

 

[Kaleigh]

Date: 11/6/2008 1:21:12 PM
Author: gwendolyn
Oh, Kaleigh, your poem about your brother was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.

Awww thanks gwen. It was something that flowed from the moment I put pen to paper. It''s been a comfort to many in my family. I wish I could show the picture... He was so happy, so thrilled to be doing what he loved.

 

[amber_312]

On Time
The PROPHET, by Kahlil Gibran


And an astronomer said, "Master, what of Time?"

And he answered:

You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable.

You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.

Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing.

Yet the timeless in you is aware of life''s timelessness,

And knows that yesterday is but today''s memory and tomorrow is today''s dream.

And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space.

Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless?

And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not form love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds?

And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless?

But if in you thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons,

And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.

 

[amber_312]

nobody but you

nobody can save you but
yourself.
you will be put again and again
into nearly impossible
situations.
they will attempt again and again
through subterfuge, guise and
force
to make you submit, quit and/or die quietly
inside.

nobody can save you but
yourself
and it will be easy enough to fail
so very easily
but don''t, don''t, don''t.
just watch them.
listen to them.
do you want to be like that?
a faceless, mindless, heartless
being?
do you want to experience
death before death?

nobody can save you but
yourself
and you''re worth saving.
it''s a war not easily won
but if anything is worth winning then
this is it.

think about it.
think about saving your self.

- Charles Bukowski

 

[amber_312]

peace

near the corner table in the
cafe
a middle-aged couple
sit.
they have finished their
meal
and they are drinking a beer.
it is 9 in the evening.
she is smoking a cigarette.
then he says something.
she nods.
then she speaks.
he grins, moves his
hand.
then they are quiet.
through the blinds next to
their table
flashing red neon
blinks on and
off.

there is no war.
there is no hell.

then he raises his beer
bottle.
it is green.
he lifts it to his lips,
tilts it.

it is a coronet.

her right elbow is
on the table

and in her hand
she holds the
cigarette
between her thumb and
forefinger
and
as she watches
him
the streets outside
flower
in the
night.


charles bukowski