Favourite Poem(s)

Discussion in 'Community Discussion' started by monke, Dec 6, 2007.

  1. monke macrumors 65816


    May 30, 2005
    I figured there would be a couple poetry lovers on here.

    What is your favourite poem(s)?
  2. sebascrub macrumors member

    Jun 2, 2007
    Calgary, AB
    I did a presentation for my theory course this term on the Rime of the Ancient Mariner... I kind of like it now. Of course, the Maiden cover is still better:D
  3. hayduke macrumors 65816


    Mar 8, 2005
    is a state of mind.
    Baby shoes: For sale, never worn.

    --Ernest Hemingway
  4. Stampyhead macrumors 68020


    Sep 3, 2004
    London, UK
    O Dream, Where Art Thou - Emily Brontë

    O Dream where art thou?
    Long years have past away
    Since last, from off thine angel brow
    I saw the light decay-

    Alas, alas for me
    Thou wert so bright and fair,
    I could not think thy memory
    Would yield me nought but care!

    The sun-beam and the storm,
    The summer-eve divine,
    The silent night of solemn calm,
    The full moon's cloudless shine

    Were once entwined with thee
    But now with weary pain-
    Lost vision! 'tis enough for me-
    Thou canst not shine again-
  5. CorvusCamenarum macrumors 65816


    Dec 16, 2004
    Birmingham, AL
    Almost anything by Yeats. The man was pure genius, although I much prefer it when he can keep to one page or less.

    "Dreamland" by Poe. Not bad for a drunk. ;)

    A few select works by me.
  6. obeygiant macrumors 68040


    Jan 14, 2002
    totally cool
    Inaugural Poem

    Maya Angelou
    20 January 1993
  7. 119576 Guest


    Aug 6, 2007
    Dulce Et Decorum Est

    Wilfred Owen
  8. MrSmith macrumors 68040


    Nov 27, 2003
    They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
    Love and desire and hate:
    I think they have no portion in us after
    We pass the gate.

    They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
    Our path emerges for a while, then closes
    Within a dream.

    Ernest Dowson

    (No surprises there.)
  9. Iscariot macrumors 68030


    Aug 16, 2007
    I especially enjoy Yeats and Bukowski.

    "And I shot out the stars one by one".
  10. mactastic macrumors 68040


    Apr 24, 2003
    "Just heard a commercial which told me Farmer John smokes his own bacon.
    Now, there's a tough son of a bitch."

    Charles Bukowski

    I also like Robert Frost's "Mending Wall":
    "Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
    And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
    And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
    The work of hunters is another thing:
    I have come after them and made repair
    Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
    But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
    To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
    No one has seen them made or heard them made,
    But at spring mending-time we find them there.
    I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
    And on a day we meet to walk the line
    And set the wall between us once again.
    We keep the wall between us as we go.
    To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
    And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
    We have to use a spell to make them balance:
    'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
    We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
    Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
    One on a side. It comes to little more:
    There where it is we do not need the wall:
    He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
    My apple trees will never get across
    And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
    He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'
    Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
    If I could put a notion in his head:
    'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
    Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
    Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
    What I was walling in or walling out,
    And to whom I was like to give offense.
    Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
    That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
    But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
    He said it for himself. I see him there
    Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
    In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
    He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
    Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
    He will not go behind his father's saying,
    And he likes having thought of it so well
    He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'"
  11. Luis macrumors 65816


    Jul 19, 2006
    Costa Rica
    “All that is gold does not glitter,
    not all those who wander are lost;
    the old that is strong does not wither,
    deep roots are not reached by the frost.

    From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
    a light from the shadows shall spring;
    renenwed shall be blade that was broken,
    the crownless again shall be king.”

    see sig hehe
  12. Rapmastac1 macrumors 65816


    Aug 5, 2006
    In the Depths of the SLC!
    "Whose woods these are, I think I know, his house is in the village though."

    "Stopping by Woods on a Snow Evening" by Robert Frost. This poem is a poem everyone has to remember during their school career, it's one of my favorites.
  13. Doctor Q Administrator

    Doctor Q

    Staff Member

    Sep 19, 2002
    Los Angeles
    Ogden Nash

    Was there ever anyone greater at writing four-line poems about animals? I don't think so!

    The Ant
    The ant has made herself illustrious
    By constant industry industrious.
    So what? Would you be calm and placid
    If you were full of formic acid?​

    The Octopus
    Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,
    Is those things arms, or is they legs?
    I marvel at thee, Octopus;
    If I were thou, I'd call me Us.​
    The Ostrich
    The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
    Its mouth is wide, its neck is narra.
    It has such long and lofty legs,
    I'm glad it sits to lay its eggs.​
    The Porcupine
    Any hound a porcupine nudges
    Can't be blamed for harboring grudges.
    I know one hound that laughed all winter
    At a porcupine that sat on a splinter.​
    The Termite
    Some primal termite knocked on wood
    And tasted it, and found it good.
    And that is why your Cousin May
    Fell through the parlor floor today.​
    The Wasp
    The wasp and all his numerous family
    I look upon as a major calamity.
    He throws open his nest with prodigality,
    But I distrust his waspitality.​

    And Ogden Nash could even write fantastic two-liners!

    The Cow
    The cow is of the bovine ilk.
    One end is moo, the other, milk.​
    The Fly
    God in his wisdom made the fly
    And then forgot to tell us why.​
  14. OwlsAndApples macrumors 6502a


    Oct 4, 2006
    Returning, We Hear the Larks - Isaac Rosenberg (1917)

    Sombre the night is.
    And though we have our lives, we know
    What sinister threat lies there.

    Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know
    This poison-blasted track opens on our camp -
    On a little safe sleep.

    But hark! joy - joy - strange joy.
    Lo! heights of night ringing with unseen larks.
    Music showering our upturned list’ning faces.

    Death could drop from the dark
    As easily as song -
    But song only dropped,
    Like a blind man’s dreams on the sand
    By dangerous tides,
    Like a girl’s dark hair for she dreams no ruin lies there,
    Or her kisses where a serpent hides.

    Always makes me pause and think about those who went through WWI, we will remember them.
  15. iBlue macrumors Core


    Mar 17, 2005
    London, England
    "There once was a man from Nantucket..."

    (just kidding)

    Truth is, I don't know anymore. I thought about what I'd say a few years ago and I went and looked up these poems. While I love them still, I don't feel that way anymore, which is a good thing. For the novelty sake, I'll post a couple of those old favourites...

    I know why the caged bird sings - Maya Angelou

    The free bird leaps
    on the back of the win
    and floats downstream
    till the current ends
    and dips his wings
    in the orange sun rays
    and dares to claim the sky.

    But a bird that stalks
    down his narrow cage
    can seldom see through
    his bars of rage
    his wings are clipped and
    his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing.

    The caged bird sings
    with fearful trill
    of the things unknown
    but longed for still
    and is tune is heard
    on the distant hillfor the caged bird
    sings of freedom

    The free bird thinks of another breeze
    an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
    and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
    and he names the sky his own.

    But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing

    The caged bird sings
    with a fearful trill
    of things unknown
    but longed for still
    and his tune is heard
    on the distant hill
    for the caged bird
    sings of freedom.​


    Alone With Everybody - Charles Bukowski

    the flesh covers the bone
    and they put a mind
    in there and
    sometimes a soul,
    and the women break
    vases against the walls
    and the men drink too
    and nobody finds the
    but keep
    crawling in and out
    of beds.
    flesh covers
    the bone and the
    flesh searches
    for more than

    there's no chance
    at all:
    we are all trapped
    by a singular

    nobody ever finds
    the one.

    the city dumps fill
    the junkyards fill
    the madhouses fill
    the hospitals fill
    the graveyards fill

    nothing else

    (wow I was a sad little thing)
  16. scotthayes macrumors 68000


    Jun 6, 2007
    Birmingham, England
    Not a big poetry fan, but do love Never seek to tell thy love by William Blake,

    Never seek to tell thy love
    Love that never told can be;
    For the gentle wind does move
    Silently, invisibly.

    I told my love, I told my love,
    I told her all my heart,
    Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears --
    Ah, she doth depart.

    Soon as she was gone from me
    A traveller came by
    Silently, invisibly --
    O, was no deny.
  17. Lau Guest

    I, also, am fond of Mr. Bukowski:


    the dangling carrot

    the perfect poem will never be

    I back out the driveway at
    11 a.m.,
    swing around,
    wave to my wife,
    drive down the hill and into
    the world.

    the perfect poem will never be
    never be written
    on a page,
    in the street,
    on the wall
    in Paris
    in Peru
    in the men's room,
    in the train station,
    on a billboard,
    on the head of a pin,
    the perfect poem will never be

    for this,
    let us thank the gods.


    And Richard Brautigan (<3 <3 <3) most of which is probably marginally too naughty to post, but here is one of many excellent ones:


    A Mid-February Sky Dance

    Dance toward me, please, as
    if you were a star
    with light-years piled
    on top of your hair,

    and i will dance toward you
    as if I were darkness
    with bats piled like a hat
    on top of my head.


    A lot of his short stories are almost poetry as well. Was just re-reading bits of Revenge of the Lawn, which I love, and it's just brilliant.

    And I love the vibe off this one:


    Lord, it is time. The summer was so great.
    Lay down long shadows on the sundials.
    Let loose the winds to run across the plain.

    Command the lingering fruits to ripen:
    Grant them two southerly days yet
    Then drive them to fulfilment and compel
    The final sweetness in the heavy wine.

    Who has no house, will build himself none now;
    Who is alone now, will stay so –
    Wake, read, write long letters, go
    Back and forth along bare avenues,
    Restlessly wandering, where the fallen leaves blow.

    Stephen Spender, Autumn day, After Rilke
  18. thefnshow macrumors regular

    Mar 16, 2007
    spider spider on the wall
    haven't you any brains at all ?
    can't you see the wall's been plastered ?
    can't you see you little...spider :D
  19. Much Ado macrumors 68000

    Much Ado

    Sep 7, 2006
  20. PlaceofDis macrumors Core

    Jan 6, 2004
    T.S. Eliot's The Wastland and The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock
    Wallace's The Emperor of Ice Cream and 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
    Juliana Spahr's This connection of everyone with lungs is moving too
  21. SkyBell macrumors 604


    Sep 7, 2006
    Texas, unfortunately.
    This poem I wrote won me the Poetry Contest at my school (I was so proud. :))

    Beauties in the Night
    by Cassandra Packard

    I lay one night, in a cool field of grass
    watching those beauties, those giant balls of gas.
    They hang there in the night sky, with a companion at their side.
    The biggest, brightest and most beautiful of all.
    The one that controls the tide.
    I watch them all, every night, I watch these beauties shine.
    They twinkle, sparkle, and capture the eye
    Like a diamond from a mine.
    They are completely silent, not a sound to be heard.
    This is perfectly fine,
    they don’t have to say a word.
    They are the stars and moon,
    To which nothing can compare.
    We are all very lucky,
    For their beauty, is what they share.
  22. 119576 Guest


    Aug 6, 2007
    That's really good. You made me look through my old poems!

    I wrote this when I was 14.

  23. SkyBell macrumors 604


    Sep 7, 2006
    Texas, unfortunately.
    Wow, I wrote mine when I was 13, and yours makes mine look like crap. :)
  24. 119576 Guest


    Aug 6, 2007
    Hah it doesn't really. They're completely different things. I'm tempted to post a few more but they're all a bit odd.
  25. PlaceofDis macrumors Core

    Jan 6, 2004
    well if you guys want to read one of mine(probably the one i'm super proud of):

    Spring Warm Cold

    But Somehow, with the Spring Air in February
    & melting ice piles
    scattered out among yellow soaked grass
    & the hazy moist fog wind
    blowing down through the crevasses
    But Somehow, potholes cracked
    asphalt buckled & burst
    & you only hear the splash of dampness on car tires
    speeding past in their Wind
    where is your washer fluid?

    is this normality?

    You can see your Breath, but feel Warmth
    curled up inside, under, wrapped a blanket, faded Blue
    But still warm – Still as a Rock, worn over the centuries
    the Ceiling is laden with mold; growing from the hot,
    the steamy showers in which you linger
    Stinging water that turns your skin bright Red, that soothes the aches
    that feeds the orange-ish mold slightly, sight of steam ridden mirrors
    but you’re still Cold, your nipples harden – as soon as the water stops, drops
    shaking & gasping for Breath
    your Brain rattling away inside your Head
    premature thoughts of the warm blanket come back
    haunting the spring warm cold day of February

    Lose yourself, Let go, Feel the Rush

    Walk along streets, half-deserted, filled with a
    grey cloud of Air, Storm clouds over you head
    only over you, only bit of respite

    kick the ice & watch it dissolve

    rocking back & forth; just to keep warm; movement;
    rather than stagnation; a nation in your mind, you Commander in Chief
    moments of movies play back –
    confusing your life, desires, with fictionality

    is any of this real?

    distilled water please, no hold the “French” Fries
    salt clogs my pores, Acne spreading all over
    muscles pulled taught in anguish – back arched
    & then gone in a second, Flashes of Camera light
    Flash, Flash, Flash
    grabbed my Soul

    Coughing in the cold, ever Persisting,
    drawing out your lungs, Sneezing & losing your Breath
    a sticky sweet Air filling your body
    But i am running on something else altogether
    something dry & thick, cracking away inside

    & the time passes slowly; creeping by; moving like a stalled car
    in a class, @ a work, sleeplessness on a bed
    hours go by in days
    despaired equality still popular

    but this is not here, not Right Now, no one is Present
    “Raise your hands please – as i call out your names”
    blank _____
    blank _____
    blank _____
    “what is this mess?” you are still a stone, but worn smooth
    moved in such a manner, displaced from your natural Sandbox

    poor Rain, Acidic in my Clothes, but not burning, nor Bright
    the Stars are hidden, the moon ran away
    along with the smells, the other colors, your lies
    they sting, found in a cracked mirror, steamy mirror, moving like rivers, streams
    flowing sweetly to you, my lost one, my decrepit one

    but i am happily lost in my head, & my Real One saved me, the
    Truth came, held my hand & cultivated a smile
    giving new like to this old body

    But the February weather
    draws you out of the house
    bringing hardships

    the lack of movie happiness craziness
    strikes home again – home run sold – highest bidder
    no one will win the Computer wars

    type away, but i don’t know Binary,
    00010110010 … … … whatever that is … … …
    the keyboard; littered with crumbs, stained with Bacteria
    the desk decaying; the room self imposing
    the bed springs pushing you our the door; while
    the fish tank; with its glowing green Algae, growing exponentially
    the fish, swim dutifully
    All day long, they Won’t Notice
    nor will the Stone.

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