Favorite poem

[Thomas O'Malley]

What's your absolute favorite poem ever written?

Mine, for sure is, "Stop all the clocks" by W.H. Auden

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 for ever: 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 wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Can you post yours as well? With a little luck this might be a nice thread with the best poems ever written.

 

[Ace Bandage]

Emily Dickinson

I died for Beauty--but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining Room--

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied--
"And I--for Truth--Themself are One--
We Brethren, are", He said--

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night--
We talked between the Rooms--
Until the Moss had reached our lips--
And covered up--our names--

I'm glad I still have my Norton Anthology of American Literature because everywhere I saw this poem reproduced on the Internet, the original punctuation and capitalization had been altered. So, I typed it out myself.

Yes, I agree, I'm a huge nerd.

 

[maildude]

A big fan. Charles Bukowski.

A Challenge To The Dark







shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance

 

[Mayhem]

There once was a man from Nantucket......

 

[Galactic]

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The *****-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony *****
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough *****, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

[squallumz]

trolls. all over here.
god, please ban them or something
why are they still here?



a haiku by squally.

 

[hedonis]

I like so much poetry, and on occasion write some. No, none of mine start with "There once was a woman from Cornwall..."

Kipling is one of my favorite poets.

 

[Krazy4Kobe]

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner -- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Creeps me out every time!

 

[gunslingingbird]

1. The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963)

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other,as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh,I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

 

[feller469]

A Man Said to the Universe
by Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

 

[pool_hustler]

I like so much poetry

Me too.
Really hard to pick one favorite poem.
But if I had to vote for one poet as the greatest ever I'd vote for John Donne.

 

[No_Man]

I have favorites, many by Wordsworth, but this one stands out right now:

We Are Seven - William Wordsworth

A simple *****,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My ****** and my *******;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my ******."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my ******'s door,
And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was ****** Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My ******* John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My ******* John was ****** to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

 

[BigSwede]

Carl Michael Bellman.
I have been trying to read some 18th century poets since I am reading a lot about 18th century history, but I am not really into it yet.

 

[LukeEl]

I remember this one since I was a *** not sure if this was a song or poem but what the hell:
Do you ever think as a hearse goes by,

that you may be the next to die?

They wrap you up in a big white sheet

From your head down to your feet.

They put you in a big black box,

And cover you up with dirt and rocks.

All goes well for about a week,

Then your coffin begins to leak.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,

The worms play pinochle on your snout.

They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,

They eat the jelly between your toes.

A big green worm with rolling eyes,

Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes.

Your stomach turns a slimy green,

And pus pours out like whipping cream.

You spread it on a slice of bread,

And that's what you eat when you are dead.

 

[Patrick_S]

Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven

 

[Sam Fisher]

Fleas
Adam
Had 'em

 

[GodsEmbryo]

I have a few favorites. I always liked this one since I was a ***:

From Far, from Eve

From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.

Now—for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart—
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.

A.E. Housman

 

[Petra]

Gaily bedight,
A gallant night,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old --
This knight so bold --
And -- o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like El Dorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length
He met a pilgrim shadow00
"shadow," said he,
"where can it be--
This land of El Dorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied--
"If you seek for El Dorado."

- Poe's El Dorado

 

[Thomas O'Malley]

Wow, I'm impressed, thank you all so much for your contrabution so far :bowdown:, and keep them coming. Some of theme are really awesome. :thumbsup:

 

[BlueBalls]

Sphincter - Allen Ginsberg

I hope my good old asshole holds out
60 years it's been mostly OK
Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation
survived the altiplano hospital--
a little *****, no polyps, occasionally
a small hemorrhoid
active, eager, receptive to phallus
**** bottle, candle, carrot
banana & fingers--
Now AIDS makes it shy, but still
eager to serve--
out with the dumps, in with the condom'd
orgasmic friend--
still rubbery muscular,
unashamed wide open for joy
But another 20 years who knows,
old folks got troubles everywhere--
necks, prostates, stomachs, joints--
Hope the old hole stays young
till death, relax