Favourite Poems

[Mary Strickland]

INVICTUS has always been my favorite, and I never like verse or anything Shakespeare.

[peaceluvnsploosh]

I like the Jabowokee

[dividedgrlofmine]

"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. It's been featured in The Stand by the one and only Mr. King, as well as countless other novels. The last line is particularly powerful, in my humble opinion. "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?"

[Sms231]

A few semesters ago, I was sitting in my Statistics class, extremely bored out of my mind. I just started writing on my paper, and in 5 minutes, I had this free verse poem. It sucks, but I'd thought I'd share it just the same. The title doesn't really match the poem, but like I said, I just started writing words down on my paper LOL.


don't wait

the power to concentrate
overcome by the obtuseness
of what you represent
healing a sense of loss yet
succumbing to ideals of pain
reaping the manifestation
of silence in the night
refraining from abstaining and
abandoning hope within the
void that is around me
ravished and raped
i am silent

[The Outsider]

Here's one of my own... sort of. In my english class we had to write a poem using lyrics from songs, so I wrote one based off entirely Muse lyrics. Took a few hours of rearranging and searching and such, and then I had to come up with some sort of them or something. So yeah, here it is, I really like it. (I've got some poems I actually wrote but cant seem to find them atm. I'll get back to you guys on that :laugh:)

Resistance

Dedication to a New Age
I can’t find the Words to say
You and Me are the same
Coercive notions re-evolve.

Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix!

How much pain has cracked your soul?
Let the Revolution take its toll
Must we do as we’re told?
We will tell it to the world.

You stole my Overture
Injustice is the Norm
Another promise, another scene
Paranoia is in bloom, the PR Transmissions will resume.

But soon they will see they’re can only be one
Love is our Resistance.

Fragile and stripped to the Core
The Wavelength gently grows
You’re my guiding Lightning strike
Let our Hearts ignite
(Is your secret safe tonight?)

All of History deleted with one Stroke
Must erase it fast
Trapped inside god’s Program
Creates unnatural Laws
No chance for Fate at all, it’s unnatural Selection.

Their time is coming to an end
We have to unify, watch our Flag ascend
Counterbalance this Commotion
Let’s start over again
When are we?

A universe is trapped inside a Tear
We’re not droplets in this Ocean
It’s cold and loveless
The edge of all our Fears.

Rise above the Crowd


They’ll laugh as they watch us fall
We should never be afraid to Die
You and me, fall in Line
We can hide the Truth inside.

Soothing, I’ll make you feel pure
Pure hearts stumble
Quell your prayers for Love and Peace
I want to recognize the Beauty’s not just a Mask
And I can’t forget:

I belong to You.

They’re overdue
To be punished for unproven Crimes
Why can’t we start over again?
I want to exorcise the demons from your Past
But your Innocence is mine
I’m hungry for some Unrest.

We will never see the Truth around, so come on
You’ll wake the thought Police
If we live our Life in fear, I’ll wait a thousand Years
It’s our last Chance to forgive ourselves

We must run.

Nothing will change, our cause has gone insane
With no Guiding Light left inside

Why are We?
(Ahh, verse-moi l’ivresse)

Is this our last Embrace?
(Réponds à ma tendresse)

“Tell us what is your final Wish”
Another chance to erase then repeat It again
The Walls start caving in
The Night has reached its End.

[smerdyakov]

That's tough, but here's a few:

Pound: sestina: altaforte
Eliot: the waste land; gerontion
WCW: death the barber
Allen Tate: the wolves; ode to the confederate dead
Richard Wilbur: love calls us to the things of this world
Charles Wright: all of black zodiac, but particularly apologia pro vita sua and lives of the saints
Seamus Heaney: no poem in particular -- they're all fantastic

[SequenceInitiated]

I like The Raven (Edgar Allan Poe), The Jabberwocky (Lewis Carroll), and The Walrus and the Carpenter (Lewis Carroll).

[Samantha_]

A poem I like, quite a bit, is "Bright Conversation With Saint-Ex" by Carl Sandburg.

[dougcrockett]

CRAWLING HORROR

Frantic, frantic, climbing walls,
something clammy, on my skin crawls.
I can't escape, it won't let go,
the horror of it is all I know.
Scraping, rasping, I want to scream,
This can't be real,
must be a dream.
If a dream, please let me wake,
The crawling horror, I cannot take.
Running, running,
where can I hide.
Can't hide from fear, it grows inside.
Inside, outside, what can it be.
It's everywhere, it's all I see.
Rustling, slithering, a loathsome sound.
In abject terror the wall I pound.
It scrambles, it scuttles, across the floor,
I must escape, there is no door.
It grows and grows, impending doom,
It covers me, it fills the room.
It smothers me, there is no air,
It closes in, now I despair.
No one hears my stifled crys,
it fills my lungs, my mouth, my eyes.
Tremendous weight, presses down on me,
I cannot move, I cannot flee.
Blacker than the darkest night,
my eyes are open wide with fright.
I'm trapped, doomed. can't draw a breath,
please release me into death.
It's torture, agony, living Hell,
all will to live the horror will kill.
On and on the nightmare goes,
the terror, the horror, grows and grows.
I cannot live, I cannot go on,
although alive, my mind has gone.
The horror has gone, I've gone away,
I left my body,
I could not stay.
See my eyes, my vacant stare,
although it's me, I am not there.
I'm around though, finally free,
the horror can no longer get to me.

[Lencho_of_the_Apes]

I've always loved William Blake, ever since I was *this* big, and yesterday I fixated for a good half-hour on his poem "I Saw A Chapel". It's short, here it is:

I saw a Chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.
I saw a Serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc'd and forc'd and forc'd;
Down the golden hinges tore,

And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his shining length he drew,
Till upon the altar white

Vomiting his poison out
On the Bread and on the Wine.
So I turn'd into a sty,
And laid me down among the swine.


Brilliant sexual imagery, though I've never succeeded in untangling the moral/spiritual issues he raises to my satisfaction. He chose not to publish that one during his lifetime, wonder why.

Speaking of short, as long as I'm in the thread let me post my absolute favorite SHORT poem, I think it says more in thirty-four words than any other piece of literature ever has done and ever could do. Also by Blake.

The Sick Rose

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

We all float down here; that's a poem in itself.

[dougcrockett]

Can anyone relate to this?

PARTY ON

Rocking out from dusk til dawn,
dope and booze, the parties on.
Music pounding in my head,
the drugs I've done, I should be dead.
Dancing, dancing, I can't stop,
feet keep moving til I drop.
Then on my back, I dance some more,
the funky chicken, on the floor.
Feet are up, kicking air,
my eyes take on a vacant stare.
My hands are beating on my chest,
someone says,'' give it a rest''
I can't breathe, I can't talk,
think I'm going into shock.
I'm gasping, striving to suck in air,
no one there seems to care.
What's that ringing, I now hear,
for my life should I now fear.
First I'm hot, then oh so cold,
this bullshit is getting old.
I see a man who calls my name,
could he be death, and for me he came.
Blood now gushes from my nose,
which happens when the heart explodes.
My eyes are popping from my head,
must be pretty close to dead.
Death just grabbed me by the throat,
in his grasp, across the room I float.
I see me laying on the floor,
I look so dead, alive no more.
No one even knows I'm gone,
everyone just parties on.

Pop another lude,
party on dude.

d. crockett
11-07-96

[DwayneHoover]

Don't know who wrote this one.

Yesterday apon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish, i wish, he'd go away!

[Evan of New York]

I guess I don't have the poetic knowledge of the rest of you fine folken, but this song, and the lines themselves can always reach out and touch me in some way:

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they're better left unsung.
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone,
If you should stand then whos to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home.

-The Grateful Dead

[dougcrockett]

How about one more

CITY NIGHT

Wandering the streets at night,
always ready to take flight,
The sky is spinning, round and round,
I worry that it might come down,
City sounds are everywhere,
lost souls crying in despair.
The night is long, the night is hot,
in the city's maze I'm caught.
Nowhere to go, I wander on,
waiting for the break of dawn.
I hear gunfire down a darkened street,
in the air a noisome beat.
The heavy beat of metal wings,
somewhere close a siren sings.
A song of death, a song of pain,
another citizen likely slain.
I know somewhere blood has spilled,
as so often, God has willed.
A rush of wind now slams my face,
the metal bird now crowds my space.
suddenly caught in blinding glare,
into the brightest light I stare.
Deciding I am not it's prey,
intent focused elsewhere, it churns away.
In the shadows I continue on,
my moments terror almost gone.
I hear the slap of running feet,
from behind me, coming up the street.
Fear growing again, I look to hide,
fear can conquer any pride.
In deeper shadow, I stop and wait,
the city's perils won't abate.
I see a young man, gun in hand,
looking to make his final stand.
Suddenly the bird is back,
towards the sky gunshots crack.
The armored monster cannot die,
the man is caught by it's glaring eye.
Feet spread wide in a fighting stance,
to give up is his only chance.
There is a warning, he does not take heed,
fire pours from the sky, I see him bleed.
I see him drawing his last breath,
releasing his gun only in death.
Staying deeper in the shadows, I continue on,
looking to the east now, praying for dawn.

d. crockett 5-1-97

[dougcrockett]

One more

A world dies


Sunlight cascading over mountains,
birds floundering in flight.
Or flying helter-skelter,
in numbing, mindless fright.

Wings churning up the air,
in thier pell-mell flight from Hell.
What could cause such chaos,
such a harbinger of ill.

Thunder crashing loudly,
rain pouring over me.
Lightening, brightening, frightening,
a scene from Hell I see.

Rainclouds spewing torrents,
upon the heaving hills.
To a thunderous crashing course,
the fear inside instills.

I find that I am running,
in headlong panic from.
A world now upended,
in the air a sizzling hum.

Bolts of lightening streaking at me,
fired from a monstrous gun.
Overhead the birds are wheeling,
blocking out the sun.

The memories now come flooding,
memories hidden deep inside.
It all seems so familair,
the way other worlds died.

The ground now rolls beneath me,
in eggshell pattern breaks.
The pit of Hell now opens,
I cry for all our sakes.

Tumbling into fire,
into Hell I drift.
I mourn for my existence,
and pray for death that's swift.

d. crockett----3-25-97

[Sigmund]

O Captain! My Captain


1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! 5 O the bleeding drops of red (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.6), Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.14); It is some dream that on the deck, 15 You’ve fallen cold and dead. 3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.22) tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

[DwayneHoover]

O Captain! My Captain


1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! 5 O the bleeding drops of red (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.6), Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.14); It is some dream that on the deck, 15 You’ve fallen cold and dead. 3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful (http://www.bartleby.com/142/1019.html#193.22) tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

Crazy, i just watched dead poets society yesterday. Seize the day Oh Captain my Captain.

[Sigmund]

The Charge Of The Light Brigade


by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854




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 dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & 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
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' 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 wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!






Note: This poem, including punctuation, is reproduced from a scan of the poem written out by Tennyson in his own hand in 1864. The scan was made available online (http://etext.virginia.edu/britpo/tennyson/TenChar.html) by the University of Virginia.

[MadamMack]

"Dreams"
Paul Laurence Dunbar

What dreams we have and how they fly
Like rosy clouds across the sky;
Of wealth, of fame, of sure success,
Of love that comes to cheer and bless;
And how they whither, how they fade,
The waning wealth, the jilting jade —
The fame that for a moment gleams,
Then flies forever, — dreams, ah — dreams!

[MadamMack]

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

[am78]

I don't read much poetry now, but I did in my teens. I remember likeing these :

Mezzo Cammin by Henry Wordworth Longfellow
George Gray by Edgar Lee Masters.

[JohnDalglish]

I don't read much poetry now, but I did in my teens.

Hi,

Aye, me too.

I wonder why that should be?

Long days and pleasant nights

[am78]

Hi,


I wonder why that should be?

Long days and pleasant nights


Maybe we loose alot of sentivity as we grow older? We became more jaded or something?