Favorite Poem

Post Reply New Topic

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e. cummings


M.

Here are a few of my favorites I've picked up over the years...

Little dog
Crossing street.
Motor car,
Sausage meat!
-Anonymous

(In response to someone who was vehemently against poetry)
Sir, I accept your general rule
That every poet is a fool;
But you, my good sir, go to show it,
That not every fool is a poet.
-Alexander Pope (I think)

Because I am by nature blind
I wisely choose to walk behind.
However, to avoid disgrace,
I let no creature see my face.
My words are few but spoke with sense,
And yet my speaking gives offense.
Or if to whisper, I presume
The company will fly the room.
By all the world I am oppressed,
And my oppression gives them rest.
What am I?
(A butt.... or, as it wa put back in the day, a "posterior.")
-Jonathan Swift

There are probably more I can think of, but these ones stick out in my mind. They still make me giggle a little.

Just my poem to S O S

OH HELL
WHERE'S MY GUN
I'M TONY MONTANA
YOU MOTHER f*****g SCUMS
C HO LLOL

One of my favorite poets, one most people have forgotten, Ernest Dowson. Note that he died in 1900. The movie title was taken from this poem.

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for thelips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee Cynara! in my fashion.

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

---EDGAR ALLAN POE

MadAme - one of my favourite poems, been working on setting to music, solo voice with piano.

SL... I have no idea what you're doing. That was not the intention of this thread; please respect that.


M.

My favorite haiku:

That looks just like Wayne's basement
Only that's not Wayne's basement
Isn't that weird?

If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again --
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man -- who happened to be you --
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud -- I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place --
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I'd love to hear it!

I dont know. I just like poetry

craving for so little
just 'few moments of your time
stumbling round town
not quite lost
not found

falling for so little
just 'few inches at the time

saving her self
for a piece of your loving
just some sense into her mind
not loose
not quite bound

curing for the itch
just broken nails on broken skin

scratching at your door
bleeding blisters in her hand

screaming in desire
roaring till her bones collapse
just to end up in your bed
not hated
not quite loved



©Copyright2008 Linda Garvo

You are old, Father William
Lewis Carroll

'You are old, Father William,' the young man said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
'I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?'

'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple?'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray how did you manage to do it?'

'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?'

'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,'
Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'

I haven't read much poetry, but I like Dr. Seuss a lot (The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, for example).

My poem's practically finished: http://www.geocities.com/zinites_page/poetry.html.

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

-- Mark Strand

I enjoyed "Stopping by woods in the winter evening" (correct me please if I'm wrong):

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep..."

Just the last verse, but the poem is impressive

I thought a haiku was 5-7-5?
It's still funny though.

My favourite haiku is:

To express oneself
in seventeen syllables
is very diffic

I'm happy to see other people here like E.E. Cummings and Lewis Carroll! The other day I was trying to remember The Jaberwocky, but couldn't remember the 3rd or 4th verses.