What is your favorite poem?

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Roy, the Toxic Boy

To those of us who knew him
--his friends--
we called him Roy.
To others, he was known
as that horrible Toxic Boy.

He loved ammonia and asbestos,
and lots of cigarette smoke.
What he breathed in for air
would make most people choke!

His very favorite toy
was a can of aerosol spray;
he'd sit quietly and shake it,
and spray it all the day.

He'd stand inside of the garage
in the early morning frost,
waiting for the car to start
and fill him w/ exhaust.

The one and only time
I ever saw toxic Boy cry
was when some sodium chloride
got into his eye.

One day for fresh air
they put him in the garden.
His face went deathly pale
and his body began to harden.

the final gasp of his short life
was sickly w/ despair.
Whoever thought that you could die
from breathing outdoor air?

As Roy's soul left his body,
we all said a silent prayer.
It drifted up to heaven
and left a hole in the ozone layer.

-----------"The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories"
by Tim Burton.

An awesome book, I highly recommend it!

Vertivert,
Dylan Thomas is excellent!!

Here's one of my favorites. I have many that I enjoy though, such as Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, etc.
Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”
 
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas

sigh. sublime.

I must have too much time on my hands this evening. I could recount the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, but that's a bit long, then I thought about Scott's Truth of Woman... hmm... don't think vetivert would be too keen on that, so here's another one I like, this is by Larkin:

Send No Money

Standing under the fobbed
Impendent belly of Time
Tell me the truth, I said,
Teach me the way things go.
All the other lads there
Were itching to have a bash,
But I thought wanting unfair:
It and finding out clash.

So he patted my head, booming Boy,
There's no green in your eye:
Sit here and watch the hail
Of occurence clobber life out
To a shape no one sees -
Dare you look at that straight?
Oh thank you, I said, Oh yes please,
And sat down to wait.

Half life is over now,
And I meet full face on dark mornings
The bestial visor, bent in
By the blows of what happened to happen.
What does it prove? Sod all.
In this way I spent youth,
Tracing the trite untransferable
Truss-advertisement, truth.

LOL, ascan

i like the larkin, by the way.

had a look at the scott - i rather like it, myself. some woman had obviously "done him wrong", wouldn't you say?

Welll... personally I like Keats... and Shelley to a lesser extent, Seamus Heaney, Yeats, alot of the Metaphysical poets (Herbert, Donne..), pretty much anything is good. (tho Keats is my favourite). Ohhh one of my favourite poems is La Belle Dame Sans Merci - Keats, there are probably tonnes more but I can't remember them at the moment!

I don't really read enough poetry to say I have a favourite but in addition to the poets already mentioned, I like some of Gabriel Okara's stuff. I located this one on the web...

Once Upon A Time - Gabriel Okara

Once upon a time, son
they used to laugh with their hearts
and laugh with their eyes;
but now they only laugh with their teeth,
while their ice-block-cold eyes
search behind my shadow.
There was a time indeed
they used to shake hands with their hearts;
but that’s gone, son.
now they shake hands without hearts
while their left hands search
my empty pockets.
‘Feel at home’! ‘Come again’;
they say, and when I come
again and feel
at home, once, twice,
there will be no thrice—
for then I find doors shut on me.
So I have learned many things, son.
I have learned to wear many faces
like dresses— homeface,
officeface, streetface, hostface,
coctailface, with all their conforming smiles
like a fixed portrait smile.
And I have learned, too,
to laugh with only my teeth
and shake hands without my heart.
I have also learned to say, ‘Goodbye’,
when I mean "Good-riddance’:
to say ‘Glad to meet you’,
without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been
nice talking to you’, after being bored.
But believe me, son.
I want to be what I used to be
when I was like you, I want
to unlearn all these muting things.
Most of all, I want to relearn
how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror
shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare fangs!
So show me, son,
how to laugh; show me how
I used to laugh and smile
once upon a time when I was like you.

These are two poems I keep going back to, as reminders:

The Genius of the Crowd
Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art


The Whistling Girl
Dorothy Parker

Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:

"Better to shiver beneath the stars,
Head on a faithless breast,
Than peer at the night through rusted bars,
And share an irksome rest.

"Better to see the dawn come up,
Along of a trifling one,
Than set a steady man's cloth and cup
And pray the day be done.

"Better be left by twenty dears
Than lie in a loveless bed;
Better a loaf that's wet with tears
Than cold, unsalted bread."

Back of my back, they wag their chins,
Whinny and bleat and sigh;
But better a heart a-bloom with sins
Than hearts gone yellow and dry!

It is very difficult to actually say one is my favorite but,

Goblin Market by Christina Rosetti is way up on my list.
William Blake is probably my favorite overall.
Emily Dickinson is way up there because sometimes if you aren't reading right it all seems like nonsense which is the best kind.

I found some poems of JRR Tolkien on the internet the other day here is one.

Lord of the Rings

Gandalf's Song Lorien

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

Seldom have walked the feet of men,

Few mortal eyes have seen the light

That lies there ever, long and bright

Galadreil! Galadreil!

Clear is the water of your well;

White is the stars in your white hand;

Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men


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