Inspired by WDWHOUND...What is your favorite poem?

[nemo1987]

mine is called...
I Do Not Love You...
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to you rlove a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you becuse I know no other way
than this: where i does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand in my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as i fall asleep.

i just like this one cuz it touches me every time...
**Sarah**

 

[EsmeraldaX]

Great poems everyone. I really enjoyed reading everyone's favorites.

 

[Disney845]

Great thread!!!

My favorite is On a Faded Violet by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

The odour from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The colour from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!


A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm
With cold and silent rest.


I weep --- my tears revive it not;
I sigh --- it breathes no more on me:
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.

 

[jennyanydots]

ROAD LESS TRAVELED

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 onto 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 took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference


Robert Frost

 

[Saffron]

My favorites are more contemporary. This one, written by a friend and a professor of mine, Bill Earhardt, is one of my all time favorites.

For Mrs. Na

I always told myself
if I ever got the chance to go back,
I'd never say, "I'm sorry"
to anyone.

Christ, those guys I saw on television once:
sitting in Hanoi, the cameras rolling,
crying, blubbering'all over the place.

Sure, I'm sorry. I never meant
to do the things I did.
But that was nearly twenty years ago:
enough's enough.

If I ever go back,
I always told myself,
I'll hold my head steady
and look them in the eye.

But here I am at last -
and here you are.
And you lost five sons in the war.
And you haven't any left.

And I'm staring at my hands
and I'm eating my tears
tying to think of something else to say
besides, "I'm sorry."

 

[Distriv]

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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 onto 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 took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

Edit Whoops, didn't see that this was already posted.

 

[TalkisCheap]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost




Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
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.

I memorized it 3 years ago for school, and can still remember it, and recite it often.

edited to add, I love everyone's poems!! I've read/memorized a several for school.

 

[jennyanydots]

a lot of Frost fans here!

New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor, that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-post to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Emma Lazarus, New York City, 1883

 

[jennyanydots]

and considering my current user name, I have to add this one:


T.S. Eliot - The Old Gumbie Cat

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice--
Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse--cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do--
And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers--
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.

 

[Sirius]

Originally posted by Crankyshank
Tinks- Annabel Lee is my favorite poem

Here's another one of my favorites:

The Lady of Shalott
(Alfred Lord Tennyson)

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Have you heard Loreena McKennit's musical version?

 

[honeywolf7]

I love "The Highwayman" and always loved Anne of Green Gables. I actually chose to learn and recite that poem for a talent show we had in high school.

 

[preshi]

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Rossetti

 

[Pop Daddy]

Im not a poetry type of guy, Im 100 % hetro

 

[crs7568]

I love Richard Cory by Edwin Arlington Robinson. It always helps me to remember not to be taken in by appearances.


Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace;
In fine we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

 

[Tiziminchac]

Originally posted by Tinks
My favorite poem has always been Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. It has been so long since I thought about it that I'm sure I spelled the title wrong or Edgar's name wrong--forgive me!

This has always been one of my favorite poems. Not that I have many. As a matter of fact, when I was in highschool, I stole Poe's poem. Changed it around a little and tried to pass it off to a girl I liked as if I wrote it myself. Her name was Arlee. It didn't work. Hehehe!

I also like the poem from the Chinese film in Epcot. But if someone hadn't brought it up it probably wouldn't have come to mind. That leaves me with a favorite of mine from my 6th grade yearbook. I can't remember who wrote it in my yearbook (I'd have to dig it up and look), but I remember the poem...

Roses are red.
Lincoln is dead.
His cabin is empty.
And so is your head.

 

[jan/cape]

I love all of the Robert Frost poems mentioned. I love to read this poem in the fall.

SOMETHING TOLD THE WILD GEESE
by Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered -"Snow."
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster- glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned - "Frost."
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
All remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly-
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.



My daughter wrote this in the 5th grade and I just love it.

CHICKADEE

Silently sitting overhead
Among the blossoms in the hedge
Merrily singing her little song
Chick-a-dee-dee-dee

 

[Maleficent13]

I love almost everything TS Eliot ever wrote, but my all time favorite poem has to be this one by Stevie Smith. She wrote it about the story Coleridge told about why he never finished Kubla Khan. He said that a "person from Porlock" came to his door while he was writing and forever broke his concentration on that poem and he could never get the muse back.

Coleridge received the Person from Porlock
And ever after called him a curse
Then why did he hurry to let him in?
He might have hid in the house.

It was not right of Coleridge in fact it was wrong
(But often we all do wrong)
As the truth is I think, he was already stuck
With Kubla Khan.

He was weeping and crying, I am finished, finished
I shall never write another word of it,
When along comes the Person from Porlock
And takes the blame for it.

It was not right it was wrong,
But often we all do wrong.

*

May we inquire the name of the Person from Porlock?
Why Porson, didn't you know?
He lived at the bottom of Porlock Hill
So had a long way to go.

He wasn't much in the social sense
Though his grandmother was a Warlock
One of the Rutlandshire ones I fancy
And nothing to do with Porlock.

But he lived at the bottom of a hill as I said
And had a cat named Flo
And had a cat named Flo.

*

I long for the Person from Porlock
To bring my thoughts to an end
I am becoming impatient to see him
I think of him as a friend

Often I look out of the window
Often I run to the gate
I think, He will come this evening
I think it is rather late.

I am hungry to be interrupted
For ever and ever amen
O Person from Porlock come quickly
And bring my thoughts to an end.

*

I felicitate the people who have a Person from Porlock
To break up everything and throw it away
Because then there will be nothing to keep them
And they need not stay.

*

Oh this Person from Porlock is a great interrupter
He interrupts us for ever
People say he is a dreadful fellow
But really he is desirable.

Why should they grumble so much?
He comes like benison
They should be glad he has not forgotten them
They might have had to go on.

*

These thoughts are depressing, I know. They are depressing.
I wish I was more cheerful it is more pleasant
Also it is a duty, we should smile as well as submitting
To the purpose of One Above who is experimenting

With various mixtures of human character which goes best
All is interesting for him it is exciting, but not for us.
There I go again. Smile smile and get some work to do
Then you will be practically unconscious without positively having to go.