-~*~- please post your favourite poem -~*~-

[blue]

first of all, a big HOLA to you all -- been awhile, i've missed you guys

i know this could go in paws & reflect but -- but nothing, i wanted to post it here :angel2:
(if you feel the need to move it, that's fine)

this is my favourite poem::

somewhere i have never traveled, 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 skillfully, 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

what's yours?

 

[willowsmom]

That's nice...I would post my favorite poem But it's my original work. And I'm a little skidish about sharing my own work.

 

[a_loveless_gem]

Someone sent this top me when a friend horrifically died in a car accident.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room,
I am the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die."

Mary Frye

I'm told that it's an American classic and it's by a woman that professed that she had no talent. I thank her everyday for writing this poem.

 

[tulip2454]

I have lots of favourites but those are really nice.
Come on Willows Mom - share your talent I for one would love to read your work.
Alexis

 

[kiwideus]

The Highwayman
By Alfred Noyes

Part One
I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a s:censor::censor::censor::censor::censor::censor:ing jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

 

[tulip2454]

Oooooo that ones a bit spooky, Kiwideus!!!! Very atmospheric, not suprised its a favourite.

 

[kiwideus]

tulip - i love the way he uses imagery in that poem, i can just see it all in my head!

 

[kitkatz]

Free

They say it takes a day at a time
to get over whatever hurts
But a day is too short and soon
you begin to forget
You forget the good times and the bad
The happy and the sad
And soon you forget what life was like
Before
But then you see a bird, gracefull and free
Flying high in the sky
And you remember the days
And begin to laugh and cry as you remember
All the days, happy and sad
And your glad for that bird
So gracefull and free

Pain

It would be so easy
Just to let herself go
To slip into that darkness
Which feels no pain

She sits in her room
Asking herself
Would anyone really care
If she were here or not?

She's only 18 yet feels 88
Her childhood passed
But was never really there

No one understands her
So she keeps the pain inside

Will it never end?
Ever go away?
This pain that eats inside her.

These are both poems that I wrote. The first one Free, I wrote after my Grandmother passed away, I was very close to her but I live about 2000 miles from where she was and I couldn't get out to visit her before she went.
The second one Pain, may sound like its about suicide but I have never ever thought about killing myself, it is actually about running away and disapearing, I had a very rough childhood, and this was what came out of it. I think they are some of my best.

 

[tulip2454]

Very sad kitkatz. I do hope you have come through to the other side of that pain. It does help so much to write stuff down and reflect. Sometimes thats the only way of discovering there is a way to move forward.

 

[hootiecat]

I lLOVE poetry! Besides the many most, beautiful things in the Bible, especially the book of psalms, I love Robert Frost..... Nothing Gold Can Stay Nature' first hue is gold, her hardest hue to hold, her fields are all aflower, but only for an hour, then leaf subsides to leaf, so eden sank to grief, so dawn turns into day, nothing gold can stay. I also like this one I read on a cd cover along time ago I don't know it's author. I waited all day, you waited all day, but you left before sunset, and I just wanted to tell you the moment was beautiful, wanted to dance to bad music, drive bad cars watch bad tv, should have waited for sunset if not for me....... hootiecat hey they both have something to do with sunrise and sunset, my 2 fave times of the day.....h-cat

 

[kitkatz]

tulip2454--- Yes I have come through the pain, and I think it made me a better person because of it. (Not that I would recommend it to anyone.) Growing up helped and of course my cats have helped!!

 

[sang72]

I have so many favorite poems, but I think the two that have really stuck with me are the ones that mean the most to me.

If For Boys
by: Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs, and blaming it on you.
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting, too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good nor talk too wise;

If you can dream and not make dreams your master,
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with triumph and disaster,
And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings,
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - - which is more - - you'll be a Man, my Son!

and

Invictus
by: William Ernest Henly

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.

 

[cougar]

Well I don't have one favorite, but I remember reading one on Imagyne's website. Had a very good poem on there.

Peace,
Brandon

 

[meowzer-x-]

In these days of rush and worry
Everything is hurry, scurry.
Who will take the time to care?
Who will take the time to share?

His coat is motley, eyes are blue
Some call him ugly, that's not true.
But dirty, starving, he's in dispair
Who will take the time to care?
His pleading eyes will make you cry
He needs you now or he will die.
Help PET PRIDE help him, make him well
Give him a future...not this hell.

We see his sad and pleading eyes
We try to end his lonely cries.
Help PET PRIDE help him, please do give
He needs us now...just to live.

I don't have a favourite poem, but I love this one and it makes me cry.

 

[momofmany]

Let loose the chains that bind my soul
That I may soar as meant to be
From darkened paths emerge to light
Be free.

Written by my brother, Mark (a struggling alcoholic). I like it - simple and to the point.

 

[chester&piper]

Originally posted by a_loveless_gem
Someone sent this top me when a friend horrifically died in a car accident.

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room,
I am the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die."

Mary Frye

I'm told that it's an American classic and it's by a woman that professed that she had no talent. I thank her everyday for writing this poem.

This is the first time I've come into this thread and was thinking about one of my favourite poems when I scrolled down and there it was! I've always love this one... it makes me think of my grandmother who passed away 13 years ago this past Christmas.

 

[catman7766]

My favorite poem is about my cat sammy, and im shy of sharing my work with alot of other people.