View Full Version : your favourite poem
I hope this has not been done before and you will not hang me for repeating.
I have many favourite poems but let me start with a classic shakespeare sonnett
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
06-04-2004, 03:39 PM
My favorite poems are anything by Edgar Allen Poe. I like some of Shakespeare's plays but his poems and sonnets are just too romantic and victorian for me.
thank you for posting here!!!
Here is E A Poe for you!!
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
06-04-2004, 08:47 PM
My favorite EAP poems are A Dream Within A Dream and Alone.
I thought I post some interesting facts about Poe
- He was forced to leave the University of Virginia after less than one year when his foster father refused to pay his gambling debts.
- He also married his cousin Virginia, only thirteen years old.
- Boston named their football team after the raven poem that poe wrote as he was born there
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 lov'd 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 —
06-05-2004, 01:46 PM
That is one of my favorite peoms.
you can also post your fav poems or any facts re poems an poets
06-05-2004, 06:25 PM
This is one of my favs also:
Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Lee Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
My favourite poet:
Miklós Radnóti (1909-1944)
Hungarian poet and translator, who is considered one of the most important 20th-century poets of my country. Radnóti was killed at the age of thirty-five during World War II on a forced march toward Germany. This is part of his poem called from 'Eclogue VII,' that he wrote in the barrack:
" Without commas, one line touching the other
I write poems the way I live, in darkness,
blind, crossing the paper like a worm.
Flashlights, books - the guards took everything.
There's no mail, only fog drifts over the barracks."
And this is his last ever poem about his friend death, a famous hungarian violin player was shot dead. Later Radnóti was shot death as well by the guards in November near the village of Abda, with other 21 internees who were unable to walk.
"I fell next to him. His body rolled over.
It was tight as a string before it snaps.
Shot in the back of the head - 'This is how
you'll end. 'Just lie quietly,' I said to myself.
Patience flowers into death now.
'Der springt noch auf!' I heard above me.
Dark filthy blood was drying on my ear."
06-06-2004, 01:36 PM
Who was the poet that killed herself? I think she was French and I know she was a young mother of two does anyone know her name?
Sylvia Plath I guess but she was British
or her friend Anne Sexton but i think she did not have kids
06-27-2004, 07:13 PM
"The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe.
06-29-2004, 11:31 PM
"When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" Walt Whitman
07-01-2004, 03:12 AM
"Jabberwocky" and "If"
07-05-2004, 03:20 AM
Here are just two of my favorites.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
He is all pine and I am apple-orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down!" I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
-- Robert Frost.
Barbie Doll (very sad)
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.
In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.
vBulletin® v3.7.4, Copyright ©2000-2013, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.