What's your favourite poem?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
61

My favorite is “Remember” from Christina Rossetti

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.

And “Sudden Light” by her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall, I knew it all of yore.
Then, now, perchance again!
O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
Shall we not lie as we have lain
Thus for love’s sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?

62

Here’s my current favorite:

A heart Torn Two Ways
A heart torn in two ways
One preservation
One companionship and love.
One fear
One freedom and happiness.
One logic
One feeling
Love is never logical,
It tears my heart apart.
I fear both
I want both.
I can only have one
Who will win?

-John Watson…
He still doesn’t know the answer…

63

Okay, I was beginning to think I was the only heathen here who enjoys comic verse, but since Kilt Wearin’ Man mentioned it, here goes:

JABBERWOCKY

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

`Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought–
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

`And has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

I mean, it’s the ultimate in subjectivism and letting your mind fill in the blanks - different for every listener. Plus, the world has enough reality. Now and again you have to just let go and fantasize!

I love practically all of Mr. Dodgson’s work. However, for sheer impudent lunacy, nothing touches:
FATHER WILLIAM

‘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!’

Aahhh, I feel better already. Hugs to all, and keep up the good work! And remember, “the Big Giant Head cares about YOU.”

64

My favroite’s are:

Anne Bradstreet
To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more then whole Mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Denise Duhamel
Buddhist Barbie

In the 5th century B.C.
an Indian philosopher
Gautama teaches "All is emptiness"
and "There is no self."
In the 20th century A.D.
Barbie agrees, but wonders how a man
with such a belly could pose,
smiling, and without a shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Robert Burns
A Red, Red, Rose

O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O my love is like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonie lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare the weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though it were ten thousand mile!

And all that my fiancee write about me...

check out http://www.poetry.com
in the search box, under last name, type fiarman.
Thats me! :o
65

Without doubt ** The Hunting of The Snark ** by Lewis Carrol. It’s way too long to post, however I highly recommend it to those who have yet to do so.

I also like ** The Man From Snowy River **. Yes, a tad parochial and patriotic but it tells a great tale.

66

Ah, another who appreciates Burns. Glad to see it, Relic_11. He wrote so many great poems. He also wrote some really odd ones, many of which have to do with Haggis. You can check out all (I think they got all of 'em) of his poems at http://www.robertburns.org if you’re interested.

67

Close… I’ve only come across one shorter poem. It’s called ``The Philosopher’’ and it’s by that prolific writer Anonymous.

68

Who Goes with Fergus? by Yeats and Ulysses by Tennyson are my favorites. Both figure heavily into Joyce’s Ulysses, my favorite novel and subject of my senior English writing project.

“And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love’s bitter mystery;…”

69

OK, I have to do it…

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright–
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done–
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead–
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
“If this were only cleared away,”
They said, “it would be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
The Walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head–
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat–
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more–
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed–
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.”

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

“It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf–
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:
“I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
"You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none–
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.

70

I cant decide which I like best…

Well I ll post all three…

Just have to search for an English version of Erlkönig…
I dont know if it is a good translation… but here we go…

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Erlkönig/Erl King
Who’s riding so late where winds blow wild
It is the father grasping his child;
He holds the boy embraced in his arm,
He clasps him snugly, he keeps him warm.

“My son, why cover your face in such fear?”
“You see the elf-king, father? He’s near!
The king of the elves with crown and train!”
“My son, the mist is on the plain.”

‘Sweet lad, o come and join me, do!
Such pretty games I will play with you;
On the shore gay flowers their color unfold,
My mother has many garments of gold.’

“My father, my father, and can you not hear
The promise the elf-king breathes in my ear?”
“Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low:
In withered leaves the night-winds blow.”

‘Will you, sweet lad, come along with me?
My daughters shall care for you tenderly;
In the night my daughters their revelry keep,
They’ll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.’

“My father, my father, o can you not trace
The elf-king’s daughters in that gloomy place?”
“My son, my son, I see it clear
How grey the ancient willows appear.”

‘I love you, your comeliness charms me, my boy!
And if you’re not willing, my force I’ll employ.’
“Now father, now father, he’s seizing my arm.
Elf-king has done me a cruel harm.”

The father shudders, his ride is wild,
In his arms he’s holding the groaning child,
Reaches the court with toil and dread. -
The child he held in his arms was dead.

Brandon Marshall: Thought a little piece of love
thought a little piece of love
yesterday
in the heart of my mind
sitting there crying with death
supposing the mortal beauty of
this always despairful
sleepless night.
And then I awoke from an everpeaceful slumber
at the rain on my eyebrows
or the wind in your hair;
so you knew that I was awake,
you pinched my ego.
With flinching panic we played a leaving game
and made promising lies
which we knew were a poor investment of words
but still I awoke:
you make me seem real, at least
Brandon Marshall: God is only happy when its fall
God is only happy when it’s fall
so that cunning skin doesn’t crawl
in the warm lack of everything
beginning in the lapis lazulian reality
of a sky that only is lovers’ eyes
in the warm lack of everything
wet at birth, now dry with a fingertiped
yearning at something forgiven
to the tingly, tingly smile
forgotten still
in the warm lack of everything for
the property of being tucked in by
matronly smelling wind and
soft relaxation of a beastly world
in a coaxedly cathartic sigh
of a small little man
who is at home on a little world
in the warm lack of everything
knowingly only that nothing like somethings
can be
ivory skin youth memoried dancing
quiet refletions of mercuial pools of time
with floating red and orange and yellow (not green)
in the warm lack of everything

71

My favourite (This is just to say, by William Carlos Williams) has already been posted. This is Underwear by Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

I didn’t get much sleep last night
thinking about underwear
Have you stopped to consider
underwear in the abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised
Underwear is something
we all have to deal with
Everyone wears some kind of underwear
Even Indians
wear underwear
Even Cubans
wear underwear
The Pope wears underwear I hope
Underwear is worn by Negroes
The Governor of Louisiana
wears underwear
I saw him on TV
He must have had really tight underwear
He squirmed a lot
Underwear can really get you in a bind
Negroes often wear
white underwear
which may lead to trouble
You have seen the underwear ads
for men and women
so alike but so different
Women’s underwear holds things up
Men’s underwear holds things down
Underwear is one thing
men and women have in common
Underwear is all we have between us
You have seen the three-color pictures
with crotches encircled
to show the areas of extra strength
and three-way stretch
promising full freedom of action
Don’t be deceived
It’s all based on the two-party system
which doesn’t allow much freedon of choice
the way things are set up
America in its Underwear
struggles thru the night
Underwear controls everything in the end
Take foundation garments for instance
They are really fascist forms
of underground government
making people believe
something but the truth
telling you what you can or can’t do
Did you ever try to get round a girdle
Perhaps Non-Violent Action
is the only answer
Did Gandhi wear a girdle?
Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle?
Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep?
And that spot she was always rubbing –
Was it really in her underwear?
Modern anglosaxon ladies
must have huge guilt complexes
always washing and washing and washing
Out damned spot – rub don’t blot
Underwear with spots very suspicious
Underwear with bulges very shocking
Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom
someone has escaped his Underwear
May be naked somewhere
Help!
But don’t worry
Everybody’s still hung up in it
There won’t be no real revolution
and poetry still the underwear of the soul
And underwear still covering
a multitude of faults
in the geological sense –
strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks!
And that only the beginning
For does not the body stay alive after death
and still need its underwear
or outgrow it
some organs said to reach full maturity
only after the head stops holding them back?
If I wer you I’d keep aside
an oversize pair of winter underwear
Do not go naked into that good night
And in the meantime
keep calm and warm and dry
No use stirring ourselves up prematurely ‘over Nothing’
Move forward with dignity
hand in vest
Don’t get emotional
and death shall have no dominion
There’s plenty of time my darling
Are we not still young and easy
Don’t shout

72

W. H. Auden’s Song IX of Twelve Songs

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the nourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, My East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

When my best friend died in 1990, he was in the US and I was in Kenya. No one with me knew him, so I was not with anyone else who was mourning, nor could I go to the funeral. The hardest part about that was the fact that the entire world around me kept on exactly as it had. My internal world was so changed, but the external world…no change at all. A year or so later, I found this and it expressed exactly how I felt: My world was so changed by his death that time itself should stop.

Trivia: This is read by the chief mourner in Three Weddings and a Funeral.

73

These two always give me goosebumps:

No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine: if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
—John Donne, “For Whom the Bell Tolls”
and
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 I could
To where it bent in the under growth;

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 on to 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–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
—Robert Frost, “The Road Less Traveled”

74

I’ve got several, but my favorite would have to be Nothing Gold Can Stay by Frost. It reminds me of my childhood, and a very strong friendship.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaves aflower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank with grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

(Of course, my second favorite would have to be the one that I wrote and got published! :wink: )

TruePisces

75

this is one of my absolute favorite poems…boosts that self confidance after a terrible date or other bad experiences that revolve around the male sex…

         Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
         I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's              size
         But when I start to tell them,
         They think I'm telling lies.
         I say,
         It's in the reach of my arms
         The span of my hips,
         The stride of my step,
         The curl of my lips.
         I'm a woman
         Phenomenally.
         Phenomenal woman,
         That's me.

         I walk into a room
         Just as cool as you please,
         And to a man,
         The fellows stand or
         Fall down on their knees.
         Then they swarm around me,
         A hive of honey bees.
         I say,
         It's the fire in my eyes,
         And the flash of my teeth,
         The swing in my waist,
         And the joy in my feet.
         I'm a woman
         Phenomenally.
         Phenomenal woman,
         That's me.

         Men themselves have wondered
         What they see in me.
         They try so much
         But they can't touch
         My inner mystery.
         When I try to show them
         They say they still can't see.
         I say,
         It's in the arch of my back,
         The sun of my smile,
         The ride of my breasts,
         The grace of my style.
         I'm a woman

         Phenomenally.
         Phenomenal woman,
         That's me.

         Now you understand
         Just why my head's not bowed.
         I don't shout or jump about
         Or have to talk real loud.
         When you see me passing
         It ought to make you proud.
         I say,
         It's in the click of my heels,
         The bend of my hair,
         the palm of my hand,
         The need of my care,
         'Cause I'm a woman
         Phenomenally.
         Phenomenal woman,
         That's me.
76

oops! forgot to give credit to Maya Angelou for that one…