What is your favorite poem?

[BoMISRotJ]

I assume this as probably been asked already, but brothers and sisters what is your favorite poem?

Mine would have to be Charge of the Light Brigade by Lord Alfred Tennyson. I am not quite sure why this is my favorite poem. I guess knowing the history behind it just reminds me of how a loss of men is tragic, but even in this tragedy something can be won, and the war is not over with a battle loss. There are deeper meanings to this but I could write a book about it and it's implications.

Here is an audio reading of the poem.

So like I asked, what is your favorite poem and why?

[Guest]

The Rainy Day

I memorized this when I was 12 and it has seen me through the darkest times of my teen-age years. It is such a simple poem but it had a profound impact on how I survived my Rainy Days.

[Vort]

An unoriginal choice, but mine is Shakespeare's sonnet 116:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

That alters when it alteration finds

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to ev'ry wand'ring bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Another favorite from that period is Ben Jonson's heart-rending On My First Sonne:

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;

My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy

Seven yeeres thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,

Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.

O, could I loose all father, now. For why

Will man lament the state he should envie?

To have so soone scap'd worlds, and fleshes rage,

And, if no other miserie, yet age?

Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lye

Ben. Jonson his best piece of poetrie.

For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such,

As what he loves may never like too much.

Always makes me tear up. (But, like Dustin Hoffman, I've reached the age where I tear up reading a phone book.)

[Jamie123]

I assume this as probably been asked already, but brothers and sisters what is your favorite poem?

Mine would have to be Charge of the Light Brigade by Lord Alfred Tennyson. I am not quite sure why this is my favorite poem. I guess knowing the history behind it just reminds me of how a loss of men is tragic, but even in this tragedy something can be won, and the war is not over with a battle loss. There are deeper meanings to this but I could write a book about it and it's implications.

Here is an audio reading of the poem.

So like I asked, what is your favorite poem and why?

I like Tennyson too. One poem I keep returning to is Ulysses. "It profits little that an aged king..." etc. The imagery in it is beautiful: "follow knowledge like a sinking star", "an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world", "sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows" etc. It always makes my spine tingle!

[Bini]

I don't really have a favourite poem but I read this last night and it's a must-read during the holidays: Twas the night before Christmas.

[the_last_gunslinger]

Tennyson is my favorite poet. I'm partial to Arthurian legend, so I am quite fond of Tennyson's "Le Morte d'Arthur.

[mirkwood]

Xanadu by Neil Peart.

"To seek the sacred river Alph

To walk the caves of ice

To break my fast on honey dew

And drink the milk of paradise..."

I had heard the whispered tales

Of immortality

The deepest mystery

From an ancient book. I took a clue

I scaled the frozen mountain tops

Of eastern lands unknown

Time and Man alone

Searching for the lost --- Xanadu

Xanadu --- To stand within The Pleasure Dome

Decreed by Kubla Khan

To taste anew the fruits of life

The last immortal man

To find the sacred river Alph

To walk the caves of ice

Oh, I will dine on honey dew

And drink the milks of Paradise

A thousand years have come and gone

But time has passed me by

Stars stopped in the sky

Frozen in an everlasting view

Waiting for the world to end

Weary of the night

Praying for the light

Prison of the lost --- Xanadu

Xanadu --- Held within The Pleasure Dome

Decreed by Kubla Khan

To taste my bitter triumph

As a mad immortal man

Nevermore shall I return

Escape these caves of ice

For I have dined on honey dew

And drunk the milk of Paradise

Set to music:

[pam]

The Touch of the Master's Hand

'Twas battered and scarred,

And the auctioneer thought it

hardly worth his while

To waste his time on the old violin,

but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried,

"Who starts the bidding for me?"

"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"

"Two dollars, who makes it three?"

"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No,

From the room far back a gray bearded man

Came forward and picked up the bow,

Then wiping the dust from the old violin

And tightening up the strings,

He played a melody, pure and sweet

As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer

With a voice that was quiet and low,

Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"

As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"

"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"

"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,

Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,

But some of them cried,

"We just don't understand."

"What changed its' worth?"

Swift came the reply.

"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

"And many a man with life out of tune

All battered and bruised with hardship

Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd

Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,

A game and he travels on.

He is going once, he is going twice,

He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,

And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,

The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought

By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.

- by Myra Brooks Welch

[puf_the_majic_dragon]

The Traveler had a carriage

he drove where 'ere he went.

He traveled day and night-time too.

He searched for time unspent.

Drive on.

Don't slow.

It will improve, you know.

He searched alone, all by himself.

He searched in hopes he'd find

that simple, peaceful love he knew.

The life he'd left behind.

Drive on.

Don't slow.

It can't be long, you know.

He drove his horse to pull him on,

until he found his heart.

And then he found a woman fair

with whom he'd loath to part.

Drive on.

Don't slow.

She'll break your heart, you know.

He slowed his horse, to gaze a while.

He'd hoped he'd found the one,

the woman for whom he'd searched so far,

with whom his search was done.

Drive on.

Don't slow.

The pain will hurt, you know.

He stopped his search and stayed a while.

'Twas heaven in her arms.

He lifted up his hopes and dreams

succumbing to her charms.

Stay close.

Don't go.

My love is strong, you know.

She changed her mind and broke his heart.

She thought it couldn't last.

He cried for days and nights on end.

He longed to have the past.

Go on.

Don't Stay.

You must move on, you know.

He stayed and cried, his soul was wrent.

He loved her oh, so deep.

He couldn't change his heart's desire

this love he had to keep.

Shut up.

Don't speak.

You'll hurt her more you know.

And now he sits, alone again

waiting by his horse.

He sits in hopes and prayers to God

that she will change her course.

Get up.

Don't sit.

You make it worse, you know.

The Traveler had a carriage

that sat unused and worn.

He used to travel day and night

in search of love untorn.

Drive on.

Don't slow.

It will improve, you know.

[pam]

Wow puf....there is a name I haven't seen on the forums in a few years. Welcome back.

[classylady]

I have many favorites, but this is the one that first came to my mind.

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 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.

[Quin]

Can I have more than 1?!?!

Heck. Poetry is all about breaking the rules, anyway.

Wynken, Blynken, & Nod

The Gingham Dog & the Calico Cat

The Sugarplum Tree

- Eugene Fields

We & They

If

- Rudyard Kipling

The Battle

- Shel Silverstein

Nobody

- Anonymous

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Fire & Ice

- Robert Frost

Q

[skalenfehl]

Don't have one, but if I did, It might be this one:

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

Rudyard Kipling

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,

I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:

But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,

So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,

But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come

That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;

They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;

So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.

But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)

Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;

But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true

That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.

That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,

And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,

The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

[puf_the_majic_dragon]

Wow puf....there is a name I haven't seen on the forums in a few years. Welcome back.

Thanks, Pam :) It has been a while. I'm pretty sure before my mission. I've gotta update that in my profile, too.....

[Connie]

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost and Daffodils by William Wordsworth are a couple of my favorites.

[bytebear]

It isn't the cough that carries you off. It's the coffin they carry you off in. -- Ogden Nash

[Swiper]

Invictus

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.

- William Ernest Henley

[Smudge]

I am rather liking this one at the moment - infact it is the inspiration for one of my friends Christmas presents: Symbols of Christmas

[carlimac]

I eat my peas with honey.

I've done it all my life.

It may taste kind of funny

But it keeps them on my knife.

Or...

I've never seen a purple cow.

I hope to never see one.

But I can tell you anyhow,

I'd rather see than be one.

[Jamie123]

Nobody's mentioned Poe yet. You've gotta like Poe.

"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted...nevermore!"

[Guest Maliacquaip]

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<a href=http://help.sygic.com/entries/31627953-E-cig-ru>E cig ru</a>

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[Jamie123]

MOD edit: Please do not respond to spammers, just report them

Yeah - I love that poem too!

Edited December 17, 2013 by estradling75

[talisyn]

This one has haunted me since I read it when I was 8:

The Listeners

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grass

Of the forest's ferny floor;

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveller's head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;

"Is there anybody there?" he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still.

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken

By the lonely Traveller's call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

'Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head:--

"Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word," he said.

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Walter de la Mare

[Jamie123]

I almost forgot Gerard Manley Hopkins!

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,

More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.

Comforter, where, where is your comforting?

Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?

My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief

Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —

Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-

ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall

Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap

May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small

Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,

Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all

Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

[Jamie123]

Mustn't forget T.S. Eliot either!

I am moved by fancies that are curled, around these images and cling, the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.

I grow old … I grow old …

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.