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Your Favorite Poem

ShintoShinto __BANNED USERS
edited January 2009 in Debate and/or Discourse
Post your favorite poem and discuss.


































I WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL IF YOU POST MORE THAN ONE.

I'll get mine up in a minute.

Shinto on
«13

Posts

  • edited October 2007
    I don't think you'd appreciate it if I tried to post the entire Iliad, so I think I'll just say that's my favorite poem and leave it at that.

  • WerewulfyWerewulfy Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    '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 hast 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.

    By Lewis Carroll

    It's simply entertaining, I don't search poems for deep meaning or universal understanding. This is the perfect poem for me.

  • DocDoc Registered User, ClubPA regular
    edited October 2007
    I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
    Round and round they sped.
    I was disturbed at this;
    I accosted the man.
    "It is futile," I said,
    "You can never-"
    "You lie," he cried,
    And ran on.

  • SamiSami Registered User
    edited October 2007
    Roses are red
    Violets are violet
    This poem doesn't rhyme
    So let's just fuck already

    ^^^ ORIGINAL WORK ^^^

    Preacher wrote:
    That's the kicker, not only is our healthcare not cutting mustard we are overpaying for shitty healthcare. We have the olive garden of healthcare.
  • VeegeezeeVeegeezee Registered User
    edited October 2007
    The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
    by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    (an excerpt)

    Spoiler:

    I memorized this poem when I was in fifth grade, and most of it has stuck with me ever since. Now I kind of have a thing for seafaring poetry, probably as a direct result.

  • SamiSami Registered User
    edited October 2007
    Doc wrote: »
    I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
    Round and round they sped.
    I was disturbed at this;
    I accosted the man.
    "It is futile," I said,
    "You can never-"
    "You lie," he cried,
    And ran on.

    I really like this, who wrote it?

    Preacher wrote:
    That's the kicker, not only is our healthcare not cutting mustard we are overpaying for shitty healthcare. We have the olive garden of healthcare.
  • edited October 2007
    Werewulfy wrote: »
    It's simply entertaining, I don't search poems for deep meaning or universal understanding. This is the perfect poem for me.

    I'm pretty sure the Iliad is vastly superior in this regard. Hell, even the Odyssey -- if you're into that kind of thing.

  • deadonthestreetdeadonthestreet Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Sami wrote: »
    Doc wrote: »
    I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
    Round and round they sped.
    I was disturbed at this;
    I accosted the man.
    "It is futile," I said,
    "You can never-"
    "You lie," he cried,
    And ran on.

    I really like this, who wrote it?
    Stephen Crane

    He is so awesome.

  • MikeManMikeMan Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Speaking of sunsets,
    last night's was shocking.
    I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?
    Well, this one was terrifying.
    Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
    It wasn't natural.
    One climax followed another and then another
    until your knees went weak
    and you couldn't breathe.
    The colors were definitely not of this world,
    peaches dripping opium,
    pandemonium of tangerines,
    inferno of irises,
    Plutonian emeralds,
    all swirling and churning, swabbing,
    like it was playing with us,
    like we were nothing,
    as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
    this for which nothing could have prepared us
    and for which we could not have been less prepared.
    The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
    And when it was finally over
    we whimpered and cried and howled.
    And then the streetlights came on as always
    and we looked into one another's eyes--
    ancient caves with still pools
    and those little transparent fish
    who have never seen even one ray of light.
    And the calm that returned to us
    was not even our own.

    -James Tate

    HOW DO YOU FUCK UP BAGELS. YOU BOIL THE WATER. PUT IN THE NOODLES
  • CycloneRangerCycloneRanger Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    My favorite poem is the Rime of the Ancient Mariner as well.

    I've never memorized it, though—that would be quite an undertaking.

    MWO User Name: Gorn Arming
    StarCraft II User Name: DeadMenRise
  • Fuzzy Cumulonimbus CloudFuzzy Cumulonimbus Cloud Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    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.

    39kEWYh.jpg
  • Anonymous RobotAnonymous Robot Registered User
    edited October 2007
    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot
    Spoiler:

    Spoiler:
  • Fuzzy Cumulonimbus CloudFuzzy Cumulonimbus Cloud Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    I think Robert Frost regretted the road he took and voices that in the poem.
    Kind of like, no matter what path you take, you will look back and say, "Crap."

    39kEWYh.jpg
  • thorgotthorgot Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    The trouble with a kitten is that
    Eventually it becomes a cat

    campionthorgotsig.jpg
  • ElJeffeElJeffe Super Moderator, Moderator, ClubPA mod
    edited October 2007
    I also dig Jabberwocky, just because it evokes such brilliant imagery with nothing but nonsense words.

    Generally, I don't get poetry.

    Maddie: "I named my feet. The left one is flip and the right one is flop. Oh, and also I named my flip-flops."

    I make tweet.
  • astrobstrdastrobstrd So full of mercy... Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot
    Spoiler:

    Since my favorite is already listed, I'll list my close #2



    Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
    How little that which thou deny'st me is;
    Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
    And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;
    Confess it, this cannot be said
    A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead,
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do.

    Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
    Where we almost, nay more than married are.
    This flea is you and I, and this
    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
    Though parents grudge, and you, we'are met,
    And cloistered is these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to this, self murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
    Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?
    In what could this flea guilty be,
    Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
    Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
    Find'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now;
    'Tis true, then learn how false, fears be;
    Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
    Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

    -"The Flea", John Donne

  • KilroyKilroy Cannonball blastin'Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    The Road Not Taken
    by: Robert Frost

    I love this poem simply for the fact that so many people read it completely the wrong way.

    As for my favorite... hmm...

    I'll give my vote to Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott."
    Spoiler:

  • LocusLocus Trust Me RochesterRegistered User regular
    edited October 2007
    I prefer my poetry simple. No flowery language. Straight and to the point. Though I do have a soft spot for "The Charge of the Light Brigade."

    "This Is Just To Say," by William Carlos Williams

    I have eaten
    the plums
    that were in
    the icebox

    and which
    you were probably
    saving
    for breakfast.

    Forgive me
    they were delicious
    so sweet
    and so cold.

  • DocDoc Registered User, ClubPA regular
    edited October 2007
    Locus wrote: »
    "This Is Just To Say," by William Carlos Williams

    I have eaten
    the plums
    that were in
    the icebox

    and which
    you were probably
    saving
    for breakfast.

    Forgive me
    they were delicious
    so sweet
    and so cold.

    Same author, also good:

    so much depends
    upon

    a red wheel
    barrow

    glazed with rain
    water

    beside the white
    chickens.

  • INeedNoSaltINeedNoSalt Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Kilroy wrote: »
    The Road Not Taken
    by: Robert Frost

    I love this poem simply for the fact that so many people read it completely the wrong way.

    How is it meant to be read?

    I don't even know what my favorite poem is, but it is probably some pretty mainstream poem that everyone reads in English, and so I would not feel like I am deep and original in my taste.

    sometimes you just gotta do a thing
  • KilroyKilroy Cannonball blastin'Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    I almost posted "This is Just to Say." William Carlos Williams is an amazing writer, both with poetry and short stories.

    Oh, and curse you and your one poem per person rule, Shinto. Curse. You.

    Edit:
    How is it meant to be read?

    Most high-schools tend to teach that Frost is praising marching to the beat of a different drum, not taking the past of least resistance, etc. In reality, he's making fun of the poets who touted those ideas (aka, most of his contemporaries).

  • MurmexMurmex Registered User
    edited October 2007
    suilimeA wrote: »
    Werewulfy wrote: »
    It's simply entertaining, I don't search poems for deep meaning or universal understanding. This is the perfect poem for me.

    I'm pretty sure the Iliad is vastly superior in this regard. Hell, even the Odyssey -- if you're into that kind of thing.

    I'm not sure. For me at least, some parts of the Iliad were a definite struggle and not in the least entertaining (Catalogue of Ships anyone?). I think the formulaic composition also made it more dull to read.

    At any rate, epic poetry is a completely different form of entertainment from Jabberwocky, and it is a bit of a stretch to call the one vastly superior to the other.

  • HachfaceHachface Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    One Art

    The art of losing isn't hard to master;
    so many things seem filled with the intent
    to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

    Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
    of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
    The art of losing isn't hard to master.

    Now practice losing farther, losing faster:
    places, names, and where it was you meant
    to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

    I lost my mother's watch, and look! my last,
    or next to last, of three loved houses went.
    The art of losing isn't hard to master.

    I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
    some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
    I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

    --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
    I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
    the art of losing's not too hard to master
    though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

    --Elizabeth Bishop

    Like all good poetry, this one is best appreciated if read aloud. Elizabeth Bishop has such amazing control of sound, and this poem in particular is notable if for no other reason than writing a good villanelle is fucking hard.

    Unipine
  • elevatureelevature Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    The Cinnamon Peeler, by Michael Ondaatje:
    Spoiler:

  • saggiosaggio Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    My favourite poet is Jim Morrison (don't laugh, he's awesome!). My favourite work, though, is definitely Paradise Lost by John Milton.

    Book I, line 242-270
    Spoiler:

    3DS: 0232-9436-6893
  • DiscGraceDiscGrace Registered User
    edited October 2007
    I had a tough time choosing between this and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock ... fortunately I read the thread and someone made the choice for me. :) This song made me all choked up the first time I read it ... still does, sometimes.

    XVII (I do not love you ...)
    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 your love 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 because I know no other way

    than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
    so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
    so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
  • edited October 2007
    Murmex wrote: »
    suilimeA wrote: »
    Werewulfy wrote: »
    It's simply entertaining, I don't search poems for deep meaning or universal understanding. This is the perfect poem for me.

    I'm pretty sure the Iliad is vastly superior in this regard. Hell, even the Odyssey -- if you're into that kind of thing.

    I'm not sure. For me at least, some parts of the Iliad were a definite struggle and not in the least entertaining (Catalogue of Ships anyone?).

    Yeah, I'm definitely one of the few people I know who actually enjoyed that part (OK, the only person).
    I think the formulaic composition also made it more dull to read.

    You best be not hatin' on Homeric epithets, because then I will be forced to drown you in the wine-dark sea.

  • strakha_7strakha_7 Registered User
    edited October 2007
    I read Julian May's Saga of Pliocene Exile a long time ago. It ends with the quote from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets (Burnt Norton):

    "...the beginning,
    And the end and the beginning were always there
    Before the beginning and after the end.
    And all is always now."

    I liked the quote so much, and how it seemed to capture that whole story and, later, how I feel about life at times (during my more spiritual moments) that I went out and found out what else that poem had to say. I liked it all.

    Burnt Norton, first of the Four Quartets:
    Spoiler:

    Want a signature? Find a post by ElJeffe and quote a random sentence!
    ElJeffe wrote: »
    Zero tolerance policies are almost invariably terrible.

    One might say I have zero tolerance for them.
  • Evil MultifariousEvil Multifarious Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    You're not even supposed to enjoy the catalogue of ships. Freak.

    Inquisitor wrote: »
    I fucking hate you Canadians.
  • lunasealunasea Registered User
    edited October 2007
    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.

    - Robert Frost

  • Bad KittyBad Kitty Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Keeping Quiet

    Now we will count to twelve
    and we will all keep still.

    This one time upon the earth,
    let's not speak any language,
    let's stop for one second,
    and not move our arms so much.

    It would be a delicious moment,
    without hurry, without locomotives,
    all of us would be together
    in a sudden uneasiness.

    The fishermen in the cold sea
    would do no harm to the whales
    and the peasant gathering salt
    would look at his torn hands.

    Those who prepare green wars,
    wars of gas, wars of fire,
    victories without survivors,
    would put on clean clothing
    and would walk alongside their brothers
    in the shade, without doing a thing.

    What I want shouldn't be confused
    with final inactivity:
    life alone is what matters,
    I want nothing to do with death.

    If we weren't unanimous
    about keeping our lives so much in motion,
    if we could do nothing for once,
    perhaps a great silence would
    interrupt this sadness,
    this never understanding ourselves
    and threatening ourselves with death,
    perhaps the earth is teaching us
    when everything seems to be dead
    and then everything is alive.

    Now I will count to twelve
    and you keep quiet and I'll go.

    --Pablo Neruda

    I also love Pablo Neruda. This and sonnet XVII are my favourites.

  • MedopineMedopine __BANNED USERS
    edited October 2007
    You fit into me
    Like a hook into an eye.

    A fish hook
    an open eye.

    - Margaret Atwood

  • RaakamRaakam Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Nobody's mention The Raven yet? Still, my favorite is:
    Spoiler:

    Just something about this gets me. Maybe the imagery, or the fact that it sounds like a fairy tale, but it's so heart breaking.

    Also, I've been meaning to try and find a specific poet. He's modern, has a website, and it's mostly humorous stuff. He had a poem called The Last Cigarette I think, and many other poems that were brilliant. I've been unable to find him, maybe someone knows who I'm talking about.

    sigpicf.jpg
  • MedopineMedopine __BANNED USERS
    edited October 2007
    Poe's command of language and sounds is so fucking awesome.

  • DocDoc Registered User, ClubPA regular
    edited October 2007
    Poe is one of those guys that everyone likes, yet nobody in higher education is supposed to fess up to it, for whatever reason.

  • RaakamRaakam Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Oh, finally found the poet I was referencing earlier. Billy Collins. Absolutely genius, that man.

    sigpicf.jpg
  • monikermoniker Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    I don't have a favorite poem, (it sort of depends on my mood which one I prefer) but I do have a favorite poet.
    I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation.
    Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
    (All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to ashes.)
    I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers: "Omaha."


    I need to buy his unabridged works. So many good poems.

    tea-1.jpg
  • nescientistnescientist Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:

    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's 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.

    -Robert Frost

    I love this so much, if only for the last stanza.

    Carl Sagan wrote:
    The sky calls to us. If we do not destroy ourselves, we will one day venture to the stars.
  • MosanaMosana Registered User
    edited October 2007
    I love this poem to bits:

    An Austrian army, awfully arrayed,
    Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade.
    Cossack commanders cannonading come,
    Dealing destruction's devastating doom.
    Every endeavor engineers essay,
    For fame, for fortune fighting - furious fray!
    Generals 'gainst generals grapple - gracious God!
    How honors Heaven heroic hardihood!
    Infuriate, indiscrminate in ill,
    Kindred kill kinsmen, kinsmen kindred kill.
    Labor low levels longest, lofiest lines;
    Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, ' mid murderous mines;
    Now noxious, noisey numbers nothing, naught
    Of outward obstacles, opposing ought;
    Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed,
    Quite quaking, quickly "Quarter! Quarter!" quest.
    Reason returns, religious right redounds,
    Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds.
    Truce to thee, Turkey! Triumph to thy train,
    Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine!
    Vanish vain victory! vanish, victory vain!
    Why wish we warfare? Wherefore welcome were
    Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier?
    Yield, yield, ye youths! ye yeomen, yield your yell!
    Zeus', Zarpater's, Zoroaster's zeal,
    Attracting all, arms against acts appeal!

    -Alaric Alexander Watts, The Siege of Belgrade

  • HozHoz Registered User regular
    edited October 2007
    moniker wrote: »
    I don't have a favorite poem, (it sort of depends on my mood which one I prefer) but I do have a favorite poet.
    I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation.
    Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
    (All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to ashes.)
    I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers: "Omaha."


    I need to buy his unabridged works. So many good poems.
    The only poem I read that's his is my favorite.

    Grass
    PILE the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
    Shovel them under and let me work—
    I am the grass; I cover all.

    And pile them high at Gettysburg
    And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
    Shovel them under and let me work.
    Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
    What place is this?
    Where are we now?

    I am the grass.
    Let me work.
    Kilroy wrote: »
    Most high-schools tend to teach that Frost is praising marching to the beat of a different drum, not taking the past of least resistance, etc. In reality, he's making fun of the poets who touted those ideas (aka, most of his contemporaries).
    What makes you believe the high-school standard isn't right?

    I did some light research and there's a quote from him where he says he got the idea from a friend who was presented with a choice but would regret whatever choice he made.

«13
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