Your Favorite Poems

[Eazy E]

Roses are brown
Violets are brown
Who the hell shit in my garden?

[journey]

"The World Is a Beautiful Place"  by Lawrence Ferlinghetti


The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half bad
if it isn't you

Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen

and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician

[journey]

"I Cry"

Sometimes when I'm alone I Cry, Cause I am on my own. The tears I cry are bitter and warm. They flow with life but take no form I Cry because my heart is torn. I find it difficult to carry on. If I had an ear to confiding, I would cry among my treasured friend, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on. The world moves fast and it would rather pass by. Then to stop and see what makes one cry, so painful and sad. And sometimes... I Cry and no one cares about why.

 - Tupac

[Axls Locomotive]

As I awoke this Morning,
when all sweet things are born,
A robin perched upon my window sill
to greet the coming morn

He sang his song so sweetly,
and paused for a moment's lull.
I gently raised the window,
and crushing his 'fucking' skull

[journey]

Beautiful Dreamer

by Stephen  Foster

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

[MCT]

Beautiful Dreamer

by Stephen? Foster

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

You like the Care Bears?

[journey]

Beautiful Dreamer

by Stephen? Foster

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, --
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

You like the Care Bears?

I'll have to sleep on that question.

Who's your favorite Care Bear?

[MCT]

You like the Care Bears?

I'll have to sleep on that question. Who's your favorite Care Bear?

Swiftheart Rabbit. Even though he's technically a Care Bear Cousin...

Beyond him (or is it a her?) it's between Grumpy and Tenderheart.

Anyway, that song you posted was sung by Treatheart in one particular episode...

[journey]

You like the Care Bears?

I'll have to sleep on that question. Who's your favorite Care Bear?

Swiftheart Rabbit. Even though he's technically a Care Bear Cousin...

Beyond him (or is it a her?) it's between Grumpy and Tenderheart.

Anyway, that song you posted was sung by Treatheart in one particular episode...

That's adorable.

I'm more of a Strawberry Shortcake fan.

[MCT]

That's adorable.

Great! Now Donnie's gonna kill me...

[MCT]

This is for Donald and his current state of mind:

Recessional Growth

"Angst," they say, "is childish"
a product of the days of yore.

Watch out then little children
for the day when I mature;

when wisdom takes ahold
and amplifies it more!

--Some Jackass--

[2NaFish]

The Thought Fox

by Ted Hughes

I imagine this midnight moment?s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock?s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
 

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near

Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox?s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,

A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed


Probably my favourite poem ever. It's all about the nature of the creative process, and there's so much to be reas into every single word and line i could probably write for pages and pages. But i wont. I'll let you guys read it and analyse it and ultimately, hopefully, enjoy it.

[Doc Emmett Brown]

It's all about the nature of the creative process

wow - I didnt see that when I read it the first time, but it's a very striking...metaphor?  or is it symbolism?  anyway, it was great.


I'm gonna take some liberty with 'Your favorite poems' and extend it to your short favorite short prose. Hope you dont mind, journey    I came across this one, and felt like I was in a dream world.

Forest Tent Caterpillars
By VERLYN KLINKENBORG

I got used to the permeability of our house long ago. In and out we come all day long, and so do the dogs - to the pastures and the corral, to visit the ducklings and goslings in the horse trailer, to admire the new gilts in the hog pen, to feed the chickens and gather eggs. We learned early on to leave our boots in the mudroom and to check ourselves for ticks at night. We like the bats that nest in the eaves, and we don't so much mind the chipmunks that sometimes disappear through the cracks in the foundation. We no longer really hear the sound of mice and flying squirrels in the walls at night. We all seem, somehow, to live in each other's margins.

But the other day I found a forest tent caterpillar climbing a computer cable in my office. The creature had ridden one of us into the house. Its presence was oddly revolting, if hardly surprising. Forest tent caterpillars are everywhere this season. I find them on the fence rails. They drown in the duck tank.

Wherever the hand naturally goes - to a gate latch or a bucket handle - it is sure to find forest tent caterpillars, sometimes the tiny ones, barely an inch long, as thin as a tightly spun yarn, and sometimes the big ones, two inches and nearly as fat as a pencil. Considered solely as a contrivance of nature, they can be quite beautiful. A line of ivory-colored keyholes runs down the back, and the sides are demurely brushed with an eye-shadow blue.

But I rarely think of the caterpillars this way, not during an outbreak as serious as this one. I brush them off my shoulders and hat and sunglasses as I mow the pasture. I shake them off the windshield wipers to keep them from being squashed against the glass.

And every now and then I come upon a tree where they have massed on the trunk, a somber congregation of caterpillars holding themselves still along the bark while one or two, around the edges, twitch with the promptings of some holy fire. In such numbers, they actually look like bark, as though the surface of the tree might begin to writhe.

I don't know why this causes such revulsion in me. Forest tent caterpillars don't bite human flesh, they don't stink, they don't carry diseases, and they aren't personally unhandsome. It isn't the thought of their numbers - millions and millions of them from the upper Midwest eastward - or the extensive defoliation they cause. But everywhere they go they lay down trails of silk, as though they were wiring the woods. A high wind brings them kiting down from the leaves, suspended in midair. To walk outdoors these days is to wind oneself in their gossamer, as if you were being spun into one of the yellow cocoons they leave behind. I watch closely to see if the poultry will eat them. Some days the birds seem like our last line of defense.


Living in LA, I dont get to see the rustic beauty she describes, or experience the annoyance of funny caterpillars.  But after reading it, I feel like I'm there.

[journey]

I'm gonna take some liberty with 'Your favorite poems' and extend it to your short favorite short prose. Hope you dont mind, journey? ?

Mi casa, tu casa, random. 

[kathryn2662]

When We Two Parted - by Lord Byron


When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow?
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me?
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:?
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met?
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee??
With silence and tears.

[kathryn2662]

- Jim Morrison  -

Heavy Metal Queen
The girl of my dreams.
She's got a hold on me.
Her long steel fingers.
Scratching for my feet.
I see her she looks quite right.
I'm happy she's her tonight.
So take me my miss hot score.
I want you to give me more.
Oh for heaven's sake.
I can't believe my.
Heavy Metal Queen.
Come with me now if you can.
Reaching out she takes my hand.
Leaving in a car that's fast.
Warm sun rays across the grass.
She is falling for me.
My Heavy Metal Queen.

[MCT]

Cats No Less Liquid Than Their Shadows

Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.

They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.

--A. S. J. Tessimond--

[Jim]

Not, a 'favourite' but, in context (again), that word has little meaning....

All asside, a great poem:

I am-yet what I am, none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes-
They rise and vanish in oblivions host,
Like shadows in love frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live-like vapours tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my lifes esteems;
Even the dearest that I love the best
Are strange-nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubdling and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below, above, the vaulted sky.

As a side not, I am far from sober, and I typed the above myself. So, feel free to correct any mistakes.

[MCT]

I see one mistake, but I don't really clare about that...

[Jim]

Is it the 'untroubling' one?