Your Favorite Poems

[2NaFish]

The Thought Fox

I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something else is alive
Besides 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 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.

? ? -- Ted Hughes


wonderful little ditty about the nature of the creative process and a wonderful description of a 'eureka' moment from a real genius. everytime i read it i find something else i like.

it starts off with poet struggling to write a poem and the end of the poem is just that.

[Doc Emmett Brown]

Rainer Maria Rilke was a German poet.  I recently discovered his translated works and this is one of my favorites:

Sunset

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors
which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you
one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth.

leaving you, not really belonging to either, 
not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,
not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing
that turns to a star each night and climbs--

leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads)
your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.


I feel a powerful connection with these words - sometimes a stone, sometines a star.

[Aava]

Mockingbird - Pete Doherty

"I won me a mockingbird, a mockingbird, a mockingbird
I won me a mockingbird, when I gambled all night long
Mockingbird was squaking bird, squaking bird, squaking bird
Mockingbird was squaking bird, squaking all night long

I tried for the money
And I just wasn't able
Had two more drinks and then
I slipped under the table
And she mocked me all night long

Drinks served by a Chinese girl, Chinese girl, Chinese girl
Drinks served by a Chinese girl, Chinese all night long

She said "You can look my boy, see you can't touch
You got a jack a five and a couple of threes
I got the royal flush"
She mocked me all night long

I won me a mockingbird, a mockingbird, a mockingbird
I won me a mockingbird, when I gambled all night long
Mockingbird was squaking bird, squaking bird, squaking bird
Mockingbird was squaking bird, squaking all night long

I tried for the money
And I just wasn't able
Had two more drinks and then
I slipped under the table
And she mocked me all night long"

[journey]

John Keats: The Human Seasons

FOUR Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring?s honey?d cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness - to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

[journey]

Stanley Kunitz: The Quarrel

The word I spoke in anger
weighs less than a parsley seed,
but a road runs through it
that leads to my grave,
that bought-and-paid-for lot
on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro
where the scrub pines
overlook the bay.
Half-way I'm dead enough,
strayed from my own nature
and my fierce hold on life.
If I could cry, I'd cry,
but I'm too old to be
anybody's child.
Liebchen,
with whom should I quarrel
except in the hiss of love,
that harsh, irregular flame?

[journey]

Langston Hughes

Fire-Caught

The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.


Life is Fine

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

     But it was      Cold in that water!      It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

     But it was      High up there!      It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

     Life is fine!      Fine as wine!      Life is fine!

[Doc Emmett Brown]

I like those poems by Langston Hughes, journey.  He really bleeds his emotions into words.


YOUNG SEA  by Carl Sandburg

THE sea is never still.
It pounds on the shore
Restless as a young heart,
Hunting.

The sea speaks
And only the stormy hearts
Know what it says:
It is the face
of a rough mother speaking.

The sea is young.
One storm cleans all the hoar
And loosens the age of it.
I hear it laughing, reckless.

They love the sea,
Men who ride on it
And know they will die
Under the salt of it

Let only the young come,
Says the sea.

Let them kiss my face
And hear me.
I am the last word
And I tell
Where storms and stars come from

[Queen of Everything]

Towards the New Millennium

Like a prosperous unknown land
whose promise is a phoenix yet unborn
in the ashes of an exile?s country,
The new millennium is now at hand.

Our reading of the signs can?t be wrong:
Seabirds wheeling above,
The frequency of flotsam,
Dead fish and tamarisk bloom on slick-dappled seas,
The odd discarded thong.

I was loath to embark.
Till as in sleep a rumble of multitudes from sinking shores like an ocean breaking over the dykes of remotest Australia fathoms deep down the map of known lands;

A roar of blood rushing like a myriad drums
rolling to mutiny under the whirr of great wings
beating the night to soar above the blinding dark ?

Had taught me fear of loneliness,
Hope in tidal rps.
For dreaming stills in the haven of harbours,
Life stalls,
Meanings bestowed,
Unclear.

Rational vision firms our captains? grasp of heaven?s message,
Who now clearly bid the soul remember bliss once hers and long for home again.
Wakeful,
Our captains rasp precise instructions.

Now and then,
They scan the line below the sulphur-acid sky,
Study the smoke formations,
Speak words we marvel at as at a new-born sun.

The rumble persists,
But neither metaphor or simile will pin its shifting source.
Shall I compose a charm to lull the now
A song of praise to welcome the before?

The captains,
Like the philosopher of old,
Just see two points in time?s compass,
Both the same.
Between,
It frets and coils and bites its tail into spring from either?s hold.



Dont you LOVE IT!! I am saying it on Friday at our eisteddfod- wish me luck!!

[Doc Emmett Brown]

You, Darkness

You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! -
powers and people-

and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

[journey]

 "The Dead" - Rupert Brooke

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
      Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
      And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
      Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
      Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.


There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
      Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
      Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.

[TheRaven]

I'm sure no one would be surprised to hear that my favorite poem is a certain one written by Edgar Allen Poe.

The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[TheRaven]

And for the hell of it, here's one I wrote a while back. It's actually a song, I've rearranged it a little bit for this poetry thread:

Broken Grasp
Been waiting for something
Someone to set me free
Been so long that I?ve been lonely
It?s got the better part of me
But my hands are razors
Cutting everything in reach
And I've got no time for answers
When they haunt me in my sleep

Mysteries of life evade me
As you sneak into the sea
But if I swim a million oceans
Would it bring you closer to me
I feel the conscience lurking
And I mustn?t hesitate
But if the answer eludes me
Would it have been worth the wait
I feel the time is ticking
And I know it?s near an end
But how can I lose a vision
That must be heaven sent

I feel the conscience lurking
And I have no time to breathe
But if I come up for air
Would you in turn be there for me
Silence is my friend
In this world I?ve turned to greed
But if I lie here bleeding
Could you still be all I need
Because I?ve got no time for visions
In this world I?ve turned to greed
It?s all a matter of conscience
When you live beyond your means
In a world of mischance troubles
They seem to bring me down
But who?s to pave the road
When we?ve got no one in this town

I feel the wrath of envy
Over cost and over means
But her face is like an angel
And it seeps into my seams
Oh my lover
There is no cover
Just pesticides of dreams

[journey]

^ That's really nice.

[Drew]

And for the hell of it, here's one I wrote a while back. It's actually a song, I've rearranged it a little bit for this poetry thread:

Broken Grasp
Been waiting for something
Someone to set me free
Been so long that I?ve been lonely
It?s got the better part of me
But my hands are razors
Cutting everything in reach
And I've got no time for answers
When they haunt me in my sleep

Mysteries of life evade me
As you sneak into the sea
But if I swim a million oceans
Would it bring you closer to me
I feel the conscience lurking
And I mustn?t hesitate
But if the answer eludes me
Would it have been worth the wait
I feel the time is ticking
And I know it?s near an end
But how can I lose a vision
That must be heaven sent

I feel the conscience lurking
And I have no time to breathe
But if I come up for air
Would you in turn be there for me
Silence is my friend
In this world I?ve turned to greed
But if I lie here bleeding
Could you still be all I need
Because I?ve got no time for visions
In this world I?ve turned to greed
It?s all a matter of conscience
When you live beyond your means
In a world of mischance troubles
They seem to bring me down
But who?s to pave the road
When we?ve got no one in this town

I feel the wrath of envy
Over cost and over means
But her face is like an angel
And it seeps into my seams
Oh my lover
There is no cover
Just pesticides of dreams

That is very good TheRaven!! Thanks for sharing it with us. Great job!

[2NaFish]

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed.  It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably.  Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.


Philip Larkin

[journey]

"The Bait"  by John Donne
 
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.


There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.


When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.


If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light having thee.


Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.


Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.


For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

[MCT]

"Love in a Life"

Room after room,
I hunt the house through
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her―
Next time, herself!―not the trouble behind her
Left in the curtain, the couch?s perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew :
Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.
 
Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune―
Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance! She goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest,―who cares?
But ?tis twilight, you see,―with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!

--Robert Browning--

[Jim]

On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific ? and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise ?
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

John Keats

[Aava]

"Seasons in the Sun" by Jacques Brel & Rod McKuen


Goodbye to you, my trusted friend.
We've known each other since we're nine or ten.
Together we climbed hills or trees.
Learned of love and ABC's,
skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die,
when all the birds are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air.
Pretty girls are everywhere.
When you see them I'll be there.

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.

Goodbye, Papa, please pray for me,
I was the black sheep of the family.
You tried to teach me right from wrong.
Too much wine and too much song,
wonder how I get along.
Goodbye, Papa, it's hard to die
when all the birds are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air.
Little children everywhere.
When you see them I'll be there.

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the wine and the song,
like the seasons, all have gone.

Goodbye, Michelle, my little one.
You gave me love and helped me find the sun.
And every time that I was down
you would always come around
and get my feet back on the ground.
Goodbye, Michelle, it's hard to die
when all the bird are singing in the sky,
Now that the spring is in the air.
With the flowers ev'rywhere.
I whish that we could both be there.

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the stars we could reach
were just starfishs on the beach

 

[Drew]

"Exile" written and performed by Enya

Cold as the northern winds
in December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings
from this far distant shore.

Winter has come too late
too close beside me.
How can I chase away
all these fears deep inside?

I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.

My light shall be the moon
and my path - the ocean.
My guide the morning star
as I sail home to you.

I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.

Who then can warm my soul?
Who can quell my passion?
Out of these dreams - a boat
I will sail home to you.