Your Favorite Poems

[Doc Emmett Brown]

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

from 'Dover Beach' by Matthew Arnold

[Jim]

The Last Ride Together

I said then, dearest, since 'tis so,
Since now at length my fate I know,
Since nothing all my love avails,
Since all, my life seem'd meant for, fails,
         Since this was written and needs must be--
My whole heart rises up to bless
Your name in pride and thankfulness!
Take back the hope you gave,--I claim
Only a memory of the same,
--And this beside, if you will not blame;
         Your leave for one more last ride with me.

My mistress bent that brow of hers,
Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs
When pity would be softening through,
Fix'd me a breathing-while or two
         With life or death in the balance: right!
The blood replenish'd me again;
My last thought was at least not vain:
I and my mistress, side by side
Shall be together, breathe and ride,
So, one day more am I deified.
         Who knows but the world may end to-night?

Hush! if you saw some western cloud
All billowy-bosom'd, over-bow'd
By many benedictions--sun's
And moon's and evening-star's at once--
         And so, you, looking and loving best,
Conscious grew, your passion drew
Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too,
Down on you, near and yet more near,
Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!--
Thus leant she and linger'd--joy and fear!
         Thus lay she a moment on my breast.

[Jim]

Then we began to ride. My soul
Smooth'd itself out, a long-cramp'd scroll
Freshening and fluttering in the wind.
Past hopes already lay behind.
         What need to strive with a life awry?
Had I said that, had I done this,
So might I gain, so might I miss.
Might she have loved me? just as well
She might have hated, who can tell!
Where had I been now if the worst befell?
         And here we are riding, she and I.

Fail I alone, in words and deeds?
Why, all men strive and who succeeds?
We rode; it seem'd my spirit flew,
Saw other regions, cities new,
         As the world rush'd by on either side.
I thought,--All labour, yet no less
Bear up beneath their unsuccess.
Look at the end of work, contrast
The petty done, the undone vast,
This present of theirs with the hopeful past!
         I hoped she would love me; here we ride.

What hand and brain went ever pair'd?
What heart alike conceived and dared?
What act proved all its thought had been?
What will but felt the fleshly screen?
         We ride and I see her bosom heave.
There 's many a crown for who can reach.
Ten lines, a statesman's life in each!
The flag stuck on a heap of bones,
A soldier's doing! what atones?
They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones.
         My riding is better, by their leave.

What does it all mean, poet? Well,
Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell
What we felt only; you express'd
You hold things beautiful the best,
         And pace them in rhyme so, side by side.
'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then,
Have you yourself what 's best for men?
Are you--poor, sick, old ere your time--
Nearer one whit your own sublime
Than we who never have turn'd a rhyme?
         Sing, riding 's a joy! For me, I ride.

[Jim]

And you, great sculptor--so, you gave
A score of years to Art, her slave,
And that 's your Venus, whence we turn
To yonder girl that fords the burn!
         You acquiesce, and shall I repine?
What, man of music, you grown gray
With notes and nothing else to say,
Is this your sole praise from a friend,
'Greatly his opera's strains intend,
But in music we know how fashions end!'
         I gave my youth: but we ride, in fine.

Who knows what 's fit for us? Had fate
Proposed bliss here should sublimate
My being--had I sign'd the bond--
Still one must lead some life beyond,
         Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried.
This foot once planted on the goal,
This glory-garland round my soul,
Could I descry such? Try and test!
I sink back shuddering from the quest.
Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?
         Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride.

And yet--she has not spoke so long!
What if heaven be that, fair and strong
At life's best, with our eyes upturn'd
Whither life's flower is first discern'd,
         We, fix'd so, ever should so abide?
What if we still ride on, we two
With life for ever old yet new,
Changed not in kind but in degree,
The instant made eternity,--
And heaven just prove that I and she
         Ride, ride together, for ever ride?

Robert Browning

[journey]

^ Nice poem.


If Spirits Walk
by Sophie Jewett

?I have heard (but not believed) the spirits of the dead
May walk again.?
                                                     -   Winter?s Tale


If spirits walk, Love, when the night climbs slow
The slant footpath where we were wont to go,
      Be sure that I shall take the self-same way
      To the hill-crest, and shoreward, down the gray,
Sheer, gravelled slope, where vetches straggling grow.


Look for me not when gusts of winter blow,
When at thy pane beat hands of sleet and snow;
   I would not come thy dear eyes to affray,
               If spirits walk.


But when, in June, the pines are whispering low,
And when their breath plays with thy bright hair so
      As some one's fingers once were used to play?
      That hour when birds leave song, and children pray,
Keep the old tryst, sweetheart, and thou shalt know
               If spirits walk.

[MCT]

"I Remember, I Remember"

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday, -
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

--Thomas Hood--

[TheRaven]

Ever since seeing V for Vendetta I've enjoyed the one below.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November
The Gunpowder Treason and plot;
I know of no reason why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes,
'Twas his intent.
To blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below.
Poor old England to overthrow.
By God's providence he was catch'd,
With a dark lantern and burning match
Holloa boys, Holloa boys, let the bells ring
Holloa boys, Holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip Hoorah!
Hip hip Hoorah!
A penny loaf to feed ol'Pope,
A farthing cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down,
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar,'
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head,
Then we'll say: ol'Pope is dead.
Hip hip Hoorah!
Hip hip Hoorah!

[Kujo]

Thanks for posting that. I loved it in the movie, but forgot to look it up.

[MCT]

"the Killswitch"

i contemplate smashing things
                     breaking things
in an effort of sacrifice
to the gods of rage
but i need all these things
so i settle for
crawling into my bed
shoving my face into the pillow
and screaming.
This is far less destructive
except to each and every
tiny
dust mite
whose hearing is now
completely shot.
Think of that, love.
Not only do you
do this to me,
you make
even
the bed bugs
suffer.

--Jarvis Black--

[journey]

Now that I have your voice by heart, I look.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read
In the black chords upon a dulling page
Music that is not meant for music?s cage,
Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark
Unprinted silence. In a double dream
I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat?s too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

"Song for the Last Act" - Louise Bogan

[Jessica]

It's not a poem, it's a song, in french.

Tu Es Mon Autre by Lara Fabian

Ame ou soeur,
Jumeau ou fr?re de rien,
mais qui es tu?
Tu es mon plus grand myst?re,
Mon seul lien contigu,
Tu m'enrubannes et m'embryonnes
Et tu me gardes ? vue.
Tu es le seul animal
De mon arche perdu.

Tu ne parles qu'une langue,
Aucun mot d?cu,
Celle qui fait de toi mon autre,
L'?tre reconnu.
Il n'y a rien ? comprendre
Et que passe l'intrus,
Qui n'en pourra rien attendre
Car je suis seule a les entendre les silences
Et quand j'en tremble

(Refrain)

Toi tu es mon autre:
La force de ma foi,
Ma faiblesse et ma loi,
Mon insolence et mon droit.
Moi je suis ton autre,
Si nous n'?tions pas d'ici
Nous serions l'infini.

Et si l'un de nous deux tombe,
L'arbre de nos vies
Nous gardera loin de l'ombre
Entre ciel et fruit,
Mais jamais trop loin de l'autre
Ou nous serions maudits
Tu seras ma derni?re seconde
Car je suis seule ? les entendre les silences
Et Quand j'en tremble

(Refrain)

ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
ah ah ah ah ah ah ah

Et si l'un de nous deux tombe

[Jessica]

What Do They Know

by Tima Chavis

I face the world with a smile, no one knows what is hid inside.
They see only happiness, they cant see the tears I've cried.
When I am alone I hurt, because here I do it well.
In front of all the watchful eyes my heaven turns to hell.
The judge and jury awaits me, everyone has a say.
In a life that hangs suspended for yet another day.
Who are they to judge if what I have done is right or wrong?
In the end I gave him up, but inside still sing his song.
I don't know how to find the strength I thought I had.
If only I could play tough it wouldn't be so bad.
They say that life goes on and someday I'll smile again.
But, how do they know my pain without being where I've been?
I've traveled so far from home, and can't find my way back.
Somewhere along the way I must have jumped the track.
I saw him just today and his smile is still the same.
He looked at me so sweetly, but never spoke my name.
I wonder if he remembers me, It hasn't been that long.
He may have forgotten me, but I still sing his song.
 

[Jessica]

Broken Heart

by Crystal Holtz

I will never forget the days we once had
The days when you were everything to me
My mind used to tell me we'd be together forever
But now I realize that was all a big dream
The feelings I have for you will never go
I wish I could take back that one regretful day
The day when I willingly let you slide from my arms
Never did I think of the astonishing pain of regrets
That I would once have to live through
The sight of you in someone else's arms
Makes my heart shatter into a million pieces
I sometimes wonder if you still think of me
Or if to you, I'm just a face in the crowd
I wish so very much that one day we can have it all back
But for now, I'll sit here silently
Remembering all the memories we once shared
Everyday my love grows much stronger
Hoping that one day you will feel the same
And put back the pieces of my broken heart. 

[journey]

Theme song from one of my favorite movies:

"Imitation of Life" by Sammy Fain

What is love

Without the giving

Without love

You're only living

An imitation Of life 

Skies above

In flaming color

Without love

They're so much duller

A false creation

An imitation

Of life

 
Would the song of the lark

Sound just as sweet

Would the moon be as bright above

Every day would be gray

And incomplete

Without the one you love

 
Lips that kiss

Can tell you clearly

Without this

Our lives are merely

An imitation

An imitation

Of life

[echrisl]

Fantastic thread ... I hadn't noticed it before, just spent a while browsing through previous posts, some great classics and some impressive originals. 

This poem is a favorite of mine, and probably the poem that I most wished I had written as soon as I read it ... just fantastic:

This Be The Verse
by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
     They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
     And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
     By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
     And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
     It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
     And don't have any kids yourself.

[journey]

^ I like that one, echrist.


All flowers in time bend towards the sun

I know you say that there's no one for you

But here is one
 
You and I
The calm below that poisoned the river wild
You and I
Tears that dry on a rude awakened child
Where you look down
I've walked before
Burning holes
With eyes of liquid brown
If we had only known
In a way
We wouldn't reach this ground
You were my only home
Silver eyes
I want to see you shine
And we will feel the weight
Fall away from us in time
Searching our past for the true
You and I
All for you
Where you think you'll fall
I adore you
Where you shut your soul
I will open for you
If we had only known
In a way
We'd never reach this ground
I'll know
Silver eyes
I can see us shine
I said, we will feel the weight
Fall away from us in time
Searching our past for a true
You and I
All for you.

"You and I" - Jeff Buckley

[echrisl]

That's the second or third time someone has thought my username was echrist recently (I post as echrisl under a bunch of different and diverse boards, so I'm not speaking just about this board). 

I point this out not to correct you, but because it occurred to me that echrist would actually be a fairly clever username, as opposed to my current username, which is my first and last initial sandwiched around my middle name (Chris) ... very pedestrian of me, I know ... I don't think of these clever puns.

P.S.  I feel like I just composed a Deep Thought with Jack Handey.  That tone is just perfect for reading my random post up to this point.

Alright, I should put another poem, since this is the poem thread (Wordsworth is usually not a favorite of mine, by the way, but the Lucy poems seem to resonate better with me than most of his other work.  This is my favorite of them.):


by William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
   Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
   And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
   Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
   Is shining in they sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
   When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
   The difference to me!

[Bill 213]

The Man With The Blue Guitar
By: Wallace Stevens

One
The man bent over his guitar,
A shearsman of sorts. The day was green.

They said, ?You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are.?

The man replied, ?Things as they are
Are changed upon the blue guitar.?

And they said to him, ?But play, you must,
A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,

A tune upon the blue guitar,
Of things exactly as they are.?

Two
I cannot bring a world quite round,
Although I patch it as I can.

I sing a hero?s head, large eye
And bearded bronze, but not a man,

Although I patch him as I can
And reach through him almost to man.

If a serenade almost to man
Is to miss, by that, things as they are,

Say that it is the serenade
Of a man that plays a blue guitar.

Three
A tune beyond us as we are,
Yet nothing changed by the blue guitar;

Ourselves in tune as if in space,
Yet nothing changed, except the place

Of things as they are and only the place
As you play them on the blue guitar,

Placed, so, beyond the compass of change,
Perceived in a final atmosphere;

For a moment final, in the way
The thinking of art seems final when

The thinking of god is smoky dew.
The tune is space. The blue guitar

Becomes the place of things as they are,
A composing of senses of the guitar.

Four
Tom-tom c'est moi. The blue guitar
And I are one. The orchestra

Fills the high hall with shuffling men
High as the hall. The whirling noise

Of a multitude dwindles, all said,
To his breath that lies awake at night.

I know that timid breathing. Where
Do I begin and end? And where,

As I strum the thing, do I pick up
That which momentarily declares

Itself not to be I and yet
Must be. It could be nothing else.

[Shirell]

Here's a little ditty:

Sometimes when you're feeling important,
sometimes when your ego's in bloom,
Those times when you feel your the only
important one in the room.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
put your hands in up to the wrists.
Take them out and the gap that is left there,
is a measure of how much you'll be missed.

So the next time you're feeling important,
and giving orders to all that you can.
Think of this tale and remember ...............
There's no indispsenable man.

[Jim]

Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray,
And when I cross'd the Wild,
I chanc'd to see at break of day
The solitary Child.

No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wild Moor,
The sweetest Thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the Fawn at play,
The Hare upon the Green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night,
You to the Town must go,
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your Mother thro' the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do;
'Tis scarcely afternoon?
The Minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the Moon."

At this the Father rais'd his hook
And snapp'd a faggot-band;
He plied his work, and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe,
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse, the powd'ry snow
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time,
She wander'd up and down,
And many a hill did Lucy climb
But never reach'd the Town.

The wretched Parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlook'd the Moor;
And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood
A furlong from their door.

And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd
"In Heaven we all shall meet!"
When in the snow the Mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downward from the steep hill's edge
They track'd the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they cross'd,
The marks were still the same;
They track'd them on, nor ever lost,
And to the Bridge they came.

They follow'd from the snowy bank
The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank,
And further there were none.

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living Child,
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome Wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

William Wordsworth