What's your favorite poem? - Page 2




 
--
Boots
 
March 3rd, 2009  
Partisan
 
 
From Rudyard Kipling:

This is my lodestone, his poetry hits me every time, there is laways something new in his work.
I keep six honest serving-men (They taught me all I knew);Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who.I send them over land and sea, I send them east and west;But after they have worked for me, I give them all a rest.I let them rest from nine till five, For I am busy then,As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, For they are hungry men.But different folk have different views. I know a person small-She keeps ten million serving-men, Who get no rest at all!She sends'em abroad on her own affairs, From the second she opens her eyes-One million Hows, two million Wheres, And seven million Whys! From The Elephant's Child
March 4th, 2009  
AB_Shorts_Momma
 
 

Topic: Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


LAUGH, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.



It reminds me that I get to choose how I react to anything...
March 7th, 2009  
Missileer
 
 
One of my favorites by The Bard:

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Julius Caesar II, Shakespeare
--
Boots
March 8th, 2009  
tomtom22
 
 
Trees by
Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918
I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Veterans of the Foreign Wars asked the government to set aside a fitting stand of trees to serve as a living memorial to Joyce Kilmer, who was killed in action during World War I. Although Kilmer was both a soldier and a poet, he is most remembered for his poetry about common, beautiful things in nature. You can visit the webite for the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest here: http://www.main.nc.us/graham/hiking/joycekil.html
March 8th, 2009  
Insomniac
 
 
One i wrote myself:

Daniel Baldwin - Forever Wonder

I never meant to hurt you;
Never meant to make you cry;
We all do things we regret;
But now i'll wonder why.
Why did these things happen?
Why did i make you cry?
These things i'll never know;
Forever wonder why
March 11th, 2009  
tomtom22
 
 

Quote:
Originally Posted by Insomniac
One i wrote myself:

Daniel Baldwin - Forever Wonder

I never meant to hurt you;
Never meant to make you cry;
We all do things we regret;
But now i'll wonder why.
Why did these things happen?
Why did i make you cry?
These things i'll never know;
Forever wonder why
Very Nice, Insomniac!
March 11th, 2009  
Jilly
 
 
That's a great poem Locke.

I like this one. It's a song really, by Bette Midler.

The Rose


Some say love it is a river
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed

Some say love it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose
March 11th, 2009  
Jilly
 
 


Insomniac, that's a nice poem.
March 13th, 2009  
BritinAfrica
 
 
SOME CORNER OF A FOREIGN FIELD

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blessed by the suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts a peace, under an English heaven.