Discussion What’s your favourite poem?

[Emerita]

Do you have a favourite poem? If so, please share it! Provide the writer's name and the title (if it has one), along with the poem itself. If you'd like, explain why you like it and whether it holds any special significance for you.

I will go first, I'll give two because I don't know I want to.

Emily Dickinson 1830 - 1886

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -


Emily Dickinson 1830 - 1886

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –

None may teach it – Any –
'Tis the seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –

When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –

Oh, another good poem is Because I could not stop for death and I heard a fly buzz when I died, both by Emily Dickinson.

I just really like Emily Dickinson, after my friend died I really enjoyed her poetry. I'll spare you the details of why because I don't want this to be too long, but feel free to give a reason why.

Spoiler: Resource

The Complete Poems Of Emily Dickinson edited by Thomas H. Johnson

 

[hippiedeath]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm schizophrenic
And so am I

 

[trying ungracefully]

Absolutely nothing by Osoanon Nimuss

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen
————
Sorry it's long lol. I read it in Perks of being a Wallflower and that is my FAVORITE book.

 

[Forveleth]

Emilie Autumn - Ghost



Did you know
Sometimes it frightens me
When you say my name
And I can't see you

Will you ever learn to materialize
Before you speak
Impetuous boy
If that's what you really are
How many centuries
Since you've climbed a balcony
Or do you do this every night
With someone else

You tell me that you never leave
And I am almost afraid
To believe it
Why is it me
You've chosen to follow
Did you like the way I look
When I am sleeping

Was my hair more fun to tangle
Are my dreams more entertaining

Do you laugh
When I'm complaining
That I'm all alone
Where were you
When I searched the sea
For a friend to talk to me
In a year
Where will you be

Is it enough
For you to steal into my mind
Filling up my page with
Music written in my hand
You know I'll take the credit
For I must have made you come to me somehow

But please
Try to close the curtains
When you leave at night
Or I'll have to find someone
To stay and warm me

Will you always attend my midnight tea parties
As long as I set your place
If one day
Your sugar sits untouched
Will you have gone forever

Would you miss me
In a thousand years
When you will dry
Another's tears

But you say
You'll never leave me
And I wonder if you'll have the decency
To pass through my wall
To the next room
While I dress for dinner

But when I'm stuck in conversation
With stuffed shirts
Whose adoration
Hurts my ears
Where are you then

Can't you cut in
When I dance with other men
It's too late
Not to interfere with my life
You've already made me
A most unsuitable wife
For any man who wants to be the first
His bride has slept with

And you can't just fly into people's bedrooms
Then expect them to calmly wave goodbye

You've changed the course of history
And didn't even try

Where are you now
Standing behind me
Taking my hand
Come
And remind me
Who you are
Have you traveled far
Are you made of stardust too
Are the angels after you
Tell me
What I am to do

But until then
I'll save your side of the bed
Just come
And sing me to sleep

 

[cowplantabduction]

Forgetfulness by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

(I find this one very relatable, and I love the imagery and the poet's wit)

---

I'm happiest now when most away by Emily Bronte

I'm happiest now when most away
I can tear my soul from its mould of clay,
On a windy night when the moon is bright,
And my eye can wander through worlds of light.

When I am not, and none beside,
Nor earth, nor sea, nor cloudless sky,
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.

(This poem is so beautiful, and I relate to Bronte's introverted, introspective nature)

---

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43) by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

(I want a love like this....)

 

[Unsure and Useless]

I like poems that rhyme, and I haven't been checking out new poems, so my favorite poem has remained pretty much the same.

"Nothing Gold Can Stay"
Robert Frost

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.​

 

[Ferdinand Bardamu]

 

[Lyn]

The Final Voyage

And I shall go. And the birds will remain,
singing.
My garden too will stay, with its green tree
and its white well.
Each evening will find the sky blue and peaceful:
the belfry's bells will ring, just as I hear them now,
ringing.
Any who loved me there shall pass away
and every year the village will renew.
Far from the curious bustle, dull and rare
of Sunday, closing day,
the car at five, the dozing and the bathing,
in the secret corner of my garden, whitewashed, blooming,
my spirit of today will stray, nostalgically.
And I shall go, be someone else, with no hearth, no
green tree, and no white well,
no sky blue and peaceful...
And the birds will remain,
singing.

© Juan Ramón Jiménez


Original:

El Viaje Definitivo

Y yo me iré. Y se quedarán los pájaros
cantando.
Y se quedará mi huerto con su verde árbol,
y con su pozo blanco.
Todas las tardes el cielo será azul y plácido,
y tocarán, como esta tarde están tocando,
las campanas del campanario.
Se morirán aquellos que me amaron
y el pueblo se hará nuevo cada año;
y lejos del bullicio distinto, sordo, raro
del domingo cerrado,
del coche de las cinco, de las siestas del baño,
en el rincón secreto de mi huerto florido y encalado,
mi espíritu de hoy errará, nostáljico...
Y yo me iré, y seré otro, sin hogar, sin árbol
verde, sin pozo blanco,
sin cielo azul y plácido...
Y se quedarán los pájaros cantando.

 

[darksouls]

 

[HarryCobean]

Not sure I have a favourite, but I can recite Dylan Thomas' Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night from memory. I don't do karaoke, but I can do that. Ironic to be posting this on SS of all places...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

[darksouls]

 

[darksouls]