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Favorite Poet?


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#41 Oblomov

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Posted 11 November 2007 - 09:46 AM

One of the most (in)famous pieces of verse must be Coleridge's incomplete opium induced dream of Kubla Khan. I have been fascinated by it since I was a kid.

#42 Tiger

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Posted 11 November 2007 - 12:21 PM

William Blake is my fave

#43 Roger53

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Posted 21 November 2007 - 10:20 AM

Billy Collins.

Easy to read, a bit of fun, and a poet who can make anything sound interesting.

There are some other favourites mentioned above though. I didn't realise Robert Service was so popular. Apart from his Yukon poems he has a couple of other books with more general type poetry which are very good. Later Poetry, and More Poetry of Robert Service. I missed the connection with Scrooge as a child. Hadn't heard of Robert Service then, but enjoyed the comics.

Of others above mentioned that I enjoy are John Bjeteman, WH Auden, Allen Ginsberg, Elizabeth Bishop, William Carlos Williams and Lewis Carroll. And lots more who I can't bring to mind just now. Mainly I like 20th century poetry most.

#44 poppy

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Posted 04 December 2007 - 01:10 AM

My favorite poem at primary school (I had a warped sense of humour even then) :readingtwo:


Young Ethelred - Author unknown


Young Ethelred was only three
-Or somewhere thereabouts when he
Began to show in divers ways
The early stages of the craze
Of knowing the particulars
Of motor bikes and motor cars.

It started with a little book
To enter numbers which he took,
And though his mother often said
"Now do be careful Ethelred.
Oh dear, oh dear, what should I do
If anything ran over you?"
(Which Ethelred could hardly know
And sometimes crossly told her so)
It didn't check his zeal a bit
But rather seemed to foster it.
Indeed it would astonish you
To hear of all the things he knew;
He'd guess the make and get it right
Of every car that came in sight.
He knew as well its MPG
Its MPH and £sd,
What gears it had, what brakes and what;
In short he knew an awful lot.

Now when a boy thinks day and night
Of motor cars with all his might
He gets affected in the head
And so it was with Ethelred.
He took long drinks from mug and cup
To fill his radiator up.
And went about upon all fours
And usually, to get indoors
He pressed a button then reversed
And went in slowly back most first.
He called himself a Packford Eight
And wore a little number plate
Attached behind with bits of string
He looked just like the real thing.
He drove himself to school and tried
All day to park himself outside.
At which the head became irate
And caned him on his number plate.

And then one day an oily smell
Hung round him and he wasn't well.
"That's odd" he said, "I wonder what
Has caused this rumbling pain I've got?"
No car should get an aching tum
from taking in petroleum".
At that he cranked himself but no
He couldn't get himself to go.
He merely whirred a bit inside
A faint chug-chug, and then he died.

Now as his petrol tank was full,
They labelled him inflammable
And wisely saw to it that he
Was buried safely out at sea.
So if at any time your fish
Should taste a trifle oilyish
You'll know that fish has lately fed
On what remains of Ethelred.

#45 Laramie

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Posted 06 December 2007 - 06:18 PM

my favourite poet is my friend Codie :readingtwo:
i really mean that btw

#46 finrod

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Posted 07 December 2007 - 09:52 PM

My favourite poem is Jabberwocky, but someone's already had that one. Next in line is The Jumblies, by Edward Lear (and I won't have a word said against him!) :readingtwo:



They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
'O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, 'How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
'O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, 'How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, 'If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
[FONT="]And they went to sea in a Sieve[/FONT]

#47 poppy

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Posted 07 December 2007 - 10:26 PM

I love Jabberwocky too, my favorite nonsense poem. Another one of Edward Lear's is The Popple Who Has No Toes


THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES by Edward Lear


I.

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, "Some day you may lose them all;"
He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!"
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink
Lavender water tinged with pink;
For she said, "The World in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"


II.

The Pobble who has no toes,
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe--provided he minds his nose."


III.

The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him,
He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side,--
"He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"


IV.

But before he touched the shore,--
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green Porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!


V.

And nobody ever knew,
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away,
Nobody knew; and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!


VI.

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up
To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
And she made him a feast, at his earnest wish,
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;
And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes."

#48 Spooncat

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Posted 08 December 2007 - 08:41 AM

Philip Larkin - collection of poems entitled "The Whitsun Weddings" :readingtwo:

#49 wrathofkublakhan

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Posted 09 December 2007 - 02:03 AM

Thomas Carew.
1595?1639?
The Unfading Beauty

HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires:
As old Time makes these decay, 5 So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires. 10
Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

#50 poppy

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Posted 28 December 2007 - 01:21 AM

Wild Daisies

Posted Image


by Bub Bridger (Ngati Kahungunu),


If you love me
Bring me flowers
Wild daisies
Clutched in your fist
Like a torch
No orchids or roses
Or carnations
No florist's bow
Just daisies
Steal them
Risk your life for them
Up the sharp hills
In the teeth of the wind
If you love me
Bring me daisies
That I will cram
In a bright vase
And marvel at



#51 poppy

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Posted 18 January 2008 - 01:39 AM

The NZ poet Hone Tuwhare died this week aged 85. I love this poem by him.

Rain
I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain

If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut

And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind

the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground

the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops

But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you

you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain

Hone Tuwhare

#52 shadow

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Posted 08 March 2008 - 05:25 AM

I love the poem 'Hope is the Thing With Feathers' by Emily Dickinson. Its a beautiful poem.


Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

#53 Brandy79

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Posted 14 March 2008 - 08:29 AM

Pablo Neruda

I do not love you-except because i love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
from waiting to not waiting for you
my heart moves from the cold into

the fire. I love you only because it's you
I love; I hate you on end, and hating you
bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
is that i do not see you but love you

blindly. Maybe the January light will consume
my heart with its cruel
ray, stealing my key to true

calm. In this part of the story i am the one who
dies, the only one, and i will die of love because i love you,
because i love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

#54 Janet

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Posted 12 May 2008 - 07:30 PM

Does anyone know of a short poem - or even a few lines from a longer one - that might be appropriate to text to a friend who is feeling very depressed at the moment? Thanks in advance. :mrgreen:

#55 ii

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Posted 13 May 2008 - 09:58 AM

It's not a poem, and I don't know if this is quite what you're looking for, but someone once sent me the following lines when I was feeling down: Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Then again, that's the same friend who wore a shirt with "'Gnome kicking says a lot about a man's character" written on it to a coctail party!

#56 Janet

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Posted 13 May 2008 - 11:13 AM

It's not a poem, and I don't know if this is quite what you're looking for, but someone once sent me the following lines when I was feeling down: Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.

Then again, that's the same friend who wore a shirt with "'Gnome kicking says a lot about a man's character" written on it to a coctail party!

LOL @ the gnome shirt!

Thanks - I think those lines are perfect for one of her 'down' LJ entries. I will save them for future use (which will probably be very soon as she's very down at the moment. Thanks. :smile2:

#57 ~Andrea~

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Posted 13 May 2008 - 11:44 AM

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain.


Ooh I like that one ii.

Janet have you heard of the Desiderata (I think it's anonymous with Max Ehrman credited as recording it)

It's a bit long for a text message but you may get some good quotes from it, especially towards the end.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


#58 Janet

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Posted 13 May 2008 - 11:50 AM

Oh, that is absolutely perfect - thank you so much. I will PM her the following verses, I think. Thanks. :smile2:

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.



#59 ~Andrea~

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Posted 13 May 2008 - 05:02 PM

You're welcome :smile2: I hope it helps your friend.

#60 prospero

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Posted 14 May 2008 - 12:27 AM

Absolutely, without question, beyond all measure, Wilfred Owen.




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