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  #101  
Old 20.07.2010, 13:43
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

No Mcgonagall here...
Was just prompted to reread his Tay bridge stuff. Priceless and for those who dont know him I suggest you take a look
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  #102  
Old 20.07.2010, 14:05
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Dusting by Marilyn Nelson
Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.
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  #103  
Old 20.07.2010, 14:26
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Sad poem (I think it is also a song) not sure who it's by I have had it in an email for a while.
Quite like the way the frailty is described.

Lemon Haired Ladies


whatever you give me
i'll take as it comes
discarding self-pity
i'll manage with crumbs
i'll settle for moments
i won't ask for life
i'll not expect labels
like lover or wife
if showing affection
embarrasses you
i will not depend
and i will not pursue
for you are

younger than i

younger than i

younger than i

and i am

wiser than you


the one a.m. phone calls
you're here then you're gone
come when you need me
i won't carry on
i'll simply accept you
the way that you are
unsure and unstructured
my door is ajar
those lemon haired ladies
of twenty or so
of course you must see them
just don't let me know
don't let me know
whatever you do
for you are

younger than i

younger than i

younger than i

and i am

weaker than you



i'll give you a year
maybe two
maybe three
then what will happen?
where will i be?
you'll still be a boy
but what about me?
what about me?
what about me?
why must you treat me
with so little care
i've so much inside me
i'm aching to share
why am i constant
to someone like you?
children don't know
the meaning of "true"
those lemon haired ladies
why must you seem them?
all that i want in your eyes
is to be them
time is on their side
that's all i lack
i wish you would just
go away

no

come back

come back

go away

come back

go away


what in hell can i do?
i'm supposed to be wise
for i am

older than you

older than you

you so self-centered
the games that you play
do as you please
you will anyway
of course you will see them
no use to pretend
for they are

younger than i

younger than i

those lemon haired ladies
and they will
win in the end.
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  #104  
Old 20.07.2010, 14:31
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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Lemon Haired Ladies[/B]
Ah, you can't beat a song writer for forced rhyme

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  #105  
Old 22.07.2010, 17:48
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

London bridge is falling down,.eia eia o,....
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  #106  
Old 22.07.2010, 19:23
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

That read to me as wholly pornographic and I'm sure it wasn't intended that way at all, I guess Freud might have been onto something afterall.
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Dusting by Marilyn Nelson
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  #107  
Old 22.07.2010, 19:35
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Failures in Infinitives

why am i doing this? Failure
to keep my work in order so as
to be able to find things
to paint the house
to earn enough money to live on
to reorganize the house so as
to be able to paint the house &
to be able to find things and
earn enough money so as
to be able to put books together
to publish works and books
to have time
to answer mail & phone calls
to wash the windows
to make the kitchen better to work in
to have the money to buy a simple radio
to listen to while working in the kitchen
to know enough to do grownups work in the world
to transcend my attitude
to an enforced poverty
to be able to expect my checks
to arrive on time in the mail
to not always expect that they will not
to forget my mother's attitudes on humility or
to continue
to assume them without suffering
to forget how my mother taunted my father
about money, my sister about i cant say it
failure to forget mother and father enough
to be older, to forget them
to forget my obsessive uncle
to remember them some other way
to remember their bigotry accurately
to cease to dream about lions which always is
to dream about them, I put my hand in the lion's mouth
to assuage its anger, this is not a failure
to notice that's how they were; failure
to repot the plants
to be neat
to create & maintain clear surfaces
to let a couch or a chair be a place for sitting down
and not a table
to let a table be a place for eating & not a desk
to listen to more popular music
to learn the lyrics
to not need money so as
to be able to write all the time
to not have to pay rent, con ed or telephone bills
to forget parents' and uncle's early deaths so as
to be free of expecting care; failure
to love objects
to find them valuable in any way; failure
to preserve objects
to buy them and
to now let them fall by the wayside; failure
to think of poems as objects
to think of the body as an object; failure
to believe; failure
to know nothing; failure
to know everything; failure
to remember how to spell failure; failure
to believe the dictionary & that there is anything
to teach; failure
to teach properly; failure
to believe in teaching
to just think that everybody knows everything
which is not my failure; I know everyone does; failure
to see not everyone believes this knowing and
to think we cannot last till the success of knowing
to wash all the dishes only takes ten minutes
to write a thousand poems in an hour
to do an epic, open the unwashed window
to let in you know who and
to spirit thoughts and poems away from concerns
to just let us know, we will
to paint your ceilings & walls for free


Bernadette Mayer
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  #108  
Old 23.07.2010, 14:16
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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That read to me as wholly pornographic and I'm sure it wasn't intended that way at all, I guess Freud might have been onto something afterall.
Huh, really?

You're not a fungus by any chance are you? But then again, not sure if asexual reproduction can count as pornographic...

Here's another for you then (sorry, it's a long one)...
Sun
Write this. We have burned all their villages

Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them

Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of
dress

Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears
or an X

In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at
jokes, secrets beyond the boundaries of speech

I now turn to my use of suffixes and punctuation, closing Mr.
Circle with a single stroke, tearing the canvas from its wall, joined
to her, experiencing the same thoughts at the same moment,
inscribing them on a loquat leaf

Write this. We have begun to have bodies, a now here and a now
gone, a past long ago and one still to come

Let go of me for I have died and am in a novel and was a lyric poet,
certainly, who attracted crowds to mountaintops. For a nickel I will
appear from this box. For a dollar I will have text with you and
answer three questions
First question. We entered the forest, followed its winding paths,
and emerged blind

Second question. My townhouse, of the Jugendstil, lies by
Darmstadt

Third question. He knows he will wake from this dream,
conducted in the mother-tongue

Third question. He knows his breathing organs are manipulated by
God, so that he is compelled to scream

Third question. I will converse with no one on those days of the
week which end in y

Write this. There is pleasure and pain and there are marks and
signs. A word may be shaped like a fig or a pig, an effigy or an egg
but there is only time for fasting and desire, device and
design, there is only time to swerve without limbs, organs or face
into a
scientific silence, pinhole of light

Say this. I was born on an island among the dead. I learned
language on this island but did not speak on this island. I am
writing to you from this island. I am writing to the dancers from
this island. The writers do not dance on this island
Say this. There is a sentence in my mouth, there is a chariot in my
mouth. There is a ladder. There is a lamp whose light fills empty
space and a space which swallows light

A word is beside itself. Here the poem is called What Speaking
Means to Say
though I have no memory of my name

Here the poem is called Theory of the Real, its name is Let's Call
This, and its name is called A Wooden Stick. It goes yes-yes, no-
no. It goes one and one

I have been writing a book, not in my native language, about
violins and smoke, lines and dots, free to speak and become the
things we speak, pages which sit up, look around and row
resolutely toward the setting sun

Pages torn from their spines and added to the pyre, so that they
will resemble thought

Pages which accept no ink

Pages we've never seen-first called Narrow Street, then Half a
Fragment, Plain of Jars or Plain of Reeds, taking each syllable in
her mouth, shifting position and passing it to him
Let me say this. Neak Luong is a blur. It is Tuesday in the
hardwood forest. I am a visitor here, with a notebook

The notebook lists My New Words and Flag above White. It
claims to have no inside
only characters like A-against-Herself, B,
C, L and N, Sam, Hans Magnus, T. Sphere, all speaking in the
dark with their hands

G for Gramsci or Goebbels, blue hills, cities,
cities with hills, modern and at the edge of time

F for
alphabet, Z for A, an H in an arbor, shadow, silent wreckage, W or
M among stars

What last. Lapwing. Tesseract. X perhaps for X. The villages are
known as These Letters -- humid, sunless. The writing occus on
their walls
Copyright © 1987 Michael Palmer
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  #109  
Old 23.07.2010, 19:47
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

I'm afraid it was the first verse that sent me off on that wild tack and tainted my perception for the rest of the poem, sorry 'bout that

"Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things".

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Huh, really?

You're not a fungus by any chance are you? But then again, not sure if asexual reproduction can count as pornographic...
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  #110  
Old 30.07.2010, 00:39
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Re: Your Favourite Poems



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.


--Robert Frost
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  #111  
Old 30.07.2010, 01:48
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

The very best I ever heard it read out loud was by Ron Pearlman, playing Vincent in "Beauty and the Beast".


XXIX

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Mr Shakespeare,,, words to stir the soul.
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  #112  
Old 30.07.2010, 03:49
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Here's an excerpt from a poem by Robert Hass, a wonderful poet based in California. [http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/194]


TIME AND MATERIALS


To make layers,
As if they were a steadiness of days:

It snowed; I did errands at a desk;
A white flurry out the window thickening; my tongue
Tasted of the glue on envelopes.

On this day sunlight on red brick, bare trees,
Nothing stirring in the icy air.

On this day a blur of color moving at the gym
Where the heat from bodies
Meets the watery, cold surface of the glass.

Made love, made curry, talked on the phone
To friends, the one whose brother died
Was crying and thinking alternately,
Like someone falling down and getting up
And running and falling and getting up.

...


I love this thread; so glad to see poetry on the forum! Any poets out there?
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  #113  
Old 30.07.2010, 08:50
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Ohhhhh!!! great to have found this. I used to write, but now I just enjoy reading poetry. Someone once said that one of the things you should have on your bucket list is to memorize your favorite poem by heart. This is my favorite one, but I haven't managed yet because it's alittle long...

I feel it's about anticipation or waiting for someone/ something ...

Between-Living

When we love a wanderer,
We wait for footsteps
That may, or may not, come:
First the hours-the days-
Then-years. Then, never.
Yet always we do know
Whereof we wait:
The creaking gate
The scraping on the steps
And at the door the level gaze;
For these we wait to know
The roving one is home.

We boast of a green thumb
And coax the stems to bloom:
Hibiscus, santan, the wholesome
Cabbage rose; and make ambitious room
For gardenias, irises, and orchids,
(Taking time to scour the aphids)
And maybe, soon or late
The flowers show;
But always we do know
Whereof we wait:
The nectar and the odors,
And the windblown blazing colors.

So it's the space between
The wishing and the end
That is the true unknown;
The massive world's timekeeping
And our own agile flow
Never to blend.

And thus we care,
And thus we live
Not for the end
(Since that is not unknown),
It is the wait, creative
Life and love in full;
Unfinished, uncertain, unknown,
Yet mocking the known end
That comes sooner,
Later, or not at all.

It's from a local writer from my country...Edith Tiempo. Another one from an international writer I also enjoyed is one from Seamus Heaney.

The Rain Stick

Up-end the stick and what happens next
Is a music that you never would have known
To listen for. In a cactus stalk


Downpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwash
Come flowing through. You stand there like a pipe
Being played by water, you shake it again lightly


And diminuendo runs through all its scales
Like a gutter stopping trickling. And now here comes
A sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves,


Then subtle little wets off grass and daisies;
The glitter-drizzle, almost-breaths of air.
Up-end the stick again. What happens next


Is undiminished for having happened once,
Twice, ten, and thousand times before.
Who cares if all the music that transpires


Is the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus?
You are like a rich man entering heaven
Through the ear of a raindrop. Listen now again.


Even if they were quite common in my country, I hadn't seen a rainstick when I read this...and yet it already meant something. Then once I got my own rainstick, this poem gained another level of meaning.
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  #114  
Old 30.07.2010, 09:16
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

And I never used to like poetry read aloud until I got the CD of Il Postino which had translated poems of Pablo Neruda.

Here's the one that I liked the most from that collection. Found it again on youtube for closing your eyes to:





and the transcript (minus the background music unfortunately )
Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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  #115  
Old 30.07.2010, 10:16
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

PlantHead,
Thank you for starting another great thread. Whilst some of the poems are new, others bring back scary school memories, but it is the third category containing personal favourites that mean the most to me. You opened with IF and The Road Not Taken, which I had printed and laminated on a small piece of paper to keep in my daysack when I was travelling as small reminders of home.

Thank you for some great choices.

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IF - Rudyard Kipling
*****

The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost
The Pilgrims
We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond the last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.


The Golden Journey To Samarkand
We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage
And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die,
We Poets of the proud old lineage
Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, -

What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales
Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest,
Where nevermore the rose of sunset pales,
And winds and shadows fall towards the West:

And there the world's first huge white-bearded kings
In dim glades sleeping, murmur in their sleep,
And closer round their breasts the ivy clings,
Cutting its pathway slow and red and deep.


And how beguile you? Death has no repose
Warmer and deeper than the Orient sand
Which hides the beauty and bright faith of those
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

And now they wait and whiten peaceably,
Those conquerors, those poets, those so fair:
They know time comes, not only you and I,
But the whole world shall whiten, here or there;

When those long caravans that cross the plain
With dauntless feet and sound of silver bells
Put forth no more for glory or for gain,
Take no more solace from the palm-girt wells.

When the great markets by the sea shut fast
All that calm Sunday that goes on and on:
When even lovers find their peace at last,
And Earth is but a star, that once had shone.

(James Elroy Flecker)


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  #116  
Old 05.08.2010, 21:51
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Three poems, all from Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935) from his three most read heteronyms:

I am nothing.I will never be anything.I cannot wish to be anything.Bar that, I have in me all the dreams of the world.
Álvaro de Campos: "The Tobacco Shop" (Tabacaria)


As long as I feel the fresh breeze in my hair
And see the sun shining strong on the leaves,

I will not ask for more.

What better thing could destiny grant me?

Other than the sensual passing of life in moments

Of ignorance such as this one?

Ricardo Reis


I have no ambitions nor desires.To be a poet is not my ambition,It's simply my way of being alone. Alberto Caeiro: "The Keeper of Herds"
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Was it worth? Everything is worth, If the soul is not small. Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935)
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  #117  
Old 05.08.2010, 22:00
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

INVICTUS by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
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  #118  
Old 05.08.2010, 22:18
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

I'm love the poetry of ee cummings. Wouldn't do to post it here, however. It gets a little...racy...at times.

If you're not familiar with it, do a search for "I like my body when it is with your". Fairly gets the heart rate going.
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  #119  
Old 06.08.2010, 00:23
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

A long time favourite of mine, applicable any and everywhere.

To Anybody At All

Margaret Tait
Scottish


I didn't want you cozy and neat and limited.

I didn't want you to be understandable, Understood.

I wanted you to stay mad and limitless,

Neither bound to me nor bound to anyone else's or

your own preconceived idea of yourself.

1918- 1999
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  #120  
Old 06.08.2010, 00:51
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Since it's late at night, here is one of my favourite Australian poets, Kenneth Slessor.

(After I got through the trauma of HSC 2 Unit English, I actually realised how amazing Slessor is - apologies in advance to any other Aussies have traumatic HSC flashbacks as a result of reading Slessor again.)


SLEEP

Do you give yourself to me utterly,
Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh
Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly,
But as a child might, with no other wish?
Yes, utterly.

Then I shall bear you down my estuary,
Carry you and ferry you to burial mysteriously,
Take you and receive you,
Consume you, engulf you,
In the huge cave, my belly, lave you
With huger waves continually.
And you shall cling and clamber there
And slumber there, in that dumb chamber,
Beat with my blood's beat, hear my heart move
Blindly in bones that ride above you,
Delve in my flesh, dissolved and bedded,
Through viewless valves embodied so –

Till daylight, the expulsion and awakening,
The riving and the driving forth,
Life with remorseless forceps beckoning –
Pangs and betrayal of harsh birth
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