Favourite Poems


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post them :mclap:

mine is:
the storm: part 1 - n.s. willey

Inside here, it’s not so good, it’s a swirl.
And in the head, what was it like for you
With so much nuance, pleasure, perception
And no slack of sentimental leeway?
But the swirl will maintain us. Foxy Brown
Is saying ‘bèbè’ there, and my brother
Is falling to his death through lonely air
And the children enter and leave the house
And the pages float out from the blue shed
And the swirl will get us through, but to what?
I stood at the bar and gradually
Felt the back of my head growing lonely.
I left the bar later uncertainly
Looking out inquisitively falsely
Toward the street.

But I am here now in the longing
Of the memory of everything,
Regretful but undamaged. The light
Goes away along the old canal
In the oily old evening, the rain
Beginning later, invisibly
To start with, restoring
It all to a sort of tattered
Equanimity, a sense of sound
Of something’s everlasting
Unpretentiousness, the rain-sound
Of the park, the strange heraldic
Fountains fading, the benches
Expectant, the floating grey displacement
Of the tennis-courts at dusk.

And this is it. In the evening light
You can come toward me. I am
O.K. now. Do you remember?
We took our personal pronouns
For a walk in the rain.
And it all went so quickly.
I think of long ago,

Childhood, mittens clogged with snow,
The fast red sledge through the dark wood.
I would go back if I could
If it would bring me to these mornings
Where I come across my certainties
Like bright outriders only met
In doomed uprisings of the will
Left scattered on the slopes of sleep.

Out in the park slow shapes of trees
Infer themselves. The morning moves
Across the room. An open book
Is edged awake. The rainy light
Of early evening not-yet-rain
Comes round. Old age, the days float down
Through words toward the substances
Of indeterminate renown
At the sign of the Dog and the Beetle.
Here where the path is turning back
Through mist, improbability
And undeciphered incident,
I turn toward you, crying
In a squall of frozen gorse-bushes
And ask you to go on loving me.

And how will it not matter? Tell me the ways
In which it will not matter, the way of the wind
Among the great herd of absences, the way
Of the curtain drifting. Oh, it will matter.
The grim granite squirting dribbling
Fountain is dry. ‘Those were the days’,
Says the gurgle in the standpipe.
Old insects in their uniforms
Patrol the perimeter.
Shadows flicker, flutter
On the ceiling of an alcove
Like the powdery equipage
Of memory’s discontinuance.
I look for you always in these
Edgy summer evenings.

others are:
you know and i know and thee know - charles bukowski
tonight i can write the saddest lines - pablo neruda
i carry your heart with me - ee cummings
open - martha collins

your turn!
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This was written for me in my leavers book when I graduated high school, it's the only poem I remember cause it just works for me.

Listen to the musn't child
Listen to the dont's
Listen to the shouldn'ts
The impossibles, the wont's
Listen to the never haves
Then listen close to me
Anything can happen child
Anything can be.
The Tobacconist's

I am nothing.
I shall always be nothing.
I can only want to be nothing.
Apart from this, I have in me all the dreams in the world.

-Fernando Pessoa.

Short and sweet!

Softly sweet and wet, licking tenderly the icecream.
Contours to be met, tastes of cherries are fleeing.
Two hard scoops melting under my tongues hard caress.
The body beneath heaves where my icecream pleases
A melting sundae of pleasure, strokes without measure
New tastes exploding, senses eroding;
When the icecream is finally eaten

Delving deeper deeper down
Into a wine that is as red as red
The deepest that I've yet found
Into the merlot i am slowly led
Searching for the supple sound
Of a drink with a soft tread

Deluded into thinking that
I'm becoming one with wine
Transforming a soul into a vat
To merely hold a body is a crime
When faced with Dionysus' trap
I relinquish self for grapes vine

Delving deeper deeper down
For to taste as such as thee again
I would sell the souls of clowns
Let them laugh in the sacred pen'
And I'll drink your drinks and cry
"I'm drinking on the demigods round"

Praise be to pan, to Bacchus
Praise be to the gods of pleasure
Let others live as a moral ass
Let them live with righteous measure
All that nonsense is simply crass
When compared to wine and leisure

- Written by some hedonist in Brisbane.
~ ~ ~

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous form of things:
We murder to dissect. William Wordsworth

~ ~ ~

just found it in the sig of some deviantart member. among the best things i've ever seen
The jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
The jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Enty I love this. I had to recite it in theater, and still have it memorized to this day. *thumbs-up*
Enty I love this. I had to recite it in theater, and still have it memorized to this day. *thumbs-up*

I did too! We used to to a childrens theatre production every year for halloween and we always did the Jabberwocky...we enacted it, we portrayed it...It was so fun making the set...the tum tum tree, the tulgy wood...we all got to paint a peice of the set...some of my fondest memories!

by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903

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.