Favorite poem?
Replies
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Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”2 -
CoffeeAndContour wrote: »
I had never read it but I love this one! Thanks for sharing, @CoffeeAndContour !1 -
Title- Dear babycarrot
Babycarrot
Small
Ugly
Lives in the shadow of the carrot
Babycarrot.
0 -
"There once was a man who lived in Leeds
Who filled his garden full of seeds
And when the seeds begin to grow
it was like a garden full of snow
and when the snow begin to melt it was like a ship without a belt
and when the ship began to sail
it was like a bird without a tail
and when the bird begin to fly
it was like an eagle in the sky
and when the sky began to Roar
it was like a lion at his door
and when the door began to crack
it was like a pin knife in his back
and when his back began to bleed
he was dead dead dead indeed"
" did you ever think as the hearse goes by
that you may be the next to die
they wrap you up in a big white sheet
from your head down to your feet
they put you in a big black box
and cover you up with dirt and rocks
all goes well for about a week
and then your coffin begins to leak
the worms crawl in
the worms crawl out
the worms play pinochle on your snout
your stomach turns a slimy green
and pus pours out like whipping cream
you spread it on a slice of bread
and that's what you eat when you are dead"1 -
God Speak To Me
Author Unknown
The man whispered,
"God, speak to me"
and a meadowlark sang.
But, the man did not hear.
So the man yelled,
"God, speak to me"
and the thunder rolled across the sky.
But, the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said,
"God let me see you."
And a star shined brightly.
But, the man did not see.
And the man Shouted,
"God show me a miracle."
And, a life was born.
But, the man did not notice.
So, the man cried out in despair,
"Touch me God, and let me know you are here."
Whereupon, God reached down and touched the man.
But, the man brushed the butterfly away ...
and walked on.2 -
Richard Cory
Edwin Arlington Robinson 1897
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.2 -
CoffeeAndContour wrote: »
I saw Bill Parcels recite this poem as his favorite on a football life. He's in the NFL hall of fame. A great coach and probably my favorite0 -
peppermintpudgy wrote: »
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run
Chapeau!
0 -
.
0 -
Tittle: Dear babycarrot
Babycarrot
Small
Ugly
Lives in the shadow of the carrot
Babycarrot.0 -
Sonnets from the Portuguese 14 - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
0 -
The Ways of the Wicked are always the easiest
Moving like a swift plague killing the weakest
Like being hung out to dry the noose tightens and dreams die
Strength fades while strung out even hardened hands shake, men lie
Sold to the lowest bidder flesh becomes the business
Starved of life, bars of steel four walls is the finish
Greatest dreams lost in a moment of wickedness
There's no dish so delicious, even sex cant mess with this
Diving deep in that dark pool is so sweet is so cool
The farther you go the pleasure increased but you are the fool
One day you will again turn toward the brightness above
But the stains of your sins cling to your soul like a glove
0 -
The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz-he dead
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer-
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.1 -
lessismoreohio wrote: »Richard Cory
Edwin Arlington Robinson 1897
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Whenever I read Richard Cory, it always reminds me of We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar. I feel like they complement each other well:
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!0 -
Valetine by Carol Ann Duffy
Not a red rose or a satin heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.
Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.
I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.
Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.0 -
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