Favorite poems

[metallicafan18]

What are your all's favorite poem. I have to bring in my favorite next week for school, and I'm clueless. Give me some ideas. I know Major Metal has to have some good ones

Do you guys consider Tony Levin's "The Curse of the Bass Player" a poem? If it is I'm so bringing it in.

Thanks in advance!

[username n/a]

Bring in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that will be fun.

[metallicafan18]

Originally Posted by username n/a

Bring in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that will be fun.

lol, something not as long would be nice.

[Ben Lesser]

Originally Posted by username n/a

Bring in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that will be fun.

Uuuugh. Coleridge kills me. I know he's an important poet, etc., etc. but he should have spent a little more time off the opium, imo.

Personally, I am a huge fan of T. S. Eliot and Conrad Aiken. Here's a short poem (actually a piece of a larger work) by the latter:

"Evening Song of Senlin"

It is moonlight. Alone in the silence
I ascend my stairs once more,
While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight,
Crash on a white sand shore.
It is moonlight. The garden is silent.
I stand in my room alone.
Across my wall, from the far-off moon,
A rain of fire is thrown . . .

There are houses hanging above the stars,
And stars hung under a sea:
And a wind from the long blue vault of time
Waves my curtain for me . . .

I wait in the dark once more,
Swung between space and space:
Before my mirror I lift my hands
And face my remembered face.

Is it I who stand in a question here,
Asking to know my name? . . .
It is I, yet I know not whither I go,
Nor why, nor whence I came.

It is I, who awoke at dawn
And arose and descended the stair,
Conceiving a god in the eye of the sun,
In a woman's hands and hair.
It is I whose flesh is gray with the stones
I builded into a wall:
With a mournful melody in my brain
Of a tune I cannot recall . . .

There are roses to kiss: and mouths to kiss;
And the sharp-pained shadow of death.
I remember a rain-drop on my cheek,
A wind like a fragrant breath . . .
And the star I laugh on tilts through heaven;
And the heavens are dark and steep . . .
I will forget these things once more
In the silence of sleep.

Conrad Aiken

[username n/a]

The Charge of the Light Brigade

http://www.ram.org/contrib/the_charg...t_brigade.html

[the_fonz]

i am quite partial to Lovecraft's epic masterpiece "Fungi From Yuggoth"
pretty sweet

[kevteop]

You want some Spike Milligan or John Hegley. Here's a bit of John Hegley:

Very Bad Dog

I took Rover over to the park the other day
I met another bloke with another dog on the way
his dog was an alsation
my dog was not
he said is that dog an alsation
I said no
and he said why don't you get a proper dog?
and I said Rover
ignore this copper
and I pick up a stick
and I hold it over Rover
and say Rover jump out of the clover
and get stuck into the stick
and Rover jumps out of the clover
and bites me in the arm
ALARM ALARM
my dog my dog why hast thou mistaken me?
I am not calm
my dog has done me harm
in my arm
I show him the toothmarks
see Rover where the skin is mauver
Rover sees these nasty marks
he barks
and he begs
for forgiveness
yet I know I must break his legs

[username n/a]

+1 for John Hegley

An Owner's Complaint

I've got a dog that's more
like a carrot than a dog.
It's hairy,
but only very slightly.
It's got no personality
to speak of,
no bark to bark of,
no head
no legs
no tail
and it's all
orange
and
crunchy

[kobass]

"The Man From Nantucket"


bah, limmerick-nevermind.

[santucci218]

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[jonathan_matos5]

The Road Not Taken


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

[santucci218]

good ol frost, thank you jon

[jonathan_matos5]

Originally Posted by santucci218

good ol frost, thank you jon

no problem. although pending on my mood my favorite poem is either that or the raven by Edgar Allen Poe.

[Eric Perry]

Dog's Death - John Updike

She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car.
Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn
To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor
And to win, wetting there, the words, "Good dog!
Good dog!"

We thought her shy malaise was a shot reaction.
The autopsy disclosed a rupture in her liver.
As we teased her with play, blood was filling her skin
And her heart was learning to lie down forever.

Monday morning, as the children were noisily fed
And sent to school, she crawled beneath the youngest's bed.
We found her twisted and limp but still alive.
In the car to the vet's, on my lap, she tried

To bite my hand and died. I stroked her warm fur
And my wife called in a voice imperious with tears.
Though surrounded by love that would have upheld her,
Nevertheless she sank and, stiffening, disappeared.

Back home, we found that in the night her frame,
Drawing near to dissolution, had endured the shame
Of diarrhoea and had dragged across the floor
To a newspaper carelessly left there. Good dog.



I remember, in Undergrad, reading that and getting teary eyed.

[santucci218]

Originally Posted by jonathan_matos5

no problem. although pending on my mood my favorite poem is either that or the raven by Edgar Allen Poe.

you have a great taste in poetry friend. im a huge fan of frost, poe, dickenson, and a few others that really make me think about things.

[jonathan_matos5]

Originally Posted by santucci218

you have a great taste in poetry friend. im a huge fan of frost, poe, dickenson, and a few others that really make me think about things.

what is crazy about a lot of Poe's poems is if you read them from the right point of view they are love poems.

[theshadow2001]

The Forge

All I know is a door into the dark.
Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;
Inside, the hammered anvil's short-pitched ring,
The unpredictable fantail of sparks
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water.
The anvil must be somewhere in the centre,
Horned as a unicorn, at one end square,
Set there immoveable: an altar
Where he expends himself in shape and music.
Sometimes, leather-aproned, hairs in his nose,
He leans out on the jamb, recalls a clatter
Of hoofs where traffic is flashing in rows;
Then grunts and goes in, with a slam and a flick
To beat real iron out, to work the bellows.

Seamus Heaney

Great poem lots of imagery and nice and short to boot

[Jereth]

Originally Posted by theshadow2001

The Forge

All I know is a door into the dark.
Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;
Inside, the hammered anvil's short-pitched ring,
The unpredictable fantail of sparks
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water.
The anvil must be somewhere in the centre,
Horned as a unicorn, at one end square,
Set there immoveable: an altar
Where he expends himself in shape and music.
Sometimes, leather-aproned, hairs in his nose,
He leans out on the jamb, recalls a clatter
Of hoofs where traffic is flashing in rows;
Then grunts and goes in, with a slam and a flick
To beat real iron out, to work the bellows.

Seamus Heaney

Great poem lots of imagery and nice and short to boot

Excellent choice man. I don't even like poetry much but Heany's is very good...

Also 'The Raven'. As I said, I don't like poetry much, but that poem scares the be-jwango's outta me!

[Pilgrim]

I don't think there was a more interesting poet in the English language than Kipling. His stuff captures times and places that no longer exist. Furthermore, he often wrote in a dialect that captured the flavor of the time.

Think about the current situation in Afghanistan, then consider whether anything has really changed vs. the last stanzas of The Young British Soldier, in which you get a picture of how harsh and short life could be as a soldier before the turn of the 20th century:

http://www.io.com/tog/extra/kipybs.html
The Young British Soldier
Rudyard Kipling

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.

Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier OF the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.

Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .


First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.

Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
A' it crumples the young British soldier.

Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.

Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.

Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.

'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.

Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.

Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.

Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.

Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.

Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.

Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

Two of my other Kipling favorites:

The Ballad of East and West
http://www.online-literature.com/kipling/847/

Gunga Din (one of the most-quoted poems, and the basis of a very good 1939 movie with a young Cary Grant, Victor McLaglen and Douglas Fairbanks Jr.)
http://www.lockstockandbarrel.org/Po...gunga_din.html

And there's real power in the refrain of Mandalay:
"An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!"
http://www.everypoet.com/Archive/poe...g_mandalay.htm

[HEIST]

I don't like poetry and poems. But I do love Tyger Tyger by William Blake:

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?