John Donne's A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning
I think its just so cool how he relates love to an inaminate object.
I think its just so cool how he relates love to an inaminate object.
What is YOUR favorite poem and WHY?
- Thread starter ReMb
- Start date
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
Why? I like the intro (lines from Dante's Inferno) and the rest of the poem is flighty, IMHO.
I also like John Keats' Ode to Autumn.
Season of mists and mellow-fruitfulness! / Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun...
Why? I like the intro (lines from Dante's Inferno) and the rest of the poem is flighty, IMHO.
I also like John Keats' Ode to Autumn.
Season of mists and mellow-fruitfulness! / Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun...
mugs
Lifer
- Apr 29, 2003
- 48,920
- 46
- 91
The Charge Of The Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
at this very moment, i have really re-found the wonders that are Shel Silverstein. Some of his poems are silly, but others are so heart felt and beautifully written.
cKGunslinger
Lifer
- Nov 29, 1999
- 16,408
- 57
- 91
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-- Robert Frost
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-- Robert Frost
that one in that guys sig the - A poem for you, omg hl2 , wtf bbq .
HAHAH thats so funny i give source to him.
HAHAH thats so funny i give source to him.
Hickory Dickory Dock
This mouse ran up my c...
Little Miss Muffit sat on her tuffit
Eating her curds and whey
When along came a spider
who sat down beside her
"What's in the bowl, b!tch?"
This mouse ran up my c...
Little Miss Muffit sat on her tuffit
Eating her curds and whey
When along came a spider
who sat down beside her
"What's in the bowl, b!tch?"
crt1530
Diamond Member
- Apr 15, 2001
- 3,194
- 0
- 0
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.
The Road not Taken
Robert Frost
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.
The Road not Taken
Robert Frost
SacrosanctFiend
Diamond Member
- Oct 2, 2004
- 4,269
- 0
- 0
I like Jabberwocky. How a poem with so many nonsense words, can still make sense is impressive.
I have to also include The man from Snowy River., every time I hear it reminds me of home. </sheds homesick tear>
Oh and I like the Raven.
I have to also include The man from Snowy River., every time I hear it reminds me of home. </sheds homesick tear>
Oh and I like the Raven.
"angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night" <--- blatant Hackers movie ripoff :Q
I'm a little teapot short and stout, this is my handle and this is my spout, well it's not going to suck itself.
someone i know posted this in their journal (they didnt write it though) and i really like it.
The Importance of Having Lists
-By Shane Koyczan
I?ve got lists of things to do,
lists of things not to,
lists of things I?ve done for you.
I have snatched halos from the heads of angels,
hurled them like hula-hoops around the hips of Saturn
as the herald angel holds his harp
homing in on the harmonies
of a black hole blowing the blues
through a hundred harmonicas
that are hitting the high notes as we hold each others hands
and hang from the heights of our hearts
who have heard how the heavens
play out our song
verse after perfect verse after perfect verse after perfect verse
we didn?t even have to hear the heavens rehearse,
and all of that was on my list.
Except for the harmonicas.
But they turned out fine.
And I dream of the time
when my hands become kingdoms,
my fingers become lords
and I can tap out Beethoven?s Ode to Joy
on your vocal chords.
I?ll be speaking in rhythm,
moving in rhyme,
I?ll be Father Time
going down on Mother Nature
to get a first-hand account of the Big Bang Theory.
Pushing your belly button to
launch all of the I love you?s
I?m thinking right now out into orbit,
because there isn?t room enough
for all of them here on Earth,
and for what it?s worth:
I have thrown comets
to crack open the shells of crab nebulas,
churned the milky way for butter
and added sauce to the dry meat of existence.
I did that for you.
Because that was on my list.
I have hired army ants
that were willing to give up war
just so they could build you mansions
out of fallen leaves,
and I?ve got a million more ways to say I love you
hidden up my sleeves.
They?re all on my list.
...It?s a really long list
made up of ways
to tell you that you are beautiful;
your hair tells the wind how to hold it,
God would offer you his soul
if He hadn?t already sold it for
the blueprint of your smile,
the perfect architecture of your body,
with curves more beautiful than a figure eight
I could lay you down on your side
and discover the symbol for infinity;
the recipe for eternity.
I have seen fantasy making out with reality
possibility going down on opportunity,
all of that happening at the crossroads
of common sense and circumstance
while fortune, fate, luck, and chance
sit on the curb curling up like question marks
resembling all the queries I can?t quite recall.
Why is asking where when all of this started,
when is asking what why I couldn?t see this sooner,
what is wondering why who is touching who,
and how is asking who what it is I?m supposed to remember.
I?ll figure it out later.
It?s on my list.
And I don?t mean to suggest
I?m going to love you the best.
I don?t mean to turn everything I?ll do wrong
into song
because my life is a lot like this poem.
...I?m making most of it up as I go along.
And I?m happy with the way things are today
but I don?t have a crystal ball,
so as for the future? Tomorrow? I can?t really say.
Sometimes I turn around
to look at my footprints
to make sure I?ve got a yesterday.
But believe me when I tell you
I want my hands to map out the landscape
of your thighs
and discover the geography of your beauty
like a pair of archeologists
digging past the doubts
unearthing tombs
where the secrets
are whispering secrets to one another
until all the skeletons in our closets
come out to dance with one another
and all the mistakes we make
and the questions we weighed
about what this is or isn?t begin to fade
as we approach the speed of light and lose sight
of what?s wrong and what?s right
until all that remains is the moment
and the moment becomes infinite
and everything discovered outside it
is also discovered within it
we?ll move at a million hours a mile just to
stop.
...now hold that thought a while.
My heart has just enough strength
to bend open the bars on my ribcage
and tumble out towards you
looking like the answer
to an unasked question
...You can?t have everything on your list.
And that?s okay,
because you weren?t on any of mine.
You were the *reason* I wrote them.
And like those harmonicas that works out fine
because there?s going to come a time
when language fails
and I?ll have to throw all those lists away,
put down my pen,
and love you a list
of all the things
I don?t even know how to say.
The Importance of Having Lists
-By Shane Koyczan
I?ve got lists of things to do,
lists of things not to,
lists of things I?ve done for you.
I have snatched halos from the heads of angels,
hurled them like hula-hoops around the hips of Saturn
as the herald angel holds his harp
homing in on the harmonies
of a black hole blowing the blues
through a hundred harmonicas
that are hitting the high notes as we hold each others hands
and hang from the heights of our hearts
who have heard how the heavens
play out our song
verse after perfect verse after perfect verse after perfect verse
we didn?t even have to hear the heavens rehearse,
and all of that was on my list.
Except for the harmonicas.
But they turned out fine.
And I dream of the time
when my hands become kingdoms,
my fingers become lords
and I can tap out Beethoven?s Ode to Joy
on your vocal chords.
I?ll be speaking in rhythm,
moving in rhyme,
I?ll be Father Time
going down on Mother Nature
to get a first-hand account of the Big Bang Theory.
Pushing your belly button to
launch all of the I love you?s
I?m thinking right now out into orbit,
because there isn?t room enough
for all of them here on Earth,
and for what it?s worth:
I have thrown comets
to crack open the shells of crab nebulas,
churned the milky way for butter
and added sauce to the dry meat of existence.
I did that for you.
Because that was on my list.
I have hired army ants
that were willing to give up war
just so they could build you mansions
out of fallen leaves,
and I?ve got a million more ways to say I love you
hidden up my sleeves.
They?re all on my list.
...It?s a really long list
made up of ways
to tell you that you are beautiful;
your hair tells the wind how to hold it,
God would offer you his soul
if He hadn?t already sold it for
the blueprint of your smile,
the perfect architecture of your body,
with curves more beautiful than a figure eight
I could lay you down on your side
and discover the symbol for infinity;
the recipe for eternity.
I have seen fantasy making out with reality
possibility going down on opportunity,
all of that happening at the crossroads
of common sense and circumstance
while fortune, fate, luck, and chance
sit on the curb curling up like question marks
resembling all the queries I can?t quite recall.
Why is asking where when all of this started,
when is asking what why I couldn?t see this sooner,
what is wondering why who is touching who,
and how is asking who what it is I?m supposed to remember.
I?ll figure it out later.
It?s on my list.
And I don?t mean to suggest
I?m going to love you the best.
I don?t mean to turn everything I?ll do wrong
into song
because my life is a lot like this poem.
...I?m making most of it up as I go along.
And I?m happy with the way things are today
but I don?t have a crystal ball,
so as for the future? Tomorrow? I can?t really say.
Sometimes I turn around
to look at my footprints
to make sure I?ve got a yesterday.
But believe me when I tell you
I want my hands to map out the landscape
of your thighs
and discover the geography of your beauty
like a pair of archeologists
digging past the doubts
unearthing tombs
where the secrets
are whispering secrets to one another
until all the skeletons in our closets
come out to dance with one another
and all the mistakes we make
and the questions we weighed
about what this is or isn?t begin to fade
as we approach the speed of light and lose sight
of what?s wrong and what?s right
until all that remains is the moment
and the moment becomes infinite
and everything discovered outside it
is also discovered within it
we?ll move at a million hours a mile just to
stop.
...now hold that thought a while.
My heart has just enough strength
to bend open the bars on my ribcage
and tumble out towards you
looking like the answer
to an unasked question
...You can?t have everything on your list.
And that?s okay,
because you weren?t on any of mine.
You were the *reason* I wrote them.
And like those harmonicas that works out fine
because there?s going to come a time
when language fails
and I?ll have to throw all those lists away,
put down my pen,
and love you a list
of all the things
I don?t even know how to say.
I've always liked the poem Maya Angelou delivered on Inauguration Day, 1993.
Here's a copy of it.
http://www.ssc.wisc.edu/~olive...ectures220/Angelou.htm
Here's a copy of it.
http://www.ssc.wisc.edu/~olive...ectures220/Angelou.htm
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