What is your favorite poem? Here is mine

HappyGuy

Thou hast made me endless,
such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,
and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy
and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

lepermessiah

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
In the immortal words of Rodney Dangerfield from "Back to School" - what does that poem mean? "It means I dont take $hit from anyone!"

designs

'I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of imagination- what the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth-

Keats

Heaven

The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

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.

compound complex

Not in Vain

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain:

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

Emily Dickinson

snowbird

The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes


I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

poopsiecakes

Hello All,

I figured this is as good a thread as any for my first post...

I love this poem - reading it helps get rid of the 'poor me's and not take things too seriously.

How Did You Die?
by Edmund Vance Cooke

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there--that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight--and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

snowbird

Welcome, PoopsieCakes!

I love your poem choice!

Sylvia

arwen

How did you live your dash?

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years. (1934 -1998)

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars...the house...the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard...
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile...
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

LucyA

WALL OF LOVE

Seven years ago the three men came.

They came with their ties and their pressed suits.

They came with their little black books with the gold edges and with silk ribbons to mark their favourite parts.

The ribbons marked the rules the men found in the books.

Seven years ago the Christian men arrived.

Their lips read the letters and words from the little books and their eyes showed nothing.

The eyes kept silent to leave room for the message from the lips.

The eyes dared not connect, for then the lips might tremble and be unable to read the words of the rules.

Seven years ago the men opened their books.

The books decreed that a wall must be built.

The lips said it must be made as strong as steel.

The lips said the wall was the will of the book, and must be built.

Seven years ago the men adjusted their ties and kept on moving their lips.

The little books said to build the wall, not from stone or of wood, but of love.

"The wall is for your own good, for protection," the lips told us.

The wall would keep part of my family safe on the inside, and keep the other part out.

Seven years ago the three men left.

They took their ties and their books and their lips and went away.

But they left their rules behind, and they left their love to be the bricks in our family's wall.

For the love in our family was not strong enough to build such a wall unaided.

Seven years ago I last saw the neatly-dressed men.

These men have great power in their ties, in their books, and in their lips. Their magic is strong.

When they ordered the wall to be built they did not have to return to enforce the decision of their lips and pages.

The wall was built by us, the ones who would be protected by it, as the three men knew it would be.

Seven years ago my family built the wall.

My parents and brothers and friends and relatives built from the inside.

I laid the bricks of love in place from the

What is your favorite poem? Here is mine

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

How did you live your dash?

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