Post a poem

[Ms.]

I searched to see if a thread of this nature had previously been posted. If this is the wrong forum i do apologise

Since The Majority Of Me - Philip Larkin

Since the majority of me
Rejects the majority of you,
Debating ends forwith, and we
Divide. And sure of what to do

We disinfect new blocks of days
For our majorities to rent
With unshared friends and unwalked ways,
But silence too is eloquent:

A silence of minorities
That, unopposed at last, return
Each night with cancelled promises
They want renewed. They never learn.

 

[pink shadow]

I like that one Ms! Here's one from me:

He wonders whether to praise or blame her - Rupert Brooke

I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he’s thrown away?

Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you’re that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.

Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair,—the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul,—how could I see you while I kissed you?

So… the poor love of fools and blind I’ve proved you,
For, foul or lovely, ’twas a fool that loved you.

 

[novella]

Oh, sweet. I'm a poet, so here goes:

Poem for a Stalker

You stalk me, I’ll stalk you back
I’ll make you have a heart attack,
Lying down and groaning loud
All around you there’s a crowd
“Let him suffer,” I will say,
"He was beastly anyway."
You’ll be gasping for a breath
Wondering if this is really death,
And I’ll be happy as a clam--
But that’s just me, it’s who I am

--NOVELLA

 

[cabbagescribe]

Something from William Carlos Williams - "Danse Russe"

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

 

[KristoCat]

Here's one of my favorites, other than "The Waste Land" which is too long:

"A Valediction Forbidding Mourning" by Adrienne Rich

My swirling wants. Your frozen lips.
The grammar turned and attacked me.
Themes, written under duress.
Emptiness of the notations.

They gave me a drug that slowed the healing of wounds.

I want you to see this before I leave:
the experience of repetition as death
the failure of criticism to locate the pain
the poster in the bus that said:
my bleeding is under control.

A red plant in a cemetery of plastic wreaths.

A last attempt: the language is a dialect called metaphor.
These images go unglossed: hair, glacier, flashlight.
When I think of a landscape I am thinking of a time.
When I talk of taking a trip I mean forever.
I could say: those mountains have a meaning
but further than that I could not say.
To do something very common, in my own way.

You might also want to check out "Diving Into the Wreck" and others:
http://www.wwnorton.com/trade/external/nortonpoets/richa.htm

 

[muggle]

Emily Dickinson - Will there really be a "Morning"?

Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!

 

[Poppy1]

by e.e.cummings


i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

 

[Ronny]

by Margaret Atwood

Siren Song

This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistable:

the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see the beached skulls

the song nobody knows
because anyone who has heard it
is dead, and the others can't remember.

Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?

I don't enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical

with these two feathery maniacs,
I don't enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.

I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song

is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique

at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works everytime.

 

[curiouswonder]

The Peace of Wild Things
Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

[Mari]

Sous-Entendu, by Anne Stevenson

Don't think

that I don't know
that as you talk to me
the hand of your mind
is inconspicuously
taking off my stocking,
moving in resourceful blindness
up along my thigh.

Don't think
that I don't know
that you know
everything I say
is a garment.

 

[Sofia]

I searched to see if a thread of this nature had previously been posted. If this is the wrong forum i do apologise

Since The Majority Of Me - Philip Larkin

Since the majority of me
Rejects the majority of you,
Debating ends forwith, and we
Divide. And sure of what to do

We disinfect new blocks of days
For our majorities to rent
With unshared friends and unwalked ways,
But silence too is eloquent:

A silence of minorities
That, unopposed at last, return
Each night with cancelled promises
They want renewed. They never learn.

liked it too

 

[Sofia]

Sous-Entendu, by Anne Stevenson

Don't think

that I don't know
that as you talk to me
the hand of your mind
is inconspicuously
taking off my stocking,
moving in resourceful blindness
up along my thigh.

Don't think
that I don't know
that you know
everything I say
is a garment.

good one also...can i borrow it?

 

[KristoCat]

by e.e.cummings


i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Poppy, I love this poem. I can't express in this post how much I love it. It's just... beautiful.

 

[Poppy1]

Poppy, I love this poem. I can't express in this post how much I love it. It's just... beautiful.

I'm not very good at explaining why I love things, but yes I think it's beautiful too. Maybe it's the way he plays around with words.

 

[Ms.]

I don't know poetry but............

Morning Has Spread Again
Morning has spread again
Through every street,
And we are strange again;
For should we meet
How can I tell you that
Last night you came
Unbidden, in a dream?
And how forget
That we had worn down love good-humouredly,
Talking in fits and starts
As friends, as they will be
Who have let passion die within their hearts.
Now, watching the red east expand,
I wonder love can have already set
In dreams, when we've not met
More times than I can number on one hand.

--Philip Larkin

 

[raffaellabella]

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more that whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever

-Anne Bradstreet

 

[Vespertilio91]

Here's my favorite poem of all time!!!

Alone-Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour--I have not been
As others were--I have not seen
As others saw--I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone.
Then--in my childhood--in the dawn
Of a most stormy life--was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me, flying by,
From the thunder, and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

In my English class, we had to memorize our favorite poem. It had to be famous. My favorite poem before that had been Pandora's Box by a friend of mine, but I found this. It touched me like nothing else ever had before, and I now read it every night before I go to sleep, to remind me that I might sometimes be alone, but normally, it's just a demon in my view.

I hope you enjoyed that poem. It is my absolute favorite, just like Poe is my favorite.

 

[Gem]

Rabindranath Tagore - Where the Mind is Without Fear:

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Oh, sweet. I'm a poet, so here goes:

Poem for a Stalker...

Novella, lovely poem - may I send it to my stalker?

 

[sirmyk]

Rub a dub, dub
Something, something... in a tub

 

[KristoCat]

Lovely poem, Gem. I really enjoyed that one