| ...down in Dixie you were crying for dope... Here is a page listing some of my favorite poems. They are in no real order other than the proximity of my hand to my bookshelf, the closest volumes were pulled first. If you dig poetry of any sort then peruse these ones and tell me if they are favs of your as well. Feel free to submit a fav of yours to me. I'll post it along with your name. And I'd like to see who you enjoy as far as poetry goes. Ok, First of all I enjoy William Butler Yeats above all. His early work is that of a true, unabashed romantic and his later poems reflect the disillusionment many feel as they grow older and attain a sort of cynicism. No one beats Yeats' mastery of imagry when it comes to portraying a world he sees as caught in the midst of irreversible decay. The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand, Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? That is the best poem I have ever read. And since I am on Yeats, I will move on to my favorite Love Poems... Well it ain't no use sittin' and wondering why if you don't know by now... And it ain't no use sittin' wondering why it don't matter anyhow When the rooster crows at the break of dawn look out your window and I'll be gone You're the reason I'm travellin' on So don't think twice,it's alright. Love Poems ...I don't know what love is, must be something else giving me the chills... Love poems, in my humble opinon anyway, can be hard as hell to write. They can come off as foolish and trite if the poet is clouded by his emotion while trying to get those feelings on paper. Raw emotion is what spurs on and inspires most of these poems. Those who can harness that emotion and produce a beautiful piece have my utmost respect... All of these poems mean something to me personally. They are all associated with women who meant, or still mean, something to me. If any of them read this, they'll know who they are and which poem is theirs... He Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats Had I the heavens embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. A Drinking Song by W.B.Yeats Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh. Untitled by Alexander Pushkin I loved you; even now I may confess, Some embers of my love their fire retain; But do not let it cause you more distress, I do not want to sadden you again. Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly With pangs the jealous and the timid know; So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely, I pray God grant another love you so. Aubade by Anonymous(16th Cent) Stay, O sweet, and do not rise, The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, Because that you and I must part. Stay, or else my joys will die, And perish in their infancy. E. E.Cummings i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh.......and eyes big love crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill of under me you quite so new Well it ain't no use in calling out my name, like it never did before. Well it ain't no use in calling out my name, I can't hear you anymore. Well I'm thinking and wondering all the way down the road I once loved a woman, a child adored I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul but don't think twice, it's alright. Haiku Haiku is one of my favorite forms of poetry. A haiku is a Japanses style with specific technique. It is a short verse, typically with a fixed number of syllables used in it's three lines. But like with any literary form there comes experimentation and change. Haiku poets have become more flexible with form over the centuries but several traditional rules still apply; a haiku describes a single state or event, refers to the present and refers to images connected with one of the four seasons. The Japanese are a people very much appreciative of, and in tune with, the natural world. It is also a tradition in Japan for zen monks and haiku poets (and sometimes ordnary citizens) to write a "jisei", a "farewell to life" poem. Images of nature and passing seasons, used to demonstrate the transience of life, and the peaceful outlook of zen masters facing death have combined to produce some lovely works in haiku. All of the following jisei were written literally as the authors were on the verge of death. Note: jisei are not titled, only the author's name appears. Choko (died 1731) This final scene I'll not see to the end--my dream is fraying. Inseki (died 1765) I give my name back as I step in this Eden of flowers. Senseki (died 1742) At long last I am leaving: in rainless skies, a cool moon- pure is my heart. Soko (died 1897) Shadows from a lingering sun blur into dusk-- falling cherry petals. (these images are signifiers of spring in Japan, the season in which Soko died) Teisa (died 1747) A plover wades through shallows of the last month without turning back. Very Bad Poetry Sometimes a poem just doesn't work. Poor syntax, weak imagery or twisting the language in attempts to rhyme at any cost all lead to some amazingly bad verse. But one must hand it to the plucky bard-to-be's, they don't quit...no, not ever, even, perhaps, when they should. Most of these are taken from a volume of piss poor poetry entitled, aptly, "Very Bad Poetry". Go Away Death by Alfred Austen Go away, Death! You have come too soon. To sunshine and song I but just awaken, And the dew on my heart is undried and unshaken Come back at noon. The Stuttering Lover by Fred Emerson Brooks I lu-ove you very well Much mu-ore than I can tell With a lu-lu-lu-lu-love I cannot utter I kn-know just what to say But my tongue gets in the way, And af-fe-fe-fe-fe-fection's bound to stutter! I'll wu-worship you of course, And nu-never get divorce, Though you stu-stu-stu-storm in angry weather, For when your'e in a pique So mu-mad you cannot speak We'll be du-du-du-du-dumb then both together. My Last Tooth by Anonymous (luckily) You have gone, old tooth, Though hard to yield, You have long stood alone, Like a stub in the field. Farewell, old tooth... That tainted my breath, And tasted as smells a woodpecker's nest. A Tragedy by Theophile Marzials Death! Plop. The barges down the river flop. Flop, plop, Above, beneath. From the slimy branches the grey drips drop... To the oozy waters that lounge and flop... And my head shrieks "Stop" And my heart shrieks "Die"... Ugh! Yet I knew--I knew If a woman is false can a friend be true? It was only a ie from beginning to end-- My Devil---My "friend"... So what do I care, And my head is empty as air--- I can do, I can dare (Plop, plop the barges flop Drip, drop.) I can dare, I can dare! And let myself all run away with my head And stop. Drop Dead. Plop,flop. Plop. Don't these poems just bring tears to your eyes? Well I'm going down that old lonesome road Where I'm bound, I can't tell But goodbye's too good a word so I'll just say fare-thee-well. I ain't saying you treated me unkind I could've done better, but I don't mind Just kinda wasted my precious time but don't think twice, it's alright. |