Favorite poem?

[cupajoe]

I currently don't have a favorite poem, and I was just wondering what some of your favorite poems? Please post the author with the poem.

 

[kellyan95]

Could I list an epic poem? Say, The Divine Comedy?

 

[mthrnite]

My all time favorite poem, far outdistancing all others that I merely love:

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me--
Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
And so, all the night-tide, I lay down by the side
Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

 

[Westside]

William Shakespeare
SONNET XXIX

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

 

[cubin']

A Haiku from Super Mario RPG SNES

Like the moon over
the day, my genius and brawn
are lost on these fools. ~(Bowser)

Edgar Allan Poe is awesome. Just got a huge book filled with his works.

 

[BoneMonkey]

roses are red
violets are blue
i have herpes
and you do to !

 

[Issac]

Pure eyes, blue like a glassy bead---
 You are always looking at me
 and I am always looking at you.

 Ah, you're too meek ---
 beautiful, unspoiled:
 thus I'm so sad, I suffer---
 and so happy, it hurts.

 I want to hurt you
 and destroy myself
 What you would think
 if you knew how I felt.

 Would you simply smile,
 not saying a word?
 Even curses from your mouth
 would be as beautiful as pearls.

 I place my left hand on your
 face as though we were to kiss.
 Then I suddenly shove my thumb
 deep into your eyesocket.
 Abruptly, decisively,
 like drilling a hole.

 And what would it feel like?
 Like jelly?
 Trembling with ecstasy, I obscenely
 mix it around and around: I must
 taste the warmth of your blood.

 How would you scream?
 Would you shriek "It hurts!
 It hurts!" as cinnabar-red tears
 stream from your crushed eye?

 You can't know the maddening
 hunger I've felt in the midst of
 our kisses, so many of them
 I've lost count.

 As though drinking in your cries,
 I bring my hopes to fruition:
 biting your tongue, shredding it,
 biting at your lips as if tasting
 your lipstick.

 Oh, what euphoric heights I would
 reach, having my desires fulfilled
 like a greedy, gluttonous cur.

 I longed, too, for your cherry-tinted
 cheeks, tasty enough to bewitch my
 tongue.
 I would surely be healed,
 and would cry like a child.

 And how is your tender ear?
 It brushes against my cheek;
 I want it to creep up to my lips so
 I can sink my teeth into its flesh.

 Your left ear, always hearing words
 whispered sweet as pie ---
 I want it to hear my true feelings.
 I never lied, no...
 but I did have my secrets.

 Ah, but what must you think of me?
 Do you hate me? Are you afraid?
 As though inviting you to the agony
 at the play's end; if you wish, you
 could destroy me --- I wouldn't care.

 As you wish, you may destroy me
 --- I wouldn't care.

Guess where it's from? ^^
Silent Hill 3

 

[cubin']

I hate broccoli
and think it totally sucks.
Why is it not meat? - (unknown)

 

[laminaatplaat]

lol, i just guessed by looking at the title that there would a Edgar Allan Poe poem here

for me, I don't know alot of poems, so I dunno...

 

[lagman]

Aquí te amo by Pablo Neruda.

En los oscuros pinos se desenreda el viento.
Fosforece la luna sobre las aguas errantes.
Andan días iguales persiguiéndose.

Se desciñe la niebla en danzantes figuras.
Una gaviota de plata se descuelga del ocaso.
A veces una vela. Altas, altas estrellas.

O la cruz negra de un barco. Solo...
A veces amanezco, y hasta mi alma está húmeda.
Suena, resuena el mar lejano.
Este es un puerto.
Aquí te amo.

Aquí te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.
Te estoy amando aún entre estas frías cosas.
A veces van mis besos en esos barcos graves,
que corren por el mar hacia donde no llegan.

Ya me veo olvidado como estas viejas anclas.
Son más tristes los muelles cuando atraca la tarde.
Se fatiga mi vida inútilmente hambrienta.
Amo lo que no tengo. Estás tú tan distante.

Mi hastío forcejea con los lentos crepúsculos.
Pero la noche llega y comienza a cantarme.
La luna hace girar su rodaje de sueño.

Me miran con tus ojos las estrellas más grandes.
Y, como yo te amo, los pinos en el viento
Quieren cantar tu nombre con sus hojas de alambre.

I wont even bother finding a translated version as I'm sure I'd hate it.

 

[kellyan95]

Why don't you translate it then?

 

[Issac]

I am sorry, but I have to add another one:

-------

Twas the Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

-----------

Twas the night before Christmas Poem
also called “A Visit from St. Nicholas"


Clement Clarke Moore (1779 - 1863)

 

[lagman]

Why don't you translate it then?

Because I'm sure that any translation would kill the beauty of the poem.
There are things that just can't shouldn't be translated.

 

[zeppo]

Why don't you translate it then?


Because I'm sure that any translation would kill the beauty of the poem.
There are things that just can't shouldn't be translated.

I agree.
Sort of like the end of "Music is my Hot Hot Sex" by CSS
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-N3OrZzPud8
Claro-que-sim
Fui escoteira-mirim
Direto da escola, não
Não ia cheirar cola
Nem basquete, pebolim
O que eu gosto não é de graça
O que gosto não é farsa
Tem guitarra, bateria, computador saindo som
Alguns dizem que mais alto que um furacão (rhéum)
Perto dele eu podia sentir
Saía de seu olho e chegava em mim
Sentada do seu lado
Eu queria encostar
Faria o tigela até o sol raiar
Debaixo do lençol
Ele gemia em ré bemol
Fiquei tensa
Mas tava tudo bem
Ele é fodão, mas eu sei que eu sou também


sure, you can translate the portugese third of that song, but it kills it and it doesn't sound pretty at all.

 

[mossy]

Der Erlkönig by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleib ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Check the spoilers for two that I wrote.
I see the pain in your eyes
Unafflicted by lies
I know that on the inside
You're terrified
And in the end
There'll be no place to hide

The emotion will come pouring out
As denial turns to anger
Anger to fear
And fear to acceptance
Though you'll still cry yourself to sleep

It takes time to heal
A wound this deep
And there will always be a scar
To remind you of your loss

But if your memory stays strong
In you they will live on
So your tears of pain and sadness
Become tears of happiness

The departed survive
´ in the hearts and the minds
Of those who care to remember them

Hold on to these words
And your loved ones will never die
For if you remember them always
In you they live on

The shout

In a crowded room
You disappear so quickly
Drowned out by so many voices
Each lost within the next

I get lost in the shout
I don't know what it's about
But I'm crowded out
By myself
A no-one in the crowd
Just nothing in the shout

 

[El-ahrairah]

My favorite poem is Howl by Allen Ginsberg. It's a great poem.

 

[zeppo]

you're supposed to post it...

 

[spas]

titled my friend the fish:

wet
pet

 

[bobrules]

In Flanders Field by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

 

[Taras]

Rudyard Kipling: Tommy

http://www.web-books.com/classics/poetry/a...pling/Tommy.htm