Your favourite poem

[hidwell]

I was watching Stephen Frys planet word last night, and W H Audens poem was read, I found it very moving. Why not add your favourite poem here.


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

 

[montejocarlo]

 

[Roman Legion]

Richard Cory: Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.

 

[becks]

I don't like jellyfish, they're not a fish, they're just a blob. They don't have eyes, fins or scales like a cod. They float about blind, stinging people in the seas, And no one eats jellyfish with chips and mushy peas, Get rid of 'em. Karl Pilkington

 

[Waybuloo]

Through the darkness of future past, the magician longs to see, one chance out between two worlds, fire walk with me!

 

[Iluv]

POEM THREAD! Yes, SCORE!

Alone by 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 loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every 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 rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed 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.​

 

[coyote]

Alone And Drinking Under The Moon

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.

- Li Po

 

[DeadmanWalking]

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

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.

-Dylan Thomas

 

[dyingtolive]

"Alone" by Lia Lopez-Chua
Made into a song by Cynthia Alexander

I have nothing more to ask of myself
What beginnings I had
I have devoured them all
I am empty
I am full

Everyday I rise at dawn I put on my name
And paint a big fire on the wall
And pretend the house is burning
The firemen all dead

The house burns all day
It will go on til night breaks
I live in the heat
Never burned
Never charred

A stiff cluster of pasts
Goes on clinging like molds all over me
Disrobe me no future wind will dare
I am dressed
I am not going anywhere

I have nothing more to ask of myself
What beginnings I had
I have devoured them all
I am empty
I am full

 

[Invisibleman]

The Execution by Alden Nowlan

On the night of the execution

a man at the door

mistook me for the coroner.

“Press,” I said.

But he didn’t understand. He led me

into the wrong room

where the sheriff greeted me:

“You’re late, Padre.”

“You’re wrong,” I told him. “I’m Press.”

“Yes, of course, Reverend Press.”

We went down the stairway.

“Ah, Mr. Ellis,” said the Deputy.

“Press!” I shouted. But he shoved me

through a black curtain.

The lights were so bright

I couldn’t see the faces

of the men sitting opposite. But, thank God, I thought

They can see me!

“Look!” I cried. “Look at my face!

Doesn’t anybody know me?”

Then a hood covered my head.

“Don’t make it harder for us,” the hangman whispered.