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Thread: Favourite Poems & Poems that moved you

  1. #21
    Senior Member Array Cerpin_Taxt's Avatar
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    As my signature would ascribe too, I'm a big Eliot fan.

    Eliot, T. S. 1922. The Waste Land

    1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Eliot, T.S. 1917. Prufrock and Other Observations

    Also, Kubla Kahn by Colerdige:

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree :
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man

    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round :
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
    A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
    As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced :
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
    And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
    And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war !


    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves ;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.

    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw :
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

    That with music loud and long,
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.
    I've always had an affinity towards anything by Georg Trakl, J.K. Baxter, and W.B. Yeats.
    One by one, over the months, the other bulbs burn out, and are gone. The first few of these hit Byron hard. He's still a new arrival, still hasn't accepted his immortality. But on through the burning hours he starts to learn about the transience of others: learns that loving them while they're here becomes easier, and also more intense—to love as if each design-hour will be the last.

    Thomas Pynchon - Gravity's Rainbow

    I can't go on, I'll go on.

    Samuel Beckett - The Unnamable

  2. #22
    Earth Exalted Array Thursday's Avatar
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    Judith Moreno " Vignette "
    Untitiled : Cerritos College Writers Anonymous Magazine-Spring 2007

    I want to be rendered speechless
    with only the guttural,
    animalistic sounds of
    raw
    human emotion
    being torn from my throat
    I N V I C T U S

  3. #23
    Senior Member Array wildcat's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Ivy View Post
    It seems people either love or hate this one, but I love it. William Carlos Williams, The Red Wheelbarrow:
    I always thought the hexameter was ponderous.

  4. #24
    Senior Member Array sriv's Avatar
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    Reyson: ...If you were to change your ways, I'm sure we could rebuild the relationship the two of us once shared.

    Naesala: Oh no, that I could never do. You see, humans are essential to the fulfillment of my ambitions.

    Reyson: You've changed, Naesala. If this is the path you've chosen, I've nothing left to say.

  5. #25
    Senior Member Array Noel's Avatar
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    sunflower sutra - ginsberg
    the rime of the ancyent marinere - coleridge
    Beowulf
    Leaves of Grass
    I may be bested in battle, but I shall never be defeated.

  6. #26
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    At Thirty
    by Lynda Hull


    Whole years I knew only nights: automats
    & damp streets, the Lower East Side steep

    with narrow rooms where sleepers turn beneath
    alien skies. I ran when doorways spoke

    rife with smoke & zippers. But it was only the heart's
    racketing flywheel stuttering I want, I want

    until exhaustion, until I was a guest in the yoke
    of my body by the last margin of land where the river

    mingles with the sea & far off daylight whitens,
    a rending & yielding I must kneel before, as

    barges loose glittering mineral freight
    & behind me facades gleam with pigeons

    folding iridescent wings. Their voices echo
    in my voice naming what is lost, what remains.

  7. #27
    & Badger, Ratty and Toad Array Mole's Avatar
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    The life of the Polish poet, Czeslaw Milosz, has come to an end.

    Here is his poem, "On the Day the World Ends".

    YouTube - ADBusters - on the Day the World Ends

  8. #28
    Rats off to ya! Array Mort Belfry's Avatar
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    The first couple of stanzas of Cameron Seimen Wendell's Tom-Tom the Farmer particularly moved me.

    Tom-Tom the Farmer,
    He owned many a pig.
    Tom-Tom was happy,
    So he danced a merry jig.
    He danced through his pigs and said, "Way-hee!"
    "I'm going to eat a pig for tea."

    The pigs said, "Oh fuck,"
    "One of us must be eaten."
    "But who shall it be?" said Steve,
    The pig who was often beaten.

    "You, you cunt!" the pigs all laughed,
    "You're going to die you cunt!"
    And all the pigs,
    Danced a merry jig,
    From the old sow to the runt.

    So Tom-Tom and his pigs all danced,
    While Steve sat on his laurels.
    But though the prick,
    Was often dicked,
    He also had no morals.

    So he pulled out a gun,
    And shot everyone,
    And danced and said "Way-hee!"
    "To be quite blunt,"
    "You fucking cunts,"
    "I'm eating you for tea!"
    Such brutal honesty in his interpretation of capitalism incited an entire generation of poets to intellectual violence.
    Why do we always come here?

    I guess we'll never know.

    It's like a kind of torture,
    To have to watch this show.

  9. #29
    Senior Member Array Eileen's Avatar
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    Apparently Neruda's big among the MBTI enthusiasts.

    Quote Originally Posted by Pablo Neruda
    Sonnet XVII

    I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
    or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
    I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
    in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

    I love you as the plant that never blooms
    but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
    thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
    risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

    I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
    I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
    so I love you because I know no other way

    than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
    so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
    so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
    I also love John Donne's holy sonnets... especially the one about the BDSM relationship between the speaker and God.

    Quote Originally Posted by John Donne
    XIV.

    Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
    As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
    That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
    Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
    I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
    Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
    Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
    But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
    Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
    But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
    Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
    Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
    Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
    Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

    And a friend sent this Mary Oliver poem to me when my brother died. I love it (and the following one, which also reminds me of Matthew) a lot.

    Quote Originally Posted by Mary Oliver
    In Blackwater Woods

    Look, the trees
    are turning
    their own bodies
    into pillars

    of light,
    are giving off the rich
    fragrance of cinnamon
    and fulfillment,

    the long tapers
    of cattails
    are bursting and floating away over
    the blue shoulders

    of the ponds,
    and every pond,
    no matter what its
    name is, is

    nameless now.
    Every year
    everything
    I have ever learned

    in my lifetime
    leads back to this: the fires
    and the black river of loss
    whose other side

    is salvation,
    whose meaning
    none of us will ever know.
    To live in this world

    you must be able
    to do three things:
    to love what is mortal;
    to hold it

    against your bones knowing
    your own life depends on it;
    and, when the time comes to let it go,
    to let it go.
    Quote Originally Posted by Mary Oliver
    When the black snake
    flashed onto the morning road,
    and the truck could not swerve--
    death, that is how it happens.

    Now he lies looped and useless
    as an old bicycle tire.
    I stop the car
    and carry him into the bushes.

    He is as cool and gleaming
    as a braided whip, he is as beautiful and quiet
    as a dead brother.
    I leave him under the leaves

    and drive on, thinking
    about death: its suddenness,
    its terrible weight,
    its certain coming. Yet under

    reason burns a brighter fire, which the bones
    have always preferred.
    It is the story of endless good fortune.
    It says to oblivion: not me!

    It is the light at the center of every cell.
    It is what sent the snake coiling and flowing forward
    happily all spring through the green leaves before
    he came to the road.
    INFJ

    "I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. You can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

  10. #30
    Senior Member Array Cerpin_Taxt's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Eileen View Post
    Apparently Neruda's big among the MBTI enthusiasts.



    I also love John Donne's holy sonnets... especially the one about the BDSM relationship between the speaker and God.




    And a friend sent this Mary Oliver poem to me when my brother died. I love it (and the following one, which also reminds me of Matthew) a lot.
    I'm not strictly a Christian, however, I consider myself to be of the religious temperament and, as such, I felt a significant resonance with the John Donne poem you posted.
    One by one, over the months, the other bulbs burn out, and are gone. The first few of these hit Byron hard. He's still a new arrival, still hasn't accepted his immortality. But on through the burning hours he starts to learn about the transience of others: learns that loving them while they're here becomes easier, and also more intense—to love as if each design-hour will be the last.

    Thomas Pynchon - Gravity's Rainbow

    I can't go on, I'll go on.

    Samuel Beckett - The Unnamable

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