my favourite poem...what's yours? (page 4)

flipper

eee-eee! eee-eee! eee-eeee! eee-eeee! eee-eeee!

edmond dantes

I stood on the bridge at midnight, my heart was all a quiv ver.

I gave a cough, my leg fell off and floated down the river.

Edmond ,poet laureate.

Robert K Stock

My favorite poem is the sequel to the purple cow.

The Purple Cow

"I've never seen a purple cow

I never hope to see one

But I can tell you any how

I'd rather see than be one!"

So many people recited this poem that the author (can't remember the name) wrote what is my favorite poem in reply to his fans.

The Sequel To The Purple Cow

"Yes I wrote the Purle Cow

I'm sorry that I wrote it

But I will tell you any how

I'll kill you if you quote it!"

Mr. Flipper here. Thought my wife was odd? Here are some poems I wrote to be sung to the tune of the "oompa, oompa " song from Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory movie. The first one is called ,"The Barber". Then the second one is called ,The Janitor".It goes ," Oompa, oompa oompity ooh, I've got another puzzle for you, oompa,oompa, oompity ay, if you are wise you'll hear what I say. What do you do when you cut people's hair?, Trying to cut it with the utmost care. But it's repulsive and icky and weird, All day long, picking lice from some guy's beard. Oompa oompa oompity ooh I've got another puzzle for you, oompa oompa ompity ay, if you are wise, you'll hhere what I say. What do you do when you do janitorial? Getting more publicity than any editorial? But it is crazy and nuts and insane, all night long, washing Comet down the drain. Oompa oompa, oompity ooh!!!" Got to go to bed now, Mrs. Flipper calls. EEE!!!EEEE!!!!EEEE!!!!, Peace out, Mr. Flipper

ninja

thanks for the rhymes flippy the bush kangadolphin

AllAlongTheWatchtower

Mine is actually a whole book, its more prose than poetry in my opinion, but the subject matter is what I really like about it. It's called Spoon River Anthology, by Edgar Lee Masters. Each page in the book is an epitaph from a tombstone, as if written by the deceased buried beneath it, could they tell their story. All the people are from the same cemetary in a small town, and many of the stories as they unfold relate to each other...and sometimes from a vastly different viewpoint. Kinda morbid I guess, but it really is great stuff.

If anybody's interested, you can read the whole thing online legally here:

http://www.antelope-ebooks.com/Spoon/spoon.html Just click the downward pointing hands to "flip" the page to the next poem.

Tetrapod, if you should see this, some things you've said lately lead me to believe you'd appreciate this:

EZRA BARTLETT (Spoon River excerpt)

A chaplin in the army,
A chaplin in the prisons,
An exhorter in Spoon River,
Drunk with divinity, Spoon River --
Yet brining poor Eliza Johnson to shame,
And myself to scorn and wretchedness.
But why will you never see that the love of women,
And even love of wine,
Are the stimulants by which the soul, hungering for divinity,
Reaches the ecstatic vision
And sees the celestial outposts?
Only after many trials for strength,
Only when all stimulants fail,
Dose the aspiring soul
By its own sheer power
Find the devine
By resting upon itself.

zensim

Jabberwocky also, Sailing to Byzantium (I think because I just love that word - Byzantium). And this:

THE INVITATION

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Oriah

snowbird

Hey, Ninja, this in one of my favorites:

I've known rivers: 
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the 
 flow of human blood in human veins. 

My soul has grown deep like the rivers. 

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. 
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. 
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. 
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln 
 went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy 
 bosom turn all golden in the sunset. 

I've known rivers: 
Ancient, dusky rivers. 

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

By Langston Hughes

tall penguin

My fave Robert Frost poems have already been mentioned along with Oriah's The Invitation, so I'll share this one:

Remember by Christina Rosetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me, you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

tall penguin

Oh, and we can't have a poetry thread without some Sara Teasdale:

Barter

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

my favourite poem...what's yours?

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