Favourite Poems

Discussion in 'Et Cetera, Et Cetera' started by Lordpendragon, Sep 14, 2006.

  1. Lordpendragon

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    I told him I loved him
    with my tongue in his cheeks


    To be fair to the great McGough the original was

    I told her I loved her
    with my tongue in her cheek
     
  2. Irvy

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    OK, here's a funny one that most people should be able to relate to!


    Wonderful Spam

    I got sent a hundred emails, all from just today
    I settled down to read them
    To find out what they say
    Imagine my annoyance
    My mouse clenched in my palm
    Not one of them was really for me
    An inbox full of spam

    “My friend and I are lonely, come watch us while we play”
    “We’ve got our webcam ready”
    “Got a credit card to pay?”
    But they hadn’t done their research
    That one’s not meant for me
    I’m sure Candy and Tammy are lovely girls
    But they’re not my cup of tea!

    And if I could really pop a pill, and watch my penis grow
    Wouldn’t they be in the shops by now?
    Wouldn’t everybody know?
    And what’s this “herbal viagra”
    On sale at just half price?
    I’m starting to feel quite insecure
    Small and floppy? That’s not nice!

    And then there’s poor little Jimmy, brought a tear to my eye
    He wants a million business cards
    “My last wish before I die”
    But Jimmy’s either dead and gone
    Or was never actually real
    It’s just another internet scam
    Exploitation is the deal

    Another one, which I must send to all my friends and kin
    Or else bad things will come to me
    To repay me for my sin
    “It only takes a minute, you know”
    “To show them that you care”
    It takes less than that to hit delete
    One less email sitting there

    And so my trawl through internet hell comes abruptly to an end
    But I’ll get the same old shit again
    Cos every day they’ll send
    Another hundred emails soon
    Will line up on my screen
    Someone’s making lots of money off this
    But for now my hard drive’s clean
     
  3. Ummagumma

    Ummagumma New Member

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    Oh, fun topic (I enjoyed that Mohammed Ali "Me. We." reference in another topic you created Lordpendragon, by the way - never heard/heard of that before)

    ... a personal favorite of mine. I always enjoyed poetry in school, even if I wasn't always the best at interpreting them.
     
  4. Pecker

    Pecker Retired Moderator
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    For me it's always either Frost day or Nash day. Today is Nash day.

    Further Reflections on Parsley
    by Ogden Nash

    Parsley
    Is gharsley.
     
  5. Ethyl

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    The lover's food is the love of the bread
    no bread need be at hand:
    no one who is sincere in his love is a slave to existence.

    Lovers have nothing to do with existence
    lovers have the interest without the capital

    Without wings they fly around the world;
    without hands they carry the polo ball off the field.

    That dervish who caught the scent of Reality
    used to weave baskets even though his hand had been cut off.

    Lovers have pitched their tent in nonexistence
    they are of one quality and one essence, as nonexistence is.

    -Rumi


    [FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]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.
    [/FONT]

    [FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]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.
    [/FONT]

    [FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]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
    [/FONT]

    [FONT=Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]that 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.
    [/FONT]

    -Pablo Neruda
     
  6. rawbone8

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    NIGHTFALL

    We have taken the night
    like a Persian black cat
    into bed with us;
    your fingers stoking my body's heat
    are the glittering red
    glassware of my childhood,
    are scents suddenly
    remembered and pungent;
    dark rivers under your hair
    as under remote bridges.
    I feel with my hands
    The cool rain bark of your limbs.

    Afterwards lying on our backs
    like pillowed sovereigns
    we decree space
    and allow thought and the room's objects
    to separate us;
    abstract and personal
    we turn
    in the round cavity of sleep

    IRVING LAYTON




    ————


    ATLAS

    There is a kind of love called maintenance
    Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it

    Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget
    The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;

    Which answers letters; which knows the way
    The money goes; which deals with dentists

    And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,
    And postcards to the lonely; which upholds

    The permanently rickety elaborate
    Structures of living, which is Atlas.

    And maintenance is the sensible side of love,
    Which knows what time and weather are doing
    To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;
    Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers
    My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps
    My suspect edifice upright in air,
    As Atlas did the sky.

    JEANETTE WINTERSON




    —————


    WORDS


    Be careful of words,
    even the miraculous ones.
    For the miraculous ones we do our best,
    sometimes they swarm like insects
    and leave not a sting but a kiss.
    They can be good as fingers.
    They can be trusty as the rock
    you stick your bottom on.
    But they can be both daisies and bruises.

    Yet I am in love with words.
    They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
    They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
    They are the trees, the legs of summer,
    and the sun, its passionate face.

    Yet often they fail me.
    I have so much I want to say,
    so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
    But the words aren't good enough,
    the wrong ones kiss me.
    Sometimes I fly like an eagle
    but with the wings of a wren.

    But I try to take care
    and be gentle to them.
    Words and eggs must be handled with care.
    Once broken they are impossible
    things to repair.

    ANNE SEXTON
     
  7. Shelby

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    This when I was little.
     
  8. DaveyR

    DaveyR Retired Moderator
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    I woke up one morning and everything was still
    I saw a little Robin on the window sill
    I gently opened the window
    To give it some seed
    Then gently closed he window
    And crushed it's fucking head ( Pronounced Heed with a North East UK accent).

    Seriously though this is my favourite:

    'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!'

    He took his vorpal sword in hand:
    Long time the manxome foe he sought--
    So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
    ' He chortled in his joy. '

    Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.
     
  9. bluekarma

    bluekarma Well-Known Member

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    Taste you
    If I were to taste you, breathe your skin.
    Close my eyes and take you in.
    I'd Surrender my body at your will.
    You'd feed me, drug me, like my pill.
    I'd crave your body as my fix.
    My passion blended pleasure mix.
    If I were to taste you, breathe your skin
    Close my eyes and take you in.
    My world could then be put on hold.
    No pain, no guilt, no hearts so cold.
    Act out my dirty minded schemes.
    Rejection absent in the scene.
    If I were to taste you, breathe your skin
    Close my eyes and take you in.
    Satisfaction could have no end.
    To be my bliss, my fire, my friend.

    -Author unknown (from poetry.com, not very intellectual...but I always liked it)








     
  10. Gisella

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    :eek:

    How cute..the cutest little things...:tongue:
     
  11. Pecker

    Pecker Retired Moderator
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    I've never seen a purple cow,
    I never hope to see one.
    But I can tell you anyhow,
    I'd rather see than be one.
     
  12. SpeedoGuy

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    Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
    And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
    Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
    Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
    You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
    High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
    I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
    My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
    Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
    I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
    Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
    And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
    The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
    Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.​
    — John Gillespie Magee, Jr
     
  13. jakeatolla

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    A Winter's Poem :






    Fuck its cold!!!!!!
     
  14. Lordpendragon

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    In England once there lived a big
    And wonderfully intelligent pig.
    To everybody it was plain
    That Piggy had a massive brain.
    He worked out sums inside his head,
    There was no book he hadn't read.
    He knew what made an airplane fly,
    He knew how engines worked and why.
    He knew all this, but in the end
    One question drove him round the bend:
    He simply couldn't puzzle out
    What LIFE was really all about.
    What was the reason for his birth?
    Why was he placed upon this earth?
    His giant brain went round and round.
    Alas, no answer could be found.
    Till suddenly one wondrous night.
    All in a flash he saw the light.
    He jumped up like a ballet dancer
    And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
    "They want my bacon slice by slice
    "To sell at a tremendous price!
    "They want my tender juicy chops
    "To put in all the butcher's shops!
    "They want my pork to make a roast
    "And that's the part'll cost the most!
    "They want my sausages in strings!
    "They even want my chitterlings!
    "The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
    "That is the reason for my life!"
    Such thoughts as these are not designed
    To give a pig great piece of mind.
    Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
    A pail of pigswill in his hand,
    And piggy with a mighty roar,
    Bashes the farmer to the floor…
    Now comes the rather grizzly bit
    So let's not make too much of it,
    Except that you must understand
    That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
    He ate him up from head to toe,
    Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
    It took an hour to reach the feet,
    Because there was so much to eat,
    And when he finished, Pig, of course,
    Felt absolutely no remorse.
    Slowly he scratched his brainy head
    And with a little smile he said,
    "I had a fairly powerful hunch
    "That he might have me for his lunch.
    "And so, because I feared the worst,
    "I thought I'd better eat him first."
     
  15. Lordpendragon

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    For my LDS friends.

    As I was going to St Ives
    I met a man with seven wives
    Said he, 'I think it's much more fun
    Than getting stuck with only one.
     
  16. fortiesfun

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    I'm reading the poems of C.P. Cavafy this week in the marvelous new translation by Aliki Barnstone. This is a particularly nice one:

    Sensual Pleasure

    Joy and perfume of my life--the memory of the hours
    when I found and held sensual pleasure as I wanted it.
    Joy and perfume of my own life--because I turned away revolted
    from enjoying any routine erotic love.
     
  17. Pecker

    Pecker Retired Moderator
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    Today is Frost day:

    They say the truth will make you free.
    My truth will bind you slave to me --
    Which may be what you want to be.
     
  18. Lordpendragon

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    There was a young man from Hyde
    who fell down a sewer and died.
    The next day his brother
    fell down another.
    So now they're interred side by side.
     
  19. Ethyl

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    Lisel Mueller is my newest fave . . .

    Monet refuses the operation

    Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
    around the streetlights in Paris
    and what I see is an aberration
    caused by old age, an affliction.
    I tell you it has taken me all my life
    to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
    to soften an blur and finally banish
    the edges you regret I don't see
    to learn that the line I called the horizon
    does not exist and sky and water,
    so long apart, are the same state of being.
    Fifty-four years before I could see
    Rouen cathedral is built
    of parallel shafts of sun,
    and now you want to restore
    my youthful errors: fixed
    notions of top and bottom,
    the illusion of three-dimensional space,
    wisteria separate
    from the bridge it covers.
    What can I say to convince you
    the Houses of Parliament dissolve
    night after night to become
    the fluid dream of the Thames?
    I will not return to a universe
    of objects that don't know each other,
    as if islands were not the lost children
    of one great continent. The world
    is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
    becomes water, lilies on water,
    above and below water,
    becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
    and white and cerulean lamps,
    small fists passing sunlight
    so quickly to one another
    that it would take long, streaming hair
    inside my brush to catch it.
    To paint the speed of light!
    Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
    burnn to mix with air
    and changes our bones, skin, clothes
    to gases. Doctor, if only you could see
    how heaven pulls earth into its arms
    and how infinitely the heart expands
    to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
     
  20. Lordpendragon

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    Thanks MB.
     
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