Favourite Poems

tygrrr

Just Browsing
Joined
Aug 14, 2006
Posts
243
Media
0
Likes
0
Points
161
One of my favourite poems:
(English translation below)

Correspondances


La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Comme de longs échos qui de loin se confondent
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarté,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent.

II est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants,
Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies,
— Et d'autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,
Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens,
Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.


— Charles Baudelaire



Correspondences

Nature is a temple in which living pillars
Sometimes give voice to confused words;
Man passes there through forests of symbols
Which look at him with understanding eyes.

Like prolonged echoes mingling in the distance
In a deep and tenebrous unity,
Vast as the dark of night and as the light of day,
Perfumes, sounds, and colors correspond.

There are perfumes as cool as the flesh of children,
Sweet as oboes, green as meadows
— And others are corrupt, and rich, triumphant,

With power to expand into infinity,
Like amber and incense, musk, benzoin,
That sing the ecstasy of the soul and senses.


— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
 

DaveyR

Retired Moderator
Joined
Jun 15, 2006
Posts
5,422
Media
0
Likes
30
Points
258
Location
Northumberland
Sexuality
No Response
Gender
Male
There was a young man named Chase
Who got himself banned from this place
The slaps on the wrist
Got him really pissed
And now miss his sexy face.
 

eddyabs

Expert Member
Joined
Oct 6, 2005
Posts
1,294
Media
21
Likes
135
Points
193
Location
Little cottage in the stix
Sexuality
99% Gay, 1% Straight
Gender
Male
I love this thread..thanks Lord!

Ok....My all time favourite poem is taken from 'Christabel' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

'Alas, they had been friends in youth,
But whispering tongues can poison truth..
And constancy lives in realms above,
And life is thorny, and youth is vain,
And to be wroth with one you love
Doth work like madness in the brain.

But never either found another,
To free the hollow heart from paining,
They stood aloof, the scars remaining....
Like cliffs that had been rent asunder,
A dreary sea now flows between.
But neither heat, not frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away I we'en,
The marks of that which once hath been.'
(End)

I thought I'd proffer a couple of my own.....I wrote this one for my Irish Granny in Connemara when my Grandad died when I was 18...it's called 'The Golden Key'

'There is a place not far away,
Where trouble pass me by each day,
And there is no time for past regrets,
For love and joy reap benefits.

Sadness is but a distant song,
For which my soul will never long,
Where envy, hate and remorse once lay,
Now numbed by love in every way.

Oh how I long for memories,
For which I'll never find the keys,
For to unlock the door to Golden days,
Is but a dream that never pays.

But Golden days will come anew,
Happy days, however few,
And love will shine eventually,
And give to you, the Golden key.'
(End)

This one I wrote when I was 21. I'd just split up from my first lover Mark...he was of Jamaican descent, and spoke (speaks) quite a hard London Carib Patois....hence the language in the poem...he was a bit of a 'yaahdie' boy. It's called 'Doin' the Lambeth Walk'...because he lived on the Lambeth Walk in London, and it's also an old famous Cockney song! (we are still good friends to this day despite the poem!)

'Go,
Hide yourself in material ways...
G'waan,
Wear your disguise everydays...

When you're doin' the Lambeth Walk
(Um na naay)
That's doin', doin' the Lambeth Walk...

You'd better believe, I ain't laffin'...
For when I climb the trees,
And shout the Sun,

I'm doing as I please..
(Um na naay)
Doing, doing as I please...

That's feeling the Earth,
And the tickle of the breeze...

And that's when I think of you,
Your locks, your keys...

Shutting out.

The choked street,
The bill on beat,
The urban moan,
The City's groan

Forever sucking on money's teat....

Is that all you want?
(Um na ney)
Is that all you really want?

That's why...

I ain't laffin'
No
I ain't laffin'.'
(End)


(Apologies for the amateurish content but I was quite young....)


And I've saved the best to last.....written by the Contessa De Vilerancour...

'The Duchess when pouring the tea,
Asked "Do you fart when you pee?"
I replied with some wit,
"Do you belch when you shit?"
And I think that was one up to me.'
 

Lordpendragon

Experimental Member
Joined
Jul 5, 2004
Posts
3,814
Media
0
Likes
18
Points
258
Sexuality
No Response
The leg end that is my mate Daverock
sports the world's most prodigious cock.
The fair maids of Tenerife
just stare in disbelief
as he swings past 04.00 o'clock
 

Lordpendragon

Experimental Member
Joined
Jul 5, 2004
Posts
3,814
Media
0
Likes
18
Points
258
Sexuality
No Response
As I was walking in the park one day
I overheard a lady say
"It's true and I have often heard,
he's friendly with that Bawstin turd."
Not wishing to let this insult pass
I decided to fuck her up her ass.
Her friend on seeing my manly tool
said "Lord, think me not a silly fool,
and if I may be a trifle blunt
when you've done her arse,
can you do my cunt?"
 

Pecker

Retired Moderator
Joined
Mar 5, 2002
Posts
54,502
Media
0
Likes
301
Points
283
I enjoyed this one in high school:

The Skater of Ghost Lake
William Rose Benét

Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold:
Ice black as ebony, frostily scrolled;
Far in its shadows a faint sound whirrs;
Steep stand the sentineled deep, dark firs.

A brisk sound, a swift sound, a ring-tinkle-ring;
Flit-flit--a shadow, with a stoop and a swing,
Flies from the shadow through the crackling cold.
Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and old!

Leaning and leaning, with a stride and a stride,
Hands locked behind him, scarf blowing wide,
Jeremy Randall skates, skates late,
Star for a candle, moon for a mate.

Black is the clear glass now that he glides,
Crisp is thaw whisper of long lean strides,
Swift is his swaying--but pricked ears hark.
None come to Ghost Lake late after dark!

Cecily only--yes, it is she!
Stealing to Ghost Lake, tree after tree,
Kneeling in snow by the still lake side,
Rising with feet winged, gleaming, to glide.

Dust of the ice swirls. Here is his hand.
Brilliant his eyes burn. Now, as was planned,
Arm across arm twined, laced to his side,
Out on the dark lake lightly they glide.

Dance of the dim moon, a rhythmical reel,
A swaying, a swift tune--skurr of the steel;
Moon for a candle, maid for a mate,
Jeremy Randall skates, skates late.

Black as if lacquered the wide lake lies;
Breath is a frost-fume, eyes seek eyes;
Souls are a sword-edge tasting the cold.
Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and old!

Far in the shadows hear faintly begin
Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin,
Muffled in the mist on the lake's far bound,
Swifter and swifter, a low singing sound!

Far in the shadows and faint on the verge
Of blue cloudy moonlight, see it emerge,
Flit-flit--a phantom, with a stoop and a swing...
Ah, it's a night bird, burdened of wing!

Pressed close to Jeremy, laced to his side,
Cecily Culver, dizzy you glide.
Jeremy Randall sweepingly veers
Out on the dark ice far from the piers.

"Jeremy!" "Sweetheart?" "What do you fear?"
"Nothing, my darling--nothing is here!"
"Jeremy?" "Sweetheart?" "What do you flee?"
"Something--I know not; something I see!"

Swayed to a swift stride, brisker of pace,
Leaning and leaning, they race and they race;
Ever that whirring, that crisp sound thin
Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin;

Ever that swifter and low singing sound
Sweeping behind them, winding them round;
Gasp of their breath now that chill flakes fret:
Ice black as ebony--blacker--like jet!

Ice shooting fangs forth--sudden like spears;
Crackling of lightning--a roar in their ears!
Shadowy, a phantom swerves off from its prey...
No, it's a night bird flit-flits away!

Low-winging moth-owl, home to your sleep!
Ghost Lake's a still lake, a cold lake and deep.
Faint in its shadows a far sound whirrs.
Black stand the ranks of its sentinel firs.
 

Ethyl

Legendary Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2006
Posts
5,194
Media
19
Likes
1,707
Points
333
Location
Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, United States)
Sexuality
99% Straight, 1% Gay
Gender
Female
The Quest

Even though you're not equipped
keep searching:
equipment isn't necessary on the way to the Sustainer.
Whoever you see engaged in search,
become her friend and cast your head in front of her,
for choosing to be a neighbour of seekers,
you become one yourself;
protected by conquerors,
you will, yourself, learn to conquer,
If an ant seeks the ranks of Solomon,
don't smile contemptuously upon its quest.
Everything you possess of skill, and wealth, and handicraft,
wasn't it first merely a thought and a quest?

-Rumi
 

B_spiker067

Experimental Member
Joined
Nov 17, 2006
Posts
2,163
Media
0
Likes
3
Points
183
Fire And Ice
Poem lyrics of Fire And Ice by Robert Frost.
Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
 

naughty

Sexy Member
Joined
May 21, 2004
Posts
11,232
Media
0
Likes
38
Points
258
Location
Workin' up a good pot of mad!
Sexuality
100% Straight, 0% Gay
Gender
Female
I love that poem, but I cant take my eyes off of that Pimpglam shot of Snoop. Where did you find that?







If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, i'd wear one by my side.
And if "ifs and ands"
were pots and pans
There'd be no work for tinkers!
 

Ethyl

Legendary Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2006
Posts
5,194
Media
19
Likes
1,707
Points
333
Location
Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, United States)
Sexuality
99% Straight, 1% Gay
Gender
Female
I love that poem, but I cant take my eyes off of that Pimpglam shot of Snoop. Where did you find that?

I googled "huggy bear" and that's one of many I found. I had a hard time deciding between this one and the original huggy bear played by Antonio Fargas.

Here's a few more:

PimptacularPurpleLg.jpg


pimp.gif


antoniofargasap.jpg
 

naughty

Sexy Member
Joined
May 21, 2004
Posts
11,232
Media
0
Likes
38
Points
258
Location
Workin' up a good pot of mad!
Sexuality
100% Straight, 0% Gay
Gender
Female

Ethyl

Legendary Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2006
Posts
5,194
Media
19
Likes
1,707
Points
333
Location
Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, United States)
Sexuality
99% Straight, 1% Gay
Gender
Female
Speaking of Antonio.. the original flavah, I met him at the Black theater festival one year. He was so fabulous. One of the warmest and sweetest people you ever wanted to meet.

His resume is most impressive. Among other credits, his website lists an extensive career in theatre and he's on the board of several Arts and Theatre organizations. How cool that you had the pleasure of meeting him.
 

Ethyl

Legendary Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2006
Posts
5,194
Media
19
Likes
1,707
Points
333
Location
Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, United States)
Sexuality
99% Straight, 1% Gay
Gender
Female
Limits

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone

Who fixes in advance omnipotent laws,
Sets up a secret and unwavering scale
for all the shadows, dreams, and forms
Woven into the texture of this life.

If there is a limit to all things and a measure
And a last time and nothing more and forgetfulness,
Who will tell us to whom in this house
We without knowing it have said farewell?

Through the dawning window night withdraws
And among the stacked books which throw
Irregular shadows on the dim table,
There must be one which I will never read.

There is in the South more than one worn gate,
With its cement urns and planted cactus,
Which is already forbidden to my entry,
Inaccessible, as in a lithograph.

There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;
To you the crossroads seem wide open,
Yet watching you, four-faced, is a Janus.

There is among all your memories one
Which has now been lost beyond recall.
You will not be seen going down to that fountain
Neither by white sun nor by yellow moon.

You will never recapture what the Persian
Said in his language woven with birds and roses,
When, in the sunset, before the light disperses,
You wish to give words to unforgettable things.

And the steadily flowing Rhone and the lake,
All that vast yesterday over which today I bend?
They will be as lost as Carthage,
Scourged by the Romans with fire and salt.

At dawn I seem to hear the turbulent
Murmur of crowds milling and fading away;
They are all I have been loved by, forgotten by;
Space, time, and Borges now are leaving me.

-Jorge Luis Borges
 

scanjock8

Cherished Member
Joined
Sep 5, 2005
Posts
448
Media
6
Likes
343
Points
283
Age
34
Sexuality
100% Gay, 0% Straight
The first poem I truly enjoyed was Frost's "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening". I had a great English teacher my sophomore year in high school, and she was the first to teach me HOW to read and appreciate poetry. I won't quote the whole poem here, it's easily available online.

I have written some poetry, but it is usually in response to a very specific event - missing my partner when he is away on a business trip, losing someone I love, those sorts of things. I wrote one for a dear friend when she turned 60, and she has it framed on a wall in her house....

I had a very similar experience reading Frost in high school.

Annabel Lee by Poe has always been a favorite of mine too.
 

Ethyl

Legendary Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2006
Posts
5,194
Media
19
Likes
1,707
Points
333
Location
Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, United States)
Sexuality
99% Straight, 1% Gay
Gender
Female
We have lost even this twilight
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue light dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book that fell always closed at twilight
and the blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

-Pablo Neruda
 

Knockernail

1st Like
Joined
Dec 20, 2006
Posts
454
Media
0
Likes
1
Points
161
Location
Hicktown upon Misery
Gender
Male
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."

Great! Maybe one day ...

The best for me, four lines, short and simple:

Me gusta cuando callas
porque estás como ausente
y tu boca cerrada
parece que duerme

Pablo Neruda

I like when you are quiet
because you are like daydreaming
and your closed mouth
seems to be sleeping