Favorite Poem

[JEM]

I am not sure if this should go in the lounge or in great reads, but I'll try putting this in the lounge.

What is your favorite poem?

My favorite poem is "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost.

[graguigleadhair]

I don't have a favorite poem my my favorite poet is Shel Silverstein. I know I'm a little old for his stuff but I still love it!

[Vennila X Vana]

I don't actually read a lot of poetry. While I am content to write loads and loads of it, I'm very picky when it comes to other poets. [Basically I'm trying to say I am arrogant and selfish] The one poem I have liked was this poem by Christina Rosetti. It's in a book I lost, and I can't remember the title, I only remember the imagery and liking it a lot. If I ever find it I'll post it for you guys!

[JEM]

You can't remember the title!? It looks like its time for A MINUTE AND A HALF OF RESEARCH!!!

Here are some books by Chiristina Rosetti:
1.Poems of Christina Rosetti (1994)
2.The poetical works of Christina Georgina Rosetti (1935)
3.Maude: Prose and Verse (1976)
4.Goblin Market and other poems (1994)
5. There are many more.

So are any of these the right book?

[Isis]

Shel Silverstein:

Teddy said it was a hat
so I put it on.

Now Dad's sayin'
"Where the heck's the toilet plunger gone!?"

At least, I think that's how it went. And "Rhinoceros for Sale" I liked.
I like William Butler Yeats' poems, though I haven't read much.

[Vennila X Vana]

haha see I didn't find it in a book of poems, and I think the poem itself was untitled. Psh, so much for your minute and a half of research!

Here's my minute and a half of successful research.

An Echo From Willowwood.

Two gazed into a pool, he gazed and she,
Not hand in hand, yet heart in heart, I think,
Pale and reluctant on the water's brink,
As on the brink of parting which must be.
Each eyed the other's aspect, she and he,
Each felt one hungering heart leap up and sink,
Each tasted bitterness which both must drink,
There on the brink of life's dividing sea.
Lilies upon the surface, deep below
Two wistful faces craving each for each,
Resolute and reluctant without speech: —
A sudden ripple made the faces flow
One moment joined, to vanish out of reach:
So those hearts joined, and ah! were parted so.

[JEM]

I didn't have anything to go by!!! You at least heard of the poem. By the way, I think I saw the book it was in. I saw about fifty, I wrote down four. I was looking for an unnamed poem by a poet who wrote hundreds of poems. I think I did rather well:rolleyes: .

[Vennila X Vana]

it, uh, apparently does have a title. haha I should really do a lot more of that whole "thinking before typing" thing more often. Yeah, but there it is, what do you think?

[snowhite02]

If I could stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I could ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help the fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

- I think the reason I like that poem so much is because it's how I feel about the world I want to be like a superwoman and stop all hatred and war.

[JEM]

Yeah, but there it is, what do you think?

Yeah that is a great poem. I think girls would like it better then guys would. I can picture a scene like this. Yes Vennila, it is a very nice poem, but I think it might be a little to flowery. This sounds like a poem my English teacher would love, a HUGEpoetry fan. Like the special effects?

[Vennila X Vana]

The special effects rocked my socks.

Haha yeah it is really flowery, but I'm really flowery okay!?.

Here's to a pointless post. Let's make it less pointless uhm...what's your favorite color?

[JEM]

The special effects are sweet, but nowhere close to as cool as this:

My favorite color is GREEN And yours?

[Vennila X Vana]

I bet you can't guess my favorite color.

[JEM]

blue? red? Maybe yellow? It must be orange (the color of jack o'lanturns).

So am I right? It can't be pink.

[Vennila X Vana]

Pretty much. I love them jack-o-lanterns, but I don't want to get beat up by your school.

haha yes, it is Pink. Nice special effects.

Okay we totally killed this thread haha, uhm. Nice poems everyone...

[JEM]

Trees by Joyce Kilmer is pretty nice. I am good at all at reciting poetry, but here is a try (of the last two lines of the poem):

Poems are written by fools like me,
but only god can make a tree.

I think this was written about 1913...look it up.

[Vennila X Vana]

Look it up? Excuse me, but I think that's your job.

I've never heard of that poem. And when did you ever have to recite poetry?

And can't people make trees now? Hey, we cloned a sheep, can't we make a tree?

Oh, here's the poem:

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

[JEM]

Yes that is the poem you never heard of. You never had to recite poetry for english. You never had Mrs. Kelly. That is like all we did first quarter two years ago.

Yes, you looked it up. Isn't that fun? Okay more or less then a minute and a half? In 1913, they could not clone trees.

[Vennila X Vana]

Where does reciting poetry get you? Better enunciation?

It was less than a minute and half I think.

I'm glad I never heard of it, I don't particularly like it.

And we can clone trees now, thus making it invalid.

[JEM]

By pretty nice, I mean easy to remember. It rhymes. Example:

"A tree that may in summer wear,
A nest of robins in her ugh, I forgot the next word. Oh its hair. I figured it out because it rhymes with wear."

Joyce Kilmer died in world war I. He did not know about cloning trees thus proving your point invalid. I think there is a forest in NC which is named after him.

[Vennila X Vana]

It's a guy? Whoops, I thought it was a lady.

Did he write anything other than, "trees" because I shall just declare him invalid if not. I think it's a pretty lame poem :p

We had a declamation contest at our school and everyone had to do the first round in their english class at least so the poem I chose was by E. A Poe. It was a chore to memorize, but I really liked the poem it was:

THE HAUNTED PALACE
by Edgar Allan Poe
(1839)

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh- but smile no more.

[JEM]

Trees is his most famous poem, but the title of his book was trees and other poems. So yes he wrote other poems, like
The Twelve Forty Five

Within the Jersey City shed
The engine coughs and shakes its head,
The smoke, a plume of red and white,
Waves madly in the face of night.
And now the grave incurious stars
Gleam on the groaning hurrying cars.
Against the kind and awful reign
Of darkness, this our angry train,
A noisy little rebel, pouts
Its brief defiance, flames and shouts --
And passes on, and leaves no trace.
For darkness holds its ancient place,
Serene and absolute, the king
Unchanged, of every living thing.
The houses lie obscure and still
In Rutherford and Carlton Hill.
Our lamps intensify the dark
Of slumbering Passaic Park.
And quiet holds the weary feet
That daily tramp through Prospect Street.
What though we clang and clank and roar
Through all Passaic's streets? No door
Will open, not an eye will see
Who this loud vagabond may be.
Upon my crimson cushioned seat,
In manufactured light and heat,
I feel unnatural and mean.
Outside the towns are cool and clean;
Curtained awhile from sound and sight
They take God's gracious gift of night.
The stars are watchful over them.
On Clifton as on Bethlehem
The angels, leaning down the sky,
Shed peace and gentle dreams. And I --
I ride, I blasphemously ride
Through all the silent countryside.
The engine's shriek, the headlight's glare,
Pollute the still nocturnal air.
The cottages of Lake View sigh
And sleeping, frown as we pass by.
Why, even strident Paterson
Rests quietly as any nun.
Her foolish warring children keep
The grateful armistice of sleep.
For what tremendous errand's sake
Are we so blatantly awake?
What precious secret is our freight?
What king must be abroad so late?
Perhaps Death roams the hills to-night
And we rush forth to give him fight.
Or else, perhaps, we speed his way
To some remote unthinking prey.
Perhaps a woman writhes in pain
And listens -- listens for the train!
The train, that like an angel sings,
The train, with healing on its wings.
Now "Hawthorne!" the conductor cries.
My neighbor starts and rubs his eyes.
He hurries yawning through the car
And steps out where the houses are.
This is the reason of our quest!
Not wantonly we break the rest
Of town and village, nor do we
Lightly profane night's sanctity.
What Love commands the train fulfills,
And beautiful upon the hills
Are these our feet of burnished steel.
Subtly and certainly I feel
That Glen Rock welcomes us to her
And silent Ridgewood seems to stir
And smile, because she knows the train
Has brought her children back again.
We carry people home -- and so
God speeds us, wheresoe'er we go.
Hohokus, Waldwick, Allendale
Lift sleepy heads to give us hail.
In Ramsey, Mahwah, Suffern stand
Houses that wistfully demand
A father -- son -- some human thing
That this, the midnight train, may bring.
The trains that travel in the day
They hurry folks to work or play.
The midnight train is slow and old
But of it let this thing be told,
To its high honor be it said
It carries people home to bed.
My cottage lamp shines white and clear.
God bless the train that brought me here.

[Isis]

I love this poem...I wish I knew the author's whole real name but I mostly know her as kaleidoscope. It's not proffesional, but there's something about it that really gets to me in the best way.

[i]pygmy.

she’s like a pygmy, always
collecting and
through the window i can see their legs
intertwined- she wants everything
shiny, she
shines, she follows the
light and he is her
darkness, and also
her reflection- they are
glass.

i live in a glass house. it is a place with
windchimes and seashells- artifacts and
windows. we are being eaten alive, and i tell her
stories about bugs and mousetraps as
we sweat out humid nights and mild wrongdoings.

she collected him, one day, like
she collected me and
all the rest. i collect her words and he collects his
markings, things like “eternal” in
invisible ink.

she collects the real people but i collect the
made-up ones- we both have different versions of
him, of each other, because
i like what sounds good and she likes
the taste- i give my verbs flair and her adjectives have
meaning.

there are cockroaches under the couch and
she threatens them with knives- i tell him that
they aren’t hurting anyone, really. the knife glints and
we both sit on the kitchen counter, ignoring the way
he’s tearing the livingroom apart. i am telling my
stories, and the words fall from my mouth into the
air, they are
careless and
so are we, shiny with sweat in
the night, our eyes matching moons- i collect
the reflections in the window and you collect the
inflections in my voice-
pygmies hoarding
something shiny- it’s everything
we have.

[Vennila X Vana]

I really like the pygmy poem. Well, there's a lot to critique on and a lot I didn't like, but I loved the images it brought to my mind. How did you find this Kaleidoscope?

JEM, I'm sorry, I could not suffer through that poem.

[Isis]

She's on another forum - it's called Xenith, and a quick fifteen seconds on google will get you there. The place is very old and very huge, and there's a lot of talent there. I'm hoping that by just going on every day I'll absorb some of it...

[Vennila X Vana]

I think I will check out this forum then.

Glad to see you've beaten JEM's time with less than a minute and a half.

[JEM]

JEM, I'm sorry, I could not suffer through that poem.

I didn't read it either. I searched and that was the first poem I found. I think that Trees is actually a very nice poem. Does anybody have an opinion of Trees that is better than neutral. If you are one of these people, please write.

It is on the page before this. Sorry for the delay, I was not doing research.

[maressa]

There was a poem I once read that was dedicated to a fly I think and it was really good. it's not a childish poem..i'll try to get the title and get it to you people

[Maddie]

English teachers have to love all kinds of crazy poetry - it's in their contract or at least in the job description.
Maddie

[xpineapple89]

My favorite poem would have to be Take Out The Trash by Shel Silverstein