Favorite Poem?

[AppleBiter]

Okay, so maybe this belongs on the poetry board, but I was just wondering, as fellow writers, if you had a favorite poem. If so, what is it? My favorite poem (although I'm terrified of flying) is "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

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 windswept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or even 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.

 

[logophile]

I have more than one, but I can share this one cause it's right here on my desktop right now...

Premenstrual Syndrome
by Sharon H. Nelson

This is the time of the month when you find
your husband's a fool,
regret having children, wish
you had studied music, architecture, law, anything but how
to get the potatoes, green beans, roast, and rolls
all hot and on the table together.

This is the time of the month
when your patience has shrunk
to the size of a pea.

This is the time of the month you discover:
the house you live in is unsuitable;
you'd rather throw out the dishes than wash them;
you've always detested ironing.

This is the time of the month
when things you usually overlook
irritate you to screaming;
when things you don't usually notice
take on proportions that drive you to frenzy.

This is the time of the month
when you stomp
out of the house,
drive aimlessly round the city,
just to get away from the noise,
the electricity created by lives
rubbing up against each other,
and also
to remember
the feel
of your own flesh
on your own bones.

This is the time of the month
when everyone's wary,
when they smile slyly and shake their heads,
as if only they knew the name
of the dis-ease that afflicts you.

This is the time of the month
when doctors are kind to you,
prescribe tablets and capsules and liquids and rest,
are in sympathy
with those who must anguish, this tension,
this unfortunate physiological response to a genetic problem,
that seems to provoke
witchery, bitchery, shadow and shades in
otherwise pretty respectable folk.

What if
this is the time of the month
when your perceptions are sharpest?

What if this is the time of the month when
the illusions you hug round you,
warm and comforting and thick as a rug,
flap in the chill wind of seeing
what actually is?

What if
this is the time of the month when
the normal, the usual, are revealed
as the lies you tell yourself
three hundred and thirty days of the year?

What if
this is the time of the month when
the tears you haven't had time for well up, overflow,
and you know, as surely as you know
what time of the month it is,
that your husband's a fool,
you regret having children,
you wish study music?

What if?

 

[Brinnie]

I hear the poetry forum is short on activity...

 

[OhMissScarlett]

Resume by Dorothy Parker


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

 

[Equinoxe]

I don't have any single favourite poem, I tend to have transient favourites that come and go with my mood. I'm not sure which my favourite is at the moment, I shall have to think on it.

Resume by Dorothy Parker


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Hehe. In that spirit:

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

-- William McGonagall

 

[Lucifer_Carroll]

"The Beautiful Worthless" - Ali Liebegot (too long to reproduce here, but trust me, it's a great mix of poetry and prose)

That and Poe's poetry (all of it, as one long poem, mmmm)

 

[McKenna]

Invictus - William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

 

[thebullet]

I give you now Professor Twist
a concientious scientist

Trustees exclaimed "He never bungles!"
And sent him off to distant jungles

While camped along a riverside
One day he missed his blushing bride

She had, his guide informed him later
been eaten by an alligator

Professor Twist could not but smile
You mean, he said, a crocodile

- Ogden Nash

 

[thebullet]

Suzanne Takes you Down - Leonard Cohen

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

 

[JamesSD]

Okay, so maybe this belongs on the poetry board, but I was just wondering, as fellow writers, if you had a favorite poem. If so, what is it? My favorite poem (although I'm terrified of flying) is "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

I don't really like poetry that isn't set to music.

(Ducks for cover)

 

[Andreina]

When we two parted (Lord George Gordon Byron)

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

 

[impressive]

Just about anything by Marge Piercy. Example:

To have without holding

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.

It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.

It hurst to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.

I can't do it, you say it's killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
you float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.

 

[shereads]

The poem you quoted, "High Flight," is the one I asked my brother-in-law to read at my dad's funeral. It's a popular tribute for former military pilots.

John Gillespie McGee, a pilot for the Royal Canadian Air Force, wrote "High Flight" in 1941 at age 19. Three months after mailing the poem to his parents, McGee died in a two-plane collision over Britain.