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Post Info TOPIC: Your Favourite Poem


Mookish Deity Most High

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RE: Your Favourite Poem


phenomanal woman by maya angelou, now, always, forever :)

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Regular Crew

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Either The American Way by Charles Causely, or My Rival by Rudyard Kipling. The American Way is rather long, but here's an extract:

"educators & communicators are the lackeys of the
American Way
They enslave the minds of the young
and the young are willing slaves (but not for long)
because who is to doubt the American Way
is not the way?


The duty of these educators is no different
than the duty of a factory foreman
Replica production make all the young think alike
dress alike believe alike do alike
Togetherness this is the American Way"


And My Rival by Rudyard Kipling I first heard when a girl in my drama class did it for an exam, and I've loved it ever since (:

"I go to concert, party, ball --
What profit is in these?
I sit alone against the wall
And strive to look at ease.
The incense that is mine by right
They burn before her shrine;
And that's because I'm seventeen
And She is forty-nine.

I cannot check my girlish blush,
My color comes and goes;
I redden to my finger-tips,
And sometimes to my nose.
But She is white where white should be,
And red where red should shine.
The blush that flies at seventeen
Is fixed at forty-nine.

I wish I had Her constant cheek;
I wish that I could sing
All sorts of funny little songs,
Not quite the proper thing.
I'm very gauche and very shy,
Her jokes aren't in my line;
And, worst of all, I'm seventeen
While She is forty-nine.

The young men come, the young men go
Each pink and white and neat,
She's older than their mothers, but
They grovel at Her feet.
They walk beside Her 'rickshaw wheels --
None ever walk by mine;
And that's because I'm seventeen
And She is foty-nine.

She rides with half a dozen men,
(She calls them "boys" and "mashers")
I trot along the Mall alone;
My prettiest frocks and sashes
Don't help to fill my programme-card,
And vainly I repine
From ten to two A.M. Ah me!
Would I were forty-nine!

She calls me "darling," "pet," and "dear,"
And "sweet retiring maid."
I'm always at the back, I know,
She puts me in the shade.
She introduces me to men,
"Cast" lovers, I opine,
For sixty takes to seventeen,
Nineteen to foty-nine.

But even She must older grow
And end Her dancing days,
She can't go on forever so
At concerts, balls and plays.
One ray of priceless hope I see
Before my footsteps shine;
Just think, that She'll be eighty-one
When I am forty-nine."

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~Let's flaunt it all unashamed,
Give our friends a reason to complain,
Let's go make out in that rain,
Paint them a picture for their new frame,
Let's go nowhere really soon
And we'll think of something to do,
Just me and you~

lux


Regular Crew

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i have quite a few favourites from poet harry crosby:

IN SEARCH OF THE YOUNG WIZARD (From SLEEPING TOGETHER)

I have invited our little seamstress to take her thread and needle and sew our two mouths together. I have asked the village blacksmith to forge golden chains to tie our ankles together. I have gathered all the gay ribbons in the world to wind around and around and around and around and around and around again around our two waists. I have arranged with the coiffeur for your hair to be made to grow into mine and my hair to be made to grow into yours. I have persuaded (not without bribery) the world's most famous Eskimo sealing-wax maker to perform the delicate operation of sealing us together so that I am warm in your depths, but though we hunt for him all night and though we hear various reports of his existence we can never find the young wizard who is able so they say to graft the soul of a girl to the soul of her lover so that not even the sharp scissors of the Fates can ever sever them apart.

FOLIES DE FEMMES

In scarlet tunic rare a concubine
With subtle limbs, and breasts laid bare
For me to kiss. Soft eyes that sadly shine
A nubile maiden slave, intensely fair,
Strange frightened rose. A pagan priestess pale
Wearing a clinging robe of silvergreen.
In silken slashéd gold a houri frail
With veiléd face, mere child of seventeen.
But though my senses often are akin
To wretched trafficking, my soul is gold
And sails upon the winds, a harlequin
Unstained by sin and fearless as of old.
You are the lovely laughing columbine
Who fills my heart with dazzling amber wine.

GOLD AND GRAY

War was romantic in the days of old.
The knight rode forth to battle unafraid,
Wearing the favour of some royal maid
Who loved him for his courage lionbold.
And thus he sought adventures manifold
In joust and tourney midst fanfaronade
Of trumpets, or else fought in a crusade
Gainst infidels, his honour to uphold.
But modern war is not at all the same.
There are no plumes to catch my lady's eye.
In dugouts deep or trenches lashed by rain,
Where poison gas creeps in to suffocate,
Where bullets slap against the parapet,
And barbéd wire crucifies the slain.

i also love ballads. my favourites are John Keat's La Belle Dame sans Merci, and The Highway Man by Alfred Noyes.



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Mookish Deity Most High

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the raven by edgar allan poe! i a little obsessive! also practically all his poems! and stories for that matter!

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Florian xxx 

Dont you ever, Stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome. 

He/they pronouns pls



Honoured Mook

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currently it's "would you just listen" by tara kay

Would you just listen and please don't say a word, just yet,
I'd like you to think back to the very first time we met,
How you felt around me? The memories we shared,
And just remember that once upon a time, you really cared.

Now think about how we parted, and how much I cried,
But please don't speak, remember that I never ever lied,
That I told you the honest truth about why we were to split,
But now I'd like you to know that my heart broke bit by bit.

The pain was deep, unbearable and painful, for so many years,
I'll never forget all the sadness, all the uncontrollable tears,
Slowly I am rebuilding my life, I am content with what I've got,
And although it is hard I am beginning to forget what I have not.

You were a special part of my life that I will never forget,
A part of my life that broke my heart, but that I don't regret,
You gave me some happy memories that I'll keep in my heart,
Although sometimes I wish that you and I didn't have to part.

You were my first love and my true love, that will always be so,
After all of the heartache, sadness and never ending pain, I know,
You and I had something special and that will never change,
Because I love you and loving someone else will always seem strange.

Would you just listen and please don't say a word, not ever,
I'd like you to remember that once upon a time, we said forever,
That I had hopes and dreams, that I was the one who threw them away,
And this is something I will always regret until my dying day.

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Honoured Mook

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Kirstie wrote:

To his Coy Mistress, although i have not read it in a while. I also love the line from Sonnet 130 ' And yet, by heaven, my love is more rare, than anything of false compare' However I nitice it is wrote diffrently than the above url? Is my version inacurate?



to his coy mistress is a good one, although it's basically telling a woman to stop holding out on him ¬¬

 



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Mookish Deity Most High

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My poems all err on the longer side, so I'll just link:
The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe
Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll
The Lady of Shalott - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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Honoured Mook

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Serenade (1850) by the Poemeister. GAH read it first time when i was having a relaxing bath. too nice.



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Regular Crew

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`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, has 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. I love Lewis Carroll and everything involved with him. Particularly this poem. But I like many of his other poems too.

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Honoured Mook

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It's between W.H. Auden's 'If I Could Tell You' and 'September 1, 1939' and Sylvia Plath's 'Mad Girl's Love Song'.

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High Mookish Shaman

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I have to say something famous, like Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven or Annabel Lee smile



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Etsy :)



Honoured Mook

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The night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learned the language of another world.

Byron is the perfect partner to my strange existence

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The night

Hath been to me a more familiar face

Than that of man; and in her starry shade

Of dim and solitary loveliness 

I learned the language of another world.



Mookish Deity Most High

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Everybody's Girl by Emilie Autumn:

Before a thousand grasping hands
In a glaring light she stands
Trying hard to meet demands
Everybodys girl

Defenseless more and more each time
Desecration is their crime
Vandalizing every rhyme
Everybodys pet

Becoming someone else outside
Hoping to protect and hide
What they smile at, then deride
Everybodys fool

Awaiting still some unknown sign
When shell use her chance to shine
How should she her life define?
No ones woman yet.


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The Alien in the North!



Honoured Mook

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The Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll. OH YES.

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Mookish Deity Most High

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I forgot Ghost by Emilie Autumn.



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Honoured Mook

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Jabberwocky, and most of Catullus' poems, but also Dive for dreams by e.e Cummings:

dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)

trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)

honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)

never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)

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Regular Crew

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Celtic Mysteria wrote:

My poems all err on the longer side, so I'll just link:
The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe
Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll
The Lady of Shalott - Alfred, Lord Tennyson


 Jabberwocky. Definitley.

 



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Regular Crew

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I love Suheir Hammad's work. One of my favorites is "Thoughts". You have to watch teh video, she does spoken word poetry.

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Regular Crew

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'Howl' by Allen Ginsburg.

This is only an excerpt, but gods, it's brilliant. My copy of it has been highlighted and annotated to hell and back.

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war."

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Seasoned Mookster

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The erotic poem "First turn to me..." by Bernadette Mayer....

Also, this one tattooed on my thigh! It's "First Fig" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The poem is Roald Dahl's life motto and mine as well.

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Regular Crew

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This one by Marge Piercy always makes me feel nice and furious...biggrin

What's that smell in the kitchen?

All over America women are burning dinners.
It's lamb chops in Peoria; it's haddock
in Providence; it's steak in Chicago;
tofu delight in Big Sur; red
rice and beans in Dallas.
All over America women are burning
food they're supposed to bring with calico
smile on platters glittering like wax.
Anger sputters in her brainpan, confined
but spewing out missiles of hot fat.
Carbonized despair presses like a clinker
from a barbecue against the back of her eyes.
If she wants to grill anything, it's
her husband over a slow fire.
If she wants to serve him anything
it's a dead rat with a bomb in its belly
ticking like the heart of an insomniac.
Her life is cooked and digested
nothing but leftovers in Tupperware.
Look, she says, once I was roast duck
on your platter with parsley but now I am Spam.
Burning dinner is not incompetence but war.



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TOAST AND BUNNIES!!! TOAST AND BUNNIES!!!



High Mookish Shaman

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This has always been a favourite of mine:

When You Are Old
By William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

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Regular Crew

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Out of John Donne's Holy Sonnets, this is my favorite:

Rather violent sexual imagery and rape references (Yes it's a holy sonnet)

Spoiler



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Honoured Mook

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I love this poem, purely because it reminds me of my best friend in college who I don't talk to anymore (grown apart, not a bad ending) & it was in a Jodi Piccoult book & fitted perfectly.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
By E. E. Cummings 18941962

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and its you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you


here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart


i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


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Mookish Deity Most High

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Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe.



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Mookface (mod)

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Valentine, by John Fuller.

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I'd like to find you in the shower 
 And chase the soap for half an hour.  
I'd like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate. 
 I'd like to have your back to scour 
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
 I'd like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a fete. 
 I'd like to offer you a flower. 

I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
 (I'd like all your particulars in folders marked Confidential). 

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath) in rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work, on hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
 I'd like to teach them how to count, 
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
 I'd like to give you just the right amount and get some change. 

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup. I like your legs when you unwind
them.
 Even in trousers I don't mind them. 
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
 I'd always know, without a recap, where to find them. 

I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
 I'd like to cross two hemispheres and have you chase me. 
 I'd like to smuggle you across frontiers 
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
 I'd like you to embrace me. 

 I'd like to see you ironing your skirt and cancelling other dates. 
 I'd like to button up your shirt. 
I like the way your chest inflates.
 I'd like to soothe you when you're hurt 
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

 I'd like you even if you were malign 
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
 I'd let you put insecticide into my wine. 
 I'd even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein 
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulians Jekyll and Hyde.
 I'd even like you as my Julian of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan 
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of boolean mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
 I'd like to find a good excuse 
To call on you and find you in.
 I'd like to put my hand beneath your chin. And see you grin. 
 I'd like to taste your Charlotte Russe, 
 I'd like to feel my lips upon your skin, 
 I'd like to make you reproduce. 

 I'd like you in my confidence. 
 I'd like to be your second look. 
 I'd like to let you try the French Defence and mate you with my rook. 
 I'd like to be your preference and hence 
 I'd like to be around when you unhook. 
 I'd like to be your only audience, 
The final name in your appointment book, your future tense.



-- Edited by Antonym on Monday 10th of September 2012 04:34:33 PM



-- Edited by Antonym on Monday 10th of September 2012 04:35:03 PM

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Honoured Mook

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"The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred Lord Tennyson, it's too long to post here but I still like it :)



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High Mookish Shaman

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If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda is my all time favourite poem, with I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You by Pablo Neruda and If You Must Love Me Let It Be For Noughtby Elizabeth Barrett Browning coming in a close second and third.



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Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.

 



Regular Crew

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My favorite poem is The Pink Car because my 8th grade english teacher read it aloud at the beginning of class during the first week of school and again in the middle of the year and it stuck with me, or Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas. I also love  O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitmen because I remember my teacher in 7th grade, Mrs Rattner (now Mizz Bee) letting me read the entire thing aloud to the class while standing on my desk. Another great poem is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe when I was in 5th grade there was a picture book collection of his works with poems and excerpts from stories and I tried to memorize The Raven. I'm going to stop now before I make this really, really long. I love poetry.

Also Pablo Neruda is amazing.

Now I am really done.



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High Mookish Shaman

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Date:

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master; 
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster. 



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Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.

 

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