What's your favorite poem...

[louden48]

Redneck Love Poem


Susie Lee Done Fell In Love;
She Planned To Marry Joe.
She Was So Happy 'bout It All
She Told Her Pappy So.

Pappy Told Her, Susie Gal,
You'll Have To Find Another.
I'd Just As Soon Yo' Ma Don't Know,
But Joe Is Yo' Half Brother.

So Susie Put Aside Her Joe
And Planned To Marry Will;
But After Telling Pappy This,
He Said, "there's Trouble Still.

You Can't Marry Will, My Gal,
And Please Don't Tell Yo' Mother,
But Will And Joe, And Several Mo'
I Know Is Yo' Half Brother.

But Mama Knew And Said, My Child,
Just Do What Makes Yo' Happy.
Marry Will Or Marry Joe,
You Ain't No Kin To Pappy.

[wageslave]

High Flight

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

[Ginger]

If, by Rudyard Kipling....I just love it, and read it to my kids a lot whilst they complain...

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

[playabum17]

There once once a man from Nantucket...


J/K

[playabum17]

Originally Posted by wageslave

High Flight

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

My Dad read this at one of his friends funeral...a fellow pilot, this had become one of my favorites through the years.

[Bumper]

The Creamation of Sam McGee by Robert Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead--it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

[playawannabe]

Desiderata<O:p</O:p

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,

even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble,

it's a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

<V:p</V:pMany fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. <O:p</O:p

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.<O:p</O:p

You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.<O:p</O:p

And whether or not it is clear to you,<O:p</O:p

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.<O:p</O:p

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be.<O:p</O:p

And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,<O:p</O:p

keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.<O:p</O:p

<O:p</O:p

Max Ehrmann, 1942<O:p</O:p

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


(Maybe this explains the reason I live in northern Minnesota )

[Bumper]

Originally Posted by playawannabe

Desiderata<O:p</O:p

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others,
even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble,
it's a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
<V:p</V:pMany fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. <O:p</O:p
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.<O:p</O:p
You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.<O:p</O:p
And whether or not it is clear to you,<O:p</O:p
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.<O:p</O:p
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be.<O:p</O:p
And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,<O:p</O:p
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.<O:p</O:p

<O:p</O:p

Max Ehrmann, 1942<O:p</O:p

Deteriorata
Go placidly amid the noise and waste, And remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet and passive persons unless you are in need of sleep.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Rotate your tires. Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself, And heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys.

Know what to kiss and when. Consider that two wrongs never make a right, But that three lefts do. Wherever possible put people on "HOLD".

Be comforted that in the face of all aridity and disillusionment, And despite the changing fortunes of time, There is always a big future in computer maintenance. Remember the Pueblo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle and mutilate. Know yourself. If you need help, call the FBI.

Exercise caution in your daily affairs, Especially with those persons closest to you; That lemon on your left for instance.

Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls, Would scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love therefore; it will stick to your face.

Carefully surrender the things of youth: birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan, And let not the sands of time get in your lunch. For a good time, call 606-4311.

Take heart amid the deepening gloom that your dog Is finally getting enough cheese; And reflect that whatever fortunes may be your lot, It could only be worse in Sioux City.

You are a fluke of the Universe. You have no right to be here, and whether you can hear it or not, The Universe is laughing behind your back.

Therefore make peace with your God whatever you conceive him to be, Hairy Thunderer or Cosmic Muffin. With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, The world continues to deteriorate. Give up.

[Heather]

Gosh, this is a tough one for me. I love so many. I suppose my all-purpose favorite is Ruth Stone's "Green Apples," but I can't find it anywhere on the net (it's back in Chicago in my pile of books, of course). Other favorite poets include Sylvia Plath, Frost, Sharon Olds, Nikki Giovanni. Here's another great one, by Langston Hughes:

THEME FOR ENGLISH B

The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.

[Susie Q Roo]

I have to confess that I'm not a big poetry fan, but I had a required poetry writing class for my English minor when I went back to finish my degree in my 30s. So... I wrote this, and it still moves me. Forgive my vanity for posting my own work, k?

Sonnet for my Son


His face is small, his blond hair blown like leaves.
He looks at me with blue triumphant eyes
that seem to say, how silly can you be,
to think I couldn't grab that bar and rise
above it with my strong eight-year-old arms.
I bet him that he couldn't do just one,
so now I owe him what I did and more.
He drops down to the earth and starts to run.
He kicks away his ball (it's black and white)
then off across the field they both dart.
They roll together, bouncing, veering, bright.
Once Caleb stops and grants me one quick kiss,
then off again. He leaves me, bit by bit.

[jx2]

Jean, Jean made a machine
Joe, Joe made it go
you know the rest.

[Nerak936]

I wrote this when I was desperately in love with a good friend in high school. I was 16.

Another friend, who was a musical student in Boston, set it to music a few years later. He was kinda an "off-the-wall" spaceshot type (a punker who was ahead of his time), so I was surprised when I heard what a beautiful job he did with it.

(Chorus)

I love you, but I’ll never let you know.
I love you, but my feelings will never show.
For you, my dear, don’t realize
the joy I feel each time your eyes
meet mine.
I love you so.

(Verses)

My life was but an existence, to be
forever searching endlessly
for what life is of.

Til you touched my soul, the essence of me,
never knowing you would always be
my chosen love.

Each moment you are near to me
my lips are pleading longingly
for just one kiss.

Your smile and song, sung low and clear,
and gentle ways take away my fear
of all that is.

Perhaps some day, either now or then,
when I gaze into your eyes again,
so close to you…

You will look into my heart and see
how beautiful two as one can be
and love me too.

[Ginger]

Susie, I love your poem, especially the last two lines which evoke a little sadness..... Thanks for sharing!

I have one I wrote for my son also somewhere, but I'd have to dig for it...