OT: What are you favorite poems?
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I'm in a silly mood, so here's my poem-of-the-moment.
THE PANTHER.....by Ogden Nash
The panther is like a leopard,
Except it hasn't been peppered.
Should you behold a panther crouch,
Prepare to say ouch.
Better yet, if called by a panther,
Don't anther.
THE PANTHER.....by Ogden Nash
The panther is like a leopard,
Except it hasn't been peppered.
Should you behold a panther crouch,
Prepare to say ouch.
Better yet, if called by a panther,
Don't anther.
selectomatic
Well-known member
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2007
- Messages
- 483
It all depends on my mood.
“sweet spring is your time
is my time
is our time
for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”
(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)
lovers go and lovers come
awandering, awondering
but any two are perfectly alone
there’s nobody else alive.
(such a sky and such a sun
I never knew (and neither did you)
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)
not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing
(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)
“sweet spring is your time
is my time
is our time
for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”
-E E Cummings
It seems vainglorious and proud
Of Atom-man to boast so loud
His prowess homicidal,
When one remembers how for years,
With their rude stones and humble spears,
Our sires, at wiping out their peers,
Were almost never idle.
Despite his under-fissioned art
The Hittite made a splendid start
Toward smiting lesser nations;
While Tamerlane, it's widely known,
Without a bomb to call his own
Destroyed whole populations.
Nor did the ancient Persian need
Uranium to kill his Mede,
The Viking earl, his foeman.
The Greeks got excellent results
With swords and engined catapults.
A chariot served the Roman.
Mere cannon garnered quite a yield
On Waterloo's tempestuous field.
At Hastings and at Flodden
Stout countrymen, with just a bow
And arrow, laid their thousands low,
And Gettysburg was sodden.
Though doubtless now our shrewd machines
Can blow the world to smithereens
More tidily and so on,
Let's give our ancestors their due,
Their ways were coarse, their weapons few,
But ah! how wondrously they slew
With what they had to go on.
-Phyllis McGinley
Of course, there are others. As I said, it all depends on my mood.
-kevin
“sweet spring is your time
is my time
is our time
for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”
(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)
lovers go and lovers come
awandering, awondering
but any two are perfectly alone
there’s nobody else alive.
(such a sky and such a sun
I never knew (and neither did you)
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes)
not a tree can count his leaves
each herself by opening
but shining who by thousands mean
only one amazing thing
(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)
“sweet spring is your time
is my time
is our time
for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love”
-E E Cummings
It seems vainglorious and proud
Of Atom-man to boast so loud
His prowess homicidal,
When one remembers how for years,
With their rude stones and humble spears,
Our sires, at wiping out their peers,
Were almost never idle.
Despite his under-fissioned art
The Hittite made a splendid start
Toward smiting lesser nations;
While Tamerlane, it's widely known,
Without a bomb to call his own
Destroyed whole populations.
Nor did the ancient Persian need
Uranium to kill his Mede,
The Viking earl, his foeman.
The Greeks got excellent results
With swords and engined catapults.
A chariot served the Roman.
Mere cannon garnered quite a yield
On Waterloo's tempestuous field.
At Hastings and at Flodden
Stout countrymen, with just a bow
And arrow, laid their thousands low,
And Gettysburg was sodden.
Though doubtless now our shrewd machines
Can blow the world to smithereens
More tidily and so on,
Let's give our ancestors their due,
Their ways were coarse, their weapons few,
But ah! how wondrously they slew
With what they had to go on.
-Phyllis McGinley
Of course, there are others. As I said, it all depends on my mood.
-kevin
63getelevision
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 26, 2007
- Messages
- 533
jasonl
New member
'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves,
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves
And in a Minute Maid.
"Beware the Station-Break, my son,
The voice that lulls, the ads that vex!
Beware the Doctors Claim, and shun
That horror called Brand-X!"
He took his Q-Tip'd swab in hand;
Long time the Tension Headache fought--
So Dristan he by a Mercury,
And Bayer-break'd in thought.
And as in Bufferin Gulf he stood
The Station-Break, with Rise of Tame,
Came Wisking through the Pride-hazed wood,
And Creme-Rinsed as it came!
Buy one! Buy two! We're almost through!
The Q-Tip'd Dash went Spic and Span!
He Tide Air-Wick, and with Bisquick
Went Aero-Waxing Ban.
"And hast thou Dreft the Station-Break?
Ajax the Breck, Excedrin boy!
Oh, Fab wash day, Cashmere Bouquet!"
He Handi-Wrapped in Joy.
'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves,
And in a Minute Maid.
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves
And in a Minute Maid.
"Beware the Station-Break, my son,
The voice that lulls, the ads that vex!
Beware the Doctors Claim, and shun
That horror called Brand-X!"
He took his Q-Tip'd swab in hand;
Long time the Tension Headache fought--
So Dristan he by a Mercury,
And Bayer-break'd in thought.
And as in Bufferin Gulf he stood
The Station-Break, with Rise of Tame,
Came Wisking through the Pride-hazed wood,
And Creme-Rinsed as it came!
Buy one! Buy two! We're almost through!
The Q-Tip'd Dash went Spic and Span!
He Tide Air-Wick, and with Bisquick
Went Aero-Waxing Ban.
"And hast thou Dreft the Station-Break?
Ajax the Breck, Excedrin boy!
Oh, Fab wash day, Cashmere Bouquet!"
He Handi-Wrapped in Joy.
'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves,
And in a Minute Maid.
63getelevision
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 26, 2007
- Messages
- 533
Jason, Jason, Jason!! The Mad Magazine parody of "Jabberwocky"! I have that in a "Best of" compilation!
nurdlinger
Well-known member
Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair...
Have not read a poem since high school (40 years ago) when was forced to. Back then, I liked one named "Ozymandias".
Since then, song lyrics have sufficed.
Have not read a poem since high school (40 years ago) when was forced to. Back then, I liked one named "Ozymandias".
Since then, song lyrics have sufficed.
My Mom loves poetry, and as kids we were encouraged to read it and recite it, which sounds hopelessly Victorian, but was actually quite cool.
Some of my favorites (right off the top of my head) are:
Rose Hartwick Thorpe "Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight"
Robert Frost "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
Robert Herrick "Gather ye rosebuds"
....And anything by Dorothy Parker, of course
Some of my favorites (right off the top of my head) are:
Rose Hartwick Thorpe "Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight"
Robert Frost "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
Robert Herrick "Gather ye rosebuds"
....And anything by Dorothy Parker, of course
nurdlinger
Well-known member
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
When I was a senior in high school, we read and memorized this poem. Our English teacher, who was one of only four standout teachers in my history, told us that we would use some innovative method that would allow us to remember it *forever*. I still do remember it, but after all these years I think the innovation was planting the *idea* that we could not forget it which allowed that to happen. I was very bored in high school and this man, whose name was Conrad Vachon, tried mightily to convert some of my potential into action. He was no more successful than anyone else, but he earned an elevated place in my memory for it. After he died a few years ago, I learned that he had been a gay man. In Michigan in the 60's in a catholic school, he must have had a very difficult time of it.
When I was a senior in high school, we read and memorized this poem. Our English teacher, who was one of only four standout teachers in my history, told us that we would use some innovative method that would allow us to remember it *forever*. I still do remember it, but after all these years I think the innovation was planting the *idea* that we could not forget it which allowed that to happen. I was very bored in high school and this man, whose name was Conrad Vachon, tried mightily to convert some of my potential into action. He was no more successful than anyone else, but he earned an elevated place in my memory for it. After he died a few years ago, I learned that he had been a gay man. In Michigan in the 60's in a catholic school, he must have had a very difficult time of it.
One of my favorite newer poems is by a Minneapolis-based poet named Emmanuel Ortiz. It's called "A Moment Of Silence Before I Start This Poem."
I didn't want to type it out, so here's a link. It's a powerful and thought-provoking piece. Hope you enjoy it.
I didn't want to type it out, so here's a link. It's a powerful and thought-provoking piece. Hope you enjoy it.
andrewinorlando
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2004
- Messages
- 1,392
Favorite Poem?
Most of my life, my favorite was always Joyce Kilmer's The House With Nobody In It, but lately, since I'm the crazy dog lover that I am, and since my little girl was basically rescued from a puppy mill by my ex-husband, this little number has become one of my all time favorites. It was written by a wonderful woman by the name of Arlene Pace who worked as a foster for an animal rescue for many years and is dedicated to all the wonderful folks in rescue.
The Lonely Dog
Once I was a lonely dog, Just looking for a home.
I had no place to go, No one to call my own.
I wandered up and down the streets, in rain in heat and snow.
I ate whatever I could find, I was always on the go.
My skin would itch, my feet were sore, My body ached with pain.
And no one stopped to give a pat, Or to gently say my name.
I never saw a loving glance, I was always on the run.
For people thought that hurting me was really lots of fun.
And then one day I heard a voice, So gentle, kind and sweet,
And arms so soft reached down to me, And took me off my feet.
"No one again will hurt you Was whispered in my ear."
"You'll have a home to call your own where you will know no fear."
"You will be dry, you will be warm, you'll have enough to eat."
"And rest assured that when you sleep, your dreams will all be sweet."
I was afraid I must admit, I've lived so long in fear.
I can't remember when I let A human come so near.
And as she tended to my wounds And bathed and brushed my fur
She told me about the rescue group And what it meant to her.
She said, "We are a circle, A line that never ends."
"And in the center there is you protected by new friends."
"And all around you are the ones that check the pounds,
And those that share their home after you've been found."
"And all the other folk are searching near and far.
"To find the perfect home for you, where you can be a star."
She said, "There is a family, that's waiting patiently,
and pretty soon we'll find them, just you wait and see."
"And then they'll join our circle they'll help to make it grow,
so there'll be room for more like you, who have no place to go."
I waited very patiently, The days they came and went.
Today's the day I thought, my family will be sent.
Then just when I began to think It wasn't meant to be,
there were people standing there just gazing down at me.
I knew them in a heartbeat, I could tell they felt it too.
They said, "We have been waiting for a special dog like you."
Now every night I say a prayer to all the gods that be.
"Thank you for the life I live and all you've given me.
But most of all protect the dogs in the pound and on the street.
And send a Rescue Person to lift them off their feet."
Most of my life, my favorite was always Joyce Kilmer's The House With Nobody In It, but lately, since I'm the crazy dog lover that I am, and since my little girl was basically rescued from a puppy mill by my ex-husband, this little number has become one of my all time favorites. It was written by a wonderful woman by the name of Arlene Pace who worked as a foster for an animal rescue for many years and is dedicated to all the wonderful folks in rescue.
The Lonely Dog
Once I was a lonely dog, Just looking for a home.
I had no place to go, No one to call my own.
I wandered up and down the streets, in rain in heat and snow.
I ate whatever I could find, I was always on the go.
My skin would itch, my feet were sore, My body ached with pain.
And no one stopped to give a pat, Or to gently say my name.
I never saw a loving glance, I was always on the run.
For people thought that hurting me was really lots of fun.
And then one day I heard a voice, So gentle, kind and sweet,
And arms so soft reached down to me, And took me off my feet.
"No one again will hurt you Was whispered in my ear."
"You'll have a home to call your own where you will know no fear."
"You will be dry, you will be warm, you'll have enough to eat."
"And rest assured that when you sleep, your dreams will all be sweet."
I was afraid I must admit, I've lived so long in fear.
I can't remember when I let A human come so near.
And as she tended to my wounds And bathed and brushed my fur
She told me about the rescue group And what it meant to her.
She said, "We are a circle, A line that never ends."
"And in the center there is you protected by new friends."
"And all around you are the ones that check the pounds,
And those that share their home after you've been found."
"And all the other folk are searching near and far.
"To find the perfect home for you, where you can be a star."
She said, "There is a family, that's waiting patiently,
and pretty soon we'll find them, just you wait and see."
"And then they'll join our circle they'll help to make it grow,
so there'll be room for more like you, who have no place to go."
I waited very patiently, The days they came and went.
Today's the day I thought, my family will be sent.
Then just when I began to think It wasn't meant to be,
there were people standing there just gazing down at me.
I knew them in a heartbeat, I could tell they felt it too.
They said, "We have been waiting for a special dog like you."
Now every night I say a prayer to all the gods that be.
"Thank you for the life I live and all you've given me.
But most of all protect the dogs in the pound and on the street.
And send a Rescue Person to lift them off their feet."
jamman_98
Well-known member
Even though we don't have snow in the south
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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.
I've always liked this poem.
Jamman_98
Joe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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.
I've always liked this poem.
Jamman_98
Joe
selectomatic
Well-known member
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2007
- Messages
- 483
Another favorite that seems appropriate here.
Housewife's Lament
One day I was walking, I heard a complaining
And saw an old woman the picture of gloom
She gazed at the mud on her doorstep ('twas raining)
And this was her song as she wielded her broom
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
There's too much of worriment goes to a bonnet
There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt
There's nothing that pays for the time you waste on it
There's nothing that last us but trouble and dirt.
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
In March it is mud, it is slush in December
The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust
In fall the leaves litter, in muddy September
The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust
There are worms on the cherries and slugs on the roses
And ants in the sugar and mice in the pies
The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes
And ravaging roaches and damaging flies
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever
On a far little rock in the midst of the sea
My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor
To sweep off the waves as they swept over me
Alas! 'Twas no dream; ahead I behold it
I see I am helpless my fate to avert
She lay down her broom, her apron she folded
She lay down and died and was buried in dirt.
-kevin
Housewife's Lament
One day I was walking, I heard a complaining
And saw an old woman the picture of gloom
She gazed at the mud on her doorstep ('twas raining)
And this was her song as she wielded her broom
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
There's too much of worriment goes to a bonnet
There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt
There's nothing that pays for the time you waste on it
There's nothing that last us but trouble and dirt.
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
In March it is mud, it is slush in December
The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust
In fall the leaves litter, in muddy September
The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust
There are worms on the cherries and slugs on the roses
And ants in the sugar and mice in the pies
The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes
And ravaging roaches and damaging flies
Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble
Beauty will fade and riches will flee
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever
On a far little rock in the midst of the sea
My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor
To sweep off the waves as they swept over me
Alas! 'Twas no dream; ahead I behold it
I see I am helpless my fate to avert
She lay down her broom, her apron she folded
She lay down and died and was buried in dirt.
-kevin
63getelevision
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 26, 2007
- Messages
- 533
The last three poems were very moving. Thanks for posting them.
mattywashboy
Well-known member
do not stand at my grave and cry by mary frye
geez u guys are lucky, i even read it for you !
check it out, i love this poem, makes me think
Matt
geez u guys are lucky, i even read it for you !
check it out, i love this poem, makes me think
Matt
veg-o-matic
Well-known member
Can't remember the whole thing
But it starts
There once was a man from Nantucket...
veg
But it starts
There once was a man from Nantucket...
veg
Favorite . . . NOT!
Do a word association with anyone who went to St. Leo's School and had the great misfortune of being in the 7th grade under the command of Sister Mary Katherine Patrice, say "poem" and without any hesitation every last one of them will reply, "Paul Revere's Ride." Anyone who misbehaved in Sister Katherine's class was first ordered to write their name on the blackboard and then stay after school and memorize a stanza of "Paul Revere's Ride" before they could go home. For all who made it through, the 7th grade was known as "the year of Paul Revere."
I was fairly well behaved in school but this crazed nun had one seriously short fuse. It was easy to set her off, and I was among those who in the course of a school year made it all the way through Paul's ride and moved on to "The Wreck of the Hesperus."
Who knows how many students that absolute witch of a nun managed to totally turn off to the art of poetry. I get chills just hearing or even reciting in my head,
Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere . . .
I speak for many permanently damaged boomers when I state that I'm comforted to know she's probably rotted away long ago, never to terrorize another child again.
Do a word association with anyone who went to St. Leo's School and had the great misfortune of being in the 7th grade under the command of Sister Mary Katherine Patrice, say "poem" and without any hesitation every last one of them will reply, "Paul Revere's Ride." Anyone who misbehaved in Sister Katherine's class was first ordered to write their name on the blackboard and then stay after school and memorize a stanza of "Paul Revere's Ride" before they could go home. For all who made it through, the 7th grade was known as "the year of Paul Revere."
I was fairly well behaved in school but this crazed nun had one seriously short fuse. It was easy to set her off, and I was among those who in the course of a school year made it all the way through Paul's ride and moved on to "The Wreck of the Hesperus."
Who knows how many students that absolute witch of a nun managed to totally turn off to the art of poetry. I get chills just hearing or even reciting in my head,
Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere . . .
I speak for many permanently damaged boomers when I state that I'm comforted to know she's probably rotted away long ago, never to terrorize another child again.
I never cared for poetry throughout school. Probably the fact of having to memorize by force did me in and I don't really remember any other than a few lines of Abu Ben Adam may his tribe increase, awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. And saw .......
And also, By the shores of Gitchigoomey, by the shining great sea waters. Stood the wigwam of blah blah
from Hiawatha
And also, By the shores of Gitchigoomey, by the shining great sea waters. Stood the wigwam of blah blah
from Hiawatha
