Favorite Poem

Discussion in 'Bad Dog Cafe' started by Wailin' Tele, Oct 16, 2012.

  1. JayFreddy

    JayFreddy Poster Extraordinaire

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    Jabberwocky
    by Lewis Carroll

    '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 hast 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.
     
  2. sir humphrey

    sir humphrey Friend of Leo's

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    Quality
     
  3. LGOberean

    LGOberean Doctor of Teleocity

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    This one?

    Thirty days hath September
    All the rest I can't remember.

    Kinda true, BTW. :oops:

    My favorites:

    The sun has riz
    The sun has set
    And here I is
    In Texas yet

    To live above with the saints we love
    Oh, that will be glory
    But to live below with the saints we know
    Well, that's another story

    :lol:
     
  4. JayFreddy

    JayFreddy Poster Extraordinaire

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    Can we get a translation or are you going to make us Google it? :lol: ;)
     
  5. Califiddler

    Califiddler Friend of Leo's

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    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
     
  6. kelnet

    kelnet Telefied Ad Free Member

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    W.B. Yeats is my favourite poet, and this is my favourite of his:

    The Wild Swans at Coole

    The trees are in their autumn beauty,
    The woodland paths are dry,
    Under the October twilight the water
    Mirrors a still sky;
    Upon the brimming water among the stones
    Are nine and fifty swans.

    The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
    Since I first made my count;
    I saw, before I had well finished,
    All suddenly mount
    And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
    Upon their clamorous wings.

    I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
    And now my heart is sore.
    All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
    The first time on this shore,
    The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
    Trod with a lighter tread.

    Unwearied still, lover by lover,
    They paddle in the cold,
    Companionable streams or climb the air;
    Their hearts have not grown old;
    Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
    Attend upon them still.

    But now they drift on the still water
    Mysterious, beautiful;
    Among what rushes will they build,
    By what lake's edge or pool
    Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day
    To find they have flown away?
     
  7. emu!

    emu! Poster Extraordinaire

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    There once was a man from Nantucket...
     
  8. elicross

    elicross Poster Extraordinaire

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    Invictus is great. It was my uncle David's favorite poem. Mine is this one from Whitman's Leaves of Grass:

    O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
    Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
    Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
    Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean. of the struggle ever renew’d,
    Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
    Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
    The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

    Answer.

    That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
    That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
     
  9. Telemarkman

    Telemarkman Doctor of Teleocity Ad Free Member

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    Hahahah. No Google translation program could translate that, and I wouldn't even try to do it myself. I'm sure the majority of Norwegians don't understand all of it either ... It is a highly regarded and quite famous poem though.

    I was just taking advantage of my right to post the poem in its original form - like most of you do. :D
     
  10. Triton Thrasher

    Triton Thrasher Tele-Afflicted

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    There was a young man from Australia,
    Who painted his arse like a dahlia,
    The colours were true,
    They were red, white and blue,
    But the smell was a bit of a failya.
     
  11. RevMike

    RevMike Poster Extraordinaire

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    Always had an affinity for Poe. Too long to post here, but here's one of my favorite parts of my favorite poem. The Raven.

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
    On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
    Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
     
  12. BBill64

    BBill64 Tele-Afflicted

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  13. brookdalebill

    brookdalebill Tele Axpert Ad Free Member

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    My favorite poem(s) are the lyrics to my friend
    George Palmer Macias's songs.
    It's kind of weird, and fortunate, I suppose.
    Great wordplay, and imagery.
     
  14. Ted M

    Ted M Tele-Afflicted

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    Nightclub by Billy Collins

    You are so beautiful and I am a fool
    to be in love with you
    is a theme that keeps coming up
    in songs and poems.
    There seems to be no room for variation.
    I have never heard anyone sing
    I am so beautiful
    and you are a fool to be in love with me,
    even though this notion has surely
    crossed the minds of women and men alike.
    You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
    is another one you don't hear.
    Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
    That one you will never hear, guaranteed.

    For no particular reason this afternoon
    I am listening to Johnny Hartman
    whose dark voice can curl around
    the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
    like no one else's can.
    It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
    someone left burning on a baby grand piano
    around three o'clock in the morning;
    smoke that billows up into the bright lights
    while out there in the darkness
    some of the beautiful fools have gathered
    around little tables to listen,
    some with their eyes closed,
    others leaning forward into the music
    as if it were holding them up,
    or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
    slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.

    Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
    borne beyond midnight,
    that has no desire to go home,
    especially now when everyone in the room
    is watching the large man with the tenor sax
    that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
    He moves forward to the edge of the stage
    and hands the instrument down to me
    and nods that I should play.
    So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
    and blow into it with all my living breath.
    We are all so foolish,
    my long bebop solo begins by saying,
    so damn foolish
    we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
     
  15. Mike SS

    Mike SS Poster Extraordinaire Silver Supporter

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    For I will tear your temples down
    and I will burn your shrines
    I'll give the site of every town
    to thistle and to vines
    For all the works of cultured man
    must fare, then fade, and fall
    I am the dark barbarian
    who towers over all.

    Robert E. Howard
     
  16. JDC

    JDC Tele-Holic

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    I've never known who authored the following.

    It's something my father recited to me, years ago. I liked it, then, and asked him to him write it down for me.

    It's a bit "sappy"...but I like it, still.


    Once upon a time there was a young boy
    Who thought the world was made of
    Wonders, Wishes and Dreams.

    He dreamt of many things too impossible to mention.
    He wished on falling stars and clover
    And thought that love and laughter made the world go round.

    But, as he grew, all too soon he realized
    That the world was not a magic place
    Of castles and kings and magic rings.
    But was filled with people, all hurried and afraid
    And run by rules and clocks and promises.

    So, he put aside his boyhood dreams
    And filled his days with busy things
    Leaving only the sleepy nights for fantasies.

    Time passed slowly in his world of gray
    Until, one day, a girl
    Who happened to be passing through his life,
    Took his hand.

    And in one shimmering moment
    The world became a magic place again
    Filled with Wonders, Wishes and Dreams.
     
  17. getbent

    getbent Telefied Silver Supporter

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    Soy Sauce

    Standing on a stepladder
    up under hot ceiling
    tacking on wire net for plaster,
    a day's work helping Bruce and Holly on their house,
    I catch a sour salt smell and come back
    down the ladder.

    "Deer lick it nights" she says,
    and shows me the frame of the window she's planing,
    clear redwood, but dark, with a smell.

    "Scored a broken-up, two-thousand-gallon redwood
    soy sauce tank from a company went out of business
    down near San Jose."

    Out in the yard the staves are stacked:
    I lean over, sniff them, ah! it's like Shinshu miso,
    the darker saltier miso paste of the Nagano
    uplands, central main island, Japan--
    it's like Shinshu pickles!

    I see in mind my friend Shimizu Yasushi and me,
    one October years ago, trudging through days of snow
    crossing the Japan Alps and descending
    the last night, to a farmhouse,
    taking a late hot bath in the dark--and eating
    a bowl of chill miso radish pickles,
    nothing ever so good!

    Back here, hot summer sunshine dusty yard,
    hammer in hand.

    But I know how it tastes
    to lick those window frames
    in the dark,
    the deer.


    -Gary Snyder


    Hard to pick one, I love so many.... but this is a good'un
     
  18. Markdett

    Markdett Tele-Meister

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    I have a Rendezvous with Death

    I have a rendezvous with Death
    At some disputed barricade,
    When Spring comes back with rustling shade
    And apple-blossoms fill the air—
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

    It may be he shall take my hand
    And lead me into his dark land
    And close my eyes and quench my breath—
    It may be I shall pass him still.
    I have a rendezvous with Death
    On some scarred slope of battered hill,
    When Spring comes round again this year
    And the first meadow-flowers appear.

    God knows 'twere better to be deep
    Pillowed in silk and scented down,
    Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
    Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
    Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
    But I've a rendezvous with Death
    At midnight in some flaming town,
    When Spring trips north again this year,
    And I to my pledged word am true,
    I shall not fail that rendezvous.
    Alan Seeger
     
  19. taxer

    taxer Banned

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    I can actually show a picture of a favorite poem of mine.
    And if you don't know the title of the poem after looking at this photo...shame on you.

    [​IMG]
     
  20. goinpostal

    goinpostal Tele-Meister

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    Once upon a midnight dreary,while I pondered,weak and weary... The Raven by Edgar A. Poe-I'm depraved enough to understand his writings
     
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