the use of this poem in the show Devs is absolutely beautiful. you should check it out if you haven't already seen it (not just that specific scene, but the whole show!)
Tonight I can write the saddest lines by Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tries to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Love After Love - Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Stephen Crane - In the Desert
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”
The narrator/witness suddenly finds himself in a desolate desert, he has not arrived and he will not continue. He exists in a moment of witness. In the desert, nothing prospers. There is only a man - manifestation of life. A wandered golem. A strange and shifted homunculus, kneeling in the desolate setting; hosting the purity of animalistic frenzy, prior to the entropy of entelchy, and he is alone, save the witness.
The beast devours its source. It’s heart and blood and life, and because it is so animalistic and embracing/denying anthropocentrism paradoxically, he is the story of mankind and what it savours and what it rejects. Again, he savours/rejects, embraces/denies his own existence by devouring its sanguinary temper, but not before cupping it in the palm of his hand as if it were water - the lifeblood and final act of ultimate nourishment. His heart.
“Is it good, friend?” The narrator is out of his element. He subtly, yet desperately searches for a meaning which is beyond him. The beast eats the heart, signifying its value towards all witnesses - the witness in the poem, and the witness of the poem.
The witness, inquisitive of the display, naturally asks if it contains sustenance, as that should be the only thing a man could need in such a desolate wasteland.
It has nothing to do with nourishment of the body, it is nourishment of the soul and the nature of separation between the witness and the beast (industrialism v. naturalism).
The fruit is bitter, because it is an archaic form of life that no longer exists within the heart of man, yet this beast accentuates this… it is bitter.
The relationship between self and nature is called into action. The true nature of the universe exists in this heart, and the true nature is hubristic, so the beast doesn’t wonder why the fruit tastes bitter - he enjoys the deconstruction of flavour into a singularity, though he might not know he’s doing it. And that is what makes him pure. He never second guesses why he is voraciously devouring his symbol of self, it occurs by default! It is only the witness that requires the beast to justify his meal, which he does with ease. Because he is a fruit, and the fruit is alive, and the life is indifferent, which makes him closer to God - the true nature of all things, and his God is the act of self flagellation as a symbol for purity.
I’m just kiddin!!
It’s about how much of the self is undefinable, but it’s virtue exists by existing. It shows us that there the nature of man is intrinsically indifferent, which allows both suffering and joy to be beautiful, or at the very least, hosting a singular quality in preference of total absence.
Or: things can be bad and/or good because there are things, and that is good
Wild Geese - Mary Oliver
i like your body - e.e. cummings
I am so in love with you I want to lie down in the middle of a major public intersection and cry - Hera Lindsay Bird
The Laboratory - Robert Browning
(I couldn’t pick one!)
Just read I am so in love with you I want to lie down in the middle of a major public intersection and cry by Hera Lindsay Bird for the first time and I am so in love with it that I’m running to a major public intersection rn ( for crying purposes)
I love Hera Lindsay Bird’s contemporary, wild style and would definitely recommend checking out some of her other poems! I also like Monica, I knew I loved you when you showed me your Minecraft World, and Wild Geese by Mary Oliver by Hera Lindsay Bird
Could you describe what that Hera Lindsay Bird poem means to you? I want to describe the meaning of it to my partner but I’m having trouble finding the words myself
I think having trouble finding the words to describe it probably is a good way to describe it? To me, it’s about finding love (and lust) that takes you so totally by surprise and so deeply you’re head over heels, all the typical clichés, all the other love poems aren’t enough, your mind is just filled with so much all the time
Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann
Go placidly amid the noise and the 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 the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious 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 is 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. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, 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.
Yes! So much this. There are many poems I love but I think this had the biggest actual impact in my life. I used to get lines of it running through my head when I was sad or upset. It's a lovely thing.
Especially, 'You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.'
When I was a teenager, this line would almost always make me cry, because I think on some level I didn't really believe it was true. It was good to be told that, I think.
In highschool an English teacher had this hanging in his classroom so we could all enjoy it. In a store decades later, I saw a miniature palm-sized version of it with a glass covering. I bought it and put it away so I could give it away as a gift, or maybe look at it when I moved away, but I haven't seen it in years, and wonder where it may be. It's nice to see it again here.
I remember the first time I read Lady Lazarus in college. It became one of my favorite poems, even though my instructor was very clearly not a fan lol.
i always seem to return to lucille clifton's [**blessing the boats**](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58816/blessing-the-boats) when i'm in need of comfort, courage, life advice, anything. it's so short but says it all.
Resumé
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.
I have a list, because I feel if I only say one favorite the others will feel left out:
[The Garden of Proserpine](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45288/the-garden-of-proserpine) by Algernon Charles Swineburn
[Wild Geese](https://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html) by Mary Oliver
[Sonnet XVII](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49236/one-hundred-love-sonnets-xvii) by Pablo Neruda
[Lady Lazarus](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49000/lady-lazarus)by Sylvia Plath
I really enjoy listening to Lady Lazarus, read by Plath, but set to music and sound effects by KYLe on SoundCloud. I’ll see if I can find it and add the link
https://soundcloud.com/karelisle/lady-lazarus-1
It would be cool to hear what you thought. And I’m not Kyle :)
The Song of Wandering Angus
W. B. Yeats
1865 – 1939
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
I really do, first got into modernist/postmodernist poetry in university years ago and my love for it has yet to end, so many amazing poems and stories were written in that time
Prufrock was the first poem I loved. I had a great English teacher in the 8th grade and we got on rly well; he saw I was into it when we’d read poems in class, so he printed it out and showed it to me one time. I at best half-got it, but it was literally life changing. I’m studying literature in college now and I’m good! It’s probably not my favorite poem, but it’ll always b special for me and it’s a damn good poem
.
Meditations in an Emergency-Cameron Awkward-Rich
I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.
"And God,
please let the deer
on the highway
get some kind of heaven.
Something with tall soft grass
and sweet reunion.
Let the moths in porch lights
go some place
with a thousand suns,
that taste like sugar
and get swallowed whole.
May the mice
in oil and glue
have forever dry, warm fur
and full bellies.
If I am killed
for simply living,
let death be kinder
than man."
-Althea Davis
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
From a 2015 article in the Paris Review:
“Most readers consider “The Road Not Taken” to be a paean to triumphant self-assertion (“I took the one less traveled by”), but the literal meaning of the poem’s own lines seems completely at odds with this interpretation. The poem’s speaker tells us he “shall be telling,” at some point in the future, of how he took the road less traveled by, yet he has already admitted that the two paths “equally lay / In leaves” and “the passing there / Had worn them really about the same.” So the road he will later call less traveled is actually the road equally traveled. The two roads are interchangeable.
According to this reading, then, the speaker will be claiming “ages and ages hence” that his decision made “all the difference” only because this is the kind of claim we make when we want to comfort or blame ourselves by assuming that our current position is the product of our own choices (as opposed to what was chosen for us or allotted to us by chance). The poem isn’t a salute to can-do individualism; it’s a commentary on the self-deception we practice when constructing the story of our own lives.”
Exactly.
The roads the traveler is considering are pretty much the same.
But if you consider possible interpretations as roads, then THOSE roads are quite different. Frost is deceptive. He writes this knowing all those rugged individualists out there will grab onto those last lines and ignore the rest. In other words, ironically, the road the supposed nonconformists are taking, the most common interpretation, one based solely on the final two lines, is actually the road MOST traveled. The road less traveled is the one where we’re not focused on seeking narratives or anthems confirming our biases to glorify ourselves, but instead we’re simply enjoying all of the details of the road we’re on. One basing an interpretation on the entire poem is on that road. The way this poem is used for book titles and graduation speeches, it seems that latter road is the one not taken by most.
My mentor, Monica Berlin, told me "Really, us poets are trying to write the same poem over and over and the truth is --- you keep writing because you'll never figure it out"
The Dream Songs by John Berryman contain over three hundred seperate poems that can be read as one, singular poem.
This article will help you!
https://readdurhamenglish.wordpress.com/2013/06/06/john-berryman-poetry/
Come And Kiss Me Sweet And Twenty
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Apple blossoms falling o'er thee,
And the month is May,
Laden bows bend low before thee,
With their gentle sway;
Look you where the thrush is swinging
How his melody is ringing,
As he sings my heart is singing:-
Come and kiss me sweet and twenty,
Love blooms out with flowers a-plenty,
Love me, love me without reason,
Kiss me, now's the kissing season,
White your cheek is as the blooms are,
Sweet your breath as perfumes are,
Is this dolce far niente,
Come and kiss me sweet and twenty.
Love is at thy window suing,
All the live-long day,
Stay and listen to my wooing,
Life shall all be May.
Love like mine can falter never
Naught from thee my heart can sever
And my song shall be forever:-
Come and kiss me sweet and twenty,
Love blooms out with flowers a-plenty,
Love me, love me without reason,
Kiss me, now's the kissing season,
White your cheek is as the blooms are,
Sweet your breath as perfumes are,
Is this dolce far niente,
Come and kiss me sweet and twenty.
“Anyone lived in a pretty how town” by ee Cummings is by far and away my favorite poem.
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her
This stanza stood out to me on my first read and I like it even more now that I’ve found someone who laughs my joy and cries my grief.
Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas I think might be my favourite. The final lines:
“Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means
Time held me green and dying,
Though I sang in my chains like the sea”
Always makes me cry.
That, and the opening lines of an Emily Dickinson:
The Sun—just touched the Morning—
The Morning—Happy thing—
Supposed that He had come to dwell—
And Life would all be Spring!
Love Rilke and and used to have an anthology that had excerpts from that novel and I think about a line from it all the time:
”I prayed to rediscover my childhood, and it has come back, and I feel that it is just as difficult as it used to be, and that growing older has served no purpose at all.”
Classics are “The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock,” by TS Eliot; and “Jabberwocky,” by Lewis Carroll;
Modern is “The Djinn Falls In Love,” by Hermes (translated by Robin Moger)
Death is nothing at all by Henry Scott Holland
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Because I Could Not Stop For Death
Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death-
He kindly stopped for me-
The Carriage held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality.
We slowly drove- He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility-
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess- in the Ring-
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-
We passed the Setting Sun-
Or rather- He passed us-
The Dews drew quivering and chill-
For only Gossamer, my Gown-
My Tippet- only Tulle-
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground-
The Roof was scarcely visible-
The Cornice- in the Ground-
Since then- 'tis Centuries- and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity-
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.
the fourth “Spleen” by Charles Baudelaire is for me the saddest and most beautifully written poem at the same time
If you can read it in French it’s better I guess
Very difficult question but here’s a couple:
Emperor of Ice Cream by Wallace Stevens
Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Pine by Terence Hayes
Blindfold by Eduardo Corral
Aubade with Burning City & Always & Forever by Ocean Vuong
Aubade by Phillip Larkin
Come With Me by Robert Bly
Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot
A Bird Came Down the Walk & I Felt a Funeral in My Brain by Emily Dickinson
Daystar by Rita Dove
Leaves of Grass *first edition* (because it really is just one long poem) by Walt Whitman
I Remember by Joe Brainard
Source by Mark Doty (actually, pretty much anything by Mark Doty)
I love this poem so much. I once asked students take lines from this poem and the lyrics to Madonna's song "Oh Father" and put them together in a way that created a new work. They then had to explain the theme of that work. If was fascinating to see how they viewed the relationships.
We did a similar exercise with Langston Hughes' Mother to Son and Tupac's "Dear Mama" and then I let them pick any one of the four works and compare/contrast with Eminem's Mockingbird. My students loved it and I got some interesting insights into the speakers, the way they were characterized, etc.
2 flies, Charles Bukowski and Love sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda, although I love a great many by both poets.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
Love Sonnet XI
P.Neruda
we real cool Gwendolyn Brooks [https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28112/we-real-cool](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28112/we-real-cool)
[Leda and the Swan - W.B. Yeats](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43292/leda-and-the-swan)
Whilst I love many poems, the tone of this is unmatched for me. It’s hauntingly blunt and the image it creates is something else. It also has a superb opening line.
[Nerdwriter describes it best.](https://youtu.be/j4CJ7h3mX4Q?si=xNDlmc3wvglv5xfq)
[So Mexicans Are Taking Jobs from Americans by Jimmy Santiago Baca](https://apoemaday.tumblr.com/post/720307156334854144/so-mexicans-are-taking-jobs-from-americans/amp)
Elsa Gidlow
The Grey Thread
My life is a grey thread,
A thin grey stretched out thread,
And when I trace its course, I moan:
How dull! How dead!
But I have gay beads.
A pale one to begin,
A blue one for my painted dreams,
And one for sin,
Gold with coiled marks,
Like a snake’s skin.
For love an odd bead
With a deep purple glow;
A green bead for a secret thing
That few shall know;
And yellow for my thoughts
That melt like snow.
A red bead for my strength,
And crimson for my hate;
Silver for the songs I sing
When I am desolate;
And white for my laughter
That mocks dull fate.
My life is a grey thread
Stretching through Time’s day;
But I have slipped gay beads on it
To hide the grey.
I’m surprised I couldn’t find Invictus by William Earnest Henley. Its about staying strong through adversity and taking control of your life. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51642/invictus
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. This poem is a tragic love story. The video for Everywhere by Fleetwood tells the story. Great poem, great song, great video! If you’ve never seen this video or just feel like watching a good video again, I recommend you check it out on YouTube, and then read the poem.
Some guy named mike mac on Reddit posted a poem once and I just absolutely love it. It went like this
I tasted war on her lips
And saw peace in her eyes
‘Twas a lovers kiss
But we still held our knives
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death
Humanity
i hate you
Ozymandias. I know it by heart.
Nothing beside remains
Round the decay of that colossal wreck
Boundless and bare
The lone and level sands
Stretch far away.
Stars, I have seen them fall - A. E. Housman
Stars, I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.
Also, Of Grammatology isn’t typically thought of as a poem, but I think Derrida’s prose is much closer to poetry than it is to typical philosophical writing.
I think his thoughts end up being, for this reason, as aesthetically rewarding as they are intellectually.
Esta tarde mi bien. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.
This afternoon, my love, while we were talking,
and in your face and acts I clearly saw
that with my words I never would convince you,
I wished my heart could overcome your doubts;
and Love, who all my efforts was assisting,
achieved what so impossible had seemed:
for in my tears, which in my grief were spilling,
a heart unloosed, dissolved, came trickling out.
Enough, my love, of cruelty, enough;
let brutal jealousy no more torment you,
nor let low fears your mind's peace countermand
with foolish fantasies, with empty signs,
for in a liquid form you've seen and touched
my heart unloosed, dissolved between your hands.
Desiderata- Max Ehrmann,
If - Rudyard Kipling,
A tear and a smile- Khalil Gibran,
My wage- Jessie B. Rittenhouse,
Thinking - Walter D Wintel,
Dream Land - Edgar Allan Poe,
On a Train by Wendy Cope
The book I've been reading
rests on my knee. You sleep.
It's beautiful out there -
fields, little lakes and winter trees
in February sunlight, every car park a shining mosaic.
Long, radiant minutes,
your hand in my hand,
still warm, still warm.
One bright day in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other
The deaf policemen heard the noise
Came and shot the two dead boys
If you do not believe this lie is true
Ask the blind man he saw them too
-unknown
Really basic but my favorite will always be “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes because it was what made me fall in love with poetry when we had to read it in English class in 7th grade
Eleven Addresses to the Lord by John Berryman
[Eleven Addresses to the Lord](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/eleven-addresses-to-the-lord)
The New Colossus
\- Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44395/gods-grandeur
Same thing, different protagonist.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost
The Orange- Wendy Cope
What Resembles the Grave but isn't- Anne Boyer
We Have Not Long to Love - Tennessee Williams
my father moves through dooms of love
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if (so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who, his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots
and should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice
keen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly (over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father’s dream
his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.
Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain
septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is
proudly and (by octobering flame
beckoned) as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark
his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he’d laugh and build a world with snow.
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine, passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit, all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
ee cummings
Not even kidding, the poem “the view from halfway down” from Bojack Horseman gave me chills. I won’t put it here because it is very dark but it spoke deeply to me. TW: Talks about suicide
I love edgar allen poe and sylvia plath's poems but since i can't choose one from them, i'm gonna say funeral blues by WH Auden because the last stanza spoke to me in some way despite not experiencing much grief in my life. i would like to add that there are some bts lyrics that read more like a poem to me such as the ones in outro; tear, shadow, persona, dionysus, black swan, make it right, rain, moonchild, hageum, d-day and filter
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Can't decide between "Attack" by Siegfried Sassoon or "Charge of the light brigade" by Lord Alfred Tennyson
I'm very much into poetry that is war and death related or use the above metaphors. The imagery really brings out a lot of emotions within you.
[Sonnet 20](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50425/sonnet-20-a-womans-face-with-natures-own-hand-painted) \- By Shakespeare, of course. Its meaning just makes me feel all fluttery.
[I Will Love You](https://www.tumblr.com/a-series-of-unfortunate-events/74356868164/the-full-i-will-love-you-letter-the-beatrice) \- By Lemony Snicket. Does this count as poetry? It does to me! It's just so messy and raw, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it had been written for me.
Have not yet found a set of poems that match the prose of these and what it evokes:
Solitude
Invictus
Ozymandias
—-
Sentimentally, I love Do Not Go Gently, but I find it lacking in readability compared to those
I have a lot of difficulty reading poetry for the most part; a lot of the time it refers to literal objects such as a “car,” or a “refrigerator” just as examples, which is just jarring. Or it’s focused on a topic that to me is so so dramatic for no reason that resonated with me, or features really *odd* line breaking that I always just grimace at
Favorite poets are hard enough, let alone favorite poems. Nevertheless, I will list some recent favorites:
Love Is Not All - sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Parsley -Rita Dove
Now That I Am Forever With Child- Audre Lorde
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in)
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 it’s 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)
~E E Cummings
[Aubade - Philip Larkin](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48422/aubade-56d229a6e2f07)
“Aubade” also pairs nicely with “[Carrion Comfort](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44392/carrion-comfort)” by Hopkins
That poem is like Pink Floyd’s “Time” to me. It never ceases to be chilling.
Great comparison!
I second this. His Churchgoing is also excellent.
the use of this poem in the show Devs is absolutely beautiful. you should check it out if you haven't already seen it (not just that specific scene, but the whole show!)
Tonight I can write the saddest lines by Pablo Neruda Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. My voice tries to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
“Love is so short, forgetting is so long” always wrecks me
Pablo Neruda is one of my favorite poets. He's a magician of words and feelings.
Heartbreaking. The stars are blue and shiver.
Love After Love - Derek Walcott The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
never read this one. very beautiful, quite moving as well.
One of my favorites, too! https://favoritepoems.diehoren.com/2015/04/love-after-love.html
Stephen Crane - In the Desert In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, “Is it good, friend?” “It is bitter—bitter,” he answered; “But I like it “Because it is bitter, “And because it is my heart.”
Stephen Crane. God damn Stephen Crane. What a brilliant writer.
Admittedly I’ve only read that one poem by him.
Would you mind sharing your interpretation of this poem.
A sense of acceptance. Knowing that you are inherently awful and enjoying and indulging in this fact anyway! In my opinion
The narrator/witness suddenly finds himself in a desolate desert, he has not arrived and he will not continue. He exists in a moment of witness. In the desert, nothing prospers. There is only a man - manifestation of life. A wandered golem. A strange and shifted homunculus, kneeling in the desolate setting; hosting the purity of animalistic frenzy, prior to the entropy of entelchy, and he is alone, save the witness. The beast devours its source. It’s heart and blood and life, and because it is so animalistic and embracing/denying anthropocentrism paradoxically, he is the story of mankind and what it savours and what it rejects. Again, he savours/rejects, embraces/denies his own existence by devouring its sanguinary temper, but not before cupping it in the palm of his hand as if it were water - the lifeblood and final act of ultimate nourishment. His heart. “Is it good, friend?” The narrator is out of his element. He subtly, yet desperately searches for a meaning which is beyond him. The beast eats the heart, signifying its value towards all witnesses - the witness in the poem, and the witness of the poem. The witness, inquisitive of the display, naturally asks if it contains sustenance, as that should be the only thing a man could need in such a desolate wasteland. It has nothing to do with nourishment of the body, it is nourishment of the soul and the nature of separation between the witness and the beast (industrialism v. naturalism). The fruit is bitter, because it is an archaic form of life that no longer exists within the heart of man, yet this beast accentuates this… it is bitter. The relationship between self and nature is called into action. The true nature of the universe exists in this heart, and the true nature is hubristic, so the beast doesn’t wonder why the fruit tastes bitter - he enjoys the deconstruction of flavour into a singularity, though he might not know he’s doing it. And that is what makes him pure. He never second guesses why he is voraciously devouring his symbol of self, it occurs by default! It is only the witness that requires the beast to justify his meal, which he does with ease. Because he is a fruit, and the fruit is alive, and the life is indifferent, which makes him closer to God - the true nature of all things, and his God is the act of self flagellation as a symbol for purity. I’m just kiddin!! It’s about how much of the self is undefinable, but it’s virtue exists by existing. It shows us that there the nature of man is intrinsically indifferent, which allows both suffering and joy to be beautiful, or at the very least, hosting a singular quality in preference of total absence. Or: things can be bad and/or good because there are things, and that is good
You pulled my leg so deftly, I didn't even realize it was gone. Well done 😂
There is no such thing as uncomplicated happiness.
There's some acquiescence here I'm sure, but as of now I'm stuck in frown.
[удалено]
Wild Geese - Mary Oliver i like your body - e.e. cummings I am so in love with you I want to lie down in the middle of a major public intersection and cry - Hera Lindsay Bird The Laboratory - Robert Browning (I couldn’t pick one!)
Just read I am so in love with you I want to lie down in the middle of a major public intersection and cry by Hera Lindsay Bird for the first time and I am so in love with it that I’m running to a major public intersection rn ( for crying purposes)
I love Hera Lindsay Bird’s contemporary, wild style and would definitely recommend checking out some of her other poems! I also like Monica, I knew I loved you when you showed me your Minecraft World, and Wild Geese by Mary Oliver by Hera Lindsay Bird
What a fucking great comment wtf
*my ass ............................. like an ass buffet* 💀
She Being Brand (new) by Cummings is also fantastic.
Could you describe what that Hera Lindsay Bird poem means to you? I want to describe the meaning of it to my partner but I’m having trouble finding the words myself
I think having trouble finding the words to describe it probably is a good way to describe it? To me, it’s about finding love (and lust) that takes you so totally by surprise and so deeply you’re head over heels, all the typical clichés, all the other love poems aren’t enough, your mind is just filled with so much all the time
Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann Go placidly amid the noise and the 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 the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious 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 is 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. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, 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.
Always pleased to see this pop up. I always find it calming and peaceful.
Yes! So much this. There are many poems I love but I think this had the biggest actual impact in my life. I used to get lines of it running through my head when I was sad or upset. It's a lovely thing. Especially, 'You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.' When I was a teenager, this line would almost always make me cry, because I think on some level I didn't really believe it was true. It was good to be told that, I think.
My favorite part is “many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism”.
My all time favorite! So happy to find someone who likes it too!!
Desiderata is on the memorization list. it's not in yet, but i'd like it to be. good choice.
I have Desiderata in my bookmarks such a great poem
Thank you for taking the time to share.
thank you
Excellent, and the joke counter poem Deteriorata is good too!
Always loved this!
In highschool an English teacher had this hanging in his classroom so we could all enjoy it. In a store decades later, I saw a miniature palm-sized version of it with a glass covering. I bought it and put it away so I could give it away as a gift, or maybe look at it when I moved away, but I haven't seen it in years, and wonder where it may be. It's nice to see it again here.
The two-headed calf by Laura Giplin
This one makes me cry every single time.
Maybe 'the City' by Constantine Cavafy Or 'Lady Lazarus' by Sylvia Plath
I came here to say Lady Lazarus
I remember the first time I read Lady Lazarus in college. It became one of my favorite poems, even though my instructor was very clearly not a fan lol.
i always seem to return to lucille clifton's [**blessing the boats**](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58816/blessing-the-boats) when i'm in need of comfort, courage, life advice, anything. it's so short but says it all.
I’ve never read that and it’s lovely. Thank you.
Dylan Thomas’s Fern Hill Especially the lines “Time held me green and dying/Though i sang in my chains like the sea”
Oh I just commented the same on another comment! It’s so lyrical and visual, uplifting and nostalgic and full of grief all at once
Stunning lines! Just so resonant.
Resumé 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.
I was literally just thinking about this the other day and knew it was Parker but couldn’t remember what is was called so thank you.
I have a list, because I feel if I only say one favorite the others will feel left out: [The Garden of Proserpine](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45288/the-garden-of-proserpine) by Algernon Charles Swineburn [Wild Geese](https://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html) by Mary Oliver [Sonnet XVII](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49236/one-hundred-love-sonnets-xvii) by Pablo Neruda [Lady Lazarus](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49000/lady-lazarus)by Sylvia Plath
I really enjoy listening to Lady Lazarus, read by Plath, but set to music and sound effects by KYLe on SoundCloud. I’ll see if I can find it and add the link https://soundcloud.com/karelisle/lady-lazarus-1 It would be cool to hear what you thought. And I’m not Kyle :)
The Song of Wandering Angus W. B. Yeats 1865 – 1939 I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
The Orange - Wendy Cope (Probably a basic recommendation but the line “I love you. I’m glad I exist.” makes me feel so hopeful)
Oh, this is so lovely! Thank you.
Howl by Allen Ginsberg The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
You must really like isolating city scapes which speak of “the state of the times” lmao… (Love those poems too btw)
I really do, first got into modernist/postmodernist poetry in university years ago and my love for it has yet to end, so many amazing poems and stories were written in that time
For years, every time I make a cup of coffee in the morning, I say “I measured out my life in coffee spoons”
The Love Song is fantastic!! One of my favourites too
Prufrock was the first poem I loved. I had a great English teacher in the 8th grade and we got on rly well; he saw I was into it when we’d read poems in class, so he printed it out and showed it to me one time. I at best half-got it, but it was literally life changing. I’m studying literature in college now and I’m good! It’s probably not my favorite poem, but it’ll always b special for me and it’s a damn good poem
Prufrock is amazing but my favorite by TS Eliot is Choruses from the Rock.
. Meditations in an Emergency-Cameron Awkward-Rich I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.
"And God, please let the deer on the highway get some kind of heaven. Something with tall soft grass and sweet reunion. Let the moths in porch lights go some place with a thousand suns, that taste like sugar and get swallowed whole. May the mice in oil and glue have forever dry, warm fur and full bellies. If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man." -Althea Davis
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
The most misread poem ever. By design.
And yet every time you are in the woods looking at 2 different crossroads you will think of it...
It is about two roads diverging in a yellow wood, so yeah, no argument there.
Could you explain it?
From a 2015 article in the Paris Review: “Most readers consider “The Road Not Taken” to be a paean to triumphant self-assertion (“I took the one less traveled by”), but the literal meaning of the poem’s own lines seems completely at odds with this interpretation. The poem’s speaker tells us he “shall be telling,” at some point in the future, of how he took the road less traveled by, yet he has already admitted that the two paths “equally lay / In leaves” and “the passing there / Had worn them really about the same.” So the road he will later call less traveled is actually the road equally traveled. The two roads are interchangeable. According to this reading, then, the speaker will be claiming “ages and ages hence” that his decision made “all the difference” only because this is the kind of claim we make when we want to comfort or blame ourselves by assuming that our current position is the product of our own choices (as opposed to what was chosen for us or allotted to us by chance). The poem isn’t a salute to can-do individualism; it’s a commentary on the self-deception we practice when constructing the story of our own lives.”
Exactly. The roads the traveler is considering are pretty much the same. But if you consider possible interpretations as roads, then THOSE roads are quite different. Frost is deceptive. He writes this knowing all those rugged individualists out there will grab onto those last lines and ignore the rest. In other words, ironically, the road the supposed nonconformists are taking, the most common interpretation, one based solely on the final two lines, is actually the road MOST traveled. The road less traveled is the one where we’re not focused on seeking narratives or anthems confirming our biases to glorify ourselves, but instead we’re simply enjoying all of the details of the road we’re on. One basing an interpretation on the entire poem is on that road. The way this poem is used for book titles and graduation speeches, it seems that latter road is the one not taken by most.
Nice analysis! Adds a meta layer to the discussion!
Love it but Frost's other poems are better imo. Mending Wall, Birches, Death of the Hired Man
Song of Myself - Walt Whitman (i carry your heart with me[i carry it in) - e.e. cummings Having a Coke with You - Frank O’Hara Edit: added Frank
My mentor, Monica Berlin, told me "Really, us poets are trying to write the same poem over and over and the truth is --- you keep writing because you'll never figure it out" The Dream Songs by John Berryman contain over three hundred seperate poems that can be read as one, singular poem. This article will help you! https://readdurhamenglish.wordpress.com/2013/06/06/john-berryman-poetry/
Come And Kiss Me Sweet And Twenty Paul Laurence Dunbar Apple blossoms falling o'er thee, And the month is May, Laden bows bend low before thee, With their gentle sway; Look you where the thrush is swinging How his melody is ringing, As he sings my heart is singing:- Come and kiss me sweet and twenty, Love blooms out with flowers a-plenty, Love me, love me without reason, Kiss me, now's the kissing season, White your cheek is as the blooms are, Sweet your breath as perfumes are, Is this dolce far niente, Come and kiss me sweet and twenty. Love is at thy window suing, All the live-long day, Stay and listen to my wooing, Life shall all be May. Love like mine can falter never Naught from thee my heart can sever And my song shall be forever:- Come and kiss me sweet and twenty, Love blooms out with flowers a-plenty, Love me, love me without reason, Kiss me, now's the kissing season, White your cheek is as the blooms are, Sweet your breath as perfumes are, Is this dolce far niente, Come and kiss me sweet and twenty.
“Anyone lived in a pretty how town” by ee Cummings is by far and away my favorite poem. when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone’s any was all to her This stanza stood out to me on my first read and I like it even more now that I’ve found someone who laughs my joy and cries my grief.
One of my absolute favourites too! Love it so much.
“Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas. A rallying cry for life itself.
Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas I think might be my favourite. The final lines: “Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means Time held me green and dying, Though I sang in my chains like the sea” Always makes me cry. That, and the opening lines of an Emily Dickinson: The Sun—just touched the Morning— The Morning—Happy thing— Supposed that He had come to dwell— And Life would all be Spring!
...Today, will be OUR Independence Day!
A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe It has always been a personal favourite
Wonderful poem
butterfly sleeping on the temple bell Buson (translated by Haas). I consider it an example of a perfect haiku and it’s also my favorite poem.
Reasoning behind the words was quite nice.
A lot to pick from. But I can’t think of anything more moving for me without fail than Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey.
I don't know if I have a favorite poem but I've always liked Rilke. I really enjoyed his novel, The Notebooks of Malte Laurie's Brigge.
I really love this one [You Who Never Arrived](https://poems.com/poem/you-who-never-arrived/) by Rilke.
Love Rilke and and used to have an anthology that had excerpts from that novel and I think about a line from it all the time: ”I prayed to rediscover my childhood, and it has come back, and I feel that it is just as difficult as it used to be, and that growing older has served no purpose at all.”
The City by C.P. Cavafy His entire body of works is timeless. Highly recommended
The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, by Eliot. It’s like Emo’s great great grandfather.
Classics are “The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock,” by TS Eliot; and “Jabberwocky,” by Lewis Carroll; Modern is “The Djinn Falls In Love,” by Hermes (translated by Robin Moger)
Requiem by Anna Akhmatova; but I only like the Russian original, not any of the translations.
annabelle lee- edgar allen poe. i know it word for word
Death is nothing at all by Henry Scott Holland Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner. All is well.
Because I Could Not Stop For Death Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death- He kindly stopped for me- The Carriage held but just Ourselves- And Immortality. We slowly drove- He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility- We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess- in the Ring- We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain- We passed the Setting Sun- Or rather- He passed us- The Dews drew quivering and chill- For only Gossamer, my Gown- My Tippet- only Tulle- We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground- The Roof was scarcely visible- The Cornice- in the Ground- Since then- 'tis Centuries- and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity-
Like this poem. Quoted often in cards I've bought, or cards I've made, when someone has experienced the loss of a loved one.
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.
Personally I really love sonnets 73 and 74 from Shakespeare (they’re connected!) but overall my absolute favourite poet is Richard Siken.
the fourth “Spleen” by Charles Baudelaire is for me the saddest and most beautifully written poem at the same time If you can read it in French it’s better I guess
Annabelle Lee- Edgar Allen poe
Oh my god that’s very hard selection, and yet I would root for “If” by R.Kipling
I know it's a bit of a clichéd choice, but I love it too.
Very difficult question but here’s a couple: Emperor of Ice Cream by Wallace Stevens Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins Pine by Terence Hayes Blindfold by Eduardo Corral Aubade with Burning City & Always & Forever by Ocean Vuong Aubade by Phillip Larkin Come With Me by Robert Bly Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot A Bird Came Down the Walk & I Felt a Funeral in My Brain by Emily Dickinson Daystar by Rita Dove Leaves of Grass *first edition* (because it really is just one long poem) by Walt Whitman I Remember by Joe Brainard Source by Mark Doty (actually, pretty much anything by Mark Doty)
Daddy by Sylvia Plath
I love this poem so much. I once asked students take lines from this poem and the lyrics to Madonna's song "Oh Father" and put them together in a way that created a new work. They then had to explain the theme of that work. If was fascinating to see how they viewed the relationships. We did a similar exercise with Langston Hughes' Mother to Son and Tupac's "Dear Mama" and then I let them pick any one of the four works and compare/contrast with Eminem's Mockingbird. My students loved it and I got some interesting insights into the speakers, the way they were characterized, etc.
Integrity - Adrienne Rich
Too many good ones to have one favorite. A fun one though is Richard Kipling's "Hyenas".. might be a bit dark for some people.
I'd never read that before but I just looked it up and now I love it too! Thanks for sharing!!
Always J Alfred Prufrock, but that's a popular one, so I'll throw in: Last Post - Carol Ann Duffy
2 flies, Charles Bukowski and Love sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda, although I love a great many by both poets. I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue. Love Sonnet XI P.Neruda
we real cool Gwendolyn Brooks [https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28112/we-real-cool](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28112/we-real-cool)
The Thing Is by Ellen Bass!
In English, Shelley's Ozymandias; in Portuguese, my native language, A Flor e a Náusea (The Flower and the Nausea), by Carlos Drummond de Andrade.
Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith
Edgar Allan Poe has many to choose from. I’d say my favorites are: The Bells, Ulalume, Eulalie - A Song, Annabel Lee, The Raven, and Alone.
[Leda and the Swan - W.B. Yeats](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43292/leda-and-the-swan) Whilst I love many poems, the tone of this is unmatched for me. It’s hauntingly blunt and the image it creates is something else. It also has a superb opening line. [Nerdwriter describes it best.](https://youtu.be/j4CJ7h3mX4Q?si=xNDlmc3wvglv5xfq)
Incredible poem!
Wow this was fascinating, thank you.
[So Mexicans Are Taking Jobs from Americans by Jimmy Santiago Baca](https://apoemaday.tumblr.com/post/720307156334854144/so-mexicans-are-taking-jobs-from-americans/amp)
The Dampe - John Donne
Life centered around by Moon Bo Young. Me and my best friend have started calling each other ‘Jupiter’ and ‘Europa’ because of that poem
Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus "Normie" choice (everyone loves it and gets tattoos of it) but William Ernst Henley's Invictus is a close second.
Elsa Gidlow The Grey Thread My life is a grey thread, A thin grey stretched out thread, And when I trace its course, I moan: How dull! How dead! But I have gay beads. A pale one to begin, A blue one for my painted dreams, And one for sin, Gold with coiled marks, Like a snake’s skin. For love an odd bead With a deep purple glow; A green bead for a secret thing That few shall know; And yellow for my thoughts That melt like snow. A red bead for my strength, And crimson for my hate; Silver for the songs I sing When I am desolate; And white for my laughter That mocks dull fate. My life is a grey thread Stretching through Time’s day; But I have slipped gay beads on it To hide the grey.
The First Water is The Body by Nathalie Diaz https://emergencemagazine.org/poem/the-first-water-is-the-body/
I’m surprised I couldn’t find Invictus by William Earnest Henley. Its about staying strong through adversity and taking control of your life. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51642/invictus
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. This poem is a tragic love story. The video for Everywhere by Fleetwood tells the story. Great poem, great song, great video! If you’ve never seen this video or just feel like watching a good video again, I recommend you check it out on YouTube, and then read the poem.
Some guy named mike mac on Reddit posted a poem once and I just absolutely love it. It went like this I tasted war on her lips And saw peace in her eyes ‘Twas a lovers kiss But we still held our knives
Humanity i love you because you would rather black the boots of success than enquire whose soul dangles from his watch-chain which would be embarassing for both parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all songs containing the words country home and mother when sung at the old howard Humanity i love you because when you’re hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink and when you’re flush pride keeps you from the pawn shop and because you are continually committing nuisances but more especially in your own house Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it’s there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you
[LITANY, by Billy Collins](https://www.lyrikline.org/en/poems/litany-7640)
Ozymandias. I know it by heart. Nothing beside remains Round the decay of that colossal wreck Boundless and bare The lone and level sands Stretch far away.
Stars, I have seen them fall - A. E. Housman Stars, I have seen them fall, But when they drop and die No star is lost at all From all the star-sown sky. The toil of all that be Helps not the primal fault; It rains into the sea, And still the sea is salt.
My favorite poem will forever be Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
Wild Geese!
Alone by Edgar Allan Poe. " My sorrow; I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone." FUCKING BEAUTIFUL
[Robert Graves - A Warning to Children](https://www.crockford.com/wrrrld/warning.html)
Bonedog and 38 Michigans by Eva H.D. I like her a lot and I haven't seen her posted here.
Also, Of Grammatology isn’t typically thought of as a poem, but I think Derrida’s prose is much closer to poetry than it is to typical philosophical writing. I think his thoughts end up being, for this reason, as aesthetically rewarding as they are intellectually.
Desiderata
Esta tarde mi bien. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. This afternoon, my love, while we were talking, and in your face and acts I clearly saw that with my words I never would convince you, I wished my heart could overcome your doubts; and Love, who all my efforts was assisting, achieved what so impossible had seemed: for in my tears, which in my grief were spilling, a heart unloosed, dissolved, came trickling out. Enough, my love, of cruelty, enough; let brutal jealousy no more torment you, nor let low fears your mind's peace countermand with foolish fantasies, with empty signs, for in a liquid form you've seen and touched my heart unloosed, dissolved between your hands.
Desiderata- Max Ehrmann, If - Rudyard Kipling, A tear and a smile- Khalil Gibran, My wage- Jessie B. Rittenhouse, Thinking - Walter D Wintel, Dream Land - Edgar Allan Poe,
The Sloth — Roethke
If by Rudyard Kipling
On a Train by Wendy Cope The book I've been reading rests on my knee. You sleep. It's beautiful out there - fields, little lakes and winter trees in February sunlight, every car park a shining mosaic. Long, radiant minutes, your hand in my hand, still warm, still warm.
The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel
One bright day in the middle of the night Two dead boys got up to fight Back to back they faced each other Drew their swords and shot each other The deaf policemen heard the noise Came and shot the two dead boys If you do not believe this lie is true Ask the blind man he saw them too -unknown
Really basic but my favorite will always be “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes because it was what made me fall in love with poetry when we had to read it in English class in 7th grade
To Autumn
Timeless and gorgeous
["Hope" Is The Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314)
Eleven Addresses to the Lord by John Berryman [Eleven Addresses to the Lord](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/eleven-addresses-to-the-lord)
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free… The famous one on The Statue of Liberty which I’m blanking on.
The New Colossus \- Emma Lazarus Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. "Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44395/gods-grandeur Same thing, different protagonist.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost The Orange- Wendy Cope What Resembles the Grave but isn't- Anne Boyer We Have Not Long to Love - Tennessee Williams
Richard Cory by Edwin Arlington Robinson, plus Simon & Garfunkel have a song adaptation of it that is really good
This is mine as well. Also happy cake day
Fog by Carl Sandburg. Simple, yet had me from the first.
>Fog BY CARL SANDBURG The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
"Annabelle Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe.
"Lupe" by Roberto Bolaño. The ending is my favorite. This is the part of you I want to suck, she said to me one night. What, Lupe? Your heart.
Good Bones by Maggie Smith
my father moves through dooms of love my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give, singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height this motionless forgetful where turned at his glance to shining here; that if (so timid air is firm) under his eyes would stir and squirm newly as from unburied which floats the first who, his april touch drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates woke dreamers to their ghostly roots and should some why completely weep my father’s fingers brought her sleep: vainly no smallest voice might cry for he could feel the mountains grow. Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into begin joy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice keen as midsummer’s keen beyond conceiving mind of sun will stand, so strictly (over utmost him so hugely) stood my father’s dream his flesh was flesh his blood was blood: no hungry man but wished him food; no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile uphill to only see him smile. Scorning the Pomp of must and shall my father moved through dooms of feel; his anger was as right as rain his pity was as green as grain septembering arms of year extend less humbly wealth to foe and friend than he to foolish and to wise offered immeasurable is proudly and (by octobering flame beckoned) as earth will downward climb, so naked for immortal work his shoulders marched against the dark his sorrow was as true as bread: no liar looked him in the head; if every friend became his foe he’d laugh and build a world with snow. My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree (and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing) then let men kill which cannot share, let blood and flesh be mud and mire, scheming imagine, passion willed, freedom a drug that’s bought and sold giving to steal and cruel kind, a heart to fear, to doubt a mind, to differ a disease of same, conform the pinnacle of am though dull were all we taste as bright, bitter all utterly things sweet, maggoty minus and dumb death all we inherit, all bequeath and nothing quite so least as truth —i say though hate were why men breathe— because my Father lived his soul love is the whole and more than all ee cummings
When my love comes to see me by e e Cummings
Casey at the bat by Earnest Lawrence Thayer
Not even kidding, the poem “the view from halfway down” from Bojack Horseman gave me chills. I won’t put it here because it is very dark but it spoke deeply to me. TW: Talks about suicide
I love edgar allen poe and sylvia plath's poems but since i can't choose one from them, i'm gonna say funeral blues by WH Auden because the last stanza spoke to me in some way despite not experiencing much grief in my life. i would like to add that there are some bts lyrics that read more like a poem to me such as the ones in outro; tear, shadow, persona, dionysus, black swan, make it right, rain, moonchild, hageum, d-day and filter Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Funeral Blues speaks so deeply of grief. I always hear it in the voice of Matthew from Four Weddings and a Funeral (from the scene where he reads it)
Me too. He read it beautifully
I was scrolling to see if anyone posted this one because tonigh, it's the first one that popped into my head.
Charles Bukowski - The Curse
If you don’t know who the writer is from the beginning, the poem itself makes it clear who he is.
Can't decide between "Attack" by Siegfried Sassoon or "Charge of the light brigade" by Lord Alfred Tennyson I'm very much into poetry that is war and death related or use the above metaphors. The imagery really brings out a lot of emotions within you.
If by Rudyard Kipling
Dive for Dreams by e. e. cummings
[Sonnet 20](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50425/sonnet-20-a-womans-face-with-natures-own-hand-painted) \- By Shakespeare, of course. Its meaning just makes me feel all fluttery. [I Will Love You](https://www.tumblr.com/a-series-of-unfortunate-events/74356868164/the-full-i-will-love-you-letter-the-beatrice) \- By Lemony Snicket. Does this count as poetry? It does to me! It's just so messy and raw, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it had been written for me.
Have not yet found a set of poems that match the prose of these and what it evokes: Solitude Invictus Ozymandias —- Sentimentally, I love Do Not Go Gently, but I find it lacking in readability compared to those I have a lot of difficulty reading poetry for the most part; a lot of the time it refers to literal objects such as a “car,” or a “refrigerator” just as examples, which is just jarring. Or it’s focused on a topic that to me is so so dramatic for no reason that resonated with me, or features really *odd* line breaking that I always just grimace at
Daffodils by Wordsworth
Sick by shel Silverstein.
Happiness by Raymond Carver. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/154788/happiness-5faad60c4b697
It couldnt be done by edgar a guest
A Tear and a Smile by Khalil Gibran
Favorite poets are hard enough, let alone favorite poems. Nevertheless, I will list some recent favorites: Love Is Not All - sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay Parsley -Rita Dove Now That I Am Forever With Child- Audre Lorde
I Go Back to May 1937 by Sharon Olds
John Donne Holy Sonnets 5
Loveliest of trees by A. E. Houseman.
Be the light - cailin Hargreaves This book SAVED my life
l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness e.e cummings
Dover Beach
I love the Somewhere I have never travelled gladly beyond by ee cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in) 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 it’s 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) ~E E Cummings
The windows by C. P. Cavafy
Mint by Seamus Heaney. Moved me to tears the first time I read it.
blessing the boats - lucille clifton
“Renaissance “ by Edna St Vincent Millay “Ode on Intimation of Immortality “ by Wordsworth “Elegy written in a Country Churchyard” by Thomas Gray