Favorite Poems

I have a poetic heart. But no talent for expressing it.
Some have the talent and the words to paint masterpieces of imagery (I'm talking to you, Doubt The Rabbit)
But I do not.

So I present to you two of my favorites.

"Invictus.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

******************************

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas"

Enjoy

Tex Is Lost said:

I have a poetic heart. But no talent for expressing it.
Some have the talent and the words to paint masterpieces of imagery (I'm talking to you, Doubt The Rabbit)
But I do not.

So I present to you two of my favorites.

"Invictus.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

Click to expand...

Oh my goodness I love Invictus! I recite it when I have panic attacks and when I'm feeling upset! Let's see one of my favorites is "The Lady of Shalott" by Tennyson but it's too long to post here so I'll give a link to it

http://charon.sfsu.edu/TENNYSON/TENNLADY.html

I love the last stanze of Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"

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

I love Keats "Ode on Melancholy" but it's a bit harder to understand and it takes a while (I had to read it at least three times) to understand it. Then I write poetry quite a bit but it's not nearly as good as the aforementioned poems. Yet there is a poem I wrote entitled "She Was Honest" that I'll share here:

She was honest. Maybe not as innocent as she once was but can that be held against her?
She believed in the quiet moments when a soul can speak to a heart, in the days where music fills the silence that lingers after a hard day.
She wanted to be an artist, to be meaningful, to have impact but the echoes of everything that once was haunted her till the flame burned out.
If she could have tried harder perhaps something long buried might have resurfaced but turning her head she gave up.
She was patient but long agonized over pressures long painful regrets had turned her mind to that of a wandering soul.
She was selfless but at some point the tide turned and she could not run from the person she most loathed anymore.
She was giving but the restless days filled with wayward people in dire straits left her burdened left her stripped.
She was hopeful but in the silent pursuit of a dream she lost the ability to believe that small gifts are subtle steps toward the bigger goal the ultimate reality.
She felt needed but in some strange way her dependents no longer lifted her from the ashes so much as fed her to the flames.
In these times of crisis she lost her way and has yet to find it but somewhere the child in her the optimist believes and that belief holds the thought that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Yet in the long moments of the night the dark hours that pass as years her weary heart cannot help but wonder if that which dims our spirits can kill our souls?

I wrote this poem and it is copywrited, in 2002.

SOMEONE DEAR

Now that I'm old
I see it so clear

When you're young
You need Someone Dear
To keep at bay all that you fear

Without Someone Dear
Your soul floats around
Bouncing here, landing there, never to be bound

You are alone
cause there is no one to atone
Open prey to all who do harm
Knowing full well there would be no alarm

Your bare soul exposed for all to see
That is the cost
For the soul who is lost


It was very hard to put this on here as it renewed some of those old feelings. But I wanted to share and hope that it may help some else.

wrong thread, oops

Hi Jicky,...
Its great poem i am read it first time and really like it ,..
share some more here,..

An Ode to Eggs
By Rengus Ishyius

Oh wonderful eggs, they simply amaze
even while sitting around in prophase
the nucleus dissolves and not a second too late
for the chromosomes line up on the metaphase plate
when anaphase comes the separation will start
as the spindle fibers pull the chromosomes apart
telephase is short because soon comes the cue
for the process to proceed to prophase two
in metaphase two its back to the plate
for anaphase two where the chromatids separate
after telephase two the cells are cut into pieces
thanks to the process of cytokinesis
now the eggs have a chance to one day maybe
find their match and have a baby

Thank you

Saloman said:

An Ode to Eggs
By Rengus Ishyius

Oh wonderful eggs, they simply amaze
even while sitting around in prophase
the nucleus dissolves and not a second too late
for the chromosomes line up on the metaphase plate
when anaphase comes the separation will start
as the spindle fibers pull the chromosomes apart
telephase is short because soon comes the cue
for the process to proceed to prophase two
in metaphase two its back to the plate
for anaphase two where the chromatids separate
after telephase two the cells are cut into pieces
thanks to the process of cytokinesis
now the eggs have a chance to one day maybe
find their match and have a baby

Thank you

Click to expand...

I like this poem Saloman..
Very deep and elegant words it has. I'll must upload this poem on my Facebook.. Will share with my friends.