One if my favourites:

Prayer for the sleepless nights.

My heart has been turned from home, for i am wakeful.
As the desert hours stretch out to the stars,
As an exile banned from the native land of sleep,
I offer this prayer for all that are wakeful and alone,
In torment and danger, in fear and in despair,
In grief and watchfulness, in worry or in care,
May the thatcher of sleep make a roof for the wakeful soul,
May the weaver of dreams lend al garment to cover the wakeful,
May the womb of night become a cradle of rest for the restless.
May the exile be restored to the house of sleep.

C. Matthews

yes I will adopt that for myself

Boyhood. AH,then how sweetly closed those crowded days! The minutes parting one by one like rays, That fade upon a summers eve. But O, what charm or magic numbers Can give me back the gentle slumbers Those weary,happy days did leave? When by my bed I saw my mother kneel, And with her blessing took her nightly kiss; Whatever Time destroys,he cannot this;- E'en now that nameless kiss I feel.

Heard a snippet of Kate Tempest reciting one of her poems on BBC News the other night and was kinda grabbed by it/her - currently trying to find it online

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-29140814

Prefer it without the music...
Video Link : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBkhIEtX9p4

She is brilliant,was lucky to see her twice in Dublin at Amnesty gigs.

Will keep an eye out for her over here

Got two tickets for her gig at the Southbank centre on the 10th of October

I love this!
Poetry and artistry in perfect harmony

Video Link : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysKaZncnJmg

Anything by Michael D Higgins. Its such pure shite it never ceases to amuse me.

Clive James, who is terminally ill, published this today: Japanese Maple Your death, near now, is of an easy sort.
So slow a fading out brings no real pain.
Breath growing short
Is just uncomfortable. You feel the drain
Of energy, but thought and sight remain:

Enhanced, in fact. When did you ever see
So much sweet beauty as when fine rain falls
On that small tree
And saturates your brick back garden walls,
So many Amber Rooms and mirror halls?

Ever more lavish as the dusk descends
This glistening illuminates the air.
It never ends.
Whenever the rain comes it will be there,
Beyond my time, but now I take my share.

My daughter’s choice, the maple tree is new.
Come autumn and its leaves will turn to flame.
What I must do
Is live to see that. That will end the game
For me, though life continues all the same:

Filling the double doors to bathe my eyes,
A final flood of colors will live on
As my mind dies,
Burned by my vision of a world that shone
So brightly at the last, and then was gone.

Meself and the Squirrel went to see Kate Tempest at the Southbank and were totally blown away. She is the only poet to capture me and she done it within 20 seconds on tv news clip - had to see this girl perform - she did not mess around - covered all the highs and lows of her life and something that had been running around in her head for a while 'Tiresias' and that turmoil between man/woman/god and who enjoys sex the most - wont spoil the end should you catch the gig or buy the book.
We had the most enjoyable walk across Jubilee bridge and made our way to Soho (where else) Balans had a 20 minute wait 30 minutes for the girls behind us witch I felt was unfair so we fucked of for a Italian and done the bars after that. parted ways at TCR tube station

Could it be possible that a well know poem wouldn't be searchable on google???

Here's an extract from Brand New Ancients on youtube...
Video Link : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRVmDVw_oGo