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Your Favourite Poems And Why
# 1 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 18:53
Below is one of my favourite poems, by Rupert Brooke,who died young in WW1 after leading a fascinating life http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Brooke

I love this poem so much I have a line (in bold) from it tattooed to remind me
that in my own belief at least, that this life is the only Paradise I will
need and it terrifies me as much as it gives me courage .

What are your favourite poems and why ?

The Hill by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;
Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,
When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die
All's over that is ours; and life burns on
Through other lovers, other lips," said I,
---"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!"

"We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here.
Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said;
"We shall go down with reluctant tread
Rose-crowned into the darkness!" . . . Proud we were,
And laughed, that had such brave true things to say.
---And then you suddenly cried, and turned away.
# 2 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 18:55
Daffodils by William Wordsworth.
Reply Website
# 3 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 19:04
Daddy fell into the pond.
# 4 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 19:10
Someone said :
Daffodils by Stephen Wordsworth.

I love that one too, but I think it was Willy Wordsworth and not Stephen?

Its a fantastic poem.I think a lot of people nowadays disregard him and don't realise how much of a deep thinker he was.He hid a lot of his passion in nature which to the modern eye can sometimes be overlooked as simple romanticism

@ BigBabyJebus

Was Daddy Fell Down the Well a sonnet by Count Tornado ?
# 5 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 19:15
Someone said :
I love that one too, but I think it was Willy Wordsworth and not Stephen?

Reply Website
# 6 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 19:29
Not that I've done much looking but I've never really found a poet I enjoyed.

I remember being very impressed by a few of Gerard Manley Hopkins', but now looking back they seem saturated and overdone.
# 7 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 19:34
For me, poetry is hard work and appears contrived.
# 8 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 20:08
How does it go again..?

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I heard a shout,
Oi! You! Get off my fucking daffodils!
# 9 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 20:12
# 10 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 20:27
I have two - Shakespeare's sonnet "Remembrance" and "The Song of Wandering Aengus" by W B Yeats. I love the former because it is an evocative ode to the value of friendship. I like the latter for its magical rhythms.

@Intrepid - of course poetry is contrived!
# 11 : Monday 27-5-2013 @ 20:56
Someone said :
I have two - Shakespeare's sonnet "Remembrance" and "The Song of Wandering Aengus" by W B Yeats. I love the former because it is an evocative ode to the value of friendship. I like the latter for its magical rhythms.

@Intrepid - of course poetry is contrived!

I love the sonnets too, they're something that I can dip in to for any emotion
or mood youre in. My favourite is Sonnet 29 I think, though when you consider the
history and the object of affection that many of them were about its pretty sad

At the moment Im completely obsessed with Stags Leap by Sharon Olds, the collection won the TS Elliot award last year.Its incredibly graphic and shockingly personal because (unlike what @Intrepid said ) its a completely autobiographical account of the end of the poets 30 year marriage. I highly recommend it

http://www.google.ie/search?sourceid=navclient&aq=&oq=trade+my+pl etc ...

# 12 : Saturday 22-6-2013 @ 19:47
I`ve just finished rereading the incredible collection of poems "Stags Leap" by Sharon Olds (shes not for really for everyone and thats why im not posting one of her poems here) Im getting back in to reading poetry by James L. Dickey ..Heres one of my favourites by him, its a good example of Pandeist poetry

The Heaven of Animals
Here they are. The soft eyes open.
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood.
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.

Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open.

To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.

For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done,
But with claws and teeth grown perfect,

More deadly than they can believe.
They stalk more silently,
And crouch on the limbs of trees,
And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey

May take years
In a sovereign floating of joy.
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward: to walk

Under such trees in full knowledge
Of what is in glory above them,
And to feel no fear,
But acceptance, compliance.
Fulfilling themselves without pain

At the cycle’s center,
They tremble, they walk
Under the tree,
They fall, they are torn,
They rise, they walk again.

# 13 : Saturday 22-6-2013 @ 19:57
Deffo this .... I always remember it and it stuck a chord..

Stony Grey Soil - Patrick Kavanagh

O stony grey soil of Monaghan
The laugh from my love you thieved;
You took the the gay child of my passion
And gave me your clod-conceived.

You clogged the feet of my boyhood
And I believed that my stumble
Had the poise and stride of Apollo
And his voice my thick-tongued mumble.

You told me the plough was immortal!
O green-life-conquering plough!
Your mandril strained, your coulter blunted
In the smooth lea-field of my brow.

You sang on steaming dunghills
A song of coward's brood,
You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,
You fed me on swinish food.

You flung a ditch on my vision
Of beauty, love and truth.
O stony grey soil of Monaghan
You burgled my bank of youth!

Lost the long hours of pleasure
All the women that love young men.
O can I still stroke the monster's back
Or write with unpoisened pen

His name in these lonely verses
Or mention the dark fields where
The first gay flight of my lyric
Got caught in a peasant's prayer.

Mullahinsha, Drummeril, Black Shanco -
Wherever I turn I see
In the stony grey soil of Monaghan
Dead loves that were born for me.
# 14 : Saturday 22-6-2013 @ 20:07
Someone said :
Deffo this .... I always remember it and it stuck a chord..

Stony Grey Soil - Patrick Kavanagh

fantastic poem, love Kavanagh and he's practically spitting with bitterness in this one, I love the last line "Dead loves that were born for me"
makes you really think of all the lost (or denied) opportunities for happiness
in life.

its gas but there was actually protests from the catholic church when this poem was first put on the syllabus in schools due to the allusions to masturbation
# 15 : Friday 27-9-2013 @ 23:10
This is one of my favourites – I actually woke up the other day with it in my head, having not thought of it for quite some time.I find it stirring and it never fails to remind me of possibilities that effort and a proactive approach can bring


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

His allegro-maestoso and love by the sea are also beautiful, or so I think
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