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Thread: Your favorites.

  1. #11
    My favourite piece of poetry has to be Bilbo's Song by JRR Tolkien. Ok so I know it's called a song but I still love it.

    http://tolkien.cro.net/talesong/fire.html
    Proof read carefully to see if you any words out. unknown.

  2. #12
    I have always loved this, since I first read it at 13. I love it's simplicity and that the cynicism is hidden in such beautiful language.



    WB Yeats - Never Give All Of The Heart

    Never give all the heart, for love
    Will hardly seem worth thinking of
    To passionate women if it seem
    Certain, and they never dream
    That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
    For everything that's lovely is
    But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
    O never give the heart outright,
    For they, for all smooth lips can say,
    Have given their hearts up to the play.
    And who could play it well enough
    If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
    He that made this knows all the cost,
    For he gave all his heart and lost.
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    How to be Brave - Hidden Content

    The Mountain in my Shoe - Hidden Content

  3. #13
    Love Ozymandias, I had to learn it when I was 12 and still remember it to this day. And Neruda... beautiful, every word counts.

    But Yeats... The man painted magic pictures with words. My favourite (which seems to counterpoint yours beautifully, Loulou):

    HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
    Enwrought with golden and silver light,
    The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
    Of night and light and the half-light,
    I would spread the cloths under your feet:
    But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
    I have spread my dreams under your feet,
    Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

    W.B. Yeats
    Last edited by Mike C; March 29th, 2007 at 12:26 PM.
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    and hang out with the staff at
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  4. #14
    Yellow
    by Robert Service

    One pearly day of early May
    I strolled upon the sand,
    And saw, say half-a-mile away
    A man with gun in hand;
    A dog was cowering to his will,
    As slow he sought to creep
    Upon a dozen ducks so still
    They seemed to be asleep,

    When like a streak the dog dashed out,
    The ducks flashed up in flight;
    The fellow gave a savage shout
    And cursed with all his might.
    Then I stood somewhat amazed
    And gazed with eyes agog,
    With bitter rage his gun he raised
    And blazed and shot the dog.

    You know how dogs can yelp with pain;
    Its blood soaked in the sand,
    And yet it crawled to him again
    And tried to lick his hand.
    "Forgive me, Lord, for what I've done,"
    It seemed as if it said,
    But once again he raised his gun:
    This time he shot it - dead.

    What could I do? What could I say?
    'Twas such a lonely place.
    Tongue-tied I saw him stride away,
    I never saw his face.
    I should have bawled the bastard out:
    A yellow dog he slew;
    But worse, he proved beyond a doubt
    That I was yellow too.

  5. #15
    My favorite poem of all time is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "The Song of Hiawatha". I also like "Paradise Lost", "Divine Comedy", and Shakespeare's sonnets. These are all too long to post here.
    That's what I think: take it or leave it.

    Read any good books? PM me.

  6. #16
    The Hollow Men by TS Eliot

  7. #17
    The Hollow Men by Eliot and He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by Yeats are both great choices.

  8. #18
    Quote Originally Posted by morc44u
    Yellow
    by Robert Service

    One pearly day of early May
    I strolled upon the sand,
    And saw, say half-a-mile away
    A man with gun in hand;
    A dog was cowering to his will,
    As slow he sought to creep
    Upon a dozen ducks so still
    They seemed to be asleep,

    When like a streak the dog dashed out,
    The ducks flashed up in flight;
    The fellow gave a savage shout
    And cursed with all his might.
    Then I stood somewhat amazed
    And gazed with eyes agog,
    With bitter rage his gun he raised
    And blazed and shot the dog.

    You know how dogs can yelp with pain;
    Its blood soaked in the sand,
    And yet it crawled to him again
    And tried to lick his hand.
    "Forgive me, Lord, for what I've done,"
    It seemed as if it said,
    But once again he raised his gun:
    This time he shot it - dead.

    What could I do? What could I say?
    'Twas such a lonely place.
    Tongue-tied I saw him stride away,
    I never saw his face.
    I should have bawled the bastard out:
    A yellow dog he slew;
    But worse, he proved beyond a doubt
    That I was yellow too.
    Now I'm gonna be sad the rest of the day.



    i thank You God for most this amazing
    day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
    and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
    which is natural which is infinite which is yes

  9. #19
    Member
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    Location
    Bournemouth
    Posts
    9
    Stafford Afternoons - Carol Ann Duffy


    Only there, the afternoons could suddenly pause
    and when I looked up from lacing my shoe
    a long road held no one, the gardens were empty,
    an ice-cream van chimed and dwindled away.

    On the motorway bridge, I waved at windscreens,
    oddly hurt by the blurred waves back, the speed.
    So I let a horse in the noisy field sponge at my palm
    and invented, in colour, a vivid lie for us both.



    In a cul-de-sac, a strange boy threw a stone.
    I crawled through a hedge into long grass
    at the edge of a small wood, lonely and thrilled.
    The green silence gulped once and swallowed me whole.



    I knew it was dangerous. The way the trees
    drew sly faces from light and shade, the wood
    let out its sticky breath on the back of my neck,
    and flowering nettles gathered spit in their throats.



    Too late. Touch, said the long-haired man
    who stood, legs apart, by a silver birch
    with a living, purple root in his hand. The sight
    made sound rush back; birds, a distant lawnmower,



    his hoarse, frightful endearments as I backed away
    then ran all the way home; into a game
    where children scattered and shrieked
    and time fell from the sky like a red ball.


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