Favourite Poems

[InnerBrat]

Can someone please post The Raven by E.A.P.?

Thank you
xx

[Darth Garden Gnome]

"The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore --
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'T is some visitor, " I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow -- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before:
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating.
" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
That it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,
"Sir, " said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore:
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door--
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering fearing.
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before:
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore--
'T is the wind an nothing more!"

Open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just a bove my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpoor.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utteres is it only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door,
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er
But whose velvet-violet lining with lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God has lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite the nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird of devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whatever tempest tossed thee ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird of devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore--
Tell his soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor,
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore!

[InnerBrat]

That was wuick, thank you Gnome.

Copy and paste job?

[Darth Garden Gnome]

That was wuick, thank you Gnome.

Copy and paste job?

You know it.

[RedImperator]

A good one for history students.

Ozymandias

"I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said -- "two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert ... near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lips, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,
Look on my Works ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

[Frank_Scenario]

Before someone accuses me of being a fundy, it's still beutiful words

William Butler Yeats

Turning and Turning the Broken Winged Gyre.
the circle can not hold.
Surely some revelation must be at hand.

The full text of "The Second Coming:"

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I don't think that anyone should call you a fundamentalist for this poem, since Yeats (according to my english professor from all those years ago) was talking about Egypt (hence, the rough beast with the body of a lion and the head of a man). See, evidently, Yeats believed that every 2000 yrs. or so, the world descended into chaos and then began again with civilization in Egypt. WWI was the end of the world, so to speak, and now it was time for Egypt to rise again. Last I checked, not exactly a Christian sentiment (fundamentalist or otherwise).

[Andrew J.]

To A Mouse, by Robert Burns.


Wee sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an chase thee,
Wi murdering pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion.
An fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve:
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma request;
I'll get a blessin wi the lave,
An never miss't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An naething, now, to big a new ane,
O foggage green!
An bleak December's win's ensuin.
Baith snell an keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an waste,
An weary winter comin fast.
An cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro thy cell.

That wee bit heap o leaves an stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble.
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o mice an men
Gang aft agley,
An lea'e us nought but grief an pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An forward, tho I canna see,
I guess an fear!

[Zaia]

This poem always makes me think of my old friend Matthew, who I miss. This was his favourite poem.


"My Ships" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

If all the ships I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
From sunny lands, and lands of cold,
Ah well! the harbor could not hold
So many sails as there would be
If all my ships came in from sea.

If half my ships came home from sea,
And brought their precious freight to me,
Ah, well! I should have wealth as great
As any king who sits in state,
So rich the treasures that would be
In half my ships now at sea.

If just one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown,
For if the others all went down
Still rich and proud and glad I’d be,
If that one ship came back to me.

If that one ship were down at sea,
And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,
With glory, honor, riches, gold,
The poorest soul on earth I’d be
If that one ship came not to me.

O skies be calm! O winds blow free--
Blow all my ships safe home to me.
But if thou sendest some awrack
To never more come sailing back,
Send any--all that skim the sea--
But bring my love-ship home to me.

[Master of Ossus]

The way a crow shook down on me
The dust of snow from a Hemlock tree
Has given my heart a change of mood,
And saved some part of a day I'd rued.

-Robert Frost

[Connor MacLeod]

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came:

http://members.tripod.com/~charnelhouse ... oland.html

Inspiration for my favorite Stephen King work, the Dark Tower series.

[Johonebesus]

Most of my favorites have already been listed. Alfred de Vigny's La mort du loup is another of them.

Then there is this little ditty from Night Court.

Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle
Was a lie like all the rest.
The astronauts killed the man in the moon;
Growing up took care of the rest.

[haas mark]

I like my poem called "Fear" as well as "The Wasteland," by whoever wrote it.. too tired to think about it right now.. but if I get a chance, I will post a link to it, and I think I posted "Fear" in Fanfics...

[Connor MacLeod]

Don't forget Shel Silverstein!

[Zaia]

Don't forget Shel Silverstein!

*smites self in head* Gah! I love Shel Silverstein!!

If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire,
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

What a fabulous way to begin a book.....



ver, "The Wasteland" is by T.S. Eliot. Great poem.

[Connor MacLeod]

Don't forget Shel Silverstein!

*smites self in head* Gah! I love Shel Silverstein!!

If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire,
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

I know. I loved him as a child. I still wish he were around

[Zaia]

I know. I loved him as a child. I still wish he were around

Yeah, me too. Hell, I still love him. What were some of your favourite poems of his? I used to laugh myself silly as a kid when I read, "The Meehoo with an Exactlywatt" and "The Yipiyuk." The pictures that went along with them were just so great, too.

[Zaia]

"No Difference" by Shel Silverstein

Small as a peanut,
Big as a giant,
We're all the same size
When we turn off the light.

Rich as a sultan,
Poor as a mite,
We're all worth the same
When we turn off the light.

Red, black, or orange,
Yellow or white,
We all look the same
When we turn off the light.

So maybe the way
To make everything right
Is for God to just reach out
And turn off the light!



"The Yipiyuk" by Shel Silverstein

In the swamplands long ago,
Where the weeds and mudglumps grow,
A Yipiyuk bit on my toe...
Exactly why I do not know.
I kicked and cried
And hollered "Oh"--
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I whispered to him soft and low--
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I shouted "Stop," "Desist" and "Whoa"--
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
Yes, that was sixteen years ago,
And the Yipiyuk still won't let go.
The snow may fall,
The winds may blow--
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
The snow may melt,
The grass may grow--
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
I drag him 'round each place I go,
This Yipiyuk that won't let go.
And now my child at last you know
Exactly why I walk so slow.


"The Meehoo With an Exactlywatt" by Shel Silverstein

Knock knock!
~Who's there?
Me!
~Me who?
That's right!
~What's right?
Meehoo!
~That's what I want to know!
What's what you want to know?
~Me who?
Yes, exactly!
~Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!
~Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
~Yes what?
No, Exactlywatt!
~That's what I want to know!
I told you--Exactlywatt!
~Exactly what?
Yes!
~Yes what?
Yes, it's with me!
~What's with you?
Exactlywatt--that's what's with me.
~Me who?
Yes!
~Go away!

Knock knock...

[Connor MacLeod]

mmhmm m hard to tell.


I hafta dig out my copies and reread.. its been soo long. I 'll get back t you

[InnerBrat]

Ode to a Creationist
By Rebecca Lynn Johnson (from the talkorigins archive)

To the pagan bandwidth of the Usenet group t.o
Our strong creationist bravely went, his knowledge for to show.
What! -- Did I say knowledge? Oh, silly, silly me;
I fear that it was Holy Writ
He opened on his knee.

The Bible! Yes, the Word of God! It held the answers all;
An encyclopedia of Truth we lost with Adam's fall
(Forgetting that its authors were never there to see
The creation celebration
Any more than you or me).

He met his first temptation in the demon of the FAQ,
But he easily avoided it, his head within a sack.
In ignorance of scientific method found he bliss,
Since it kept this young adept
From Darwin's poison kiss.

"The Bible speaketh not about this evolution lie,
Nor of fossils of transitions -- but of water from the sky!
And animals of fixe^d kinds, all crammed within a boat;
They spread about, sent offspring out,
When once it ceased to float!"

A snicker showed upon his screen, and more than that beside:
"Such myopic mythic mystery we cannot help deride.
In English or in Hebrew, a species is no 'kind,'
Else that boat would never float
Without leaving some behind.

"Or is that the fate of unicorn, of dinosaur and roc?
That is why they are no more, for Noah took no stock?
And rapidly the other 'kinds' did mutate, spread, and grow:
The solution, microevolution:
Does your book tell you so?

"And what of sickness, dread disease, and also parasites?
Did Noah's family nourish them upon those rainy nights?
And what did all the creatures eat for nigh upon a year?
And exercise? An elephant's size?
Did carnivores cause no fear?"

"Ecology! It has no place, you lying, heathen scum!
Laws of nature limit our Omnipotent One!
He can do just as He likes, and what His plan requires,"
Said creationist, now getting pissed,
"That makes you all just liars!

"For years and years and years and years it all has been the same
But only 'cause the world changed when flooded it became!
God changed water's chemistry and it began to flow
As from on high and through the sky
It all fell down below!"

"Au contraire, mon petit fre^re," said one who damned shall be,
"The physics of the atom say water's always been at sea.
Cent'ries of research on water never yet have found
It was bent by molecular dent
From impact with the ground."

The creationist fumed a while, then thought he found the key.
"This evolution bullshit contradicteth entropy!
Out of randomness you claim that order doth derive;
That messy stew, primordial GUE,
In our genome doth survive!

"Order out of randomness must always need a plan,
And plans require planners -- challenge that one if you can!
Explain to me the human eye, or brain if you prefer;
The thought of half just makes me laugh,
For no purpose could it serve."

"Science careth not a fig if planner there should be,
For we can only talk about the things that we can see.
Entropy is only true for systems that are sealed;
In sunny sky our Earth doth fly,
So the law has been repealed.

"If you would learn the priciples of that knowledge you deplore,
You would find preadaptation has long come through our door.
Half a thing is useless, denial would be mad --
But we disagree that what you see
Th' same purpose always had.

"Half a thing of one thing, a whole other might have been,
And change between the two is where selection did kick in.
Scaly Archaeopteryx with feathers could glide higher;
No eye of newt the shift from scute
To feather did require.

"Jurassic freaks and finches' beaks, what do these things share?
On neither one nor other will you find a single hair.
But look upon their fossils and their calcifie^d skellys,
And see the similarity
Between their legses pelves!"

"Ha-HA! You stupid nincompoops! I have caught you here!
For all of this to happen would require a million years!
But the magnetic field weakens and the Sun is getting thin!
Glory, yea, six K.Y.A.
The creation did begin!"

"And look at who makes all those claims -- it's the ICR crowd,
Led by Duane Gish who thinks that man's a watermelon cloud[1],
No science knows the answer before testing has begun.
You never lose if you pick and choose;
By such means is no science done."

Thus declaimed the evolutionary brotherhood on-line,
And glumly waited creationist's inevitable whine:
"All you see is just a trick to test our holy faith;
God was bold to make it old
And see who took the bait."

"You must be daft! How do you know that all that now you see
Is simply not a trick of God, a planted memory?
The instant of creation is right NOW as you read this
Or be as 't may on last Tuesday --
Does this thought bring you bliss?"

But each and all electrons that were part of every word
Were wasted bits of transience, for the creationist hadn't heard.
He refused to test his faith, convinced that he was right.
He'd only learned when badly burned
That complex was the fight.

The Devil's fiendish sack of souls appeared to be much fatter
As the hapless creationist went away, his head upon a platter.
Evolution's house had been built upon a rock, and
His belief had met with grief
Upon the shifting sand.

[Connor MacLeod]

I know. I loved him as a child. I still wish he were around

Yeah, me too. Hell, I still love him. What were some of your favourite poems of his? I used to laugh myself silly as a kid when I read, "The Meehoo with an Exactlywatt" and "The Yipiyuk." The pictures that went along with them were just so great, too.

Hehe. The Yipiyuk was hilarious.

My favorites are almost all from the fi rst one of his books I got "Where the Sidewalk Ends" when I was a child. I loved "Peanut Butter Sandwich", "Sarah Sylvia Cynthia Stout Who Would Not Take The Garbage Out." and "True Story."

And of course, you can't forget the Giving Tree.

[haas mark]

The Wasteland, by TS Eliot

And I can't forgive myself for forgetting "The Raven" by Poe...