My Favorite Poem

well I suppose those are as good reasons as any for living!

I think Dorothy Parker had the inside track on what makes this old world tick!

:tounge2:

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somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near


your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose


or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;


nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing


(i do not know what is is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

E.E.Cummings


i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you


here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart


i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

E.E.Cummings

thank you for sharing yours alexnell anyone else?

We did a poetry unit in English class this year, and I always liked that Dorothy Parker poem. she really has a way of making you think, huh? well, this is my favorite poem, something I wrote recently (I'm so modest) for my best friend, Kari. she moved to California when we were in the 7th grade- a big change from having her right around the corner for 4 years. She visits about once a year, and I have gone down there. No matter how far away she is, even after 3 years of seeing her only once or twice a year, she is, and will always be my best friend forever.

Best Friends Forever

Years ago, in happy times,
When the world was yours and mine,
Life was looking oh, so fine
Until that faithful day.

You sat me down upon a chair
And broke my heart right then and there.
Of what was coming, I was unaware,
And I was so afraid.

I watched you leave, tears on my face,
In crying I felt no disgrace.
Ours will be a special case,
We will find a way.

We kept in touch throughout the years,
We shared our dreams, our hopes, our fears.
We laughed our laughs and cried our tears,
Best Friends we did stay.

Visits made life good once more.
Seeing you standing at my door
Was more than I’d been hoping for.
You’ve come home from far away.

But your life is now back there, I know
Some day I’ll have to let you go.
But our friendship will forever grow,
And all will be okay.

You’ve made smiles of my frowns,
And when my world is upside down,
I’ll go out and make a daisy crown,
And remember happy days.

That's a wonderful poem! Thank you for sharing it with us.



I think oftentimes when people move it is at the behest of higher authorities (such as parents) and produces the most harmful effects in the lives of those who are not privy to the decision-making. Mind, I know nothing of the circumstances alluded to in your poem; but I've known many young people over the years who have suffered tremendously due to the selfishness of parents who, in running away from something or someone, cause their children irreperable harm by destroying childhood (or adolescent) relationships.



Here is one of my favorite poems. I haven't the talent to write poetry myself!

ARIEL POEMS

By T. S. Eliot

Marina

Quis hic locus, quae
regio, quae mundi plaga?

What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.

Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning
Death

Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place

What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger —
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye

Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.
Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.
I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.
The rigging weak and the canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.
This form this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.

What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.

I like that one, Mr. Cat. (Even if I did have to read it about 3 times to get the idea)
yes, Kari moved when her father, a pastor, was offered a position in California. he felt that this church needed him more than the one they had attended before, and so, at God's will, they moved. I felt I couldn't be too resentful and hurt, after all, who am I to argue with God? but I miss her jsut the same. Thank you, Mr. Cat. I love to write poetry, I have notebooks full of poems I've scribbled at all hours of the night, and the occasional boring math class! Writing is how I express myself (when I can't dance, that is.) that's a special poem to me.

Thanks for elaborating on your friend's departure. And since you've other poems sitting around not being read, why not post more of your work here? I think poems love to be read!



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thanks so much! I dug through a notebook and pulled this one out. something I wrote in class about a year ago.


Life

Life’s not about the clothes you wear
Or the funny things you say.
Life’s about the way you live
Your life from day to day.

Life’s not the way you wear your hair
Or the titles you achieve.
But life’s about the thoughts you think,
The dreams that you conceive.

Life’s not about the winning goal
Or becoming the prom queen.
But life’s about the love you give,
And helping others reach their dreams.

Life’s not about the sport you play
Or the grades you get in school.
Life is how you see yourself,
Not if others think you’re cool.

Life’s not about the words you use
Or the scores you get on tests.
Life’s about your trying hard
To be your very best.

Life’s not just about being nice
Because you know you should.
Life’s about doing kind deeds
For the joy of doing good.

Life’s not about receiving things
All the easy way,
But working hard to get them,
Each and every day.

So remember as you live your life,
All these simple things,
That it’s love, kindness, and honesty
That gives your heart its wings.

by, ME!


I can't seem to find the one I was looking for, but if I find it, you can bet it will be up here so fast it will make your head spin!!!

Great stuff! Bravo! Encore!

:blubturq:

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Michelle, thank you for sharing your wonderful poetry! I will look forward to seeing more of your work.

you guys have given me so much more confidence in my writing, thanks. These are a couple other poems I wrote in a very boring math class last year. They aren't deep and thoughtful, just something I scribbled for fun. they aren't my best, but I like them anyhow!

Dreamworld

I'm way past bored,
the old man has snored,
the raindrops have all fallen.
The sky's been grey
all through the day
and I hear my dreamworld callin'.

My thoughts, they drift
over the rift
between reality and dreams.
Where animals talk,
and trees can walk,
and nothing's as it seems.

I say goodbye
and away I fly,
high into the blue.
Above the bluebird's nest,
the robin's red chest,
above where the doves coo.

Beyond the trees
I glimpse the sea,
and her rolling clear blue waters.
The Sea King's pride
as he swims high,
with his singing mermaid daughters.

And now I land,
on ground I stand,
atop the lush green grass.
But with a smack
I am brought back
to my boring math class.

Autum's past and winter's gone,
and summer won't come for oh-so-long.
But spring is near and coming soon
and all the flowers will be in bloom.
When fairies come out and do their dance
and all the flowers will have their chance
to open up and leave their trees
and float along a springtime breeze.
A dance known as the Fairies' Waltz
a dance of wonder with no seen faults.
Music sung by spring itself;
the bubbling brook in all it's stealth.
The wind, it whispers in the wood,
sung more beautifully than any mortal could.
The water sparkles in the sun,
as all will laugh and have their fun.
Even as the sun goes down
and night falls over the fairy town,
the fairies dance all through the night
and through their leaps they take their flight.
They never rest, but waltz 'til dawn,
until the fairy spring is gone.
Remember when you hear them sing,
that fairies come with every spring.

~can you tell I wanted to be somewhere else when I wrote these?~

I know, I've shared a lot of my poems, but this is something I wrote about one minute ago. It's about one of my kittens, Turtle.

my little cat is rather fat.
she hides under my daddy's hat.
she ran into a baseball bat.
I wonder why my cat did that.

Thanks, again, for sharing your poetry! You've considerable talent for that medium. Speaking of faeries, here's the citation for a book which I've found most enlightening on the subject:

Yeats, W. B. Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry. (W. Scott; T. Whittaker. London, England, Great Britain, United Kingdom; New York, New York, United States of America. 1888.)



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well, I just got home from band camp (here's hoping yall can stay away from the American Pie jokes) and I have a little story, which includes a poem. In Symphonic Band (the highest band) we played a medley of Wizard of Oz songs. so, when we had our big cabin inspection, we decided to do a Wizard of Oz theme for oour cabin (cabin WYeast). we made a rainbow over our door, put quotes and flowers on the walls, a yellow brick road leading through the cabin, and even a tin man! we stuffed clothes with other clothes, and wrapped it up in tin foil. we also had white and red striped socks under the bathroom door (wearing some pink shoes for "ruby slippers") and a tape of our cabin singing our own little medley of songs from the movie( we were a little off-key, but that's ok). but everyone loved the poem I wrote (at 6 in the morning in 3 minutes) that we put on our front door. it went like this:

Come over our rainbow
soar with us through the clouds.
Feel free to bring along your friends;
please leave behind your doubts.

The Wicked Witch no longer reigns
terror over this town.
because WYeast fell on her head,
and knocked that bad witch down.

Now stroll down our road,
our road of yellow bricks.
and of the goodies on the counter,
feel free to take your pick.

So please enjoy our mini Oz-
don't rush, just take your time.
all we ask is that you push "Play"
on this tape player of mine.

I had such a great time at camp. you all can be sure that you'll be hearing stories about it whether you like it or not!

PS~ we won the cabin inspection and got to be "escorted" to the dance on the last night by a cabin of icky 12 year olds (they were all either really skinny or really not skinny, with lots of zits) who thought we had cooties or something. but it was ok, because when we walked in, all the guys in the older cabins were yelling at them because they had wanted to escort us! hee hee hee