Your favourite poem

EddieM said:
Sure it wasn't Grasmere? Not saying you're wrong. Least I was reasonably close to the opening line :LOL:
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I always thought it was Rydal, anyway from Wiki

Just south of Pooley Bridge on the lake's eastern shore is Eusemere, where anti-slavery campaigner Thomas Clarkson (1760–1846) lived; the house gives one of the best views of the lower reach of Ullswater. William and Dorothy Wordsworth were friends of Clarkson and visited on many occasions. After visiting Clarkson in April 1802, Wordsworth was inspired to write his famous poem Daffodils after seeing daffodils growing on the shores of Ullswater on his journey back to Grasmere. Wordsworth once wrote of "Ullswater, as being, perhaps, upon the whole, the happiest combination of beauty and grandeur, which any of the Lakes affords".[8]
 
I thought it was something to do with Balaclavas and Cardigans and somewhere like Crimea
 
durhamplumber said:
Sea Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
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I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
I left my vest and socks there, I wonder if they're dry.

(Spike Milligan)
 
From my childhood memories.

There was a young lady from Leeds,
who swallowed a packet of seeds.
Within half an hour her ar$e was in flower,
and her bush was a bed full of weeds.
 
Munroist said:
can't remember what its called but goes something like-

I wandered lonely into the valley
When all at once I saw a crowd
daffodils to the left of me
daffodils to the right of me
daffodils in front of me
fluttering and dancing amongst the trees
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Charge of the Lupin Brigade?
 
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost
 
This is a great thread so many great poems

Another from my childhood memories: Absolute genius of his time.

Oh Cliff
Sometimes it must be difficult not to feel as if
You really are a cliff
when fascists keep trying to push you over it!
Are they the lemmings
Or are you, Cliff?
Or are you, Cliff?

-Peoples Poet
 
Never been a poetry enthusiast!

I'm quite a bookworm and always have been, I can't survive for very long without reading something; but not poems, unless they are funny, such as limericks. And they have to rhyme. Poetry was a victim of the 1960s cultural revolution, where anything could be called art and poems didn't have to rhyme anymore.

I like lyrics, which are form of poetry, but the music is the main thing that draws me in.
 
There was a young fellow called Dave, who found a dead whore in a cave,
He said "Isn't that disgusting, she only needs dusting, and think of the money I'll save".
 
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
SirGalahad said:
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Awful sentiment, your time is up, you have 2 choices, rage against the sadly inevitable, or go contented and at peace. I pity anyone who chooses the former.
 
Invictus
BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
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.
 
EddieM said:
Not a poem, but a speech written for frankly a complete muppet of a president, but this was poignant and well delivered speech by RR

"“We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.'”
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Yes, thought when I heard that at the time it was very special and poignant. Have remembered it ever since.

Wouldn't necessaily say Reagan was a muppet. Far from it as he worked hard with Gorbachev to bring down Berlin Wall and end Soviet Union. US economy was good under him too. History will be kinder to him than people were at the time. Certainly achieved far more than presidents like Obama.
 
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