Author Topic: Post Your Favourite Poems  (Read 2463 times)

Offline greenconverse  84

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #90 on: May 06, 2017, 07:56:38 pm »
Sailing to Byzantium

William Butler Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Offline greenconverse  84

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #91 on: May 06, 2017, 08:07:46 pm »
Somewhere In America

Get Lit

Here in America, in every single state, they have a set of standards for every subject
A collection of lessons that the teacher's required to teach by the end of the term
But the greatest lessons you'll ever teach us will not come from your syllabus
The greatest lessons you will ever teach us, you will not even remember

You never told us what we weren't allowed to say
We just learned how to hold our tongues
Now somewhere in America, there is s a child holding a copy of "Catcher in the Rye" and there is a child holding a gun
But only one of these things have been banned by their state government
And it's not the one that can rip through flesh
It's the one that says "fuck you" on more pages than one

Because we must control what the people say, and how they think
And if they want to become the overseer of their own selves, then we'll show them a real one
And somewhere in America, there's a child sitting at his mother's computer, reading the homepage of the KKK's website, and that's open to the public
But that child will never have read "To Kill a Mockingbird" because the school has banned it for it's use of the "N" word

Maya Angelou is prohibited because we're not allowed to talk about rape in school
We were taught that 'just because something happens, doesn't mean you are to talk about it'
They built us brand new shopping malls so that we'll forget where we're really standing
On the bones of the Hispanics, on the bones of the slaves, on the bones of the Native Americans, on the bones of those who fought just to speak!

Transcontinental Railroad to Japanese Internment Camps
There are things missing from our history books
But we were taught that it is better to be silent, than to make them uncomfortable
Somewhere in America, private school girls search for hours through boutiques, trying to find the prom dress of their dreams
While kids on the south side spending hours searching through the 'lost and found' 'cause winter's coming soon and that's the only jacket they have

Kids are late to class for working the midnight shift
They give awards for best attendance, but not for keeping your family off the streets
These kids will call your music ghetto, they will tell you you don’t talk right
Then they’ll get in the backseat of a car with all their friends singing ‘ bout how “They’re ‘bout that life” and “we can’t stop”
Somewhere in America, schools are promoting self confidence
While they whip out their scales and shout out your body fat percentage in class

While heftier girls are hiding away, and the slim fit beauties can’t help but giggle with pride
The preppy kids go thrift shopping ‘cause they think it sounds real fun
But we don’t ‘cause that’s all we got money for
‘Cause momma works for the city, momma only gets paid once a month
Somewhere in America, a girl is getting felt up by a grown man on the subway
She’s still in her school uniform and that’s part of the appeal
It’s hard to run in knee socks and Mary Jane’s, and all her male teachers know it too

Coaches cover up the star players raping freshmen after the dance
Women are killed for rejecting dates, but God forbid I bring my girlfriend to prom
Girls black out drunk at the after party, take a picture before her wounds wake her
How many pixels is your sanity worth? What’s a 4.0 to a cold jury?
What’d you learn in class today?
Don’t walk fast, don’t speak loud, keep your hands to yourself, keep your head down
Keep your eyes on your own paper, if you don’t know the answer, fill in “C”
Always wear earbuds when you ride the bus alone
If you feel like someone’s following you, pretend you’re on the phone

A teacher never fails, only you do

Every state in America, the greatest lessons, are the ones you don’t remember learning

Offline Mafketel  7391

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #92 on: May 09, 2017, 05:59:33 pm »
Thank you all for sharing these poems.

If you have any work of your own feel free to share those aswell.

Offline Jim_Hawkins  5658

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #93 on: May 09, 2017, 08:56:02 pm »
The Sleeper in the Valley

The Sleeper of the Vale

It’s a gully of green where sings a river
Desperately hanging on the grass its rags
Of silver; where the sun, from the proud mount
Shines: it’s a little vale that foams with rays.

A young soldier, mouth open, head bare,
And his neck bathing in the cool blue cress,
Sleeps; he is stretched out in the grass, ‘neath the sky,
Pale on his green bed where the light rains.

His feet in the gladiolas, he sleeps. Smiling like
A sick child smiles, he takes a snooze:
Nature, cradle him warmly: he is cold.

The scents do not make his nostrils quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, one hand on his peaceful
Chest. He has two red holes in his right side.

tr. by Alex Rodallec


Le Dormeur du val

C’est un trou de verdure où chante une rivière
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D’argent ; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,
Luit : c’est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort ; il est étendu dans l’herbe, sous la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert où la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme :
Nature, berce-le chaudement : il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine ;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine,
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.

Arthur Rimbaud
October 1870

« Last Edit: May 09, 2017, 09:04:58 pm by Jim_Hawkins »

Offline Jim_Hawkins  5658

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #94 on: May 13, 2017, 02:45:20 pm »
Lamartine - Thoughts of the deaths


See yonder the sapless leaves
Which fall on the grass beneath;
See too how the wind is rising
And whines soft in the valley;
See yonder the stray swallow
Which skims with its wingtip
The still water of the marshes;
See there the cottagers’ child
Who gathers up off the heath
Fallen wood from the forests.

It’s the season when all things fall
To winds gusting twice as strong;
There’s a wind comes from the tomb
That harvests the living too.
They fall then in their thousands
Just like the useless feather
Which the eagle sheds into the air
When its new-grown feathers
Come bring warmth to its wings
At the approach of winters.

It was at this time that my eyes
Watched as you grew pale and died
Tender fruits, which in the daylight
God did not leave to ripen!
Though I am young on this earth
I am already alone
Among my generation
And when I say to myself:
« Where are those whom your heart loves »
It’s to the grass that I look.

He was a friend from my childhood
Whom providence lent to us
For dark days  of misfortune
To give a lift to our hearts;
He’s no more : our souls are bereft
He follows us in our trial
And says to us with pity:
“My friend, if your soul is so filled
With your joy and with your pain
Who will be there to bear one half ?”

She was young, newly betrothed
Who, a bandage round her brow
Bore off just a thought of
Her youthfulness to the grave;
Sad alas! In heaven itself,
Again to see him she loves,
She traces back her steps
And tells him: «Green is my tomb!
What on this bleak land
Do you wait for?  I am not here! »

It’s the pale shade of a father
Who died, our names on his lips;
It’s a sister, it’s a brother
Who precedes us one brief while.
All those, at the last, whose life,
Snatched one day or another,
Takes a part of us away.
They seem to say ‘neath the stone
« You who can see the light of day
Do you remember us still ? »

See yonder the sapless leaves
Which fall on the grass beneath;
See too how the wind is rising
And whines soft in the valley;
See yonder the stray swallow
Which skims with its wingtip
The still water of the marshes;
See there the cottagers’ child
Who gathers up off the heath
Fallen wood from the forests.


Offline tonowando  11889

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #95 on: October 14, 2017, 07:01:19 am »


In Flanders Fields


In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead: Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved: and now we lie
In Flanders fields!

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields


those few and simple words were put to paper as one solider laid his dear comrade to final rest .
just one of millions who ended life's journey in " the War to End all Wars "

sadly just one generation later those same fields flowed
RED again .
Victory is not won on the battlefield but in building the peace after .

care not for the children of those defeated .
and you have sowed the seeds of your next War in their hearts .

Online XpoZ  9407

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Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #96 on: January 06, 2018, 12:25:40 am »
The Road Not Taken

BY ROBERT FROST

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.