Favorite Poems?

[Ammanas]

So my favorite, in no particular order, are the following:

1.Horatius at the Bridge by Thomas Babington

2. Iliad by Homer

3. The Raven by Poe

4. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

5. The last one is obscure. It was written by a soldier (Henry Lee) and his journal, with poetry, was found buried in the camp he died in

“Prayer Before Battle (To Mars)”
(December 8, 1941)

Before thine ancient altar, God of War,
Forlorn, afraid, alone, I kneel to pray.
The gentle shepherd whom I would adore,
Faced by thy blazing plaything, slips away.
And I am drained of faith — alone — alone.
Who now needs faith to face thy outthrust sword,
Bereft of hope, turned to pagan to the bone.
I kneel to thee and hail thee as my Lord.
From such a God as thee, I ask not life,
My life is forfeited, the hour is late.
Thou need not swerve the bullet, dull the knife.
I ask but strength to ride the wave of fate.
And one thing more — to validate this strife,
And my own sacrifice — teach me to hate.

Edited August 19, 2017 by Ammanas

[StormyQueen she/her]

Another good poet, one who I believe that @Dr_Evilcat will agree with me on is Wislawa Szymborska (affectionately called Sissy-B). Great poet who lived in Poland under the USSR and the Nazis, so her work is 'coded' so that you can't understand it's criticisms of the regimes just by reading it as it is. So brutally honest without taking herself too seriously, but not pessimistic. My two favourites in spoiler tags for length.

Spoiler

On Death, without Exaggeration

It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can't even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn't strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won't help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies' skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it's omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it's not.

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you've come
can't be undone.

Spoiler

Advertisement

I’m a tranquilizer. 

I’m effective at home. 

I work in the office. 

I can take exams 

on the witness stand. 

I mend broken cups with care. 

All you have to do is take me, 

let me melt beneath your tongue, 

just gulp me 

with a glass of water. 

 

I know how to handle misfortune, 

how to take bad news. 

I can minimize injustice, 

lighten up God’s absence, 

or pick the widow’s veil that suits your face. 

What are you waiting for— 

have faith in my chemical compassion. 

 

You’re still a young man/woman. 

It’s not too late to learn how to unwind. 

Who said 

you have to take it on the chin? 

 

Let me have your abyss. 

I’ll cushion it with sleep. 

You’ll thank me for giving you 

four paws to fall on. 

 

Sell me your soul. 

There are no other takers. 

 

There is no other devil anymore.

I also love war poetry, especially Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen, as well as TS Eliott (especially The Hollow Men, such a haunting poem.) 

Edited August 21, 2017 by StormyQueen

[Dr_Evilcat]

Just now, StormyQueen said:

Another good poet, one who I believe that @Dr_Evilcat will agree with me on is Wislawa Szymborska (affectionately called Sissy-B). Great poet who lived in Poland under the USSR and the Nazis, so her work is 'coded' so that you can't understand it's criticisms of the regimes just by reading it as it is. So brutally honest without taking herself too seriously, but not pessimistic. My two favourites in spoiler tags for length.

  Reveal hidden contents

On Death, without Exaggeration

It can't take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can't even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn't strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won't help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies' skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it's omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it's not.

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you've come
can't be undone.

  Reveal hidden contents

Advertisement

I’m a tranquilizer. 

I’m effective at home. 

I work in the office. 

I can take exams 

on the witness stand. 

I mend broken cups with care. 

All you have to do is take me, 

let me melt beneath your tongue, 

just gulp me 

with a glass of water. 

 

I know how to handle misfortune, 

how to take bad news. 

I can minimize injustice, 

lighten up God’s absence, 

or pick the widow’s veil that suits your face. 

What are you waiting for— 

have faith in my chemical compassion. 

 

You’re still a young man/woman. 

It’s not too late to learn how to unwind. 

Who said 

you have to take it on the chin? 

 

Let me have your abyss. 

I’ll cushion it with sleep. 

You’ll thank me for giving you 

four paws to fall on. 

 

Sell me your soul. 

There are no other takers. 

 

There is no other devil anymore.

I also love war poetry, especially Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen, as well as TS Eliott (especially The Hollow Men, such a haunting poem.) 

Can confirm that I agree on this one. Wonderful work, which delivers a point without being too flowery. The brilliance of her work aside, I may have slightly ended up transposing one of her poems into something about Elantris at one point.

Again, spoiler tagged for length here.

Original:

Spoiler

Atlantis

Did they exist or not.
On an island or not.
Was it an ocean or not
that swallowed them up or not

 

Did someone have someone to love?
Did someone have someone to fight with?
Did everything happen or nothing
There or not there?

 

There stood seven cities.
But are we sure of that?
They wished to stand forever.
Where then is the proof?

 

They did not invent gunpowder, no.
They did invent them, yes.

 

Hypothetical. Dubious.
Unimmortalized.
Unextracted from air,
From fire, from water, from earth.

 

Uncontained in stone
or in a a drop of rain.
Unable to seriously pose
for a cautionary tale.

 

A meteor fell.
No, not a meteor.
A volcano erupted.
No, not a volcano.
Someone yelled something.
No, no one did.

 

On this plus minus Atlantis.

And now with some slight changes:

Spoiler

Elantris

Did they exist or not.
In a city or not.
Was it the Reod or not
that blocked the Dor or not.

 

Did someone have someone to love?
Did someone have someone to fight with?
Did everything happen or nothing
There or not there?

 

There stood great walls.
But are we sure of that?
They wished to stand forever.
Where then is the proof?

 

They did not invent Aons, no.
They did invent them, yes.

 

Hypothetical. Dubious.
Immortalized.
Unextracted from air,
From physical, from cognitive, from spiritual.

 

Uncontained in Dominion
or in a shard of Devotion
Unable to seriously pose
for a cautionary tale.

 

A chasm opened.
No, not a chasm.
An earthquake shook.
No, not an earthquake.
Someone used AonDor
No, no one did

 

On this plus minus Elantris.

 

[ParadoxicalZen he/him]

I'm rather particular to Derek Walcott's Love After Love at the moment

[Hood he/him]

My favourite poem is 'On His Blindness' by John Milton. It is not the title that Milton gave to the poem, it was a publisher of his poems. This is probably the only poem that I remember by heart. The last line "They also serve who only stand and wait" is golden. 

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

The YouTube channel 'spokenverse' reads it in a brilliant manner.