Your favorite poem

[sangiro 26]

I have a confession to make.... I love poetry! BTW - skreamer a beer toast like this would not qualify:
A dry heaven, and a wet hell;
So it is prohibitors tell;
But who would to a desert go,
When it's nice and wet and soggy
Down below?
Safe swoops
Sangiro

[Jessica 0]

I love poetry too. Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-- Emily Dickinson

[SpeedRacer 1]

This one is by the Red Hot Chili Peppers:
(Should be read in a Brooklyn accent)
Thirty dirty birds
Sittin' on a curb
Chirpin' and
Burpin' and
Eatin' dirty earthworms
Along comes Herby
From Thirty-third and Third
Saw thirty birds
Sittin' on a curb
Chirpin' and
Burpin' and
Eatin' dirty earthworms.....
Boy was he DISTURBED!!!
Speed Racer

[Doasfu 0]

From memory:
One, two, and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with it's head
he went gallumphing back.

[SpeedRacer 1]

Let's see if I can do the whole thing from memory
'Twas brillig and the slithey toves
Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe
Beware the Jabberwock, my son,
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch,
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The Frumious Bandersnatch
He took his vorpal blade in hand
Long time his manxsome foe he sought
Then rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought
And as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabberwock, with eyes aflame
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came
One, two! One, two!
And through and through!
The vorpal blade went snickersnack!
He left it dead, and with its head,
He went galumphing back.
And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Run to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Calooh! Calay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig and the slithey toves
Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogroves
And the mome raths outgrabe
-Lewis Carroll
Not sure if I got it all right
Speed Racer

[Merrick 0]

Not my favorite, but it's close!
Puppet
Upon her stage of sick romance,
a little puppet tries to dance.
Her cruelty teases his strings of twine,
sewn deeply within his aching spine.
Her wicked will drives his hand,
upon worn feet she makes him stand.
Dellusioned love within his eyes,
fueled daily by her thorny lies.
For her song the strong man fell,
his body now a hollow shell.
In his veins cold blood flows,
obeyance is now all he knows.
Such a puppet has become his heart,
blinded by his love from the start.
In the corner the limp doll lies,
as his tortured soul slowly dies!
"Peace & Blu Skyzz!"
Merrick
Edited by Merrick on 4/25/01 12:23 PM.

[mountainman 0]

Hey Jefe!!
Do you still have that skydiving poem that I sent you awhile back?? If so, get it up here if you can.blu skyz
NEW AND IMPROVED!!!
http://home.woh.rr.com/brandonandlaura/

[Merrick 0]

Sorry guys, one more.... This one was written for Pamela, shortly after we first met, and it IS my favorite (is that vain? lol)! I Miss You
As the cold water drips down my body
I remembered how it felt to hold you.
Your body was so soft -
my shaking fingers traced your collar bone
and drew hearts on your back...
As I lay down on the cold sheet
my body forming a dent on the
immensely grand bed
I shiver... alone!
I remembered when you drug the covers down
and laid beside me -
Caressing each other until I whimpered in anticipation...
Whispering your love to me...
Embracing, until the sandman found our
secret hiding place...
As dawn quickly arrives,
and its fingers tap gently on my sleeping eyelids.
I remembered how you kissed me awake,
and how I missed your smile all those hours
I lay watching your dreaming body...
I yearned to wake you,
just to see your eyes fill again with love...
I ached to hear my name on your lips...
As I turn over to shut off the screaming
of the alarm clock
I realize –
I miss you...
"Peace & Blu Skyzz!"
Merrick

[JohnJug 0]

Here's one that I actually saw on the bus on my ride to work, had to write it down:
Excerpt from "The Edge" by Richard (lost his last name):

It doesn't have to be terrifying,
sometimes it's simply curling your toes
over the end of the high dive,
bending your knees and lightly
bouncing up and down
as if your wings were fluttering

Blue skies
Bill

[PalmettoTiger 1]

I'm not much for poetry but here's one of the few I can remember. It's from some joke about poets, St. Peter, and Timbuktu:
Tim and I a-hunting went
And found fair maidens in a tent.
As they were three and we were two,
I bucked one and Tim bucked two.
Blues, squares,
PTiger

[SpeedRacer 1]

I wish I could remember the author of this one. It was published in the last issue of Bostonia magazine, a publication of Boston University:
This is just to say,
I bought you that bokay
Just because they
Spelled it that way.
I hope that's ouquet.
Speed Racer

[skreamer 1]

OK here's my favourite poem, it also happens to be the first poem that I learnt by heart :
W.B. Yeats
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above:
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love:
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Anyway I really like it, here's some lines from some stuff I wrote recently, but I don't really want to post the whole thing because I just don't.
See the amber,
Out we clamber,
Blue skies burning,
colours turning,
the wind is screaming,
am I dreaming?
it went on for a bit, I thought it might be a haiku at first but then it got a bit out of hand, maybe one day I'll make some sense out of it and make it into something I could show people.
Anyway, the Yeats poem is something that struck a chord with me at a really young age.
/s
Ps I know the difference between amber and green OK?, but this freakin' rhyming shit can be hard!

[huffermoose 0]

i Used to be a medical officer on the ships as well as 2nd mate/ ships cat / cook etc etc
and i kept on having apprentices coming up to me 1 week out of port and tell me they felt like they were pissing fire obviously they had decided to ride bare back which gave them a rather nasty dose of the clap, they managed to get it again in the next port.
these guys would never cover themselfs up they always said they were pissed and forgot so i came up with this poem for them tell me what you think?
A DRIPPY DICK by A. Wester
If you plan to take a walk
To satisfy a rampant stalk
To dip your wick in folds of flesh
The loves you have become enmeshed!
remember ! to stick a jonny in your pocket
to safely wrap your pulsing rocket
keep your member proud and strong
Who needs a scabby withered dong !!!!
anyway they seemed to remember the poem before going out and thus i did not have to fill them full of penicilin every time they come back from going ashore
ttfn Allan

[freeflyer49 0]

Thanks Sangrio...It has been a few years since I read any of Poe's work. He has been my favorite for years and this one is tops..
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 some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis 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,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This 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 that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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;-
'Tis the wind and 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 above 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 marvelled 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 blest 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 outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than 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 utters is its 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 that 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and 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 or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here 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 or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this 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 in 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's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight 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!
-- THE END --
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[huffermoose 0]

now for my favorite poem cant remember who it was done by and can only remember a few of the words
write her name across the skies
for she is dead where she lies
on that day the church bells drone
shut the dog up with a juicy bone
she was my North, my South, my East, my West
My working day My weekend rest
she was my night, my day, my summer song
now there is no light for she is gone!!
ttfn Allan

[sangiro 26]

Quote

now for my favorite poem cant remember who it was done by

I believe that would be W.H. Auden's Funeral Blues. Safe swoops
Sangiro

[sangiro 26]

OK - here's mine....
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . . . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . . . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
And this, and so much more?
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
. . . . . . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
T.S. Eliot (1888-1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
Safe swoops
Sangiro

[sangiro 26]

Sweet - thanks for posting it again.
Safe swoops
Sangiro

[sangiro 26]

You're a lucky guy - but I guess you know that already! Thanks for posting.
Safe swoops
Sangiro

[Pammi 0]

Ah, now you guys know why I love him *smile* Thank you sweetie. (I'm the lucky one Sangiro I would post one of mine, but I'm a bit weird about others' reading my poetry. :)
Pammi
"The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live."
http://trak.to/skydivechick

[huffermoose 0]

THERE ARE 2 POEMS that i like as well one is done by rudyard kipling and i cant remember the other one who wrote this but an extract from "if"
if you can walk with kings and still keep the common touch,
if you can lose all in a game of pitch and toss
if you can rebuild your life with broken tools
and keep your head when all around you people are losing theirs
you'll be a man my son.
does any one know the poem
"dulce et decurem est pro patri mensa"
"it is better to die facing your enemy"
and know for my favorite quote by sir winston churchill P.M
(a conversation between sir winston churchill and mary arkwright a famous suffragette [suffragettes were a big womans movement in the 1920's)
mary arkwright " sir you are as drunk as a lord"
winston churchill" Madam! i maybe drunk, but i will wake up sober! however you will always be that ugly"
no harm intended just liked the quote
one more quote for you
"nolli illigitimi est carborundum"
"dont let the bast#r%s grind you down
ttfn Allan

[sangiro 26]

You may be thinking about......Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen.... love that poem! If not, here it is anyway. (BTW - the Latin part or the "old lie" roughly translates to: It is sweet and propper to die for one's fatherland!)
Here's the poem:
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!--An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
by Wilfred Owen
Safe swoops
Sangiro

[SniperCJ 0]

This is an easy one!
Its been my favorite poem since I was about 15 taking flight lessons and definately applies to skydiving.
"High Flight"
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

[Doasfu 0]

Quote

OK - here's mine....
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Hey Sangiro,
I love this poem. I seem to remember finding an mp3 of eliot reading some or all of it on Salon.com. Not sure if it would still be there, but it was very cool.
Dan

[Doasfu 0]

Yep, it does it exist. Here's the URL if you're interested:
http://www.salon.com/audio/2000/10/05/eliot/index.html