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message 1: by Chong (new)

Chong Yeoh | 5 comments Haha


message 2: by Gerd (new)

Gerd | 428 comments My fave poems are constantly changing, for contrast one of my newer likes.

This links to a version used at the end of a TV movie about suicide:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MeQY...


Free translation:

I will go away, child. But you shall live
And be merry. In my young heart
Burned the golden light, I have given it to you,
And now my evening candles are extinguishing.

The feast is over, the violin sound faded,
Spoken is the very last word
Soon she too is silent, who sang this song
Sing it on, child, for I must go away

I drank the cup empty, in rapid motion
And know who tasted it must die ...
But you, child, shall only inherit
The radiance and all the blessing it contained:

To me life was like a miraculous tree
From which psalms are shining on summer nights
Now the days are like a dreamed dream
And all my nights, all - tears

I was so glad, my heart was so ready,
And God was good, now he takes all the gifts,
In your soul, child, will come the time, shall,
What I have not lived, have fulfillment,

I will be quiet, but my song goes on,
Give him your clear, pure tone,
Be a big man, my little son
I'm so tired - but you stay cheerful.

Last song by Masha Kaléko


message 3: by Dayna ✨ (new)

Dayna ✨ | 2 comments One of my absolute favourites is 'somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond' by E.E. Cummings.

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 skilfully,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 it 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



message 4: by Notash (last edited Aug 11, 2018 01:17AM) (new)

Notash Batool (iamnotashbatool) | 53 comments well, my favorite poetry is "I am weak but at least" by me

The God sent us to the earth as a free soul,

But,

The rich of the world made us their slave

Those who shout, have to write their will

And those who remain, have to forget about their vein

I was thinking, how to get myself out from this jail?

Which they call a world,

Although i am weak but at least, i feel,

I believe that none is poor and none is richer except by their deeds.

This world is like a seed,

What you will grow,

You have to eat.

Your shout can heal anyone's wound and that isn't just easy.

I would rather prefer to kill myself, then to kill my dignity

I stand against them,

And,

I won and they lose,

The dignity won and their brutality lose,

I was feeling satisfy and richer than those fools,

Who prefer to stay silent and don't feel their woes.


message 5: by Notash (new)

Notash Batool (iamnotashbatool) | 53 comments This is "What if the spring doesn't go!" by me..

Those chattering sounds,that can heel my wounds

The air is so pleasing that can even calm a thunder,i found

The rebirth of flowers,the rabbles of butterflies,can make you too feel awesome



Sitting under the shelter of a tree,i was wondering that

What if spring doesn't go?

What if spring doesn't go?

The blooming of flowers,the silk bed of lilies,

Y'll get to know how beautiful they are,

once you stroke on them

The vacant streets,

And fragrant leaves

Sitting under the shelter of a tree,i was wondering that

What if spring doesn't go?

What if spring doesn't go?

The work of droning bees,and unwillingly sticking pollens with them

Remind me of those men who are bum and do no works

Sunbeams showing itself from the thick green trees,

I sighed,stand and wondered

What if the spring doesn't go?

What if the spring doesn't go?


message 6: by Debbie (new)

Debbie (readbydeb) | 5 comments Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe is a poem that I've loved for years.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


message 7: by Gerd (new)

Gerd | 428 comments Debbie wrote: "Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe is a poem that I've loved for years.
..."


Fave poem by Poe (next to The Raven naturally), also love what Sarah Jarosz did with it:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-SLS...


message 8: by Ross (new)

Ross | 1444 comments I have so many so wrote an original!

In natures time we trust as we must our paths to unwind. To show the way and save the day however choice can be found. It is therefore to you we cleve when problems abound. Example set challenge met.


Agnes Szalkowska | 386 comments APHRODITE'S DOVES

When the drifting gray of the vesper shadow
Dimmed their upward path through the midmost azure,
And the length of night overtook them distant
Far from Olympus;

Far away from splendor and joy of Paphos,
From the voice and smile of their peerless Mistress,
Back to whom their truant wings were in rapture
Speeding belated;

Chilled at heart and grieving they drooped their pinions,
Circled slowly, dipping in flight toward Lesbos,
Down through dusk that darkened on Mitylene's
Columns of marble;

Down through glory wan of the fading sunset,
Veering ever toward the abode of Sappho,
Toward my home, the fane of the glad devoted
Slave of the Goddess;

Soon they gained the tile of my roof and rested,
Slipped their heads beneath their wings while I watched them
Sink to sleep and dreams, in the warm and drowsy
Night of midsummer.


message 10: by Sarina (new)

Sarina (inquisitiveowl) | 23 comments “The art of losing isn’t hard to master,
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places and names and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three house went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.”

- “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop


message 11: by Anshul (new)

Anshul Singh | 7 comments I love you.
The kind, where you are still you.
And I am, still me.


--- "Unchained love" from a book 'A Poem Is A Brave Thing'


message 12: by Pam (last edited Aug 13, 2018 01:11PM) (new)

Pam | 1085 comments Mod
Any spoken word fans here?

https://www.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_i...

If I should have a Daughter: Sarah Kay

If I should have a daughter, instead of "Mom," she's going to call me "Point B," because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.

And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."

And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.

So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself, because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried. "And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him. But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix. Okay, there's a few that chocolate can't fix.

But that's what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this.

(Singing) There'll be days like this, my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.

Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away. You will put the wind in win some, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. Always apologize when you've done something wrong, but don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.



message 13: by Anshul (new)

Anshul Singh | 7 comments Pam wrote: "Any spoken word fans here?

https://www.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_i...

If I should have a Daughter: Sarah Kay

If I should have a daughter, instead of ..."


Loved it a lot. So deep and so relevant. Thank you for sharing this.


message 14: by Pam (last edited Aug 13, 2018 03:49PM) (new)

Pam | 1085 comments Mod
Keith wrote: "True freedom comes to those who have escaped the questions of freewill and fate. ."

Rumi comes off as Buddhist at times. So interchangeable. Love..


message 15: by Donika (new)

Donika | 18 comments "Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"


message 16: by Lucia (new)

Lucia Calvo | 1 comments One of my favorites that I had to learn by heart for my literature class at college is by Mary Oliver. It is just an appreciation and celebration of life and the world. I was traveling in Norway in July and as we were walking past this fjord and the sky was blue and the sun was so bright but warm as it was already getting late I just felt the need to recite this poem to express the beauty of the moment :)

Mary Oliver: "Wild Geese"

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


message 17: by Megan (new)

Megan Cheang | 97 comments Goblin Market by Christina Rossetii

It's too long to post here. But the bottom line is that I love this poem because it is really a fairytale written as a poem. There's so much rhyming which I adore.
the storyline is as follows: basically a girl is going to die from eating goblin food so her sister goes to save her.


message 18: by Sarina (new)

Sarina (inquisitiveowl) | 23 comments Lucia wrote: "One of my favorites that I had to learn by heart for my literature class at college is by Mary Oliver. It is just an appreciation and celebration of life and the world. I was traveling in Norway in..."

Wow, that one’s super empowering!


message 19: by Ana Paula (new)

Ana Paula (anapaulacordeiro) | 46 comments What are Years?

by Marianne Moore

What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, —
dumbly calling, deafly listening—that
in misfortune, even death,
encourage others
and in its defeat, stirs

the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.

So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.


message 20: by Anshul (new)

Anshul Singh | 7 comments Lucia wrote: "One of my favorites that I had to learn by heart for my literature class at college is by Mary Oliver. It is just an appreciation and celebration of life and the world. I was traveling in Norway in..."
So much feel into this. Simplicity at its best


message 21: by Danielle (new)

Danielle (daniellecareymooney) | 3 comments If You Could Go Back
By Danny Bryck

I know, I know
If you could go back you
would walk with Jesus
You would march with King
Maybe assassinate Hitler
At least hide Jews in your basement
It would all be clear to you
But people then, just like you
were baffled, had bills
to pay and children they didn’t
understand and they too
were so desperate for normalcy
they made anything normal
Even turning everything inside out
Even killing, and killing, and it’s easy
for turning the other cheek
to be looking the other way, for walking
to be talking, and they hid
in their houses
and watched it on television, when they had television,
and wrung their hands
or didn’t, and your hands
are just like theirs. Lined, permeable,
small, and you
would follow Caesar, and quote McCarthy, and Hoover, and you would want
to make Germany great again
Because you are afraid, and your
parents are sick, and your
job pays shit and where’s your
dignity? Just a little dignity and those kids sitting down in the highway,
and chaining themselves to
buildings, what’s their f---ing problem? And that kid
That’s King. And this is Selma. And Berlin. And Jerusalem. And now
is when they need you to be brave.
Now
is when we need you to go back
and forget everything you know
and give up the things you’re chained to
and make it look so easy in your
grandkids’ history books (they should still have them, kinehora)
Now
is when it will all be clear to them.



message 22: by Shelley (new)

Shelley | 6 comments The Invitation by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments....

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved


message 23: by Robert (new)

Robert Smart | 347 comments Cool poetry thread!
I unfortunately don't have a favorite poem. Probably because I have not read or listened to enough poetry to stumble across something memorable that struck me yet.
Maybe someday.


message 24: by Nidhi (new)

Nidhi Jhaveri (nidhimjhaveri) I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
By William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

:-)


message 25: by Leslie (new)

Leslie (lesliejean43) | 88 comments I love that - I remember it from high school in the 1950s.


message 26: by Mary (new)

Mary Tente | 1 comments Pretty much anything by Andrea Gibson. She is one of my favorite. This one is one of my favorites, but it is more powerful if you see her preform it

The Nutritionist

The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables
Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day
I would be grounded,
rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness is.
The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight
Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do
I handed her the twenty,
she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.”
The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed, with my ears plugged
I tried once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet
The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth,
said focus on the outbreaths,
everyone finds happiness when they can care more about what they can give than what they get
The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax
The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said
The trauma said don’t write this poem
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones
My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”
My bones said “write the poem.”
The lamplight.
Considering the river bed.
To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread.
To everyday you could not get out of bed.
To the bulls eye on your wrist
To anyone who has ever wanted to die.
I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing to do-
Is remind ourselves over and over and over
Other people feel this too
The tomorrow that has come and gone
And it has not gotten better
When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried”
But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back
There is no bruise like the bruise of loneliness kicks into your spine
So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of the looted buildings
You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame
You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy
I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside
Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside
Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house
But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing
A life can be rich like the soil
Can make food of decay
Can turn wound into highway
Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says
“it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society”
I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
Screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound
Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down
What I know about living is the pain is never just ours
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo
So I keep a listening to the moment the grief becomes a window
When I can see what I couldn’t see before,
through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.
So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in
just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better
but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming
let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet
you- you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.
Raising your bite against the bitter dark
Your bright longing
Your brilliant fists of loss
Friend

if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that’s plenty
my god that’s enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over
“Live”
“Live”
“Live”


message 27: by Emilyrose (new)

Emilyrose | 2 comments one of e.e. cummings most deceptively simple for me...

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea


message 28: by Kara (new)

Kara Dyer (karafromharrah) | 1 comments Mary Oliver has dozens that I adore. This one is "The Journey":

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.


message 29: by My Quiet Pages (new)

My Quiet Pages (myquietpages) | 8 comments The Stolen Child by William Butler Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.



Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand


message 30: by Salma (last edited Aug 31, 2018 10:42AM) (new)

Salma | 1 comments I find poetry to be daunting, yet "I am" by John Clare is one of my favorite poems. Because, the lyricism was appealing to me and it was easy for me to relate to the emotions he was portraying.

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.


message 31: by Agoston (new)

Agoston K | 1 comments Salma wrote: "I find poetry to be daunting, yet "I am" by John Clare is one of my favorite poems. Because, the lyricism was appealing to me and it was easy for me to relate to the emotions he was portraying.

I..."

this is actually beautiful, thanks for sharing


message 32: by Ashley Marie (new)

Ashley Marie Emilyrose wrote: "one of e.e. cummings most deceptively simple for me...

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't ..."


e.e. cummings is brilliant, my best friend loaned me 95 Poems and I fell back in love with so many of those. It had been too long since I'd read them.


message 33: by Nancy (new)

Nancy (nancyadair) The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

Rainier Maria Rilke


message 34: by seafriend (new)

seafriend | 5 comments Mine is “For the Anniversary of My Death” by W.S Merwin

EVERY year without knowing it I have
Passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless Traveller
Like the beam of a lightless Star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what


message 35: by M (new)

M | 1 comments One of my favorites in recent history is Maggie Smith’s ‘Good Bones’:

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.


message 36: by I (new)

I comment (Icomment) | 34 comments Psalms are poems. Psalm 91 is my favorite poem.

Psalm 91
91 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

2 I will say of Jehovah, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

3 Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.

4 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

5 Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;

6 Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

7 A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

8 Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.

9 Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;

10 There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

11 For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

12 They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.

13 Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.

14 Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.

15 He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.

16 With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.


message 37: by Pam (new)

Pam | 1085 comments Mod
I& wrote: "Psalms are poems. Psalm 91 is my favorite poem.

Psalm 91
91 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."



That's a beautiful interpretation I&


message 38: by I (new)

I comment (Icomment) | 34 comments Yes, Pam, how are you? :) :)


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