Fav. Poems

Lend Us Your Ears For Twas Not A Post So Greater Than This.

My Fav.

To the Virgins,
Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
and while ye may, go marry;
For having lost just once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

-ROBERT HERRICK
1591-1674

http://www.geocities.com/CollegePark/5552/ondesks.gif

One of my favorites:

The Rose That Grew From Concrete
by Tupac Shakur

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared.

An ode to Withcheese.
Poetry aint hard, in fact it's a breeze.
Anyone can do it.
Not like it's difficult or owt.

My mother was a crackwhore

my father was her pimp

i used to be their doormat

that's what made me limp



Yogi 1959-2043

I like these but they're not my favourites:

Philip Larkin - Days

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.



Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”

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.


I'm doing an essay on both for 12th April. :joygasm:

I like this poem , but it isn't really a fav of mine :)

Philip Larkin- 'The Explosion'

On the day of the explosion
Shadows pointed towards the pithead:
In the sun the slagheap slept.

Down the lane came men in pitboots
Coughing oath-edged talk and pipe-smoke,
Shouldering off the freshened silence.

One chased after rabbits; lost them;
Came back with a nest of lark's eggs;
Showed them; lodged them in the grasses.

So they passed in beards and moleskins,
Fathers, brothers, nicknames, laughter,
Through the tall gates standing open.

At noon, there came a tremor; cows
Stopped chewing for a second; sun,
Scarfed as in a heat-haze, dimmed.

The dead go on before us, they
Are sitting in God's house in comfort,
We shall see them face to face -

Plain as lettering in the chapels
It was said, and for a second
Wives saw men of the explosion

Larger than in life they managed -
Gold as on a coin, or walking
Somehow from the sun towards them,

One showing the eggs unbroken.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by gemby!

I like this poem , but it isn't really a fav of mine :)

Philip Larkin- 'The Explosion'

---

I studied this poem a few weeks ago, pretty good.

I am studying his poetry at the moment - the 'High Windows' collection

v. good, but can be quite pesimistic :wacko:

As Larkin seems to be popular, one of SGGs favourites (what is she trying to say? :unsure: )

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

--Philip Larkin (1974)

I'd be worried if i was you ....

Not too keen on that poem - more of a poem to shock people i think

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by gemby!

I'd be worried if i was you ....

Not too keen on that poem - more of a poem to shock people i think

---

It was at the tail end of his life - I think he was just having a bit of fun rather than trying to shock. As is the way old folk get. :unsure:

you wouldn't know, being so young yourself .... :lookaroun

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by gemby!

you wouldn't know, being so young yourself .... :lookaroun

---

I find myself strangely warming to you Gemby.


:)

I'm a charmer :naughty:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Biggles

As Larkin seems to be popular, one of SGGs favourites (what is she trying to say? :unsure: )

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

--Philip Larkin (1974)

---

I had a lecture with this poem featuring last week and can't remember what we learned about it...something about the title. :unsure:

Time to read my "notes".

Edit: Probably my favourite Larkin poem though, now I think about it.

Yeah

Philip Larkin - Annus Mirabilis

Sexual intercourse began
In nineteen sixty-three
(which was rather late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

Up to then there'd only been
A sort of bargaining,
A wrangle for the ring,
A shame that started at sixteen
And spread to everything.

Then all at once the quarrel sank:
Everyone felt the same,
And every life became
A brilliant breaking of the bank,
A quite unlosable game.

So life was never better than
In nineteen sixty-three
(Though just too late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

traj watches one movie about poets or poetry one of the two and hes hooked like a arab on kababs...

But what a movie that is............... :01:

DEAD POETS SOCIETY.... 10/10 anyone here who watched it would agree