Your favorite poem..This is mine..?

Question

Invictus, by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of Circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of Chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

And here is one of mine..

Alone..

Forever, endless, diminished imagination.

Nothing can bring her back.

Cold, damp, she exhales.

With every breath, she knows.

She is more alone than she ever has been.

Pulse, rythm.

Where is it coming from ?

Louder, closer.

She can feel it now.

She's afraid.

She doesn't understand.

Confusion. leads to panic.

There is no escape. It has found her.

And yet, she is still...alone.....

by Luci

Everyone post your favorite poem...I'm really looking forward to reading them...

Oh, And comment on mine if you want to.. :-)

Answer 1

nice poem...does it by any chance have to do with isabella swan-if it doesn't forget i even asked.

well done anyhow!

Answer 2

T. S. Eliot - The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats’ feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom

Remember us—if at all—not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

In death’s dream kingdom

These do not appear:

There, the eyes are

Sunlight on a broken column

There, is a tree swinging

And voices are

In the wind’s singing

More distant and more solemn

Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer

In death’s dream kingdom

Let me also wear

Such deliberate disguises

Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves

In a field

Behaving as the wind behaves

No nearer—

Not that final meeting

In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land

This is cactus land

Here the stone images

Are raised, here they receive

The supplication of a dead man’s hand

Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this

In death’s other kingdom

Waking alone

At the hour when we are

Trembling with tenderness

Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here

There are no eyes here

In this valley of dying stars

In this hollow valley

This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places

We grope together

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless

The eyes reappear

As the perpetual star

Multifoliate rose

Of death’s twilight kingdom

The hope only

Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear

Prickly pear prickly pear

Here we go round the prickly pear

At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

                                Life is very long

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is

Life is

For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

Answer 3

Actually your favorite poem is one of my two favorites, but I thought I'd share the other.

The Wind’s Twelve Quarters

by A.E. Houseman: A Shropshire Lad

From far, from eve and morning

And yon twelve-winded sky,

The stuff of life to knit me

Blew hither; here am I.

Now-for a breath I tarry

Nor yet disperse apart-

Take my hand quick and tell me,

What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer

How shall I help you, say;

Ere to the wind’s twelve quarters

I take my endless way.

Answer 4

This is mine:

Fresh Aire  -- by Bill Fries

I am a Raindrop...and I fell, crystallized, one gray

winter morning in the yesterday of your life...it was cold...so

very cold...but the year was new and you had plans...and dreams

of warm places...you drew their pictures in the frost...and I

froze them into your memory...it was January...such a long time ago.

And I glistened at the tip of an icicle as you climbed

the hill with your sled...and when you raced down the long

icy path, I stung your nose with tiny needles of snow...and dripped

from your overshoes when you stood in the door that evening...

it was February, and you were cold, and tired...and hungry...

And you looked through me one afternoon

as I ran slowly down your windowpane. The winds

were high, and your newspaper kite was ready...

but the sun was gone and I was there...making you

wait 'til tomorrow...it was March, and you were impatient.

And I followed the two of you into the woods one

gray-green day...but when I touched her face, you ran

to hide from me...I watched from a leaf as you

kissed her...gently...and she kissed you back...it was April...

and you were in love...for the first time.

...And I mixed with your tears as you said goodbye to

your father...and when the prayer had been said...and his

song had been sung...I tried to tell you that crying is

good...for how can one know happiness until one has felt

sorrow...it was May...and the flowers were coming up again...

And I was dew, sparkling in the grass as the sun

came up one summer morning...and you had a day to

remember...it was June and everything was right with

your world...and the child you'd just brought into it...

...And I stayed away in a cloud one night and

let you lay on your back and look up at the stars...it was

July, the air was clear and you realized, at last, what a

joyous thing it is...to be alive.

I am only a Raindrop...but I created the snow on

the mountain you climbed...I made the rainbow you saw...

I started the rivers you crossed and I filled the oceans

you sailed...it was August and you and I were somewhere...

doing our thing.

And I ran as a brook in a meadow as

you walked beside me one sunny, golden day...I listened

as you told your son about the mysteries of nature,

and the realities of life...it was September...and the stream

of time had begun to flow a little faster...

And as I danced with the leaves through

their last mad whirl...you gathered together...family and

friends...to honor your son...and his bride...it was a

time for festival...and a farewell toast to the brilliance of Autumn,

It was October, and winter would soon be here.

And when my sisters clung to the thin bare branches

of the trees outside your window...you sat by the fire and looked at

the fading pictures...and the tiny scraps of life that had been

saved for such a day...it was November...and the days were getting shorter...

I am a Raindrop...and I fell slowly one night...

changing to snow...covering the earth with a soft white blanket...

and as you watched the lights twinkling in the evergreen

boughs, I heard your heart say you were happy...because you

knew that if one light should fail, the others

would still burn bright...

it was December...and you were getting sleepy...

What do you think???