Favorite Poems

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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Matthew Notch » Wed Jun 12, 2013 7:48 pm

Most if not all of my favorite poems were written for children. I like poetry that is a little more direct and doesn't insist on its writer. Here are a couple:

Spoiler: show
Jigsaw Puzzle, by Russell Hoban

My beautiful picture of pirates and treasure
Is spoiled, and almost I don't want to start
To put it together; I've lost all the pleasure
I used to find in it; there's one missing part.

I know there's one missing—they lost it, the others,
The last time they played with my puzzle—and maybe
There's more than one missing: along with the brothers
And sisters who borrow my toys there's the baby.

There's a hole in the ship or the sea that it sails on,
And I said to my father, "Well, what shall I do?
It isn't the same now that some of it's gone."
He said, "Put it together; the world's like that too."


Spoiler: show
At Annika's Place, by Siv Widerberg and translated by Verne Moberg

At home at Annika's place
they talk to you
like you were big
"What do you think?"
"What's the best way, do you think?"
"What do you think we should do?"
And then:
"Really.
Do you mean it?"
"Maybe so."
"Well, you're really right about that!"
Or:
"No-o-ow, I wonder really
if that's right..."

I wish it was like Annika's place
at our place.


Spoiler: show
As I Was Standing In the Street, traditional

As I was standing in the street
As quiet as can be
A great big ugly man came up
And tied his horse to me


Spoiler: show
Incident, by Countee Cullen

Once riding in Old Baltimore
Heart filled, head filled with glee
I saw a Baltimorean
Staring straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small
And he was no whit bigger
And so I smiled, but he
Stuck out his tongue and called me nigger.

I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until November
Of all the things that happened there—
That's all that I remember.


Spoiler: show
Poem, by Langston Hughes

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began—
I loved my friend.


Spoiler: show
Listen to the Mustn'ts, Shel Silverstein

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me—
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.


Spoiler: show
You Need to Have an Iron Rear, by Jack Prelutsky

You need to have an iron rear
To sit upon an cactus
Or otherwise, at least a year
Of very painful practice.


hearts
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Craic- » Sun Jun 16, 2013 7:47 am

The only poem I'm able to recite by heart (besides 'On the Ning Nang Nong' by Spike Milligan) is this one:

Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

I studied history at uni and everyday you came into contact with the hubris of great civilisations, which often led me to despair about the world today (plus it didn't help I was reading Jared Diamond's The Collapse). I think it will persist as one of the most relevant poems in history.
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...I picked up my Chopin Liszt and composed myself...
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Aquila89 » Mon Jun 17, 2013 8:58 am

I notice that everything I've posted here have been depressing; so here's a counterpoint.

Robert Burns: My Father Was A Farmer

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order,
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing,
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding.

Then out into the world my course I did determine,
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming,
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education,
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation.

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour,
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour,
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken,
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken.

Then sore harass'd and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion,
The past was bad, and the future hid, its good or ill untried:
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it.

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me,
So I must toil, and sweat, and moil, and labour to sustain me,
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early,
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber,
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow,
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow.

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in his palace,
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice,
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther,
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her.

When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me,
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my goodnatur'd folly,
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy.

All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther,
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you.
  • 9

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby jbobsully11 » Mon Jun 24, 2013 7:24 pm

Another good one that I just remembered: "The Deacon's Masterpiece (or The Wonderful One-Hoss Shay, a Logical Story)" by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. about a deacon who tries to make a horse-drawn carriage that will last forever. It was supposed to be an allegory for Calvinism, but it works in a more literal sense, too.

Spoiler: show
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,
I'll tell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits—
Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
Georgius Secundus was then alive,—
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in the building of chaises, I tell you what,
There is always, somewhere, a weakest spot,—
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,—lurking still,
Find it somewhere you must and will,—
Above or below, or within or without,—
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
That a chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.

But the Deacon swore (as deacons do,
With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,")
He would build one shay to beat the taown
'N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';
It should be so built that it could n' break daown;
"Fur," said the Deacon, " 't 's mighty plain
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;
'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, Is only jest
T' make that place uz strong us the rest."

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,—
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,
But lasts like iron for things like these;
The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum,"—
Last of its timber,—they couldn't sell 'em,
Never an axe had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips,
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he "put her through."
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!"

Do! I tell you, I rather guess
She was a wonder, and nothing less!
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and deaconess dropped away,
Children and grandchildren—where were they?
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED; it came and found
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.
Eighteen hundred increased by ten;—
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came;—
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.

Little of all we value here
Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.
In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
(This is a moral that runs at large;
Take it.—You're welcome.—No extra charge.)

FIRST OF NOVEMBER,—the earthquake-day.—
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be,—for the Deacon's art
Had made it so like in every part
That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
And the floor was just as strong as the sills,
And the panels just as strong as the floor,
And the whipple-tree neither less nor more,
And the back crossbar as strong as the fore,
And spring and axle and hub encore.
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, 'Fifty-five!
This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the way!
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.
"Huddup!" said the parson.—Off went they.
The parson was working his Sunday's text,—
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed
At what the—Moses—was coming next.
All at once the horse stood still,
'Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill,—
And the parson was sitting upon a rock,
At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,—
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock!
What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around?
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and ground!

You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once,—
All at once, and nothing first,—
Just as bubbles do when they burst.

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. That's all I say.


(poem edited for formatting/punctuation)
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Last edited by jbobsully11 on Sat Dec 28, 2013 3:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Aquila89 » Tue Jun 25, 2013 6:03 pm

There are a lot of great Hungarian poems I can't share with you, because there's no English translation. But here's a short one by János Arany, one of our most famous poets. It was written in 1877.

Civilisation

In the past the warring nations
Did not follow any precept:
The strong plundered what he could, and
Everything he looted, he kept.

That has changed now, as the world has
A more legalistic flavour:
When the strong now do some mischief
They confer and - vote in favor.
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As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby nerdnerdnerd » Tue Jun 25, 2013 8:18 pm

Aha! I'm enamored by medieval Ottoman poetry ("Divan poetry"). It's written in old Ottoman Turkish, which is very heavily influenced by Arabic and Persian. Some poems are a bit hard to understand for the average folk -including me-, but nothing a dictionary can't solve. It uses an elegant language so full of literary arts... It's just magical. It's pretty much impossible to translate to any other language (or even modern Turkish) while keeping its literary value, though.

Modern Turkish literature is pretty fun to read as well. I might translate a few poems when I feel like it.
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby DangerChocomog » Tue Jun 25, 2013 9:02 pm

Sunflower Sutra by Allen Ginsberg

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179382

I know it's a bit of a cliche to say 'such and such changed my life' etc etc but this poem seriously did. I got pretty heavily into Buddhism after being given a copy of this by my then English teacher, one year later I was a practicing Buddhist living in the back of a VW campervan roaming around the UK.
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Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Aquila89 » Fri Jul 05, 2013 6:02 pm

Bertolt Brecht: War Has Been Given a Bad Name

I am told that the best people have begun saying
How, from a moral point of view, the Second World War
Fell below the standard of the First. The Wehrmacht
Allegedly deplores the methods by which the SS effected
The extermination of certain peoples. The Ruhr industrialists
Are said to regret the bloody manhunts
Which filled their mines and factories with slave workers.
The intellectuals
So I heard, condemn industry's demand for slave workers
Likewise their unfair treatment. Even the bishops
Dissociate themselves from this way of waging war; in short the feeling
Prevails in every quarter that the Nazis did the Fatherland
A lamentably bad turn, and that war
While in itself natural and necessary, has, thanks to the
Unduly uninhibited and positively inhuman
Way in which it was conducted on this occasion, been
Discredited for some time to come.
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As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby jbobsully11 » Thu Jul 18, 2013 5:26 am

DangerChocomog wrote:Sunflower Sutra by Allen Ginsberg

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179382

I know it's a bit of a cliche to say 'such and such changed my life' etc etc but this poem seriously did. I got pretty heavily into Buddhism after being given a copy of this by my then English teacher, one year later I was a practicing Buddhist living in the back of a VW campervan roaming around the UK.

I could never really get into his poetry (I read most of Howl a while ago, including that poem), but to each his/her/its own. Have you checked out any of William Burroughs' work?

Two more by Billy Collins that I like: "Another Reason Why I Don't Keep a Gun in the House" and "Reading an Anthology of Chinese Poems of the Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire the Length and Clarity of Their Titles".
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Blackfish » Fri Jul 19, 2013 3:11 pm

Ode by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

Spoiler: show
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming
Unearthly, impossible seeming—
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.

They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising;
They had no divine foreshowing
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man's heart.

And therefore to-day is thrilling
With a past day's late fulfilling;
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,
Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.

But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.

For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry—
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.

Great hail! we cry to the comers
From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers;
And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
And things that we dreamed not before:
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.


[I'd been looking for this poem forever, but couldn't find it because I couldn't remember the exact phrasing and it has an incredibly generic name. Then I looked up something Willy Wonka said in the 1971 movie, and was pleasantly surprised.]
  • 5

In the night there is something wild
Can you hear it breathing?
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Aquila89 » Sat Jul 20, 2013 9:30 pm

Another one from Bertolt Brecht: To Posterity. He wrote it around 1939.

Spoiler: show
1.

Indeed I live in the dark ages!
A guileless word is an absurdity. A smooth forehead betokens
A hard heart. He who laughs
Has not yet heard
The terrible tidings.

Ah, what an age it is
When to speak of trees is almost a crime
For it is a kind of silence about injustice!
And he who walks calmly across the street,
Is he not out of reach of his friends
In trouble?

It is true: I earn my living
But, believe me, it is only an accident.
Nothing that I do entitles me to eat my fill.
By chance I was spared. (If my luck leaves me
I am lost.)

They tell me: eat and drink. Be glad you have it!
But how can I eat and drink
When my food is snatched from the hungry
And my glass of water belongs to the thirsty?
And yet I eat and drink.

I would gladly be wise.
The old books tell us what wisdom is:
Avoid the strife of the world
Live out your little time
Fearing no one
Using no violence
Returning good for evil --
Not fulfillment of desire but forgetfulness
Passes for wisdom.
I can do none of this:
Indeed I live in the dark ages!

2.

I came to the cities in a time of disorder
When hunger ruled.
I came among men in a time of uprising
And I revolted with them.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.

I ate my food between massacres.
The shadow of murder lay upon my sleep.
And when I loved, I loved with indifference.
I looked upon nature with impatience.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.

In my time streets led to the quicksand.
Speech betrayed me to the slaughterer.
There was little I could do. But without me
The rulers would have been more secure. This was my hope.
So the time passed away
Which on earth was given me.

3.

You, who shall emerge from the flood
In which we are sinking,
Think --
When you speak of our weaknesses,
Also of the dark time
That brought them forth.

For we went,changing our country more often than our shoes.
In the class war, despairing
When there was only injustice and no resistance.

For we knew only too well:
Even the hatred of squalor
Makes the brow grow stern.
Even anger against injustice
Makes the voice grow harsh. Alas, we
Who wished to lay the foundations of kindness
Could not ourselves be kind.

But you, when at last it comes to pass
That man can help his fellow man,
Do no judge us
Too harshly.
  • 5

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Glassjaw Girl » Tue Jul 23, 2013 12:23 pm

You guys have introduced me to a lot of great poems, and I'm really happy this thread exists. :)
I fell in love with this back in high school:

WHEN YOU ARE OLD
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Craic- » Thu Aug 08, 2013 2:11 pm

This isn't a favourite poem per se, but it is a good little three-minute-thinker.

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Fe0ffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

The Chaos by G. Nolst Trenité
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Last edited by Craic- on Fri Aug 09, 2013 5:48 am, edited 1 time in total.
...I picked up my Chopin Liszt and composed myself...
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Aquila89 » Thu Aug 08, 2013 4:49 pm

I thought the title was The Chaos.
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As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
--Carl Jung
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Re: Favorite Poems

Postby Craic- » Fri Aug 09, 2013 5:47 am

Aquila89 wrote:I thought the title was The Chaos.


You are absolutely correct! Glad I learned something today.
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...I picked up my Chopin Liszt and composed myself...
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