Can you tell me a nice poem?

Question

Please don't use anything adulty. Like bad words or something like that.

2 points for a good poem.
10 for the best.

Please don't feel left out if you don't have the best answer!

Answer 1

How on earth can someone say,
what love actually is,
the emotion the devotion,
is what it is.

But what about bad times,
times that he lies,
what about the lonely nights,
where you sit alone and cry.

love is more than just emotions,
its a game you have to play,
find the pieces, put them together,
and this will help you find your way.

to love someone is to die for them,
and be truthful in every word you say,
make sure he knows that you really do care,
and that you will never play.

to some love is a dream,
in which they want to see,
to hold hands with someone,
to love for eternity.

to some love is a phobia,
a dreaded thought of betrayal,
and to encounter loving somebody,
will leave them thin and frail.

so love cannot be explained,
as people have different views,
love is just a way of life,
and do with it what you choose.

Answer 2

There’s a Candyland not far away
Where Figgy & Sandy go to play,
Up Butterscotch Boulevard, down Chocolate Lane;
Take a No. 9 bus or the Fudgeberry train.

When you get there be sure to start
On the Big Sidewheeling Lemon Tart;
If you ride to the end and get there in time
They’ll send you back free on the Twist-of-Lime.

Figgy loves caramel and Sandy loves peach
There’s plenty of both and enough for them each;
When they both are covered from their heads to their toeses
You can only make out the ends of their noses.

The Tumble Barrel is a strawberry shake
And the Mountain Climb is a butternut cake.
You can ride all day and eat all you dare to
And take home as much more as you really care to.

Let’s plan on next Tuesday to go down by the train
We’ll leave from your house if it doesn’t rain;
Otherwise, come over to my house and play;
We’ll find something to eat if it takes all day.

Answer 3

Smart Bomb
© M. A. Battilana

Cannons blow their splendid breath
Across the evening sky
Through the air dumb projectiles ignorantly fly
Oblivious on their path to questions such as Why?
Who this night Death will spare
And who this night will die

I wrote this for the Lebanese, the Iraqis, the Israelis, the Serbs and anyone else who has ever had to huddle in basements as the sound of the whistle of the incoming and the blast of the explosion overwhelm the dust and the darkness of the night.

Peace. It's just a thought.

Answer 4

True Story (Shel Silverstein)

This morning I jumped on my horse
And went out for a ride
And some wild outlaws chased me
And they shot me in the side

So I crawled into a wildcat's cave
To find a place to hide
But some pirates found me sleeping there
And soon they had me tied

To a pole and built a fire
Under me - I almost cried
Till a mermaid came and cut me loose
And begged to be my bride

So I said I'd come back Wednesday
But I must admit I lied
Then I ran into a jungle swamp
But I forgot my guide

And I stepped into some quicksand
And no matter how I tried
I couldn't get out, until I met
A water snake named Clyde

Who pulled me to some cannibals
Who planned to have me fried
But an eagle swooped me up
And through the air we flied

But he dropped me in a boiling lake
A thousand miles wide
And you'll never guess what I did then-
I DIED!!

Answer 5

I like this one

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

I also like "The Second Comming" by Yeats.

Answer 6

I do not love you as you were salt-rose or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and soul.

I love you as the plant that was never blooms,
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love because I know no other way than this.

Where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

Answer 7

Princess,

Your vibrant hair blossoms more lovely than a tulip in the purest hope of spring. My heart follows your gentle voice and leaps like a lemur at the whisper of your name.

The evening floats in on a great eagle's wing. I am comforted by your letters that I carry into the twilight of cosmic-beams and hold next to my heart. I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of vodka and gin.

As my eyelids fall from behind my sunglasses, it reminds me of your question. In the quiet, I listen for the last whisper of the day.
My heated hand leaps to my chest. I wait in the moonlight for your secret question so that we may kiss as one, hand in hand, in search of the magnificient truth and mystical answers of love.

Answer 8

Middle school kids tend to love this one. It's by Eugene Field, and it's called "Little Boy Blue."

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands,
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time that our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,--
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.

Answer 9

In a sea,
Of Abercrombie,
Limited Too and Limited Three,
There stands me.

Not a fashion clone,
But a style of my own,
A style that stands alone,
Not always acknowledged or known.

Not clad in a mini skirt and tee,
But in a skirt at the knee,
So that everyone can see,
I’m not a trend zombie.

In a sea,
Of Abercrombie,
Limited Too and Limited Three,
There stands me,
Proudly.

Answer 10

Quick eyes, the fast prey
Tumbling dust clouds the vision
of a hungry cat