What poems do you like ?

Answer 1

Anything by Poe and a few of Dickenson's and Kipling's poems.

"Alone" Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —

Answer 2

I like a lot of the 17th century poets, like Donne, Milton, and Herbert; Gerard Manley Hopkins; Emily Dickinson; e. e. cummings; and any limerick that is funny without being obscene, like:
I wish that my room had a floor.
I don't care so much for a door,
But this walking around
Without touching the ground
Is getting to be quite a bore!

Answer 3

All of my favourites are by Colleen Smith. She has an interesting philosphical way of looking at life. You can buy her books at Chapters Online..
Entangled Within The Nature of Things, and
Ancient Mirrored Dreams...
Both are books to keep out at all times, and read over and over. A great inspiration for every aspect of life!

Answer 4

Rudyard Kipling
If

If

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 imposters 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 wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it 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!

Answer 5

The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement, dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still-
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?
Han Wu-Ti 42 BC

Answer 6

I love Sharon Olds's "The Burn Center", it is so vivid though a bit gory due to its theme.

Burn Center


When my mother talks about the Burn Center

she’s given to the local hospital

my hair lifts and waves like smoke

in the air around my head. She speaks of the

beds in her name, the suspension baths and

square miles of lint, and I think of the

years with her, as a child, as if

without skin, walking around scalded

raw, first degree burns over ninety

percent of my body. I would stick to doorways I

tried to walk through, stick to chairs as I

tried to rise, pieces of my flesh

tearing off easily as

well-done pork, and no one gave me

a strip of gauze, or a pat of butter to

melt on my crackling side, but when I would

cry out she would hold me to her

hot griddle, when my scorched head stank she would

draw me deeper into the burning

room of her life. So when whe talks about her

Burn Center, I think of a child

who will come there, float in water

murky as tears, dangle suspended in a

tub of ointment, suck ice while they

put out all the tiny subsidiary

flames in the hair near the brain, and I say

Let her sleep as long as it takes, let her walk out

without a scar, without a single mark to

honor the power of fire.

(Sharon Olds)

Answer 7

I like humerous poetry and ballad type poems. Ogden Nash is my favorite poet but Robert Service--"The cremation of Sam McGee" is another favorite of mine.

Answer 8

this has been my favorite since I first read it in High School over 15yrs ago...

Poem lyrics of A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns.

O, my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my Luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair as thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will love thess till, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run:

And fare thee well, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Answer 9

Locksley Hall.....By Tennnyson.....

Answer 10

humpty dumpty!!!!!!!!!!heheheheheheeee
na seriously.