What is your favourite poem and why?

Answer 1

Pretty much anything by Peter Wyton a performance poet

Answer 2

The Fire of Drift-wood by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I first read it when I was in college and liked it enough to memorize it. I can still recite it (and often do when I need something to occupy my mind at work). I'm not sure why I like it, I just do.

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.

WE sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.

Not far away we saw the port, –
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, –
The lighthouse – the dismantled fort, –
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.

We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight, –
Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again

The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great excess.

The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.

Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.

And, as their splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main, –
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.

The windows, rattling in their frames, –
The ocean roaring up the beach, –
The gusty blast – the bickering flames, –
All mingled vaguely in our speech;

Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain, –
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin, –
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

Answer 3

My favorite poem is A Crabbed Old Woman.

It was found at a nursing home, in a drawer after an elder lady had passed away.
I first heard about it a couple a years ago, as it has been translated to Danish and made into a song.
My grandmother loved the poem, and the song, but couldn't listen to it without crying - she felt exactly like the woman in the poem. When My grandmother died the priest recited the poem during the funeral ceremony.
It means a lot to me, this poem.


What do you see, nurse? What do you see?
Are you thinking when you are looking at me,
a crabbed old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice “I do wish you’d try.”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is loosing a stocking or shoe.

Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will,
with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, you are not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
as I move at your bidding, as I eat your will,
I’m a small child of 10 with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters who love one another.

A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet,
who’s dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.
A bride at 20 my heart gives a leap
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At 25 now I have young of my own
who need me to build a secure, happy home.
A woman of 30, my young now grow fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.

At 40 my young ones have grown and are gone,
but my man is beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee,
again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
my young are all busy rearing young of their own
and I think o the years and the love that I’ve known.

I’m an old woman now and Nature is cruel,
‘Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
there is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
and now and again my battered heart swells,
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
and I’m loving and living life over again.

Ad I think of the years, all to few – gone too fast,
and accept the stark fact that nothing will last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see:
Not a crabbed old woman, look closer – see ME.

Answer 4

The poem by Robert Frost, I think it's called "The Road Less Taken"
It's a really great poem, and has a lot of meaning. One of my most favorite poems. Hope you enjoy it!


two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

Answer 5

I love this poem..in reading it it feels like there's this whole other story left unsaid. Who did the man keep his word to saying that he'd come? Who are the listeners?
It gets my imagination going..

The Listeners
by Walter de la Mare (1913)
“Is there anybody there?” said the Traveler,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor.
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the traveler’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
“Is there anybody there?” he said.
But no one descended to the Traveler;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his gray eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveler’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head: —
“Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,” he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Aye, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Answer 6

W H Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


I read it at school and it describes how someone feels after someone close dies.

Answer 7

I've always loved this one...

Matilda, (Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death).
By Hilaire Belloc

Matilda told such dreadful lies,
It made one gasp and stretch one's eyes;
Her aunt, who, from her earliest youth,
Had kept a strict regard for truth,
Attempted to believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not she
Discovered this infirmity.
For once, towards the close of day,
Matilda, growing tired of play
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the telephone
And summoned the immediate aid
Of London's nobel Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the gallant band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs and Bow,
With courage high and hearts a-glow
They galloped, roaring though the town,
"Matilda's house is burning down"
Inspired by British cheers and loud
Proceeding from the frenzied crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the ball-room floor;
And took peculiar pains to souse
The pictures up and down the house,
Until Matilda's aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed
And even then she had to pay
To get the men to go away!
. . . . .
It happened that a few weeks later
Here aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that interesting play
The Second Mrs Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her niece
To hear this entertaining piece:
A deprivation just and wise
To punish her for telling lies.
That night a fire did break out-
You should have heard Matilda shout!
You should have heard her scream and bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To people passing in the street-
(The rapidly increasing heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence)-but all in vain!
For every time she shouted "Fire!"
They only answered "Little Liar!"
And therefore when her aunt returned,
Matilda, and the house, were burned.

Answer 8

This is a poem passed on to me by a relative of the 21 year old female who lost her life while addicted to crystal meth. This is a true happening. A 21 year old female was addicted to crystal meth, overdosed, and lost her life.



After her death, they were cleaning out her apartment and in her top dresser drawer, found a poem she had written.



Meet Mr. and Mrs. Crystal Meth.

I destroy homes – I tear families apart.

I take your children and that’s just a start.

I’m more valued than diamonds, more precious than gold.

The sorrow I bring is a sight to behold.

If you need me, remember, I’m easily found.

I live all around you, in school and in town.

I live with the rich, I live with the poor.

I live just down the street and maybe next door.

I’m made in a lab, but not one like you think.

I can be made under the kitchen sink,

In your child’s closet, and even out in the woods.

If this scares you to death, then it certainly should.

I have many names. But there’s one you’ll know best.

I’m sure you’ve heard of me, my name is Crystal Meth.

My power is awesome, try me, you’ll see.

But if you do, you may never break free.

Just try me once and I might let you go.

But if you try me twice, then I’ll own your soul.

When I possess you, you’ll steal and you’ll lie.

You’ll do what you have to do, just to get high.

The crimes you commit for my narcotic charms,

Will be worth the pleasures you feel in my arms.

You’ll lie to your mother; you’ll steal from your dad.

When you see their tears, you must feel sad.

Just forget your morals and how you were raised.

I’ll be your conscience, I’ll teach you my ways.

I take kids from their parents; I take parents from their kids.

I turn people from God, I separate friends.

I’ll take everything from you, your looks and your pride.

I’ll be with you always, right by your side.

You’ll give up everything, your family, your home.

Your money, your true friend, then you’ll be alone.

I’ll take and take till you have no more to give.

When I finish with you, you’ll be lucky to live.

If you try me, be warned, this is not a game.

If I’m given the chance, I’ll drive you insane.

I’ll ravage your body; I’ll control your mind.

I’ll own you completely; your soul will be mine.

The nightmares I’ll give you when you’re lying in bed,

And the voices you’ll hear from inside your head.

The sweats, the shakes, and the visions from me.

I want you to know these things are gifts from me.

But then it’s too late, and you’ll know in your heart

That you are now mine and we shall not part.

You’ll regret that you tried me (they always do).

But you came to me, not I to you.

You knew this would happen.

Many times you’ve been told.

But you challenged my power,

You chose to be bold.

You could have said no and then walked away.

If you could live that day over now, what would you say?

My power is awesome, as I told you before.

I can take your life and make it so dim and sore.

I’ll be your master and you’ll be my slave.

I’ll even go with you when you go to your grave.

Now that you’ve met me, what will you do?

Will you try me or not? It’s all up to you.

I can show you more misery than words can tell.

Come take my hand, let me lead you to H---.



Written by

Alicia VanDavis

Because it puts Meth addiction into words we can understand

Answer 9

How do I Love thee, let me count the ways By, Elizabeth Browning
I like this poem because she captured wonderfully how one feels when in Love. And because back in High School, I was handed this poem by someone I had a crush on.

Answer 10

-- Rabindranath (Tagore) Thakur (1861 - 1941), This one I like!! It is almost like a curious affirmation which the mind makes in its constant search for truth.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high.
Where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action.