Do you have a favorite poem? Would you share it? Here is one of mine: O captain my captain Our fearful trip is

Question

done The ship has weather'd every rack The prize we sought is won The port is near the bells I hear The people all exulting While follow eyes the steady keel The vessel grim and daring But O heart heart heart O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead O captain my captain Rise up and hear the bells Rise up for you the flag is flung For you the bugle trills For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths For you the shores a-crowding For you they call the swaying mass Their eager faces turning Here captain dear father This arm beneath your head It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead My captain does not answer His lips are pale and still My father does not feel my arm He has no pulse nor will The ship is anchor'd safe and sound It's voyage closed and done From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won Exult O shores and ring O bells But I with mournful tread Walk the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead - Walt Whitman

Answer 1

maya angelouz poemz

STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame - I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain - I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear - I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear - I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

PHENOMENAL WOMAN

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Answer 2

Rohit sharma has been pivotal for MI and has performed many dazzling inning and has lead the team to fulfillment. i could certainly vouch for him to be the subsequent ODI captain of India, as quickly as Dhoni hangs his gloves. Rohit Sharma is a superb participant and actually we are drained by skill of now listening Rohit is a particular skills. What else do a participant may even dream of alternative than hitting 2 double lots in ODI. the optimal guy or woman score interior the historic previous of ODI cricket, Rohit has the aptitude to steer the team in direction of fulfillment. @ IPL titles and one Champions league as a captain, no you could remark even. the initiating of MI campaign to win IPL's has been very undesirable in final 2 years and has had lost 5 consecutive video games, they rolled lower back and this 365 days they have gained the IPL even. I agree that overall performance of each guy or woman counts yet its the captain that motivates the team to Win. As Sourav and Dhoni did. Hail Rohit...

Answer 3

My favorite poem is (pardon the predictability) The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot. My favorite part of the poem is this:
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William street,
To Where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew and stopped him, crying: "Stetson!
"You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
"That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
"Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
"Oh keep the dog far hence, that's friend to men,
"Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
"You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frere!"

Answer 4

Poison Tree by Willim Blake

Answer 5

Lots of them. Here's one.
SPINNING PEARLS

Nandi sits alone, untended,
Quiet time at her command.
The silent moments
Slip on by her,
One by one;
A string of pearls
Made deftly out of fossil moonlight;
Nandi sits alone.

Her thin hand draws
A languid arc all spindled out of
Rainbow promise;
See it spill Picasso petals
in the humming of her loom.
The colours trickle through the chinks,
Escape her fingers,
Dance like motes
To dissipate in virgin air.
The other rooms are thick with words
While Nandi sits alone.

The sparking gems
Of Nandi's fancy
Leap to being
From her mind;
A china rose-
Her unicorn-
The horseshoe made of polished steel.
To scent the silence
Of the room,
To bear the wonder
Of her gaze,
To form a cornucopia,
A brightly walled repository,
For luck and rainbows
On the loose,
While Nandi sits alone.

Her solitude is not for pity,
Others pause to say hello,
But Nandi simply turns aside,
And weaves her pearls
Of silent moments,
On a thread of rainbow braiding,
Catching briefly on those eyes,
Indifferent glances
Slipping by...

She saves her smiles for unicorns
And China roses fresh and old,
A horseshoe basket for her fate,
The candlestick to light her darkness...
Though she sits alone in silence
With her mind encased in crystal
Nandi knows her unicorns
Will come. She sits alone.

The China rose was from her lover
Planted for St Valentine,
The horseshoe gift to bring her laughter
Tossed to clasp a fairing prize.
The unicorns are Nandi's virtue
Long preserved and veiled in tulle,
But moonlight took her warm intentions;
Rainbows stole her gentle voice,
So all she'll do is sit in silence
Hoarding luck and moonlit pearls.
Her lips may part in breathless wonder
Seeing love-inspired mirage,
But Nandi's gone... the girl I won
Is spinning pearls

And I'm alone.

Answer 6

Death Be Not Proud by John Donne

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

I also like Verlaine, Baudelaire, and Prevert...the French rule poetry