What is your favorite poem?

Question

Write it down

Answer 1

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
And so are you.

Answer 2

I actually have two; first is The Hollow Men by T.S. Elliot:

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer –

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.


And the second is Lament of the Normal Child by Phyllis McGinley:

The school where I go is a modern school
With numerous modern graces.
And there they cling to the modern rule
Of "Cherish the Problem Cases!"
From nine to three
I develop Me.
I dance when I'm feeling dancy,
Or everywhere lay on
With creaking crayon
the colors that suit my fancy.
But when the commoner tasks are done,
Deserted, ignored, I stand.
For the rest have complexes, everyone;
Or a hyperactive gland.
Oh, how can I ever be reconciled
To my hatefully normal station?
Why couldn't I be a Problem Child
Endowed with a small fixation?
Why wasn't I trained for a Problem Child
With an interesting Fixation?

I dread the sound of the morning bell.
The iron has entered my soul.
I'm a square little peg who fits too well
In a square little hole.
For seven years
In Mortimer Sears
Has an Oedipus angle flourished;
And Jessamine Gray,
She cheats at play
Because she is undernourished.
The teachers beam on Frederick Knipe
With scientific gratitude,
For Fred, they claim, is a perfect type
Of the Antisocial Attitude.
And Cuthburt Jones has his temper riled
In a professors mention.
But I am a Perfectly Normal Child,
So I don't get any attention.
I'm nothing at all but a Normal Child,
So I don't get the least attention.

The other's jeer as they pass my way.
They titter without forbearance.
"He's Perfectly Normal," they shrilly say,
"With Perfectly Normal parents."
I learn to read
With a normal speed.
I answer when I'm commanded.
Infected antrums
Don't give me tantrums.
I don't even write left handed.
I build with blocks when they give me blocks,
When it's busy hour, I labor.
And I seldom delight in landing socks
On the ear of my little neighbor.

I sit on the steps alone.
Why couldn't I be a Problem Child
With a Case to call my own?
Why wasn't I born a Problem Child?
With a complex of my own?


Cheers!! :)

Answer 3

Kubla Khan
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge


In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !


The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Answer 4

Nature first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay

Answer 5

one i wrote myself ♥

locked inside my head
swallow the key..
the rain is turning red..
on the window pain inside of me..
scratch the wall with a dirty nail
trace the same shadows..
again an again, watch myself fail
that body out there..
its not me..
an empty shell,
smaller on the inside
grasping me.
dont make a sound
not a sound with ur breath..
it sounds like water falls...
and glazed eyes, mimicing the dead..
this sanctuary, of flesh and bone..
when did it get so hot..
why is it burning cold?
turn the key
turn the key
turn the key
until my fingers bleed...
when did my blankets become a straight jacket...
when the only place u can run is in..
heaven turns to bars of sin.
an getting wet in the rain...
looks so perfect
while im beating my head against my inner windowpane.

Answer 6

Matthew Arnold :

Longing

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth;
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say: My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day

Answer 7

i hold two to be my favorites because i love them equaly, but more than all the rest. "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe and "When We Two Parted" by Lord Byron.

"Alone"

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 loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every 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 rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed 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.

"When We Two Parted"

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.

Answer 8

"Dream Deferred"- langston hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Answer 9

Jack and Jill went up the hill, both with a buck and a quarter...Jill came down with two-fifty.

Answer 10

Anything by Simon Armitage.

Answer 11

Hiawatha -- Longfellow