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 Post subject: Good Poets
PostPosted: Thu Nov 18, 2004 3:53 pm 
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I'm a poetry freak I love to read it, but I can't seem to find an author I really like. Got any suggestions?

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PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 1:52 am 
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I totally recommend John Dunn, he's my fav poet.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those who thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, not yet canst thou kill me.
~John Dunn, Holy Sonnets 10

or Andrew Marvell and TS Eliot are up there as well.


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PostPosted: Fri Nov 19, 2004 5:50 am 
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Mary Oliver is great.
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/ ... oliver.htm

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
© Mary Oliver.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Dec 08, 2004 1:55 pm 
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William Butler Yeats ........

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced among the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.


or

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...



more here
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/yeats01.html#a1


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Dec 17, 2004 2:47 pm 
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one of my favorite poets is ogden nash :D

the fly-

God in his wisdom made the fly,
and then forgot to tell us why.

:lol:


livy

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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Dec 19, 2004 11:34 am 
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Location: Within the dark labyrinth of the mind
For me it would be
Sylvia Plath
Edgar Allen Poe
Wordsworth
Robert Frost
Kippling

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Every man carries a circle of hell around his head like a halo. Every man, every man has to go through hell to reach his paradise.
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 14, 2005 1:32 pm 
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Edgar Alan Poe
John Donne
Robert Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Maya Angelou

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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Tue Mar 15, 2005 7:43 pm 
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William Blake is one of my favorites

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Mar 16, 2005 9:28 pm 
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Well some good poets that I have considered note worthy (and that's saying a lot for a person who usually doesn't read poetry) are:
William Wordsworth (romantic poet) and John Dryden (neoclassical poet).

Wordsworth's poems are more about the sheer beauty of nature or of a person. His language is the kind that will give you an image in your mind that is beautiful and almost idealistic. Dryden's poems can be a little more technical and not as beautiful but are well composed!


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 3:24 pm 
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Thank you Ocortina! :o
The "Auguries of Innocence" should be in all our holy books.

Blake, Whitman, Yeats are my favorites. Also, Kahlil Gibran, Milton, and great stuff can be found in all the Romantic era, of which Blake and Whitman are a part. I am a sucker for the Romantic era where the strongest emotion was shown and therefore the closest ties to God. Especially a fan of Blake as he praised "poetic genius" and is a fellow gnostic. I say is, for he is immortal. 8)

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To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.

~William Blake


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Sep 02, 2005 3:48 am 
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For a refreshing change, try the Beat poets~Ginsberg, Kerouac, Ferlinghetti, et al.


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Sep 02, 2005 12:15 pm 
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Nizar Qabbani is an amazing poet..
for English poetry Keats has to be my favorite

Rana

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 Post subject: Poets
PostPosted: Fri Sep 02, 2005 6:50 pm 
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I love, love, LOVE Edna St. Vincent Millay...

Also Robert Frost, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Kipling.
Ah, so many....too many to list...

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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 03, 2005 5:58 pm 
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Some poets I like and an excerpt from one of their poems;

THE day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, THE day is done, first verse

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sonnets 1923 XXIX, last part

I FLING the past behind me, like a robe
Worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date
~Ella Wheeler Wilcox, The Past

I should be glad of loneliness
And hours that go on broken wings,
A thirsty body, a tired heart
And the unchanging ache of things,
If I could make a single song
As lovely and as full of light,
As hushed and brief as a falling star
On a winter night.
Sara Teasdale, Compensation

Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreadful cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but not from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost
~W H Auden, Lullaby

There be none of beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
~Lord Byron, Stanzas for Music


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