Your favourite poem?

[Adam G]

Mine is kinda like a short story/poem and it's mega famous. I love poetry though, I like all kinds.

Anyway it's called "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. I loved this since I was a wee nipper .

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I
pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume
of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping
at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered,
"tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the
bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought
its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; --vainly I
had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--
sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom
the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling
of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic
terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my
heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door; --
This it is and nothing more."


Presently my soul grew stronger;
hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your
forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so
gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping,
tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" --
here I opened wide the door; --
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I
stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal
ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the
stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the
whispered word "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured
back the word "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my
soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat
louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is
something at my window lattice
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and
this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this
mystery explore; --
"'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, When,
with many a flirt and flutter
In there stepped a stately Raven of the
Saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a
minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mein of lord or lady, perched
above my chamber door--
Perched upon my bust of Pallas just
above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad
fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the
countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven
wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the
Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to
hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--
little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no
living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird
above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust
above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the
placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that
one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered--not a
feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered
"Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my
hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by
reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is
its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom
unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till
his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that
melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my
sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in
front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook
myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this
ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly,
gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no
syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned
into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my
head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the
lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the
lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser,
perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls
tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent
thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy
memories of Lenore,
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and
forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!
prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempest sent, or whether
tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this
desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me
truly, I implore--
Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?--
tell me-- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still,
if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God
we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant
Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name
Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."


"Be that word our sign of parting, bird
or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the
Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that
lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! --quit the
bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart,and
Take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is
sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above
my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a
demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming
throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that
lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!

[Tulku]

Mine is Howl by Allen Ginsberg. It's long as hell so this is just part of it.




I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to thestarry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water fiats 'doating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night,

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, I listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

[ganjaphish]

i love ginsberg, kerouac, the beat generation of poets... but my ALL-TIME favorite is "Endymion:A Poetic Romance" by Keats.
It's a very long poem and I can't find my book that I have it in, so I will post part of it here later.
xo~

[Bud Head]

The Raven Has to be my favorite!

[Crocii]

A couple of stanzas from "The Ballad of Reading Gaol," written in 1898 by Oscar Wilde, reflecting on his imprisonment in 1895-1897, sentenced to hard labor for the crime of sodomy. That it was consentual sex made no difference. The law was the law.
The words are timeless enough to be written today.


I know not whether Laws be right
or whether Laws be wrong;
all we know who lie in jail
is that the wall is strong;
and that each day is like a year,
a year whose days are long.

The vilest deeds like poison weeds
bloom well in prison air;
it’s only what is good in Man
that wastes and withers there.

[DankGirl]

im not gona post mine, buts is KUBLA KHAN by Samuel t. Coleridge

Its about this amazing, perfect, beautiful dream world with fountains and mountains and silver linings etc etc etc

if you understand it, it is absolutely amazing

i always dreamed of living in a place like that which coleridge describes....but only in dreams, sadly enough, only in dreams!

[Hemp Knight]

Here is one of my favs...

Sometimes, for a moment of bliss
And the passion, we're craving
There's a message we miss
Sometimes when, the spirits left alone
We must believe in something
To find if we've grown

Tragic reflex, shattered calm
Static progress, senses gone
Numb awareness, final psalm

Swept away with the tide
Through the holes in my hands
Crown of thorns at my side
Drawing lines in the sand

Sometimes, if you're perfectly still
You can hear the virgin weeping
For the savior of your will
Sometimes, your castles in the air
And the fantasies you're seeking
Are the crosses you bear

Sacred conflict, blessed prize
Weeping crosses, stainless eyes
Desperate addict, faith disguised

Swept away with the tide
Through the holes in my hands
Crown of thorns at my side
Drawing lines in the sand

We fabricate our demons
Invite them into our homes
Have supper with the aliens
And fight the war alone
We conjure up our skeletons
Enlist the den of thieves
Frightened from our closets
Then sewn upon our sleeves

In the stream of consciousness
There is a river crying
Living comes much easier
Once we admit
We're dying

Sometimes, in the wreckage of our wake
There's a bitterness we harbor
And hate for hatred's sake
Sometimes we dig an early grave
And crucify our instincts
For the hope we couldn't save

Sometimes a view from sinless eyes
Centers our perspective
And pacifies our cries
Sometimes the anguish we survive
And the mysteries we nurture
Are the fabrics of our lives

Swept away with the tide
Through the holes in my hands
Crown of thorns at my side
Drawing lines in the sand


-John Petrucci