Share a Poem! (for readers of secular lit.)

Welcome to the share a poem thread!

This is a place for those who are comfortable with secular literature to post and read poetry. Share your favorite poems and your comments on what you read here. Old and new, English language and translations, Jewish and non-Jewish, secular and religious.
(Tip of the tichel to Clarissa for suggesting this thread! Thumbs Up

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Here's one by Elizabeth Bishop to start things off:

I Am in Need of Music

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

Platinum Member Joined: Jul 27 2007 Posts: 14833

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Diamond Member Joined: Dec 26 2006 Posts: 4316

Here an one of my favorites:

Robert Frost (1874–1963).
The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, 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.

Diamond Member Joined: May 26 2008 Posts: 2613

note: more on wild geese. Just a poem I like.

By Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese

It was time to go,

Though the fields lay golden

Something whispered, "snow."

Leaves were green and stirring,

Berries, luster-glossed,

But beneath warm feathers

Something cautioned, "frost."

All the sagging orchards

Steamed with amber spices,

But each wild breast stiffened

At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese

It was time to fly,

Summer sun was on their wings,

Winter in their cry.

I have memorized quite a few poems in my day (Eng Lit major) but mostly Emily Dickenson sticks out. Here's a short favorite:

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

I recite it to my 7 year old and she cracks up. I think she is just new to poetry and thinks it is all pretty funny to hear it rhyme.

Also, I love Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven.

I'm sorry to lighten up the somewhat serious tone, but I love this one:

Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

By Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Well, I'm not a poetry person but I've always liked this Robert Frost poem, since I learned it in high school.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
_________________
�All that is thought should not be said. All that is said should not be written. All that is written should not be published. All that is published should not be read.�
Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After awhile you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
In stead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth,
and you learn and learn...
With every good bye you learn.

Veronica Shoffstall 1971

http://colleenscorner.com/Poetry.html
_________________
"Often the things you worry about don't happen but other stuff does."
- Amother

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 20 2005 Posts: 5270

I love Poetry and these are so beautiful to read. Loving the thread.

Diamond Member Joined: May 26 2008 Posts: 2613

Isramom I really enjoyed the poem you posted.

Diamond Member Joined: Apr 30 2004 Posts: 4367

One Little Teardrop

Tiny little baby,
Please don't cry,
But if you do,
Don't be shy.
Let your sweet little mouth,
Pucker up in that cute way,
Let your lip tremble,
As you do every day.
Let that little teardrop,
Being held in for so long,
Let one teardrop out,
And cry for it's your song,
One little teardrop,
Is all you have to do,
To make us know,
That you want something too.
Let that tear out,
One little tear drop,
Cry sweet little baby.
Cry, for its your song.

She's Wicked, She's Nefarious

Miss Wicked is a lady,
She's wicked, she's nefarious,
She wrecks and ruins buildings,
If she is precarious,
She doesn't really care,
As long as she's acting mean,
You better stay out of her way,
She'll treat you like a lima bean.
She'll beat you,
Defeat you,
Fight you,
Bite you.
Kick you,
Pick on you,
Stay away!
Miss Wicked's mean plots and schemes,
Add up to her months in jail,
But, beware! She'll get you scared,
She''ll torture you without fail.
She's wicked, she's nefarious,
She doesn't care if she's precarious,
Stay away, stay away,
Or wake from this nightmare,
The next day.

Violent Storm

A raging, damaging, storm will arrive,
There are little chances that anyone will survive.
If you think that it's silly to flee,
You are the one who is being foolhardy.
Please evacuate, now or never!
Or this will be a storm which will change your life forever.
With lashing rains and blasting winds galore,
This will be a nightmare, no doubt, for sure.
Tsunamis and hurricanes will approach,
The threatened, populous, all the planet Earth coasts.
A huge tornado is also predicted,
To damaging storms the weather is addicted.
Don't forget an earthquake too,
With violent shaking, this storm won't yet be through!
A flashing lightning storm and severe hail the size,
Of basketballs, to stay outside would not be wise.
A big, gigantic, serious, severe, violent storm,
Will arrive, with a lot more.
Wildfires will spread from town to town,
Whipping winds will make you frown.
Bitter, cold, temperatures, ninety nine below,
Will contain severity that nobody yet knows.
But soon this storm will suddenly start,
Whoa, weather really plays a major part.

In the Light of the Moon

In the peaceful sea,
A ship sails along,
On the deck, being played,
Is a happy song.
The waves ripple the water,
In their rhythm so exact,
The children gaze at the beautiful view,
With the memory down-packed.
The pretty sunset,
Over the sea so blue,
Lies on the horizon,
Showing its wonderful hues.
A peaceful night on the ocean,
Is about to begin,
And, suddenly, a dolphin fin,
Is sighted near a strip of land,
And now music is played by the musical band,
Because land was sighted! Land is near!
The passenger on board all start to cheer.
As the ship reaches its,
Planned destination,
The passengers shout with joy,
Because in great anticipation,
They waited so long,
To reach land soon,
And the ship nears the dock,
In the light of the moon,
Now finally,
They are now here,
The passengers are so happy,
Because the end of a long journey is near.
_________________
girl - 12 ys. * girl - 10 ys. * boy - 9 ys. * boy - 7 ys. * girl -5 years *boy 4 ys. *baby boy - 2 ys.

when kids are spoiled they are fresh.

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 24 2008 Posts: 6528

The Lady of Shalott

(No I didn't do this from memory. I love this poem, but only when read aloud)

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Platinum Member Joined: Mar 24 2008 Posts: 6528

And just for fun.

This is the one I always say when I need one from memory.

The Fly by Ogden Nash

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

Platinum Member Joined: Jan 23 2008 Posts: 9074

The Hunchback in the Park.........Dylan Thomas

The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday somber bell at dark

Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.

Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound

Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.

And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors

Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains

All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.

This is one of my favorites, one which I used in my classes. Anyone remember it??? I have more less well-known poetry in my files if anyone's interested.

THE OCTOPUS
by:
Ogden Nash

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I'd call me Us.

Laughing

I love this one. I discovered it on the subway!

A bouquet

Between me and the world
You are a day, a sail
The faithful ends of a rope
You are a fountain, a wind
A shrill childhood cry

Between me and the world
You are a picture frame, a window
A field covered with wild flowers
You are a breath, a bed
A night that keeps the stars company

Between me and the world
You are a calendar, a compass
A ray of light that slips through the gloom
You are a biographical sketch, a bookmark
A preface that comes at the end

Between me and the world
You are a gauze curtain, a mist
A lamp shining into my dreams
You are a bamboo flute, a song without words
A closed eyelid carved in stone

Between me and the world
You are a chasm, a pool
An abyss plunging down
You are a balustrade, a wall
A shield’s eternal pattern.

Bei Dao

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Platinum Member Joined: Jan 23 2008 Posts: 9074

Mummiedearest's selection was the inspiration for selling poppies on "Armistice (Poppy) Day", always Nov. 11th, to raise money for war veterans in the UK. I'm not sure if they do it in the US. It began after World War I. I read somewhere that about a million soldiers died on the Flanders (Belgian) battlefields.

Thanks for sharing it, it brought back some memories (not of WWI, I'm not THAT old!! Wink

)

I memorized that poem in seventh grade for the school poetry assembly. I love that poem. I believe the poet died within a few days of writing it.