Let's talk about poetry today.
1. Who is your favorite poet?
2. What is your favorite poem?
3. Which verses have given you the most inspiration?
4. Which poem would you read aloud to me on this end of summer's sunday morning?
Come sit a spell and shoot the breeze. Sweeten the day with a little synchronicity...
10 comments:
1. Edgar Allan Poe
2.Annabel Lee
3."It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me".
4.Desiderata.which you can find at.. http://hobbes.ncsa.uiuc.edu.desiderata.html
Hi You! (All these name changes are getting me confusted) -
My father was a poet, and my husband is a poet, so I guess they are my favorites. However, right now, I am delighted daily by my friend Shaman's poems. She and I have a website called Shaman and Wizard (mostly hers) for her poetry. Here's a recent one I would read aloud to you:
All alone until haze muted Sun
sent rays to surround me, I closed
the window, but not before the sound
of one cricket entered. My heart,
thoughts, and body now float
in the awareness these are the last
heated moments of summer.
Thanks for stopping by and giving me your new address.
Be well -
First, you know I'm just a virgin blogger...I didn't know what a meme was. Had to google it. Ahhh, now for the questions. I don't have a favorite poet. I believe I resonate more with the writings of singer-songwriters, with or without the melodys. And there are many I appreciate. Leonard Cohen, Richard Shindell, Joni Mitchell to name a few.
My favorite poet is Kahlil Gibran.
My favorite poem is from his book, "The Prophet"
Pain...
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding...
Kahlil's poem about Love from his book, "The Prophet".
i don't know that i have a favorite poet.
i poet i have revisited off and on over the years is sir gerald manly hopkins. i especially like his poem 'inversnaid'. his words just undulate off my tongue (for want of a better espression).
Trees, I have always liked that poem.
lawrence ferlingetti, alan gisburgh, w.c. williams, don marquis, rumi.
one of my faves, by w.c. williams, which i would read aloud to you any time is:
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
1. e.e. cummings because he is so visual.
2. Hmmmmm... I don't think I could have just one favorite poem. But off the top of my head I like Hap by Thomas Hardy.
3. The ones from Desiderata.
4. The above poem.
Langston Hughes, keepin' it real.
"Landlord" from memory:
landlord, landlord, my roof has sprung a leak, don't you 'member I told you about it way last week?
landlord, landlord, these steps is broken down. When you come up yourself it's a wonder you don't fall down.
Ten bucks you say I owe you?
Ten bucks you say is due?
Well, that's ten bucks more than I'll pay you, 'till you fix this house up new.
WHAT?! You gonna get an eviction notice? You gonna turn off my heat!? you gonna take(I never realized how long this is) my furniture and throw it in the street!?
Uh-HUH, You talkin' high and mighty, talk on 'till you get through, cause you ain't gonna be able to say a word ifin I land my FIST on you!
Police! Police! Come and arrest this man! He's trying to ruin the government and overturn the land!
Copper's whistle. Patrol bell.
Headlines in the press:
"Man threatens landlord. Tenant held no bail. Judge gives negro 90 days in county jail."
***I read(preformed) this in 8th grade, every so often I break into it and just now I see so many...things in it that I would later encounter as an adult! Wow. Thank you.
hi there, lovely to find your blog (and thanks for putting me on your blogroll)
facourite poets? hard to say, there are so many. but ee cummings, dr. seuss and pablo neruda come to mind.
this is a small poem by neruda, part of his "separate rose" cycle, which he wrote shortly before his death. i can't find a translation on the web so here is mine:
"i, from the woods, from the trains through the winter,
i, guardsman of that winter,
of the muds,
in a crooked, miserable street,
i, obscure poet, received the kiss of stone on my brow.
and my sorrows turned to clarity."
this last line sprang on me many years ago one summer evening when i was in a long, gray depression (although back then i didn't know that it was a depression). somehow this line reached into my heart and yanked me out of that dull, foggy space and the rest of that summer was full of light and easy energy.
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