# Share a poem you like



## DemonD (Jun 12, 2012)

The Rock and The Bubble


Oh! a bare, brown rock
Stood up in the sea,
The waves at its feet
Dancing merrily.


A little bubble
Once came sailing by,
And thus to the rock
Did it gayly cry,


Ho! clumsy brown stone,
Quick, make way for me:
I'm the fairest thing
That floats on the sea.


See my rainbow-robe,
See my crown of light,
My glittering form,
So airy and bright.


O'er the waters blue,
I'm floating away,
To dance by the shore
With the foam and spray.


Now, make way, make way;
For the waves are strong, 
And their rippling feet
Bear me fast along."


But the great rock stood
Straight up in the sea:
It looked gravely down,
And said pleasantly


Little friend, you must
Go some other way;
For I have not stirred 
this many a long day.


Great billows have dashed,
And angry winds blown;
But my sturdy form
Is not overthrown.


Nothing can stir me
In the air or sea;
Then, how can I move,
Little friend, for thee?


Then the waves all laughed
In their voices sweet;
And the sea-birds looked, 
From their rocky seat,


At the bubble gay,
Who angrily cried,
While its round cheek glowed
With a foolish pride


You shall move for me;
And you shall not mock
At the words I say,
You ugly, rough rock.


Be silent, wild birds!
While stare you so?
Stop laughing, rude waves,
And help me to go!


"For I am the queen
Of the ocean here,
And this cruel stone
Cannot make me fear.


Dashing fiercely up,
With a scornful word,
Foolish Bubble broke;
But Rock never stirred.


Then said the sea-birds, 
Sitting in their nests
To the little ones
Leaning on their breasts,


Be not like Bubble,
Headstrong, rude, and vain,
Seeking by violence
Your object to gain;


"But be like the rock, 
Steadfast, true, and strong, 
Yet cheerful and kind,
And firm against wrong.


Heed, little birdlings,
And wiser you'll be
For the lesson learned
To-day by the sea.


Louisa May Alcott


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## rainrunner (Jul 15, 2014)

edit: wrong thread...I thought I was in the five minute poetry thread...I do not like most of my own poems, so they don't belong here anyway...

edit 2: I might as well post something here... I love this poem about aging, blindness, and death.

Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


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## suneyed (Dec 6, 2014)

_Prayer to Persephone_ by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be;
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee;
Say to her, "My dear, my dear
It is not so dreadful here."


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## WanderlustMariposa (Sep 26, 2012)

I've discovered so many wonderful poems over here reading this thread. Lately, I've personally been in a more modern spoken word poetry vortex. This is a poem by one of my favourite poets.

Format may be a bit off;

Repetition:
1.
My mother taught me this trick: if you repeat something over and over again, it loses its meaning.
For example: “Homework, homework, homework homework homework, —“, see? Nothing. Our lives, she said, are the same way. You watch the sunset too often and it just becomes 6 pm. You make the same mistake over and over and you’ll stop calling it a mistake. If you just “wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up”, one day you’ll forget why. I should’ve known: nothing is forever.
My parents left each other when I was 7 years old. Before their last argument they’ve sent me off to the neighbor’s house, like some astronaut jetticing from the shuttle. When I came back, there was no gravity at our home. I imagined it as an accident: when I left, they whispered “I love you” so many times over, that they forgot what it meant. “Family, family, family, family…”
My mother taught me this trick, that if you repeat something over and over again, it loses its meaning. This became my favorite game. It made the sting of words evaporate: “separation, separation, separation—“, see? Nothing! “Apart, apart, apart, apart—“, see? Nothing!
I’m an injured handyman now. I work with words, all day— shut up! I know the irony. When I was young, I was taught that the trick to dominating language was breaking it down, convincing it was worthless. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—“, see? Nothing!
Soon after my parents’ divorce, I developed a stutter. Fate is a cruel and efficient tutor. There is no escape in stutter. You can feel the meaning of every word drag itself up your throat. “S-s-separation”. Stutter is a cage made of mirrors. Every “what you said?”, every “just, take your time”; every “c’mon, kid, spit it out!” is a glaring reflection of a existence that you cannot escape. Every awful moment trips over its own announcement again, and again, and again, until it just hangs there in the center of the room, as if what you were to say had no gravity at all.
Mom, dad: I’m not wasteful with my words anymore. Even now, after hundreds of hours practicing away my stutter, I can still feel the claw of meaning at the bottom of my throat. Listen to me. I heard that even in space you can hear the scratch of a “I-, I-, I-, I… love you.”


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## cannamella (Mar 25, 2014)

_*Song of the Barren Orange Tree - Federico Garcia Lorca*_

Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself without fruit.

Why was I born among mirrors?
The day walks in circles around me,
and the night copies me
in all its stars.

I want to live without seeing myself.
And I will dream that ants
and thistleburrs are my
leaves and my birds.

Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself without fruit.


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## Brian1 (May 7, 2011)

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-David Gilmour Saucerful of Secrets

"Echoes"


Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
The echo of a distant tide
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine


And no one showed us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
But something stirs and something tries
And starts to climb towards the light


Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help me understand the best I can
And no one calls us to move on
And no one forces down our eyes
No one speaks
And no one tries
No one flies around the sun


Cloudless every day you fall upon my waking eyes
Inviting and inciting me to rise
And through the window in the wall
Come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning


And no one sings me lullabies
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky.


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## WamphyriThrall (Apr 11, 2011)

_Dos cuerpos frente a frente 
son a veces dos olas 
y la noche es océano.

_
_ Dos cuerpos frente a frente 
son a veces dos piedras 
y la noche desierto.


_
_ Dos cuerpos frente a frente 
son a veces raíces 
en la noche enlazadas.

_
_ Dos cuerpos frente a frente 
son a veces navajas 
y la noche relámpago.

_
_ Dos cuerpos frente a frente 
son a veces dos astros que caen 
en un cielo vacío._


Octavio Paz


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## Simpson17866 (Dec 3, 2014)

Alfred Lord Tennyson:

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.


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## Sentio (Nov 6, 2014)

William Blake's Tiger, Tiger.. 

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


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## EchoEnola (Oct 28, 2014)

I read this one as a preteen and still love it. I've seen so many people try to take credit for writing it... no idea who actually did.


Have a seat upon a cloud
and make yourself at home
You are now inside my dreams,
inside a book, inside a poem.

Where anything can happen
if you only make it real
Plunge into my waters
if you're not afraid to feel.

Take off your shoes 
and close your eyes,
relax upon my sand
Join me in my land of dreams,
reach out and take my hand.

Let me share my dreams with you
until you find your own
I'll take you there if you believe,
take mine out on loan.

Where birds are words so gracefully
they glide across the sky
Leave behind your worries,
here the rules do not apply.

Pick my flowers if you like
and plant a seed or two
Paint the sky in polka dots
if you do not like it blue.

Climb my trees, face your fears;
erase them one by one
See the world from up above
and don't stop at the sun.

When the world starts raining down 
and the sun is out of sight
Let your dreams control your mind
and help you through the night.

There's a place inside my dreams
for all who care to roam
So have a seat upon a cloud
and make yourself at home.


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