Post any Poem here that inspires you! That you feel is something intimately personal, creatively inspiring, life assuring, love ensuing, care-free, cautious and dangerously warning, crooning, songs of wild and free spirits, or any other poem (most likely published or accomplished... tho it don't really matter)..

and when it's said and done we could have like a huge Forum of GREAT POEMS!! aaah, wouldn't that be sweet...

so, have at it guys!

The Silken Tent

Robert Frost


She is as in a field a silken tent
At Midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And it's supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosly bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going sightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

i carry your heart with me
by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

The poet declares his prominence

The circle of heaven measures my glory,
The libraries of the Orient debate my verses,
The emirs search for me to full my mouth with gold,
The angels already know by memory my last zejel.
My work instruments are the humiliation and
Sorrow;
I wish that I would have been born dead.

Jorge L. Borges (Translated in English by Me--with help of Juanruiz--)

I have no idea if this stanza has more to have it form a larger poem, but the words in this stanza were so amazingly thought provoking, I absolutely love it.


The toil of all the be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
and still the sea is salt.

-A.E. Housman
More Poems

Part 6 of Walt Whitman's Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
(One of the most inspirational and moving pieces)

It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,
The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious,
My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality
meagre?
Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil,
I am he who knew what it was to be evil,
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant,
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me.
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not
wanting,

Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these
wanting,
Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest,
Was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as
they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of
their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly, yet
never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing,
sleeping,
Play'd the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we
like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"
(Dylan Thomas)

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.

Forget Not Yet
by Thomas Wyatt


Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye knew, since whan
The suit, the service, none tell can,
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrongs, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in denays
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet, forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is,
The mind that never means amiss;
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved,
Forget not this.

She Walks in Beauty
- Lord Byron

She walks in beauty like the night
of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
meets in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
had half impair'd the nameless grace
which waves in every raven tress,
or softly lightens o'er her face -
where thoughts serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their dwelling - place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
so soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
the smiles that win, the tints that glow,
but tells in days of goodness spent,
a mind at peace with all below,
a heart whose love is innocent.

Milady Sanya,

I'm not sure if remarks are appropriate or permitted here but I could not help myself. I see a poem by Byron and I melt in a little puddle..... ...and it's terribly unlike me to blush that way.

I think this is the first of Byron's poems I read and it remains one of my favorites. He really knew how to sweet talk a girl, huh?

There are two more I would recommend to Byron lovers....or even those who aren't. One is The Dream, which is a very long poem but worthwhile read, and the other is Youth and Age. To all those who read them -- Enjoy!!!

Acquainted with the night
-Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

O Captain! My Captain! Written by, Walt Whitman.

The Road Not Taken
-Robert Frost


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.

Byron's poems are instant heart-melters Galatea! I agree. I'll be sure to check out those poems soon - thank you for suggesting them!
-------------

Song
- Seamus Heaney

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

------------ John Keats----------------
-----WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE ----

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

OOOOOOOOOOH and sonya -- just wanted to tell ya' -- LOVE THE QUOTE

i have been preaching Hart Crane to everyone I know for a year now... he's a marvel! a true marvel!

In honor of my good friend, gone but never forgotten

Shakespeare's Sonnet 26

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written ambassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show
it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst
prove me.

I Always Knew
-Rod McKuen


I always knew
that you would find me,
no clock needed to remind
me that it would happen.
I planned on it, worked it out
hid in plain sight every day
knowing you would pass,
that way or this, come along,
go by, pause in moving to
here or somewhere; near or
far it did not matter. You
would arrive.

It kept the heart
alive and thriving in the clatter
of times' travel to know
that you would turn and see me
then not turn away.You here
or coming, unraveling the puzzle,
kept me whole and safe
and driving on toward this day.

When the evenings, like forever,
started fleeting, going fast
I could see you at some distance
disappearing in the mist.
In the mass of fondled faces
one imagines in a lifetime
yours was there just out of grasp.

As you fluttered in my future,
fled throughout my lifelong past
I expected every spring to bring you
to my arms, to my side. When
the autumns started coming thick
and firm and fast, I never once
gave up believing you'd arrive
with winters passing, you would
be here as the moon fell.

As the sun rose we would clasp
hands at first, then bodies closing
up that awful gap that life without
a life long partner leaves between
the noon and night line. Did I
falter in my faith? Once or twice
perhaps, but never long enough
to leave you languishing in some
dream that wasn't mine. Because
I always knew that you would
find me, I never sent out distress
signals, never tapped out SOS.

I was blessed
with growing knowledge, something
whispered do not worry, it will
happen, it's been planned. Nothing
here is happenstance. Do not hurry.
Do not pause to catch your breath.
So it was I always knew

Now and then I leapt to heaven
on another's stroke or kiss, lent
to me to keep me going in this
sure direction. Afterward the same
affection that I saved, assigned to you
only grew. I always knew that you
would find me and so I did not
bother scrawling each and every
new address on cloud or curb stone.
Why? I was waiting, you knew the rest.

A nocturne for The King of Naples,
A serenade or two for those who
got me through some fearful midnights.
Sonatas for some faces time erases but
does not forget. A double wind concerto
for the wind itself; it could have blown
me anywhere, but wouldn't, didn't. I
dropped some songs along the way in
laps of strangers, even laps I knew. But
this music you see spread around you
these notes and half notes, planted long
ago, that grew and grew was/were saved,
because I always knew that you would
find me and help me with the harvest.

The strongholds, the havens that
proved weak and wanting, lessons
learned, prizes earned, not always
given. Paths I paved, paths unpaved.
The rest of what I have to offer, little
things this life's amassed; for you,
for you, it was for you I saved
the best for last.