WootBot


quality posts: 15 Private Messages WootBot

Staff

Poll: Do you have a favorite poem?
  • 34.1% - I don’t. I hate poems. 357
  • 26.9% - I do, and I’d love to share it in the comments! 282
  • 39% - Maybe… does it count if it starts with “two all-beef patties”? 408
1047 votes

Well, how do you fare compared to the Zeitgeist? Chat up your fellow wooters and let us know how lame this poll was or what obvious choices we missed. For example: Was this poll a) STUPID, b) DUMB, c) POINTLESS or d) ALL OF THE ABOVE?

nvaine


quality posts: 63 Private Messages nvaine

the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

-- Don Marquis

ckeilah


quality posts: 149 Private Messages ckeilah

little pink piggies
dying on a spike
chop, chop, chop
now they're bacon on your plate

Please do not increment my Quality Posts count. 69 is a good place to be. ;-)
MOD: We had to...we just HAD TO...

silveri


quality posts: 1 Private Messages silveri

When You are Old



When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

- William Butler Yeats

polkastria


quality posts: 6 Private Messages polkastria

I have two...
anyone lived in a pretty how town
by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain



And the old favorite...
The Road Not Taken by 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 marked 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.

pigsnfish


quality posts: 2 Private Messages pigsnfish

Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

wingedsurfgirl


quality posts: 25 Private Messages wingedsurfgirl

I have many. One happens to be in the top 20 shirts, and has been the longest.

Another is this by John Donne...


No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

thirdeye386


quality posts: 0 Private Messages thirdeye386

Design



I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.


Robert Frost

gibizugbe


quality posts: 1 Private Messages gibizugbe

Yes, it's by Jim Morrison, and it's called "Horse Latitudes."

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters
True sailing is dead
Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop
And heads bob up
Poise
Delicate
Pause
Consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over

ardubu


quality posts: 8 Private Messages ardubu

Who makes the rules?
Someone else.
What is the Law?
No spilt Blood!
Walk on two legs, not on four!
Walk on four legs breaks the law!
What happens when you break the Law?
You go to the House of Pain!

Ah, the hell with it.

curtisuxor


quality posts: 56 Private Messages curtisuxor

I don't always follow these words by Tecumseh, but I try to remember them.

So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart.
Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and
Demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life,
Beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and
Its purpose in the service of your people.

Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend,
Even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and
Bow to none. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the food and
For the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks,
The fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and nothing,
For abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.

When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts
Are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes
They weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again
In a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.


My second favorite, another Frost poem:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.


Finally, I just watched The Grey a few hours ago and this poem is just devastating:

Once more into the fray...
Into the last good fight I'll ever know.
Live and die on this day...
Live and die on this day...



It reminds me of an abridged version of Dylan Thomas's poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night".

Geez, I really have death on my mind, eh?

bacalum


quality posts: 4 Private Messages bacalum
nvaine wrote:the lesson of the moth
...
archy

-- Don Marquis



Ah yes, it's been years since I've thought of archy. Good stuff. My sense of sophomoric humor tends more to limericks by Charles Barsotti.

When rich or powerful people propose a change, it is designed to make them richer or more powerful.

bacalum


quality posts: 4 Private Messages bacalum
wingedsurfgirl wrote:
Another is this by John Donne...

No man is an island... I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.



Donne wrote that section as three sentences, about 1/8 of a piece which was not regarded as a poem, either by Donne or by scholars. It's a meditation, and may have been used as part of a sermon. Nonetheless, those three sentences are often included in anthologies of poetry, and constitute my favorite "poem."
Three sentences out of two long paragraphs. Just goes to show that even great writers usually do not write great stuff. They write and write and write, and occasionally, with a whole or a small part, they hit a home run!

When rich or powerful people propose a change, it is designed to make them richer or more powerful.

KSPYKayte


quality posts: 2 Private Messages KSPYKayte

My favorite poem is "The Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman.

I would copy and paste it, but it is far too long to do so.

pisces42


quality posts: 0 Private Messages pisces42


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By 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.

TGarden


quality posts: 0 Private Messages TGarden

Making a Fist

by Naomi Shihab Nye

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

Tsheka


quality posts: 0 Private Messages Tsheka

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost

phoenixgirrl


quality posts: 1 Private Messages phoenixgirrl

I love poems by Jack Prelutsky and Shel Silverstein (especially "Sick"), but I do have a grown-up favorite poem, too.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

charliecarroll


quality posts: 105 Private Messages charliecarroll
"I do, and I’d love to share it in the comments!"



Well actually it is a limerick but a limerick is a poem, right? But alas, I may not share because I am sure the mods would take it out.

But, here is the beginning!

"There once was a woman from Wheeling,
Who had no sensual feeling..."

The rest is not Woot acceptable.

kutiel


quality posts: 0 Private Messages kutiel



ANTH4-Folklore
Barbara Allen's Cruelty

VERSION 1
VERSE 1

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
thre was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

VERSE 2

All in th merrye month of May,
When greene buds thy were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

VERSE 3

He sent his man unto her thn,
To th town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

VERSE 4

For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
thn haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.

VERSE 5

Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

VERSE 6

So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when thre she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

VERSE 7

He turnd his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.

VERSE 8

If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs th tale you are tellin:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.

VERSE 9

He turnd his face unto th wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.

VERSE 10

As she was walking ore th fields,
She heard th bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

VERSE 11

She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied th corps a coming:
Laye downe, laye downe th corps, she sayd,
That I may look upon him.

VERSE 12

With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
That all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.

VERSE 13

When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mothr, mothr, make my bed,
For I shall dye to morrowe.

VERSE 14

Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was live and neare me!

VERSE 15

She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of th daye,
That she did ere denye him.

VERSE 16

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun th fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by th fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

VERSION 2

VERSE 1

Was in the merry month of May
When flowers were a bloomin',
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.

VERSE 2

Slowly, slowly she got up,
And slowly she went nigh him,
And all she said when she got there,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

VERSE 3

"O yes, I'm sick and very low,
And death is on me dwellin',
No better shall I ever be
If I don't get Barbara Allen."

VERSE 4

"Don't you remember the other day
When you were in the tavern,
I toasted all the ladies there
And slighted Barbara Allen?"

VERSE 5

"O yes, I remember the other day
When we were in the Tavern,
I toasted all the ladies there,
Gave my love to Barbara Allen."

VERSE 6

He turned his pale face to the wall,
And death was on him dwellin'.
"Adieu, Adieu, my kind friends all,
Be kind to Barbara Allen."

VERSE 7

As she was walkin' through the fields,
She heard the death bells knelling,
And every toll they seemed to say,
"Hard-hearted Barbara Allen."

VERSE 8

She looked east, she looked west,
She saw his corpse a-comin'.
"Lay down, lay down the corpse," she said,
"And let me gaze upon him."

VERSE 9

"O mother, mother make my bed,
O make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."

VERSE 10

Sweet William died on a Saturday night,
And Barbara died on Sunday,
Her mother died for the love of both,
And was buried Easter Monday.

VERSE 11

thy buried Willie in the old church yard,
And Barbara there anigh him,
And out of his grave grew a red, red rose,
And out of hers, a briar.

VERSE 12

They grew and grew in the old churchyard,
Till they couldn't grow no higher,
They lapped and tied in a true love's knot.
The rose ran around the briar.

VERSION 3

VERSE 1

In London town where I was born,
And where I got my learning,
Sweet William Green took to his bed,
For love of Barbara Allen.

VERSE 2

He sent her letters with his man,
She read them small and moving,
No better shall ye be,
Ye'll not have Barbara Allen.

VERSE 3

As she walked down the road to home,
She saw his hearse a-comin',
"Oh, lay him down upon the ground,
That I may gaze upon him.

VERSE 4

Oh, mother, mother make my bed,
Oh, make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for love today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."

VERSE 5

thy buried her by the old church tower,
Him thy laid beside her,
And from her grave grew a red, red rose,
And from his grave a briar.

VERSE 6

thy grew to top the old church tower,
thy could not grow no higher,
And there thy twined in a true lover's knot,
Red rose around the briar


And another ending to this poem:

VERSE 5

Now she was buried by the old church wall
And he a little higher
And from her grave grew a red, red rose
And from his grew sweet briar.

VERSE 6

Thy grew and the grew to the church steeple top
'Til they could grow no higher
And there thy formed a true-lovers' knot
And the rose embraced the briar.

losbradley


quality posts: 0 Private Messages losbradley
charliecarroll wrote:Well actually it is a limerick but a limerick is a poem, right? But alas, I may not share because I am sure the mods would take it out.

But, here is the beginning!

"There once was a woman from Wheeling,
Who had no sensual feeling..."

The rest is not Woot acceptable.



Now I'm dying to know! You can't tease someone with half a limerick.

Oh, just googled it. Very nice. ;)

oclafretep


quality posts: 1 Private Messages oclafretep

Either this or some short and abstract haiku. Two very different things, I know:

disgruntleddoorman


quality posts: 0 Private Messages disgruntleddoorman

She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron aka George Gordon.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet 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 tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

ThunderThighs


quality posts: 617 Private Messages ThunderThighs

Staff

This was my favorite poem as a child. Still warms my heart....

The Swing
BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!



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johnnymercer


quality posts: 0 Private Messages johnnymercer

I had the pleasure of hearing this read by Mark Strand a couple years after he received the Pulitzer for "Blizzard of One." He was a funny guy who really seemed to enjoy humor and sarcasm. I still remember the smirk on his face as he read it.


Eating Poetry
By Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

ChronoSquall14


quality posts: 39 Private Messages ChronoSquall14

I'll just link to it to save the space, but yeah, definitely "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Poetry is one of the most impossible arts to exceed at, in my opinion, and so the greatest poets are towering giants. TS Eliot is one of them.

http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html

aehelephant


quality posts: 0 Private Messages aehelephant

Annabell Lee by Edgar Allen Poe. I even worked some of it in my wedding vows.

dnlkolender


quality posts: 3 Private Messages dnlkolender

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Ryokincaid


quality posts: 1 Private Messages Ryokincaid
dnlkolender wrote:The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge



you beat me to it so I'll choose my second favorite. I must have a thing for very long poems

Michael by William Wordsworth
http://www.bartleby.com/41/372.html

saltandpeppy


quality posts: 0 Private Messages saltandpeppy

I have two favorite poems. The first is this one:

GRANDPA DOESN'T CARE
My ice cream dripped on his good pants,
but Grandpa doesn't care.
His fishing tackle's tangled up,
his rod is "who knows where."
I lost his keys in the garage,
I've made a mess in there.
I'm always getting into things,
but Grandpa doesn't care.
I help him in the garden 'cause
we're really quite a pair.
I pull the plants out with the weeds,
but Grandpa doesn't care.
When I am grown, and on my own,
when visits become rare,
I won't forget the love I'd get,
when Grandpa didn't care.
~ Judith Bond ~

My second favorite poem is one that my mother helped a friend write when they were in high school. As far as I know, it has never been published, but I love it nonetheless.

BEAUTIFUL INSIDE
Your eyes are like the yolks
of a hundred scrambled eggs.
Your arms are long enough
that they could easily be legs.
Your hips have got a swing
that could be on my front porch.
Your breath is like the fire
of a burning propane torch.
Your hair is like a rat’s nest,
although you use all fine shampoos.
I think I’ve seen your face before
at many city zoos.
Your walk has something in it
that reminds me of a goose.
Your voice is like the calling
of an ancient mother moose.
And so you’re thinking maybe
you should go and run and hide.
But just keep thinking to yourself,
I’m beautiful inside.

Eltinwe


quality posts: 0 Private Messages Eltinwe

My current favorite poem can probably be found in the book "A Giraffe and a Half" by Shel Silverstein. Vying for the favorite status is this, by the same author:


THE BAGPIPE WHO DIDN'T SAY NO


It was nine o'clock at midnight at a quarter after three
When a turtle met a bagpipe on the shoreside by the sea,
And the turtle said, "My dearie,
May I sit with you? I'm weary."
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, "I have walked this lonely shore,
I have talked to waves and pebbles--but I've never loved before.
Will you marry me today, dear?
Is it 'No' you're going to say dear?"
But the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to his darling, "Please excuse me if I stare,
But you have the plaidest skin, dear,
And you have the strangest hair.
If I begged you pretty please, love,
Could I give you just one squeeze, love?"
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, "Ah, you love me. Then confess!
Let me whisper in your dainty ear and hold you to my chest."
And he cuddled her and teased her
And so lovingly he squeezed her.
And the bagpipe said, "Aaooga."

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, "Did you honk or bray or neigh?
For 'Aaooga' when your kissed is such a heartless thing to say.
Is it that I have offended?
Is it that our love is ended?"
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, "Shall i leave you, darling wife?
Shall i waddle off to Woedom? Shall i crawl out of your life?
Shall I move, depart and go, dear--
Oh, I beg you tell me 'No' dear!"
But the bagpipe didn't say no.

So the turtle crept off crying and he ne'er came back no more,
And he left the bagpipe lying on that smooth and sandy shore.
And some night when tide is low there,
Just walk up and say, "Hello, there,"
And politely ask the bagpipe if this story's really so.
I assure you, darling children, the bagpipe won't say "No."

(And now I will betake myself back to Kids.Woot where I CLEARLY belong.)

jn47697


quality posts: 0 Private Messages jn47697


The Cremation of Sam McGee
By Robert W. Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

alefnought


quality posts: 1 Private Messages alefnought

Much Madness is divinest Sense-
To a discerning Eye-
Much Sense-the starkest Madness-
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail-
Assent-and you are sane-
Demur-you're straightaway dangerous-
And handled with a Chain-

- Emily cornucopiainson

jediokie


quality posts: 1 Private Messages jediokie

anyone lived in a pretty how town


by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

daveholland


quality posts: 0 Private Messages daveholland

We dance around in a ring and suppose but the secret sits in the middle and knows.

-Robert Frost

whoahbaby


quality posts: 0 Private Messages whoahbaby

N Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
canned vegetables baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

killamachine


quality posts: 0 Private Messages killamachine

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 marked 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.
Robert Frost

-I'm fairly certain it's about a man choosing area where that is commonly refereed to as the "backdoor"

compunaut


quality posts: 2 Private Messages compunaut

Favorite poems, like songs: too many to name.

I love Robert Frost, Shel Silverstein, Shakespeare, and (of course) Dr Seuss.

ckeilah


quality posts: 149 Private Messages ckeilah

Please do not increment my Quality Posts count. 69 is a good place to be. ;-)
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