Favorite Poetry

[Old Man Liver]

Old Man Liver likes to entertain himself with the occasional poem. I'd like to see what interests all of you, and what the forum of Kenshi finds to be moving. Let me start off with a well known classic, that every single one of you should know. If not, start reading! There aren't many poems that show such a mastery over the English language as "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
''Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you'- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!'-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more.'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as 'Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'.'

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

'Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked,
upstarting-
'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

[Blxz]

That is indeed a nice poem. I've been partial to Winken Blinken and Nod for a long time. It is oddly childish but at the same time has a relaxing air to it that never fails to sooth me.

[iSuck345]

I like this poem.

Every evening, sunset crooks
its thumb across the island
And from the sunset to the thumb
there grows
a path of dead stone
And this peninsula
Still drinks
All the blood of your wandering body
From a tenant farmer’s cup

But when your voice
becomes a chord on the shore’s guitar
And the earth of the face and the face of the earth
Extend the palm of the hand
From the seaward edge of the island
A palm made of bread
You will merge your final hunger
with your first

From above there will come
The faces and prows of not-voyage
So that herbal and mercury
Extract the crosses from your body

The screaming of mothers carries you
now
To the seventh corner
where the island is shipwrecked
where the island celebrates
Your daughter pain
The pain of a woman in childbirth

So that all parting is power in death
all return a child’s learning to spell

No longer do we wait for the cycle
Pulp from good fruit, fruit from good pulp
The earth
breathes in
your green speech

And there before your feet
should be
a tree on a hill


And your hand
should sing
a new moon in my heart

Go and plant
in dead Amilcar’s mouth
This fistful of watercress
And spread from goal to goal
a fresh phonetics
And with the commas of the street
and syllables from door to door
You will sweep away before the night
The roads that go
as far as the night-schools
For all departure means a growing alphabet
for all return is a nation’s language

They await you
the dogs and the piglets
at Chota’s house
grown thin from the warmth of the welcome

They await you
the cups and semantics of taverns

They await you
the beasts
choking on applause and sugarcane

They await you
faces that explode
on the blood of ants
new pastorals to cultivate

But
when your body
of blood and lignite, on heat

Raises
Over the harvest
Your pain
And your orgasm
Who didn’t know
Who doesn’t know
Emigrant
That all of parting is power in death
And all return is a child learning to spell

I kinda like this one too:

"You think I won't shoot you? Just sit down now.
Of course I would. I'm looking for an excuse anyhow.
You're the reason we buried my youngest last week.
Treatment was unaffordable thanks to the power you seek.
"Such an innocuous change, the one that started the chain.
Who would have thought it would cause all this pain?
The economy was in trouble, that we all could agree.
When you came up with your plan that was all we could see.
Elimination of income tax for those that voluntarily chose
to spend a minimum percentage of income, and only those.
The idea was that you'd make some back on corporation tax and VAT
and drive economies of scale for native companies at that.
You sold it to the nation with your persuasive cry
'It is your patriotic duty to buy buy buy!'
"But too few people took an interest in your scheme
so the next step was to hike income tax it would seem.
Then you made it compulsory. Income tax was abolished.
The announcement of mounting VAT was given its usual polish.
Politicians were exempt of course. Demands on your time are too high.
Too busy telling us 'It's your patriotic duty to buy buy buy!'
"People found ways around this. They sold to each other.
To their friends and families, to their sister, their brother.
And the government it seemed was happy with this for a while.
They still got their VAT so the tax man still wore a smile.
While for our wallets' sake we hoped there would be no more attacks
you eventually saw the opportunity to make more from corporation tax.
So from minimum percent spent it went to maximum share saved.
Of course for you busy politicians the requirements were still waived.
You ignored the public uproar. Nobody believed your cry
'It is your patriotic duty to continue to buy buy buy!'
"And after all of this you lousy churl, it still wasn't enough.
You put a flat limit on savings to make us buy even more stuff.
It didn't take long of course before it was cut, and cut again.
No doubt you would cut it again. It's just a question of when.
It's gone far too far. I'm not letting you have your own way.
You may have made yourself exempt but now you are going to pay.
You've caused so many so much pain and that is the reason why
it is my patriotic duty to say to you - bye bye bye!"

[Blxz]

Cool little poem there with that second one. Most amusing.