the best poem ever...seriously
 

when i read rairais thread it got me thinking about what realy was my favourite poem so why dont we just share here. mine would be one of two things either omega by stone sour, no seriously its a poem but you have to hear it to get its full power, the confusion, the anger, its a brilliant reading download it.

or Dulce et Decorum Est by wilfred owen

"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.


In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."

I'm not sure I have a favourite poem written by a famous poet yet. I do have a favorite in my own batch, however.

If I opened my eyes, these eyes of grey,
To witness the red skies in which vultures lurked,
And hawks flew, the chariots of death,
Unleashing their destruction upon a world of black,
Black souls. Black hearts,
Smeared dusts across pure skins,
Eager for death and corruption,
Enough to lie about years of childhood,
And take the trip into maturity,
Only to die in a childish game.

The weapons were worn like lion’s skins,
Over bare backs which became cripple and ill,
Those children whom mother earth bore,
And who returned to the earth at their death,
Their crimson blood soaked into the dry ground,
Now moist with tears and the sweat of the fight,
Where the bodies fall and become stepping-stones,
For passing warriors eager for glory.

The skies were ablaze with red and green,
Stop and go, like the hearts of those amongst the darkness,
Hiding within their dusty trenches,
Soon to become their dusty graves,
To lie and to die, to be forgotten,
No stone to mark their glorified name,
No image marked in the soil,
Just the whisper of the winds,
Taking departed souls home.

If my birth had come that little earlier,
To save my own kin from stepping out into no man’s land,
I would outstretch my arms and declare peace,
And die trying like all of them did.

Unknown Glory

I walk in puddles where tears have fallen
All the while cheers are calling.
Names of children yet to be
Of eyes so pure as not to see
Trodden leaves only mark
The passing of my greatness

Unknown glory leaves no trail
But therein lie amazing tales
Never told and never hailed
Lives are touched, so dark and frail.
If voice is truly given forth
What is spoken bereft of meaning?

Minds are filled to overflow
With what matter, no one knows.
Just sit back, enjoy the show
While worlds fall down like youngest snow
Only time, and gods may know
How this ends, for love is slow
'

can anyone guess who wrote this? its my favorite.

lost on me its quite good though

I have no favourite poem. As I said on that other thread I don't really read poetry that much. I guess I could find a favourite from one of my own, but I usually never keep them. Its just 5minute poetry I do and I like to keep it that way.

My favorite poem has got to be The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, but I won't post that here. Too long. I will post my second favorite poem though, one by TS Eliot

The Hollow Men
Mistah Kurtz - he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are Quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without color,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us - if at all - not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer -

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is the cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper

I do like The Raven a lot, as well as some Allen Ginsberg Poems, like Howl and America (I even translated that one into Latin), but I guess my favorite is another famous one. The Tyger, by William Blake. I really get impressed over the powerfull religious and human images that Blake writes, and that one most of all.


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 water'd 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?

My favorite poem, by Robert Browning. It's far too long to post here, so I'll put up a link to a site that has it. Be warned, it's long and not for the short of attention.

http://www.bluejo.demon.co.uk/poetry/poems/rol.htm

Mario in Exile by Seth "Fingers" Flynn Barkan

From: Blue Wizard Is About To Die! Prose, Poems, and Emoto-Versatronic Expressionist Pieces (1980-2003)

ok, would you mind sharing where to download it at?