the most recent poem you have read

[NikolaiI]

A Good Boy, by Robert Louis Stevenson

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.

And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,
And I am very happy, for I know that I've been good.

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,
No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

[NikolaiI]

The Voice of the Ancient Bard, by William Blake

Youth of delight! come hither
And see the opening morn,
Image of Truth new-born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel--they know not what but care;
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.

[NikolaiI]

Flowers, by Robert Louis Stevenson

All the names I know from nurse:
Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady Hollyhock.

Fairy places, fairy things,
Fairy woods where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees for tiny dames--
These must all be fairy names!

Tiny woods below whose boughs
Shady fairies weave a house;
Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the braver fairies climb!

Fair are grown-up people's trees,
But the fairest woods are these;
Where, if I were not so tall,
I should live for good and all.


and Ad Olum -
http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poet...n/ad_olum.html

[YesNo]

I've read Lang Leav's "Love & Misadventure" after her other books appeared on Goodreads. Here is her site if you would like to read some of them: http://langleav.com/tagged/Popular

She is also on SoundCloud: https://soundcloud.com/lang-leav

I thought they were pretty good.

[NikolaiI]

9

Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me!
Traveling with me, you find what never tires.

The earth never tires;
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first—Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged—keep on—there are divine things, well envelop’d;
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here!
However sweet these laid-up stores—however convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here;
However shelter’d this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are permitted to receive it but a little while.


Song of the Open Road, by Whitman
http://www.bartleby.com/142/82.html

[Lykren]

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

'Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

'Tis Miracle before Me—then—
'Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

Emily Dickinson.

This poem leaves me breathless. All the hope and fear that happens when we think 'forever' contained in a strange binary the product of which is: "Maelstrom--in the Sky--"

[virtuoso]

Footprint on Your Heart
Gary Lenhart


Someone will walk into your life,
Leave a footprint on your heart,
Turn it into a mudroom cluttered
With encrusted boots, children’s mittens,
Scratchy scarves—
Where you linger to unwrap
Or ready yourself for rough exits
Into howling gales or onto
Frozen car seats, expulsions
Into the great outdoors where touch
Is muffled, noses glisten,
And breaths stab,
So that when you meet someone
Who is leaving your life
You will be able to wave stiff
Icy mitts and look forward
To an evening in spring
When you can fold winter away
Until your next encounter with
A chill so numbing you strew
The heart’s antechamber
With layers of rural garble.



A brilliant metaphor encapsulating love.

[cacian]

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

'Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

'Tis Miracle before Me—then—
'Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

Emily Dickinson.

This poem leaves me breathless. All the hope and fear that happens when we think 'forever' contained in a strange binary the product of which is: "Maelstrom--in the Sky--"

721
is that the title?
Mealstrom is a word i sure dont know.

[Lykren]

Dickinon didn't title her poems, so scholars give them numbers. A maelstrom is a chaotic storm.

[tailor STATELY]

Other than mine own and Jerrybaldys' (and my other favorite poets on litnet): "The Road Not Taken" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken by Robert Frost.

I created an anagramic version titled "The Road Not Ken: Ta !" for a contest here on litnet a number of months ago, and still tinker with it on occasion. I used "Ken: Ta!" in the title to give a clue that my "poem" was anagramic - with "Taken" rent to include my signature "Ta!" as in "Ta ! (short for tarradiddle)...", and "Ken": from google: ken/ken/noun one's range of knowledge or sight. verb know; or "known" (my note).

Just last Sunday a lesson was given at church ( https://www.lds.org/general-conferen...d-see?lang=eng ) and our instructor alluded to Frost's poem and it became bright and shiny again when it came to memory; and I reread it. Frost's poem is emblematic of my continuing conversion in my faith: "And that has made all the difference".

I often revisit Emily Dickinson's delicate poetry; and self-study pretty much all genres.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[free]

I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim
distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am
bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not
the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine
takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in
the house where I dwell alone!

Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener

[Lykren]

one dead of night
in the dead still
he looked up
from his book

from that dark
to pore on other dark

till afar
taper faint
the eyes

in the dead still

till afar
his book as by
a hand not his
a hand on his
faintly closed

for good or ill

for good and ill

-- Samuel Beckett

[NikolaiI]

I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim
distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am
bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not
the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine
takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in
the house where I dwell alone!

Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener

I saw this and then forgot where I saw this!

The first lines remind me of a snippet from Rumi's poetry,
"My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there."

[Melanie]

Do not stand at my grave and weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there; I did not die.

[Poetaster]

Percy Shelley's Masque of Anarchy - I'll not post it all here.