ATTENTION ALL SCIFORUM USERS...... Who are your favorite poets or poems? My current favorite is Emily Dickenson. Her poems are like carefully wrapped codes that are in a wanting to be deciferd(spelling wrong). Current Favorite Poem "I Heard A Funeral In My Brain"-Emily Dickenson.
I love this poem by William Carlos Williams "This is Just to Say" (1934): I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold It's so simplistic, but utterly perfect.
Okay, so I'm not really into poetry.. but I read some on sciforums sometimes. So far, Evilpoet is my favorite poet. She's quite good, even though she thinks concepts like "missing metaphors" are valid. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! There was a guy who used to post here too that was very good, always had some weird art with his pictures.
Don H! He is the man. My favorite poet at the moment has got to be Paul Muldoon. His writing is very dense, and full of hard to get allusions, but once you're over that hump, he has such a natural, uninhibted flow. And he lives in my home state, New Jersey!
Blake, Keats, Poe, Shelley, Donne. Amazing historical poets. Men after my own heart. I hate Dickenson...OMG....such utter crap!
Crowley, Baudelelaire, Heine, Yessenin. Or like really weird, gothic gibberish. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
Langston hughes...man ruled the art of writing in his time and what wonderful observations on what his people went through his time...only if the kids would take cues from him and stop writing about "20 inch dubs" and write about something that mattersPlease Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
Poetry doesn't normally ring many bells with me, but I do like E.E. Cummings. *edit.. oh I forgot, Jim Morrison too.
Definately Longfellow, read driftwood fire; here let me see if I have it... We sat within the farmhouse old, Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port, The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the night, Descending, filled the little room; Our faces faded from the sight, Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead; And all that fills the hearts of friends, When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again; The first slight swerving of the heart, That words are powerless to express, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main, Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. The windows, rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the beach, The gusty blast, the bickering flames, All mingled vaguely in our speech; Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain, The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again. O flames that glowed! 0 hearts that yearned! They were indeed too much akin, The driftwood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within.
Donuel Blagg illustrates his own stuff: In a marriage that changed more than her name the abuse had left lines of pain. With a hint of a frown and a need to cry weary ol Liberty sat down. Beneath the weight of her crown with a glaze in her eye she raised her glass on high; "A toast to the years when I was strong. To the parents who sang my song. To children who cry when I am gone. A toast to corporations to which you belong. To the harlot that seduced your father to the people who could not be bothered, Remember my name when I'm a corpse My name was never Liberty Corp." " Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
