Although personally I'm not a huge fan of poetry, there are a few that get to me.

My signature, for example is a poem called 'I Do Not Weep' by Mary E Fry. I heard it on a episode of Desperate Housewives once and I fell in love with it. Seeing as it's the anniversary of my nan's passing today, the poem always makes me think of her.

My siggy is a shortened version, but the full version is:

"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 softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am in the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in everything.

Do not stand at my grave & cry,
I am not there, I did not die."

Do you guys have any poems, even ones written by yourself or others, that you'd like to share?

The Raven By Edgar Allen Poe is my favorite!



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 named 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 mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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 blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above 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 sad soul 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 lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of 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 lamp-light 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!

I love poetry. I could fill this topic with a billion words if I really tried. But for now I think I will post something I saw in a Tokyo Babylon manga:

What would I give just for one of your smiles
Nobody loved you like me
It's unreal now you're gone
but at least you belong
but at least you are free
No control of what I am saying
Winter leaves still make me believe
No vendettas
just a cherry blossom tree

Because you'd all be stuck here forever if I tried to post the whole thing up, I'll post an extract from Paradise Lost; specifically the opening of the poem's Book I, easily some of the most evocative lines of verse I've read.

Him the Almighty Power
Hurld headlong flaming from th' Ethereal Skie
With hideous ruine and combustion down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire,
Who durst defie th' Omnipotent to Arms.
Nine times the Space that measures Day and Night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew
Lay vanquisht, rowling in the fiery Gulfe
Confounded though immortal: But his doom
Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes
That witness'd huge affliction and dismay
Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:
At once as far as Angels kenn he views
The dismal Situation waste and wilde,
A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv'd only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery Deluge, fed
With ever-burning Sulphur unconsum'd:
Such place Eternal Justice had prepar'd
For those rebellious, here their Prison ordain'd
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n
As from the Center thrice to th' utmost Pole.
O how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'rewhelm'd
With Floods and Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns, and weltring by his side
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in PALESTINE, and nam'd
BEELZEBUB. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

Wow, big poem! I remember in school when I was forced to read poems that long... now I'm older I can enjoy them haha




Beautiful.

I love poetry and I have unashamedly bawled my eyes out at some I have heard.
One of my very favourites is "Sea Fever" by John Masefield.
An excerpt:

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by..."

I just love that.

Hmm. Maybe I could post my Buffy poem here?

Or not

Nah, go for it!

Just don't let Colonel Mustard post the whole of Beowulf here!

I have had to resist posting all of Ulysses here...

I was tempted, believe me.

Allen Ginsberg's "Howl"? Bit long maybe, and not really language appropriate...

Charles Bukowski?

Jack Kerouac's "Mexico City Blues"? But which part to choose?

Choices, choices, choices...

Think I'll go for one of my favourite Raymond Carver poems.

- - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - -

Raymond Carver - The Best Time Of The Day

Cool summer nights.
Windows open.
Lamps burning.
Fruit in the bowl.
And your head on my shoulder.
These the happiest moments in the day.

Next to the early morning hours,
of course. And the time
just before lunch.
And the afternoon, and
early evening hours.
But I do love

these summer nights.
Even more, I think,
than those other times.
The work finished for the day.
And no one who can reach us now.
Or ever.

- - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - -

Another old favorite from my favorite poet, Wilfred Owen.

We studied Wilfred Owen back in college. He was a soldier during WWI, and the majority of his poetry reflects that.

Here is my absolute favorite of his; Dulce Et Decorum Est. It's about a soldier suffering from the effects of 'mustard gas' during his time in the trenches. Wonderfully written.

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 disappointed shells that dropped 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 floundering 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 love Edgar Allen Poe's work as well as Alfred Tennyson.

I'd post Poe's acclaimed poem, "The Raven" but KoB beat me to it.

I love unpublished poets, those that are on websites for other poets and artists rather than published in magazines, books, and such. Go to Tumblr and search poetry and you'll find emotion-evoking poetry. Let me go see if I can find some that are appropriate to post on here.

Langston Hughes’ Harlem [Dream Deferred] is a personal favorite:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?




Then there’s the gallows wit of Dorothy Parker's Resume:

Razor’s pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acid stains you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.




And the third stanza of Keats’ Eve of St. Agnes always gets me:

Northward he turneth through a little door,
And scarce three steps, ere Music’s golden tongue
Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor;
But no-already had his deathbell rung;
The joys of all his life were said and sung:
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes’ Eve:
Another way he went, and soon among
Rough ashes sat he for his soul’s reprieve,
And all night kept awake, for sinner’s sake to grieve.

Had to pull this one out. This one means a lot to me. I plan on getting the last verse tattooed on me.

"There Will Be Rest" by Sara Teasdale



There will be rest, and sure stars shining
Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,
A reign of rest, serene forgetting,
The music of stillness holy and low.

I will make this world of my devising
Out of a dream in my lonely mind.
I shall find the crystal of peace, – above me
Stars I shall find.

I really like this poem:

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.

My favorite poem is Invictus, by William Ernest Henley. My father gave me a copy of this poem when I was 14, kind of to pull me in line a bit. He used to always tell us (sisters) "You are the master of your fate, you are the Captain of your soul" (whenever he was hollering at any of us).

When you hear something all the time you kind of tune it out, so it took me a while to grasp the meaning of it. When I finally did, I looked at things a whole lot differently. Whatever trouble I found myself in, I was the Captain that steered myself there; I was the Captain that had to steer myself out of the trouble. He stood by that too, if any of us got ourselves into trouble we knew we'd better get ourselves out and not phone home till we fixed whatever we did. Anyway, here's the poem:




Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.




*

The last two lines in invictus sound familiar!

mALX, that poem is awesome. I've never been much for poetry, but you found a good one!

It has been in my story in three places, Uriel Septim VII gave it to Maxical, then he and Sir Damien chanted it as they went into battle, kind of like a way to rally themselves for battle. Then Maxical quoted it back to him over the Dream-Catchers.




Have to give my father the credit for it, lol. He pounded it into our thick skulls the whole time we were growing up every time we did something to get yelled at, lol.

I knew it sounded familiar! I couldn't remember where it was from correctly!

It really helped me a lot, I used to be a hyper monkey like you, lol.

Speaking of Sir Damien, I got an AWESOME poem from the real Foxy for my birthday! (can't post it without his permission).

You used to be hyper like me


Oh, an btw, who's Foxy?

Foxy is a user on here, KoB :]

Foxy is a member both here and at the Bethesda official forum - Sir Damien and Sneakers are his characters (like Westley is yours, Buffy is Acadian's, Maxical is mine, etc).

Years ago Foxy and I decided his characters needed to be an integral part of my story. He has Awesome characters, and they make every scene they are in. We used to co-write all his scenes, now he is AWOL from the site so I have to send him Sir Damien's and Sneakers' scenes for approval.



*

Oh! Now I'm less confused, lol.

I'm not a big fan of poetry, but I'm pretty sure the coolest one I've read was written by mALX and it is about gladiators. I don't even know where it is, somewhere buried deep in these forums.

You mean This one?

You found it!

Thank you KC !!!!

I writed a poem today!

It was part of a sample seminar I attended at one of the universities I was interesting in visiting; we had the task of making a poem about a bird using only phrases cherry-picked, in order, from various guidebooks on birds. Here it am. Guess what the bird is.

Windsor's Netman

Through it's call noticed
Speeding by, back flashs blue
Flight fast, whirring wingbeats, short glides
Shade transformed into camouflage
Hanging over water

Obviously the Satin Flycatcher of Papua New Guinea.

Netball? Badminton? Ghastley is probably right, but anyway - Awesome poem !!!

It doesn't matter what bird it is, it's evil. XD

I wrote a random poem. Don't know what to call it. I have writer's block, sorry if it sucks

The pitch black sky roared,
And not a plane dared to soar.
A deadly flash of light went by,
And then the clouds begin to cry.
The mighty rivers rose up high,
And the shores succumbed to the tide,
The delicate bodies ran for shelter,
As the dreadful earth began to falter.
But one man stood proud and strong,
With his head held high, and a child in his arm.
As the heartless hail began to fall,
The young child began to bawl,
But the brave man held the young boy tight,
And soothed away the child's fright.
The man and boy battled through the fray,
While nature tried to get it's way,
And in the end the earth gave in,
The mighty pair had conquered the wind.


That wasn't that hard to write. Is still don't like it

*

WOO HOO! Awesome poem Kobby!


*

"Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but

nothing is infinite,
not even loss.

You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again."

Greater Reality

I found this poem on Tumblr. The user who posted it is greater-reality, and I'm not sure if that's the name of the poem or not, but I'm citing the blogger's name.

Nice one, Liz!

An Oblivion inspired poem
----------

From north to south,
from east to west,
I wander while wearing my Huntsman´s vest

This land I see,
so lush and free,
to roam beyond the mountain´s crest

Invasion or not,
a sinister plot,
Lord Dagon the daedra has not forgot

A hero feels the call,
"The portals must fall!",
he cries out loud with great appall

To save the land,
he raises his hand,
and wields his sword and power so grand
------------

I have one about Buffy too

Neat Mirocu!

I adapted an old English song for TES a few years ago, when I wrote the Battle of Bruma for the TF.

"Our apprentice Thurindil may now refuse,
To wipe his scoundrel master's shoes.
For now he's free to sing and play,
Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and over the main,
To Morrowind, Skyrim, and Illiac Bay.
Emperor Martin commands and we obey,
Over the hills and far away."

All I think of when reading that poem is Nightwish..

This is AWESOME, Mirocu! I'd love to see the one about Buffy!

Thank you, mALX! I know I´m not a poet but this one came easily to me I don´t come up with poems of anything else, Oblivion is my muse

Here´s the Buffy one:
-----------

Ode to Buffy

I know of this Bosmer who is really sweet,
she may not be tall, just a few feet.
But she is a good friend and I´d like her to know,
that without her friendship, my life would feel low.
She roams 'round the land with a bow in her hand,
with Superian, her friend, they stroll on Anvil´s sand.


Short one, much like whom it´s about

I love this one, even better than the last because you have captured Buffy in so few lines - this is wonderful!

Oh, pish-posh Don´t butter me up like that. I´m afraid of high horses

It was a very cute poem!!

Thank you, Liz! I´m glad you like my writing, people

Got another one btw, Sub? Pitch in or I´ll have to get all the attention

Go for it!