My ten favorite poems :)

 forgive this AWFUL mess! 

Wow, what a popular topic!  

So, like, I dunno, two years ago I decided that I was going to teach myself about poetry, mostly because it was one of my great failures in school. I learned that poets were rockstars in 19th century England, that although William Blake's art work and portrait are strange and evoke eerie feelings, his content and ideals were classic. I am a radio girl, pop all the way. Not too far from the beaten path, no risky business. I doubt my favorite poems will deviate too far from that median.  

I hope when I search for one of my favorites, it will be a favorite poet, I want to talk about him, I had a crush, a dead-dude crush.

In no particular order, of course.

1. Shakespeare, duh. Sonnet 18,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Sounds like love to me ;)

2. Christina Rossetti, Goblin Market.  

Just love it, think it's perfect.

Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

“Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy:

Apples and quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Plump unpeck’d cherries,

Melons and raspberries,

Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,

Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Crab-apples, dewberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Apricots, strawberries;—

All ripe together

In summer weather,—

Morns that pass by,

Fair eves that fly;

Come buy, come buy!

3. Joyce Kilmer, Trees. 

 The only poem I can recite, completely.  How pitiful! 

"Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

4. Shelley, To a skylark.

Mr. Shelley gave Miss Mary her name.  

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

5. Tennyson, In Memorium A.H.H. 

 

The seasons bring the flower again,

   And bring the firstling to the flock;

   And in the dusk of thee, the clock

Beats out the little lives of men.

Not the most famous line, but sounds nice. Most famous line? It is better to have loved and lost, then never to have love at all.

6. Wordsworth, We are seven.

This poem speaks to me deeply. I used to, as a child, count us children in this same way. It's very touching. This is my poem, but not my dead guy :/

“How many are you, then,” said I,

“If they two are in heaven?”

Quick was the little Maid’s reply,

“O Master! we are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!”

’Twas throwing words away; for still

The little Maid would have her will,

And said, “Nay, we are seven!”

fyi- Wordsworth was a superstar! Everyone knew it, then.

7. Kipling, The Gods of the Copy book Headings,

My best friend of my youth showed this to me. Her friend gave her 101 Famous Poems for Christmas one year, what a great gift!

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began. 
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, 
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire; 

8. Elizabeth Barret Browning, My Kate.

I doubt if she said to you much that could act
As a thought or suggestion; she did not attract
In the sense of the brilliant or wise; I infer
'Twas her thinking of others made you think of her--
My Kate.

You may not know this one, but would definitely know this one, have you heard, "How do I love thee, let me count the ways...." ??

9. Ginsberg, Howl.

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement...

10. Aldridge, Rocking horse. 

Honestly, my mother's poem is one of my favorite. That's probably not strange.

I used to ride a rocking horse, when I was very young of course,

and on his back I'd dream a lot of far off places we could trot, 

of lovely places we could run, of crystal beaches in the sun,

but I grew big, and he grew small, and soon I didnt fit at all,

he sat alone till brother came, to bring the magic back again,

a little boy a lot like me, with lots of far off lands to see.

And so my rocking horse, it seems, as long as little boys have dreams,

will ride the winds and touch the sun, a friend forever to the young. 

<3 The End

Shout out to Coleridge! Love you, baby!