what's your poem?

[poem snipped]

Oh coolness! I remember back in high school, in one of my English classes, we almost spent the whole period just going over this one poem. We dissected it to where there was absolutely nothing left of it. I wish I could remember what it ended up meaning, but I do know we spent an awful lot of time discussing what the colors red and white signify, as well as the possible symbolism behind the rainwater being on the wheelbarrow so close to chickens.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments of princes
Shall outlive this powerful rhyme.
But you shall shine more bright in its contents
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.
WHen wastefuk wars shall statues overturn
And broils root out the work of masonary,
Nor Mars his sword, nor wars' quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all oblivious emnity
shall you pace forth - our praise shall still find room.
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
SO, till the judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lover' eyes.

Eveeryone go aaah!

a fish hook,
an open eye

- Margaret Atwood

No use, you walk backwards,
admiring your own footprints

- M.A

a better one...

grey rain the day
the man said when I die
let it rain that day
whenever it rains then
is grey to whomever
time says goodbye

who set the man singing
said the man who died
said grey the man is grey
said grey the rain is dead
goodbye said the rain

whenever the man is singing then
in a grey raincoat time says die
wring out the rain
ring it out that day
save the grave for whomever the man said
save the rain for a gay day
sing it whenever said the grey
die sighs the rain
goodbye whenever

-Colin Morton

Hope......goosestep.

Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a mle, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter's dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know
That day brings round the night, that before dawn
His glory and his monuments are gone.

I sang a song at dusking time
Beneath the evening star,
And Terence left his latest rhyme
To answer from afar.

Pierrot laid down his lute to weep,
And sighed, "She sings for me."
But Colin slept a careless sleep
Beneath an apple tree.

****************

A City's Death by Fire

After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.

--

-- Liz :x (elizabeth.daply...), October 10th, 2002

**********

I think there should be a separate Liz thread already, although there is no news yet of her. I don't know her, so don't feel that I am the one to start it.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

-- Pablo Neruda

― luna.c (luna.c), Thursday, 10 October 2002 17:15 (fifteen years ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink

https://miloraps.bandcamp.com/album/sovereign-nose-of-y-our-arrogant-face

The things about you I appreciate
may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
and chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power
and see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
and other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
to chase you screaming up a tower
or make you cower
by asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like successfully to guess your weight
and win you at a fete.
I’d like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders
falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like all your particulars in folders
marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
the neat arrangement of your teeth
(half above and half beneath)
in rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk
I like the way your elbows work,
on hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
and certain things we might exchange,
something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount
and give some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them,
even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I’d always know, without a recap,
where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres
and have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.

I’d like to see you ironing your skirt
and cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I’d like you even if you were malign
and had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide
into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were the Bride
of Frankenstein
or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s
Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian
of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
if you were something muttering in attics
like Mrs Rochester or a student of Boolean
Mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
to call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin,
and see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I’d like to make you reproduce.

I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence
and mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference
and hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
the final name in your appointment book,
your future tense.

Damn dude

I think I read that first on another ilx thread tbh it's a beaut

yes but you just try saying that to a coworker these days

Post a poem u

On the Flyleaf of Pound's Cantos

There are the Alps. What is there to say about them?
They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb,
jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree,
et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger.
Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing?

There they are, you will have to go a long way round
if you want to avoid them.
It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps, fools!
Sit down and wait for them to crumble!

-- Basil Bunting

That's good

One more go-to:

Inniskeen Road: July Evening

The bicycles go by in twos and threes -
There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn tonight,
And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight.
Half-past eight and there is not a spot
Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown
That might turn out a man or woman, not
A footfall tapping secrecies of stone.

I have what every poet hates in spite
Of all the solemn talk of contemplation.
Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight
Of being king and government and nation.
A road, a mile of kingdom. I am king
Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.

-Patrick Kavanagh

I am endlessly taken by the run and rhythm from half past eight to stone

lonely guy just writing poem baout things

that is a good one too

A Man in Assynt by Norman MacCaig is a little long to post here so I'll link it here

I really love this reading by the author and just falling into the West Highland landscapes.

So many to name, but the beginning of Keith Waldrop's 'Shipwreck in Heaven' springs to mind:

Balancing. Austere. Life-
less. I have tried to keep
context from claiming you.

Without doors. And there are
windows. How far, how
far into the desert have we come?

Rude instruments, product
of my garden. Might also be
different, what I am thinking of.

So you see: it is
not symmetrical, dark
red out of the snow.

Or part I of Rosmarie Waldrop's 'In a Doorway' (from Blindsight):

The world was galaxies imagined flesh. Mortal. What to think now? Think simple. Matter? A lump of wax? An afterglow? Or does everything happen of its own accord? Perfect and full-bodied. No more. Observable. No longer. In your eyes or line of sight. Down all three dimensions of time. Or lock up the house. Or prophets.

•

Here I work toward. A kind of elegy. Here a strange ceiling. "Earth fills his mouth." I would look at you. And write you. A spell but slack at the edge. And in the door where I stand your voice goes. Hollow.

•

If what happened. (Happened?) Hand. Between palms. Grief. Death. Coffee with cream. Coffee. Arms, knees and free will. And shiny. Rainbows.

•

The words have detached. And spread throughout my body. Such reckless growth. Windbag! Want to see come full circle the wheel? To comment. My own commentary till I till. My own great-granddaughter's body?

•

Absence. But it cuts. Repeat. Furiously Yes then No. Even a fictional character catches a chill. Makes the heart. And cold penetrates. We do not fall off the surface. But you, planet earth. Grow. Even as we read. Fonder of the dark.

I also miss the late Simon Howard, whose blog is still up:

http://walkingintheceiling.blogspot.ca

The following was written by one of my students, a 12 year-old kid from New York whom I taught via Skype. I provide it verbatim:

The Look

This look I see too much,
Out of confusion
And bewilderment.

From people who,
Cannot comprehend,
The stories of those,
Who can suppress.

This look I find unbearable,
The look
From those who may
Be forgetful.

I still do not understand,
What is the cause of
This unmistakable glance.

I sometimes wonder what he's up to now. Hopefully writing poetry.

After the leaves have fallen, we return
To a plain sense of things. It is as if
We had come to an end of the imagination,
Inanimate in an inert savoir.

It is difficult even to choose the adjective
For this blank cold, this sadness without cause.
The great structure has become a minor house.
No turban walks across the lessened floors.

The greenhouse never so badly needed paint.
The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side.
A fantastic effort has failed, a repetition
In a repetitiousness of men and flies.

Yet the absence of the imagination had
Itself to be imagined. The great pond,
The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves,
Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence

Of a sort, silence of a rat come out to see,
The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all this
Had to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge,
Required, as a necessity requires.

I was expecting 'The Charge of the Light Brigade'.

O commemorate me where there is water,
Canal water, preferably, so stilly
Greeny at the heart of summer. Brother
Commemorate me thus beautifully
Where by a lock niagarously roars
The falls for those who sit in the tremendous silence
Of mid-July. No one will speak in prose
Who finds his way to these Parnassian islands.
A swan goes by head low with many apologies,
Fantastic light looks through the eyes of bridges -
And look! a barge comes bringing from Athy
And other far-flung towns mythologies.
O commemorate me with no hero-courageous
Tomb - just a canal-bank seat for the passer-by.

Its hard to read any poetry not written by irish tbh

love that one so much i moved to the canal in question tbh

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50986/paradoxes-and-oxymorons

A FOOTFALL TAPPING SECRECIES OF STONE

kavanagh stop it

As I wend to the shores I know not,
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck’d,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
I too but signify at the utmost a little wash’d-up drift,
A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.

O baffled, balk’d, bent to the very earth,
Oppress’d with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am,
But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet untouch’d, untold, altogether unreach’d,
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,
Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.

I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single object, and that no man ever can,
Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me,
Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

love these, keep em comin

I have a feeling I’ve already shared this here, but:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50986/paradoxes-and-oxymorons

Ha! Yes! I already have

I got this one via Poetry Daily, I don't know that it's a "favorite" but it's one that stuck with me.

https://poems.com/poem/juvenilia/#featured-poet

“This Dark Apartment”, James Schuyler, 1980

Coming from the deli
a block away today I
saw the UN building
shine and in all the
months and years I’ve
lived in this apartment
I took so you and I
would have a place to
meet I never noticed
that it was in my view.

I remember very well
the morning I walked in
and found you in bed
with X. He dressed
and left. You dressed
too. I said, “Stay
five minutes.” You
did. You said, “That’s
the way it is.” It
was not much of a surprise.

Then X got on speed
and ripped off an
antique chest and an
air conditioner, etc.
After he was gone and
you had changed the
Segal lock, I asked
you on the phone, “Can’t
you be content with
your wife and me?” “I’m
not built that way,”
you said. No surprise.

Now, without saying
why, you’ve let me go.
You don’t return my
calls, who used to call
me almost every evening
when I lived in the coun-
try. “Hasn’t he told you
why?” “No, and I doubt he
ever will.” Goodbye. It’s
mysterious and frustrating.

How I wish you would come
back! I could tell
you how, when I lived
on East 49th, first
with Frank and then with John,
we had a lovely view of
the UN building and the
Beekman Towers. They were
not my lovers, though.
You were. You said so.

i always post this and im never sorry:

The day dawns, with scent of must and rain,
Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air.
Under the fading lamp, half dressed -- my brain
Idling on some compulsive fantasy --
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye,
A dry downturning mouth.
It seems again that it is time to learn,
In this untiring, crumbling place of growth
To which, for the time being, I return.
Now plainly in the mirror of my soul
I read that I have looked my last on youth
And little more; for they are not made whole
That reach the age of Christ.

Below my window the wakening trees,
Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced
Suffering their brute necessities;
And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span
Is mutilated more? In slow distaste
I fold my towel with what grace I can,
Not young, and not renewable, but man.

i have only made one poem, in 2013, but it's pretty epic. i fed Alan Ginsberg's 'Howl' into every language on Google translate and finally back to English like a game of telephone:

Radyositi most.
Music is dead.
During the next few years.

The

Emergency Aluminium and Sphinx.
? And ideas.
First, JP, Ashtrays "Our children ... -.
Lower stairs crying. Call Baby reply
I do not know.
Or not. Before? Sugar shock! Do you want to! Has
You're looking for swimming!
10 point box.
Pain and movement.
Add module to stand BlackBerry.
?
Technology in the future. I remember the blood.
Money! Rufus is 10 centimeters! Perched book.
Taking the kanibais public smoking volcano.
Moore, thousands window blind Black Tower.
A music moloki.
You will spend and Malta.
For Akron.
Welcome to the olive bar pressure.
Bank espirito Santa moloki.
Hydrogen ears cool! Moloki.
To
Download Black Angels photography.
I do not have sex before another busy?
March gray in my life.
The entire staff. Fear of the water.
Jam! Contact your system with great sea! Light
Sony Ericsson Download Paradise!
Or not. First of all, I am not a robot or a financial institution.
Action! International trade and human rights? Courses abroad.
A Hardworking.
Mountain road timber radio bar or not.
If you are in London for a long time?
Zion I jineunghyeongneun? He said,? U.S.. It.
Water!
Gold Service? Light! While there are many reasons to search.
Skip
A. Changing the river? Torrent
This is very important! He knows! You will not be disappointed. Decades, animals, and the idea of ​​suicide.
I'm sure it will be as a new song! Ads.
Ventilation water? Jerusalem Jerusalem gallon.
I do not know? Did you know? Bad
Cherry Beach water groups.

wait that's not all of it, here's the whole thing:

Michigan თაობის Furthermore, as frenezo ეს khomeini (Raw) market
We Nirvana.
Serkan art agadoj frenezo.
Defina.
Paradizo მემშიერიბაზარზე Bruno Crazy Hippie angel.
Michigan City, with khomeini შიშველიისტერიული as frenezo.
We Nirvana.
On Tuesday, the stock agadoj frenezo serkan.
Defina.
But it is poor milk Marketing Madness angel, our thirst malnate beauty paradizo Bruno.
Drum surexite.
Kouture.
Selection
Pre-sized entertainment.
Racing at night.
Poverty and beverages, clothing.
Welcome to the Magic of Winter Debris.
Panorama of Armenia.
Blue Angel and it forget.
Hit Bishop Street.
Cold heart failure.
Science and SRS tragedy of war.
The song was published online.
Warning Skull
Conflicts and save time.
Have you ever heard of a Box.
Results Brad.
Marijuana, New York.
Emissyons TV and Beverage (I), died looking for.
Christmas Eve night the body.
Drugs, alcohol, and his son, Lao groups.
Hengelo.
The light.
Patterson, CA Canada, to encourage positive thinking in Missouri.
Photo.
The drinking green areas and trees flying dream.
Ennessa teahead neon.
Pressure sensors, potatoes, sun, photography, trees.
Brooklyn Winter neukkyeotdagva.
News
Limited battery life.
Children bronka albnzidrin fear of the wheel.
Earthquake, fire, black religion.
Light Mountain Park apologize.
Bekkford water.
Fugazza beer.
Ⅱ music died.
Ωρες Bell Auto Group 70
Museum Brooklyn Bridge (Brooklyn Bridge).
Deregister.
However, the
Development riveyara small and yakketayakking.
The poor, sick humor and fun and action.
Seven days and seven nights, and lots of restaurants.
CPS.
New Jersey.
President Treasurer of Atlantic City.
Ryan bones, headaches, sweating.
I really blue, black.
Turn, Food and Rural Development Center.
Nokia Mobile Phone.
Tobacco and discomfort.
Farmers evening.
- San Juan (San Juan), your feelings.
Enstenktivman grace.
State Idaho Street, Los Angeles, Italy.
Angel Eyes Romania.
Local Baltimore.
Group
Buying, downloading, Oklahoma.
Of the way the winter.
Jazz, Houston, thirst, sex, and so on.
Spain and elsewhere.
Africa yet.
Mexican volcano.
Wash and extrapolasyon high.
Chicago
West Bank, jaw, small eyes ef.bi. Intelligence ..
Make sure my skin.
At the end of the course.
Products
Capital
(Square (unirey also updated)) super pryoritizatyon European (EU).
Siren Rama.
Motherboard, melting, staten Island Fairy.
Clear water, white shirt, then.
Carriage return, then
Police said.
Unfortunately, development of the village.
Needle
For example, one of the most important links.
Laos - A man and Wavelength half signature.
Santander Drying.
I cried.
Navastinere complaint arteries and veins leading safety.
Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea.
Today, tomorrow, and the courage.
Information and communication Seeds're park.
To
Dr. Marina virus.
Tomb angels young.
Games
Damage in humans.
Less.
They are annoying.
Holiday best.
Bottle of beer.
Southwest and area - based wax.
Powder charge will not be reflected in Northern Europe.
John Flower mysterious package.
Malaysia
In some cases, it may be cold and dark.
Red Rider is not easy.
Area and kill nudeugva white.
Theft, prostitution, and especially in North Carolina Welcome to the night.
Welcome to Denver victory.
Food -.
Metro Cinema, mountains and caves.
Waitress Rita food.
(Nutmeg) solipsizmom died Tues
The woman
End
Family, business, bankruptcy, New York (Manhattan).
Iron altvkai a threat?
Entertainment and government.
On the night of the crime.
Then the door.
Heat
Suicide reporter Clive large banks.
Blue moon.
Forget
For example, cancer, guinea pigs, sheep fat.
Rio ball.
But endiskutabl and Onions.
Weak financial system.
Light and air.
Rogge opened.

Taj 6 train crash Harlem.
Orange County Fair.
At night, he said.
Morning clouds yellow.
Health sector programs in an attempt to reduce everything to heart.
What is the best sex.
Meat, eggs, hot
Soon
At the time, every day.
Add
Mammals Shangri well.
I know some things.

Madison, New Jersey.
Storm and Reggae.
November Nitroglycerin and advertising.
And so, whether or arm or LG HDTV PM.
Only one small problem.
Brooklyn Bridge (Brooklyn Bridge).
(China), China, and in the spirit world.
Prosekutors, he said, and then try again.
Metro good singer or small boxes.
Passaik books on birds and land.
Dance Platinum broken leg.
Jazz Germany nastaljeia the 1930 average.
VC sositara blood and screaming.
Fryable
Post
Maribor Castle Jazz and fish skull helmet.
72 countries at a price.
Knowledge and interest.
He died in Denver;
Denver, courage, faith, country.
Denver, Denver, Colorado today.
Listen
Church knees weak and broken lights.
And emotional pain.
Monday
Niryatanakaridera.
In the heart of the importance of beauty.
Beautiful monster.
Rocky Mountain, Buddha, and Mexican parents, and evaluation.
Some black kalkareous Pacific.
See deep 德朗 哈佛.
Skills and self - hipnosis.
Baker Cancer Group.
Energy, New York, potatoes, university later.
Granite mikrovave.
Vest immediately die.
Cut ears to the brain white matter.
Pentilenetetrazol. Island energy independent.
4 hearts bath.
Nissan.
Notes and world - renowned theme ().
Now etourdri.
Hair, blood and tears.
Madtovns inch camera died.
Wednesday
Iceland, lemon and spices conference.
Feelings Housing Bank.
Dream - to live in a nightmare.
The second term
******.
Message bedroom window.
Stone furniture vallarta, the number of Accidents.
The second part of the small yellow rules.
Pakistani clothes.
My favorite Statement of defense.
In time, the knife and society.
Accessories for Pets.
Suddenly the fish.
Release of chemical windows.
Vibration
Photo: time and space.
The President and the Prime Minister, one of the objectives to be clear, there are two angels.
Language development can be blocked.
Government calls.
Every time.
Change pvoz and female beauty.
Information and information, but declined.
Especially
A vast desert.
My skin is not serious.
Game
Kingdom and promote jazz and modern clothes.
American free market.
Owen sabatshthani earthquake.
Radyositi most.
Music is dead.
During the next few years.

The

Emergency Aluminium and Sphinx.
? And ideas.
First, JP, Ashtrays "Our children ... -.
Lower stairs crying. Call Baby reply
I do not know.
Or not. Before? Sugar shock! Do you want to! Has
You're looking for swimming!
10 point box.
Pain and movement.
Add module to stand BlackBerry.
?
Technology in the future. I remember the blood.
Money! Rufus is 10 centimeters! Perched book.
Taking the kanibais public smoking volcano.
Moore, thousands window blind Black Tower.
A music moloki.
You will spend and Malta.
For Akron.
Welcome to the olive bar pressure.
Bank espirito Santa moloki.
Hydrogen ears cool! Moloki.
To
Download Black Angels photography.
I do not have sex before another busy?
March gray in my life.
The entire staff. Fear of the water.
Jam! Contact your system with great sea! Light
Sony Ericsson Download Paradise!
Or not. First of all, I am not a robot or a financial institution.
Action! International trade and human rights? Courses abroad.
A Hardworking.
Mountain road timber radio bar or not.
If you are in London for a long time?
Zion I jineunghyeongneun? He said,? U.S.. It.
Water!
Gold Service? Light! While there are many reasons to search.
Skip
A. Changing the river? Torrent
This is very important! He knows! You will not be disappointed. Decades, animals, and the idea of ​​suicide.
I'm sure it will be as a new song! Ads.
Ventilation water? Jerusalem Jerusalem gallon.
I do not know? Did you know? Bad
Cherry Beach water groups.

Stripped nude, my soul,
on a windswept jetty,
the exhiliration of emptiness
no longer obtains.

This cruel December, my thoughts
as bare as the Atlantic.

I got this one via Poetry Daily, I don't know that it's a "favorite" but it's one that stuck with me.

https://poems.com/poem/juvenilia/#featured-poet

― immodesty blaise (jimbeaux), Wednesday, 3 January 2024 01:11 (yesterday)

My favourite poem of all time is "Long Distance II" by Tony Harrison.

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.

You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.

He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.

I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.