Anyone have any poems they want to share? Favorite poets? Doesn't have to be by you just post anything.

My favorite poem is Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening":

"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

[Copied from http://www.ketzle.com/frost/snowyeve.htm]

I have lots of favourites.

"No Man is an Island" by John Donne

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.


"The Poison Tree" by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.


And "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

((I think of this poem when I think about what's happening in Egypt and Lybia at the moment - especially Lybia))

A Green and White Leaf
By Me

A leaf green and white
Veins running through it like a river
It sways in the cool breeze
The rusting sound it makes is a melody to my ears

It relaxes me; I close my eyes as I listen to its song
I look up at it, the sun shining through its sheer body
Dances upon my brow like a ballet dancer

I smile, as I drink in the beauty of this wondrous leaf
It detaches from its branch and gently floats down to rest
Upon my lap.

I hold it ever so gently
Careful not to tear the delicate edges
Feel the softness it brings
This green and white leaf
That fell from heaven
Like an angel from up above
It blows out of my hand
And it�s lost forever
But its beauty haunts my mind.

And I have a zillion poems by famous poets I love! My most favorite is probably too long to post so I'll post another one I love:

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Here's a love poem I wrote:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue:
You have a nice ass,
I'm balls deep, bitch!

totally inappropriate for this forum but whatevs. You used the right form. :|