My favourite poem is W.H.Auden-'stop all the clocks'

The reason i suppose is because it was my first introduction to poetry. It was my first week at 'prep' school as a boarder in Malvern, in september 1973. That week, W.H.Auden had passed away,and as a mark of repect, 'English' was taken up reviewing his work.....

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-- W.H. Auden

My favourite poem is one by John Betjeman and anyone who enjoys a game of golf will enjoy this.

Seaside Golf

How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear'd the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker's back -
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.

And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron sure and strong
And clipp'd it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I'd find it on the green.

And so I did. It lay content
two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most securely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.

Ah! seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and mist in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.

by John Betjeman

Can't you just see that "spendour, splendour everywhere"!!

I Won

Today I played golf, but not very well
I hooked all the balls, my partner will tell
My driving was poor, sometimes out of sight
The fairways were slim, the greens wouldn’t bite

Long game or short play, no matter of which
My irons were rusty, my putter a twitch
Not one single par or birdie did make
I went in some bunkers and many did rake

In woods and in fields my topflight did go
It was quite windy, I should have kept low
We hired a buggy of battery power
It’s a good job we did, it started to shower

On went the wet proofs, to stifle our swing
A nice slug of brandy I forgot to bring
The sun didn’t wink for the rest of the day
Was breezy and cold, restricting our play

The 19th beaconed , our throats were too dry
We were so bloody cold we wanted to cry
The last green was here , I looked at my line
A forty foot putt, or fifty was mine

I hit the ball firm and followed it through
It went in the hole, expletives they flew
From partner came words, you don’t want to hear
The drinks were on him, the whiskies and beer.

Pokermid

My favourite poem is this one Everyone knows. Winter

i was made to memorise it and it almost made me marvel at such things. Almost.

Winter

When icicles hang by the wall
And **** the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When Blood is nipped and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.





You can see it as you read it

except the ****

My favourite poem as I love not only the beauty of these flowers but the promise of brighter, fresher days to follow

Daffodils a poem
by William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

-- William Butler Yeats

Right at this moment my favourite is:
This Too Will Pass Away


If I can endure for this minute
Whatever is happening to me,
No matter how heavy my heart is
Or how 'dark' the moment may be -
If I can remain calm and quiet
With all my world crashing about me,
Secure in the knowledge God loves me
When everyone else seems to doubt me -
If I can but keep on believing
What I know in my heart to be true,
That 'darkness will fade with the morning'
And that this will pass away, too -
Then nothing in life can defeat me
For as long as this knowledge remains
I can suffer whatever is happening
For I know God will break 'all the chains'
That are binding me tight in 'the Darkness'
And trying to fill me with fear -
For there is no night without dawning
And I know that 'my morning' is near.

I love so many, I can't pick one so here goes:

Not Waving but Drowning (this is how I have felt many times)
Stevie Smith

Miracle on St David's Day (Makes me cry - about communication)
Gillian Clark

Sea Fever (this is a comforting poem)
John Masefield

Believe me, if all thoe endearing Young Charms (who woudln't love this?) Thomas Moore

Bobbie

I love so many, I can't pick one so here goes:

Not Waving but Drowning (this is how I have felt many times)
Stevie Smith

Miracle on St David's Day (Makes me cry - about communication)
Gillian Clark

Sea Fever (this is a comforting poem)
John Masefield

Believe me, if all thoe endearing Young Charms (who woudln't love this?) Thomas Moore

Bobbie